summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/old/8trsa10h.htm
blob: 82ac6e29e2110a907936703f58b188eb14e91842 (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
10398
10399
10400
10401
10402
10403
10404
10405
10406
10407
10408
10409
10410
10411
10412
10413
10414
10415
10416
10417
10418
10419
10420
10421
10422
10423
10424
10425
10426
10427
10428
10429
10430
10431
10432
10433
10434
10435
10436
10437
10438
10439
10440
10441
10442
10443
10444
10445
10446
10447
10448
10449
10450
10451
10452
10453
10454
10455
10456
10457
10458
10459
10460
10461
10462
10463
10464
10465
10466
10467
10468
10469
10470
10471
10472
10473
10474
10475
10476
10477
10478
10479
10480
10481
10482
10483
10484
10485
10486
10487
10488
10489
10490
10491
10492
10493
10494
10495
10496
10497
10498
10499
10500
10501
10502
10503
10504
10505
10506
10507
10508
10509
10510
10511
10512
10513
10514
10515
10516
10517
10518
10519
10520
10521
10522
10523
10524
10525
10526
10527
10528
10529
10530
10531
10532
10533
10534
10535
10536
10537
10538
10539
10540
10541
10542
10543
10544
10545
10546
10547
10548
10549
10550
10551
10552
10553
10554
10555
10556
10557
10558
10559
10560
10561
10562
10563
10564
10565
10566
10567
10568
10569
10570
10571
10572
10573
10574
10575
10576
10577
10578
10579
10580
10581
10582
10583
10584
10585
10586
10587
10588
10589
10590
10591
10592
10593
10594
10595
10596
10597
10598
10599
10600
10601
10602
10603
10604
10605
10606
10607
10608
10609
10610
10611
10612
10613
10614
10615
10616
10617
10618
10619
10620
10621
10622
10623
10624
10625
10626
10627
10628
10629
10630
10631
10632
10633
10634
10635
10636
10637
10638
10639
10640
10641
10642
10643
10644
10645
10646
10647
10648
10649
10650
10651
10652
10653
10654
10655
10656
10657
10658
10659
10660
10661
10662
10663
10664
10665
10666
10667
10668
10669
10670
10671
10672
10673
10674
10675
10676
10677
10678
10679
10680
10681
10682
10683
10684
10685
10686
10687
10688
10689
10690
10691
10692
10693
10694
10695
10696
10697
10698
10699
10700
10701
10702
10703
10704
10705
10706
10707
10708
10709
10710
10711
10712
10713
10714
10715
10716
10717
10718
10719
10720
10721
10722
10723
10724
10725
10726
10727
10728
10729
10730
10731
10732
10733
10734
10735
10736
10737
10738
10739
10740
10741
10742
10743
10744
10745
10746
10747
10748
10749
10750
10751
10752
10753
10754
10755
10756
10757
10758
10759
10760
10761
10762
10763
10764
10765
10766
10767
10768
10769
10770
10771
10772
10773
10774
10775
10776
10777
10778
10779
10780
10781
10782
10783
10784
10785
10786
10787
10788
10789
10790
10791
10792
10793
10794
10795
10796
10797
10798
10799
10800
10801
10802
10803
10804
10805
10806
10807
10808
10809
10810
10811
10812
10813
10814
10815
10816
10817
10818
10819
10820
10821
10822
10823
10824
10825
10826
10827
10828
10829
10830
10831
10832
10833
10834
10835
10836
10837
10838
10839
10840
10841
10842
10843
10844
10845
10846
10847
10848
10849
10850
10851
10852
10853
10854
10855
10856
10857
10858
10859
10860
10861
10862
10863
10864
10865
10866
10867
10868
10869
10870
10871
10872
10873
10874
10875
10876
10877
10878
10879
10880
10881
10882
10883
10884
10885
10886
10887
10888
10889
10890
10891
10892
10893
10894
10895
10896
10897
10898
10899
10900
10901
10902
10903
10904
10905
10906
10907
10908
10909
10910
10911
10912
10913
10914
10915
10916
10917
10918
10919
10920
10921
10922
10923
10924
10925
10926
10927
10928
10929
10930
10931
10932
10933
10934
10935
10936
10937
10938
10939
10940
10941
10942
10943
10944
10945
10946
10947
10948
10949
10950
10951
10952
10953
10954
10955
10956
10957
10958
10959
10960
10961
10962
10963
10964
10965
10966
10967
10968
10969
10970
10971
10972
10973
10974
10975
10976
10977
10978
10979
10980
10981
10982
10983
10984
10985
10986
10987
10988
10989
10990
10991
10992
10993
10994
10995
10996
10997
10998
10999
11000
11001
11002
11003
11004
11005
11006
11007
11008
11009
11010
11011
11012
11013
11014
11015
11016
11017
11018
11019
11020
11021
11022
11023
11024
11025
11026
11027
11028
11029
11030
11031
11032
11033
11034
11035
11036
11037
11038
11039
11040
11041
11042
11043
11044
11045
11046
11047
11048
11049
11050
11051
11052
11053
11054
11055
11056
11057
11058
11059
11060
11061
11062
11063
11064
11065
11066
11067
11068
11069
11070
11071
11072
11073
11074
11075
11076
11077
11078
11079
11080
11081
11082
11083
11084
11085
11086
11087
11088
11089
11090
11091
11092
11093
11094
11095
11096
11097
11098
11099
11100
11101
11102
11103
11104
11105
11106
11107
11108
11109
11110
11111
11112
11113
11114
11115
11116
11117
11118
11119
11120
11121
11122
11123
11124
11125
11126
11127
11128
11129
11130
11131
11132
11133
11134
11135
11136
11137
11138
11139
11140
11141
11142
11143
11144
11145
11146
11147
11148
11149
11150
11151
11152
11153
11154
11155
11156
11157
11158
11159
11160
11161
11162
11163
11164
11165
11166
11167
11168
11169
11170
11171
11172
11173
11174
11175
11176
11177
11178
11179
11180
11181
11182
11183
11184
11185
11186
11187
11188
11189
11190
11191
11192
11193
11194
11195
11196
11197
11198
11199
11200
11201
11202
11203
11204
11205
11206
11207
11208
11209
11210
11211
11212
11213
11214
11215
11216
11217
11218
11219
11220
11221
11222
11223
11224
11225
11226
11227
11228
11229
11230
11231
11232
11233
11234
11235
11236
11237
11238
11239
11240
11241
11242
11243
11244
11245
11246
11247
11248
11249
11250
11251
11252
11253
11254
11255
11256
11257
11258
11259
11260
11261
11262
11263
11264
11265
11266
11267
11268
11269
11270
11271
11272
11273
11274
11275
11276
11277
11278
11279
11280
11281
11282
11283
11284
11285
11286
11287
11288
11289
11290
11291
11292
11293
11294
11295
11296
11297
11298
11299
11300
11301
11302
11303
11304
11305
11306
11307
11308
11309
11310
11311
11312
11313
11314
11315
11316
11317
11318
11319
11320
11321
11322
11323
11324
11325
11326
11327
11328
11329
11330
11331
11332
11333
11334
11335
11336
11337
11338
11339
11340
11341
11342
11343
11344
11345
11346
11347
11348
11349
11350
11351
11352
11353
11354
11355
11356
11357
11358
11359
11360
11361
11362
11363
11364
11365
11366
11367
11368
11369
11370
11371
11372
11373
11374
11375
11376
11377
11378
11379
11380
11381
11382
11383
11384
11385
11386
11387
11388
11389
11390
11391
11392
11393
11394
11395
11396
11397
11398
11399
11400
11401
11402
11403
11404
11405
11406
11407
11408
11409
11410
11411
11412
11413
11414
11415
11416
11417
11418
11419
11420
11421
11422
11423
11424
11425
11426
11427
11428
11429
11430
11431
11432
11433
11434
11435
11436
11437
11438
11439
11440
11441
11442
11443
11444
11445
11446
11447
11448
11449
11450
11451
11452
11453
11454
11455
11456
11457
11458
11459
11460
11461
11462
11463
11464
11465
11466
11467
11468
11469
11470
11471
11472
11473
11474
11475
11476
11477
11478
11479
11480
11481
11482
11483
11484
11485
11486
11487
11488
11489
11490
11491
11492
11493
11494
11495
11496
11497
11498
11499
11500
11501
11502
11503
11504
11505
11506
11507
11508
11509
11510
11511
11512
11513
11514
11515
11516
11517
11518
11519
11520
11521
11522
11523
11524
11525
11526
11527
11528
11529
11530
11531
11532
11533
11534
11535
11536
11537
11538
11539
11540
11541
11542
11543
11544
11545
11546
11547
11548
11549
11550
11551
11552
11553
11554
11555
11556
11557
11558
11559
11560
11561
11562
11563
11564
11565
11566
11567
11568
11569
11570
11571
11572
11573
11574
11575
11576
11577
11578
11579
11580
11581
11582
11583
11584
11585
11586
11587
11588
11589
11590
11591
11592
11593
11594
11595
11596
11597
11598
11599
11600
11601
11602
11603
11604
11605
11606
11607
11608
11609
11610
11611
11612
11613
11614
11615
11616
11617
11618
11619
11620
11621
11622
11623
11624
11625
11626
11627
11628
11629
11630
11631
11632
11633
11634
11635
11636
11637
11638
11639
11640
11641
11642
11643
11644
11645
11646
11647
11648
11649
11650
11651
11652
11653
11654
11655
11656
11657
11658
11659
11660
11661
11662
11663
11664
11665
11666
11667
11668
11669
11670
11671
11672
11673
11674
11675
11676
11677
11678
11679
11680
11681
11682
11683
11684
11685
11686
11687
11688
11689
11690
11691
11692
11693
11694
11695
11696
11697
11698
11699
11700
11701
11702
11703
11704
11705
11706
11707
11708
11709
11710
11711
11712
11713
11714
11715
11716
11717
11718
11719
11720
11721
11722
11723
11724
11725
11726
11727
11728
11729
11730
11731
11732
11733
11734
11735
11736
11737
11738
11739
11740
11741
11742
11743
11744
11745
11746
11747
11748
11749
11750
11751
11752
11753
11754
11755
11756
11757
11758
11759
11760
11761
11762
11763
11764
11765
11766
11767
11768
11769
11770
11771
11772
11773
11774
11775
11776
11777
11778
11779
11780
11781
11782
11783
11784
11785
11786
11787
11788
11789
11790
11791
11792
11793
11794
11795
11796
11797
11798
11799
11800
11801
11802
11803
11804
11805
11806
11807
11808
11809
11810
11811
11812
11813
11814
11815
11816
11817
11818
11819
11820
11821
11822
11823
11824
11825
11826
11827
11828
11829
11830
11831
11832
11833
11834
11835
11836
11837
11838
11839
11840
11841
11842
11843
11844
11845
11846
11847
11848
11849
11850
11851
11852
11853
11854
11855
11856
11857
11858
11859
11860
11861
11862
11863
11864
11865
11866
11867
11868
11869
11870
11871
11872
11873
11874
11875
11876
11877
11878
11879
11880
11881
11882
11883
11884
11885
11886
11887
11888
11889
11890
11891
11892
11893
11894
11895
11896
11897
11898
11899
11900
11901
11902
11903
11904
11905
11906
11907
11908
11909
11910
11911
11912
11913
11914
11915
11916
11917
11918
11919
11920
11921
11922
11923
11924
11925
11926
11927
11928
11929
11930
11931
11932
11933
11934
11935
11936
11937
11938
11939
11940
11941
11942
11943
11944
11945
11946
11947
11948
11949
11950
11951
11952
11953
11954
11955
11956
11957
11958
11959
11960
11961
11962
11963
11964
11965
11966
11967
11968
11969
11970
11971
11972
11973
11974
11975
11976
11977
11978
11979
11980
11981
11982
11983
11984
11985
11986
11987
11988
11989
11990
11991
11992
11993
11994
11995
11996
11997
11998
11999
12000
12001
12002
12003
12004
12005
12006
12007
12008
12009
12010
12011
12012
12013
12014
12015
12016
12017
12018
12019
12020
12021
12022
12023
12024
12025
12026
12027
12028
12029
12030
12031
12032
12033
12034
12035
12036
12037
12038
12039
12040
12041
12042
12043
12044
12045
12046
12047
12048
12049
12050
12051
12052
12053
12054
12055
12056
12057
12058
12059
12060
12061
12062
12063
12064
12065
12066
12067
12068
12069
12070
12071
12072
12073
12074
12075
12076
12077
12078
12079
12080
12081
12082
12083
12084
12085
12086
12087
12088
12089
12090
12091
12092
12093
12094
12095
12096
12097
12098
12099
12100
12101
12102
12103
12104
12105
12106
12107
12108
12109
12110
12111
12112
12113
12114
12115
12116
12117
12118
12119
12120
12121
12122
12123
12124
12125
12126
12127
12128
12129
12130
12131
12132
12133
12134
12135
12136
12137
12138
12139
12140
12141
12142
12143
12144
12145
12146
12147
12148
12149
12150
12151
12152
12153
12154
12155
12156
12157
12158
12159
12160
12161
12162
12163
12164
12165
12166
12167
12168
12169
12170
12171
12172
12173
12174
12175
12176
12177
12178
12179
12180
12181
12182
12183
12184
12185
12186
12187
12188
12189
12190
12191
12192
12193
12194
12195
12196
12197
12198
12199
12200
12201
12202
12203
12204
12205
12206
12207
12208
12209
12210
12211
12212
12213
12214
12215
12216
12217
12218
12219
12220
12221
12222
12223
12224
12225
12226
12227
12228
12229
12230
12231
12232
12233
12234
12235
12236
12237
12238
12239
12240
12241
12242
12243
12244
12245
12246
12247
12248
12249
12250
12251
12252
12253
12254
12255
12256
12257
12258
12259
12260
12261
12262
12263
12264
12265
12266
12267
12268
12269
12270
12271
12272
12273
12274
12275
12276
12277
12278
12279
12280
12281
12282
12283
12284
12285
12286
12287
12288
12289
12290
12291
12292
12293
12294
12295
12296
12297
12298
12299
12300
12301
12302
12303
12304
12305
12306
12307
12308
12309
12310
12311
12312
12313
12314
12315
12316
12317
12318
12319
12320
12321
12322
12323
12324
12325
12326
12327
12328
12329
12330
12331
12332
12333
12334
12335
12336
12337
12338
12339
12340
12341
12342
12343
12344
12345
12346
12347
12348
12349
12350
12351
12352
12353
12354
12355
12356
12357
12358
12359
12360
12361
12362
12363
12364
12365
12366
12367
12368
12369
12370
12371
12372
12373
12374
12375
12376
12377
12378
12379
12380
12381
12382
12383
12384
12385
12386
12387
12388
12389
12390
12391
12392
12393
12394
12395
12396
12397
12398
12399
12400
12401
12402
12403
12404
12405
12406
12407
12408
12409
12410
12411
12412
12413
12414
12415
12416
12417
12418
12419
12420
12421
12422
12423
12424
12425
12426
12427
12428
12429
12430
12431
12432
12433
12434
12435
12436
12437
12438
12439
12440
12441
12442
12443
12444
12445
12446
12447
12448
12449
12450
12451
12452
12453
12454
12455
12456
12457
12458
12459
12460
12461
12462
12463
12464
12465
12466
12467
12468
12469
12470
12471
12472
12473
12474
12475
12476
12477
12478
12479
12480
12481
12482
12483
12484
12485
12486
12487
12488
12489
12490
12491
12492
12493
12494
12495
12496
12497
12498
12499
12500
12501
12502
12503
12504
12505
12506
12507
12508
12509
12510
12511
12512
12513
12514
12515
12516
12517
12518
12519
12520
12521
12522
12523
12524
12525
12526
12527
12528
12529
12530
12531
12532
12533
12534
12535
12536
12537
12538
12539
12540
12541
12542
12543
12544
12545
12546
12547
12548
12549
12550
12551
12552
12553
12554
12555
12556
12557
12558
12559
12560
12561
12562
12563
12564
12565
12566
12567
12568
12569
12570
12571
12572
12573
12574
12575
12576
12577
12578
12579
12580
12581
12582
12583
12584
12585
12586
12587
12588
12589
12590
12591
12592
12593
12594
12595
12596
12597
12598
12599
12600
12601
12602
12603
12604
12605
12606
12607
12608
12609
12610
12611
12612
12613
12614
12615
12616
12617
12618
12619
12620
12621
12622
12623
12624
12625
12626
12627
12628
12629
12630
12631
12632
12633
12634
12635
12636
12637
12638
12639
12640
12641
12642
12643
12644
12645
12646
12647
12648
12649
12650
12651
12652
12653
12654
12655
12656
12657
12658
12659
12660
12661
12662
12663
12664
12665
12666
12667
12668
12669
12670
12671
12672
12673
12674
12675
12676
12677
12678
12679
12680
12681
12682
12683
12684
12685
12686
12687
12688
12689
12690
12691
12692
12693
12694
12695
12696
12697
12698
12699
12700
12701
12702
12703
12704
12705
12706
12707
12708
12709
12710
12711
12712
12713
12714
12715
12716
12717
12718
12719
12720
12721
12722
12723
12724
12725
12726
12727
12728
12729
12730
12731
12732
12733
12734
12735
12736
12737
12738
12739
12740
12741
12742
12743
12744
12745
12746
12747
12748
12749
12750
12751
12752
12753
12754
12755
12756
12757
12758
12759
12760
12761
12762
12763
12764
12765
12766
12767
12768
12769
12770
12771
12772
12773
12774
12775
12776
12777
12778
12779
12780
12781
12782
12783
12784
12785
12786
12787
12788
12789
12790
12791
12792
12793
12794
12795
12796
12797
12798
12799
12800
12801
12802
12803
12804
12805
12806
12807
12808
12809
12810
12811
12812
12813
12814
12815
12816
12817
12818
12819
12820
12821
12822
12823
12824
12825
12826
12827
12828
12829
12830
12831
12832
12833
12834
12835
12836
12837
12838
12839
12840
12841
12842
12843
12844
12845
12846
12847
12848
12849
12850
12851
12852
12853
12854
12855
12856
12857
12858
12859
12860
12861
12862
12863
12864
12865
12866
12867
12868
12869
12870
12871
12872
12873
12874
12875
12876
12877
12878
12879
12880
12881
12882
12883
12884
12885
12886
12887
12888
12889
12890
12891
12892
12893
12894
12895
12896
12897
12898
12899
12900
12901
12902
12903
12904
12905
12906
12907
12908
12909
12910
12911
12912
12913
12914
12915
12916
12917
12918
12919
12920
12921
12922
12923
12924
12925
12926
12927
12928
12929
12930
12931
12932
12933
12934
12935
12936
12937
12938
12939
12940
12941
12942
12943
12944
12945
12946
12947
12948
12949
12950
12951
12952
12953
12954
12955
12956
12957
12958
12959
12960
12961
12962
12963
12964
12965
12966
12967
12968
12969
12970
12971
12972
12973
12974
12975
12976
12977
12978
12979
12980
12981
12982
12983
12984
12985
12986
12987
12988
12989
12990
12991
12992
12993
12994
12995
12996
12997
12998
12999
13000
13001
13002
13003
13004
13005
13006
13007
13008
13009
13010
13011
13012
13013
13014
13015
13016
13017
13018
13019
13020
13021
13022
13023
13024
13025
13026
13027
13028
13029
13030
13031
13032
13033
13034
13035
13036
13037
13038
13039
13040
13041
13042
13043
13044
13045
13046
13047
13048
13049
13050
13051
13052
13053
13054
13055
13056
13057
13058
13059
13060
13061
13062
13063
13064
13065
13066
13067
13068
13069
13070
13071
13072
13073
13074
13075
13076
13077
13078
13079
13080
13081
13082
13083
13084
13085
13086
13087
13088
13089
13090
13091
13092
13093
13094
13095
13096
13097
13098
13099
13100
13101
13102
13103
13104
13105
13106
13107
13108
13109
13110
13111
13112
13113
13114
13115
13116
13117
13118
13119
13120
13121
13122
13123
13124
13125
13126
13127
13128
13129
13130
13131
13132
13133
13134
13135
13136
13137
13138
13139
13140
13141
13142
13143
13144
13145
13146
13147
13148
13149
13150
13151
13152
13153
13154
13155
13156
13157
13158
13159
13160
13161
13162
13163
13164
13165
13166
13167
13168
13169
13170
13171
13172
13173
13174
13175
13176
13177
13178
13179
13180
13181
13182
13183
13184
13185
13186
13187
13188
13189
13190
13191
13192
13193
13194
13195
13196
13197
13198
13199
13200
13201
13202
13203
13204
13205
13206
13207
13208
13209
13210
13211
13212
13213
13214
13215
13216
13217
13218
13219
13220
13221
13222
13223
13224
13225
13226
13227
13228
13229
13230
13231
13232
13233
13234
13235
13236
13237
13238
13239
13240
13241
13242
13243
13244
13245
13246
13247
13248
13249
13250
13251
13252
13253
13254
13255
13256
13257
13258
13259
13260
13261
13262
13263
13264
13265
13266
13267
13268
13269
13270
13271
13272
13273
13274
13275
13276
13277
13278
13279
13280
13281
13282
13283
13284
13285
13286
13287
13288
13289
13290
13291
13292
13293
13294
13295
13296
13297
13298
13299
13300
13301
13302
13303
13304
13305
13306
13307
13308
13309
13310
13311
13312
13313
13314
13315
13316
13317
13318
13319
13320
13321
13322
13323
13324
13325
13326
13327
13328
13329
13330
13331
13332
13333
13334
13335
13336
13337
13338
13339
13340
13341
13342
13343
13344
13345
13346
13347
13348
13349
13350
13351
13352
13353
13354
13355
13356
13357
13358
13359
13360
13361
13362
13363
13364
13365
13366
13367
13368
13369
13370
13371
13372
13373
13374
13375
13376
13377
13378
13379
13380
13381
13382
13383
13384
13385
13386
13387
13388
13389
13390
13391
13392
13393
13394
13395
13396
13397
13398
13399
13400
13401
13402
13403
13404
13405
13406
13407
13408
13409
13410
13411
13412
13413
13414
13415
13416
13417
13418
13419
13420
13421
13422
13423
13424
13425
13426
13427
13428
13429
13430
13431
13432
13433
13434
13435
13436
13437
13438
13439
13440
13441
13442
13443
13444
13445
13446
13447
13448
13449
13450
13451
13452
13453
13454
13455
13456
13457
13458
13459
13460
13461
13462
13463
13464
13465
13466
13467
13468
13469
13470
13471
13472
13473
13474
13475
13476
13477
13478
13479
13480
13481
13482
13483
13484
13485
13486
13487
13488
13489
13490
13491
13492
13493
13494
13495
13496
13497
13498
13499
13500
13501
13502
13503
13504
13505
13506
13507
13508
13509
13510
13511
13512
13513
13514
13515
13516
13517
13518
13519
13520
13521
13522
13523
13524
13525
13526
13527
13528
13529
13530
13531
13532
13533
13534
13535
13536
13537
13538
13539
13540
13541
13542
13543
13544
13545
13546
13547
13548
13549
13550
13551
13552
13553
13554
13555
13556
13557
13558
13559
13560
13561
13562
13563
13564
13565
13566
13567
13568
13569
13570
13571
13572
13573
13574
13575
13576
13577
13578
13579
13580
13581
13582
13583
13584
13585
13586
13587
13588
13589
13590
13591
13592
13593
13594
13595
13596
13597
13598
13599
13600
13601
13602
13603
13604
13605
13606
13607
13608
13609
13610
13611
13612
13613
13614
13615
13616
13617
13618
13619
13620
13621
13622
13623
13624
13625
13626
13627
13628
13629
13630
13631
13632
13633
13634
13635
13636
13637
13638
13639
13640
13641
13642
13643
13644
13645
13646
13647
13648
13649
13650
13651
13652
13653
13654
13655
13656
13657
13658
13659
13660
13661
13662
13663
13664
13665
13666
13667
13668
13669
13670
13671
13672
13673
13674
13675
13676
13677
13678
13679
13680
13681
13682
13683
13684
13685
13686
13687
13688
13689
13690
13691
13692
13693
13694
13695
13696
13697
13698
13699
13700
13701
13702
13703
13704
13705
13706
13707
13708
13709
13710
13711
13712
13713
13714
13715
13716
13717
13718
13719
13720
13721
13722
13723
13724
13725
13726
13727
13728
13729
13730
13731
13732
13733
13734
13735
13736
13737
13738
13739
13740
13741
13742
13743
13744
13745
13746
13747
13748
13749
13750
13751
13752
13753
13754
13755
13756
13757
13758
13759
13760
13761
13762
13763
13764
13765
13766
13767
13768
13769
13770
13771
13772
13773
13774
13775
13776
13777
13778
13779
13780
13781
13782
13783
13784
13785
13786
13787
13788
13789
13790
13791
13792
13793
13794
13795
13796
13797
13798
13799
13800
13801
13802
13803
13804
13805
13806
13807
13808
13809
13810
13811
13812
13813
13814
13815
13816
13817
13818
13819
13820
13821
13822
13823
13824
13825
13826
13827
13828
13829
13830
13831
13832
13833
13834
13835
13836
13837
13838
13839
13840
13841
13842
13843
13844
13845
13846
13847
13848
13849
13850
13851
13852
13853
13854
13855
13856
13857
13858
13859
13860
13861
13862
13863
13864
13865
13866
13867
13868
13869
13870
13871
13872
13873
13874
13875
13876
13877
13878
13879
13880
13881
13882
13883
13884
13885
13886
13887
13888
13889
13890
13891
13892
13893
13894
13895
13896
13897
13898
13899
13900
13901
13902
13903
13904
13905
13906
13907
13908
13909
13910
13911
13912
13913
13914
13915
13916
13917
13918
13919
13920
13921
13922
13923
13924
13925
13926
13927
13928
13929
13930
13931
13932
13933
13934
13935
13936
13937
13938
13939
13940
13941
13942
13943
13944
13945
13946
13947
13948
13949
13950
13951
13952
13953
13954
13955
13956
13957
13958
13959
13960
13961
13962
13963
13964
13965
13966
13967
13968
13969
13970
13971
13972
13973
13974
13975
13976
13977
13978
13979
13980
13981
13982
13983
13984
13985
13986
13987
13988
13989
13990
13991
13992
13993
13994
13995
13996
13997
13998
13999
14000
14001
14002
14003
14004
14005
14006
14007
14008
14009
14010
14011
14012
14013
14014
14015
14016
14017
14018
14019
14020
14021
14022
14023
14024
14025
14026
14027
14028
14029
14030
14031
14032
14033
14034
14035
14036
14037
14038
14039
14040
14041
14042
14043
14044
14045
14046
14047
14048
14049
14050
14051
14052
14053
14054
14055
14056
14057
14058
14059
14060
14061
14062
14063
14064
14065
14066
14067
14068
14069
14070
14071
14072
14073
14074
14075
14076
14077
14078
14079
14080
14081
14082
14083
14084
14085
14086
14087
14088
14089
14090
14091
14092
14093
14094
14095
14096
14097
14098
14099
14100
14101
14102
14103
14104
14105
14106
14107
14108
14109
14110
14111
14112
14113
14114
14115
14116
14117
14118
14119
14120
14121
14122
14123
14124
14125
14126
14127
14128
14129
14130
14131
14132
14133
14134
14135
14136
14137
14138
14139
14140
14141
14142
14143
14144
14145
14146
14147
14148
14149
14150
14151
14152
14153
14154
14155
14156
14157
14158
14159
14160
14161
14162
14163
14164
14165
14166
14167
14168
14169
14170
14171
14172
14173
14174
14175
14176
14177
14178
14179
14180
14181
14182
14183
14184
14185
14186
14187
14188
14189
14190
14191
14192
14193
14194
14195
14196
14197
14198
14199
14200
14201
14202
14203
14204
14205
14206
14207
14208
14209
14210
14211
14212
14213
14214
14215
14216
14217
14218
14219
14220
14221
14222
14223
14224
14225
14226
14227
14228
14229
14230
14231
14232
14233
14234
14235
14236
14237
14238
14239
14240
14241
14242
14243
14244
14245
14246
14247
14248
14249
14250
14251
14252
14253
14254
14255
14256
14257
14258
14259
14260
14261
14262
14263
14264
14265
14266
14267
14268
14269
14270
14271
14272
14273
14274
14275
14276
14277
14278
14279
14280
14281
14282
14283
14284
14285
14286
14287
14288
14289
14290
14291
14292
14293
14294
14295
14296
14297
14298
14299
14300
14301
14302
14303
14304
14305
14306
14307
14308
14309
14310
14311
14312
14313
14314
14315
14316
14317
14318
14319
14320
14321
14322
14323
14324
14325
14326
14327
14328
14329
14330
14331
14332
14333
14334
14335
14336
14337
14338
14339
14340
14341
14342
14343
14344
14345
14346
14347
14348
14349
14350
14351
14352
14353
14354
14355
14356
14357
14358
14359
14360
14361
14362
14363
14364
14365
14366
14367
14368
14369
14370
14371
14372
14373
14374
14375
14376
14377
14378
14379
14380
14381
14382
14383
14384
14385
14386
14387
14388
14389
14390
14391
14392
14393
14394
14395
14396
14397
14398
14399
14400
14401
14402
14403
14404
14405
14406
14407
14408
14409
14410
14411
14412
14413
14414
14415
14416
14417
14418
14419
14420
14421
14422
14423
14424
14425
14426
14427
14428
14429
14430
14431
14432
14433
14434
14435
14436
14437
14438
14439
14440
14441
14442
14443
14444
14445
14446
14447
14448
14449
14450
14451
14452
14453
14454
14455
14456
14457
14458
14459
14460
14461
14462
14463
14464
14465
14466
14467
14468
14469
14470
14471
14472
14473
14474
14475
14476
14477
14478
14479
14480
14481
14482
14483
14484
14485
14486
14487
14488
14489
14490
14491
14492
14493
14494
14495
14496
14497
14498
14499
14500
14501
14502
14503
14504
14505
14506
14507
14508
14509
14510
14511
14512
14513
14514
14515
14516
14517
14518
14519
14520
14521
14522
14523
14524
14525
14526
14527
14528
14529
14530
14531
14532
14533
14534
14535
14536
14537
14538
14539
14540
14541
14542
14543
14544
14545
14546
14547
14548
14549
14550
14551
14552
14553
14554
14555
14556
14557
14558
14559
14560
14561
14562
14563
14564
14565
14566
14567
14568
14569
14570
14571
14572
14573
14574
14575
14576
14577
14578
14579
14580
14581
14582
14583
14584
14585
14586
14587
14588
14589
14590
14591
14592
14593
14594
14595
14596
14597
14598
14599
14600
14601
14602
14603
14604
14605
14606
14607
14608
14609
14610
14611
14612
14613
14614
14615
14616
14617
14618
14619
14620
14621
14622
14623
14624
14625
14626
14627
14628
14629
14630
14631
14632
14633
14634
14635
14636
14637
14638
14639
14640
14641
14642
14643
14644
14645
14646
14647
14648
14649
14650
14651
14652
14653
14654
14655
14656
14657
14658
14659
14660
14661
14662
14663
14664
14665
14666
14667
14668
14669
14670
14671
14672
14673
14674
14675
14676
14677
14678
14679
14680
14681
14682
14683
14684
14685
14686
14687
14688
14689
14690
14691
14692
14693
14694
14695
14696
14697
14698
14699
14700
14701
14702
14703
14704
14705
14706
14707
14708
14709
14710
14711
14712
14713
14714
14715
14716
14717
14718
14719
14720
14721
14722
14723
14724
14725
14726
14727
14728
14729
14730
14731
14732
14733
14734
14735
14736
14737
14738
14739
14740
14741
14742
14743
14744
14745
14746
14747
14748
14749
14750
14751
14752
14753
14754
14755
14756
14757
14758
14759
14760
14761
14762
14763
14764
14765
14766
14767
14768
14769
14770
14771
14772
14773
14774
14775
14776
14777
14778
14779
14780
14781
14782
14783
14784
14785
14786
14787
14788
14789
14790
14791
14792
14793
14794
14795
14796
14797
14798
14799
14800
14801
14802
14803
14804
14805
14806
14807
14808
14809
14810
14811
14812
14813
14814
14815
14816
14817
14818
14819
14820
14821
14822
14823
14824
14825
14826
14827
14828
14829
14830
14831
14832
14833
14834
14835
14836
14837
14838
14839
14840
14841
14842
14843
14844
14845
14846
14847
14848
14849
14850
14851
14852
14853
14854
14855
14856
14857
14858
14859
14860
14861
14862
14863
14864
14865
14866
14867
14868
14869
14870
14871
14872
14873
14874
14875
14876
14877
14878
14879
14880
14881
14882
14883
14884
14885
14886
14887
14888
14889
14890
14891
14892
14893
14894
14895
14896
14897
14898
14899
14900
14901
14902
14903
14904
14905
14906
14907
14908
14909
14910
14911
14912
14913
14914
14915
14916
14917
14918
14919
14920
14921
14922
14923
14924
14925
14926
14927
14928
14929
14930
14931
14932
14933
14934
14935
14936
14937
14938
14939
14940
14941
14942
14943
14944
14945
14946
14947
14948
14949
14950
14951
14952
14953
14954
14955
14956
14957
14958
14959
14960
14961
14962
14963
14964
14965
14966
14967
14968
14969
14970
14971
14972
14973
14974
14975
14976
14977
14978
14979
14980
14981
14982
14983
14984
14985
14986
14987
14988
14989
14990
14991
14992
14993
14994
14995
14996
14997
14998
14999
15000
15001
15002
15003
15004
15005
15006
15007
15008
15009
15010
15011
15012
15013
15014
15015
15016
15017
15018
15019
15020
15021
15022
15023
15024
15025
15026
15027
15028
15029
15030
15031
15032
15033
15034
15035
15036
15037
15038
15039
15040
15041
15042
15043
15044
15045
15046
15047
15048
15049
15050
15051
15052
15053
15054
15055
15056
15057
15058
15059
15060
15061
15062
15063
15064
15065
15066
15067
15068
15069
15070
15071
15072
15073
15074
15075
15076
15077
15078
15079
15080
15081
15082
15083
15084
15085
15086
15087
15088
15089
15090
15091
15092
15093
15094
15095
15096
15097
15098
15099
15100
15101
15102
15103
15104
15105
15106
15107
15108
15109
15110
15111
15112
15113
15114
15115
15116
15117
15118
15119
15120
15121
15122
15123
15124
15125
15126
15127
15128
15129
15130
15131
15132
15133
15134
15135
15136
15137
15138
15139
15140
15141
15142
15143
15144
15145
15146
15147
15148
15149
15150
15151
15152
15153
15154
15155
15156
15157
15158
15159
15160
15161
15162
15163
15164
15165
15166
15167
15168
15169
15170
15171
15172
15173
15174
15175
15176
15177
15178
15179
15180
15181
15182
15183
15184
15185
15186
15187
15188
15189
15190
15191
15192
15193
15194
15195
15196
15197
15198
15199
15200
15201
15202
15203
15204
15205
15206
15207
15208
15209
15210
15211
15212
15213
15214
15215
15216
15217
15218
15219
15220
15221
15222
15223
15224
15225
15226
15227
15228
15229
15230
15231
15232
15233
15234
15235
15236
15237
15238
15239
15240
15241
15242
15243
15244
15245
15246
15247
15248
15249
15250
15251
15252
15253
15254
15255
15256
15257
15258
15259
15260
15261
15262
15263
15264
15265
15266
15267
15268
15269
15270
15271
15272
15273
15274
15275
15276
15277
15278
15279
15280
15281
15282
15283
15284
15285
15286
15287
15288
15289
15290
15291
15292
15293
15294
15295
15296
15297
15298
15299
15300
15301
15302
15303
15304
15305
15306
15307
15308
15309
15310
15311
15312
15313
15314
15315
15316
15317
15318
15319
15320
15321
15322
15323
15324
15325
15326
15327
15328
15329
15330
15331
15332
15333
15334
15335
15336
15337
15338
15339
15340
15341
15342
15343
15344
15345
15346
15347
15348
15349
15350
15351
15352
15353
15354
15355
15356
15357
15358
15359
15360
15361
15362
15363
15364
15365
15366
15367
15368
15369
15370
15371
15372
15373
15374
15375
15376
15377
15378
15379
15380
15381
15382
15383
15384
15385
15386
15387
15388
15389
15390
15391
15392
15393
15394
15395
15396
15397
15398
15399
15400
15401
15402
15403
15404
15405
15406
15407
15408
15409
15410
15411
15412
15413
15414
15415
15416
15417
15418
15419
15420
15421
15422
15423
15424
15425
15426
15427
15428
15429
15430
15431
15432
15433
15434
15435
15436
15437
15438
15439
15440
15441
15442
15443
15444
15445
15446
15447
15448
15449
15450
15451
15452
15453
15454
15455
15456
15457
15458
15459
15460
15461
15462
15463
15464
15465
15466
15467
15468
15469
15470
15471
15472
15473
15474
15475
15476
15477
15478
15479
15480
15481
15482
15483
15484
15485
15486
15487
15488
15489
15490
15491
15492
15493
15494
15495
15496
15497
15498
15499
15500
15501
15502
15503
15504
15505
15506
15507
15508
15509
15510
15511
15512
15513
15514
15515
15516
15517
15518
15519
15520
15521
15522
15523
15524
15525
15526
15527
15528
15529
15530
15531
15532
15533
15534
15535
15536
15537
15538
15539
15540
15541
15542
15543
15544
15545
15546
15547
15548
15549
15550
15551
15552
15553
15554
15555
15556
15557
15558
15559
15560
15561
15562
15563
15564
15565
15566
15567
15568
15569
15570
15571
15572
15573
15574
15575
15576
15577
15578
15579
15580
15581
15582
15583
15584
15585
15586
15587
15588
15589
15590
15591
15592
15593
15594
15595
15596
15597
15598
15599
15600
15601
15602
15603
15604
15605
15606
15607
15608
15609
15610
15611
15612
15613
15614
15615
15616
15617
15618
15619
15620
15621
15622
15623
15624
15625
15626
15627
15628
15629
15630
15631
15632
15633
15634
15635
15636
15637
15638
15639
15640
15641
15642
15643
15644
15645
15646
15647
15648
15649
15650
15651
15652
15653
15654
15655
15656
15657
15658
15659
15660
15661
15662
15663
15664
15665
15666
15667
15668
15669
15670
15671
15672
15673
15674
15675
15676
15677
15678
15679
15680
15681
15682
15683
15684
15685
15686
15687
15688
15689
15690
15691
15692
15693
15694
15695
15696
15697
15698
15699
15700
15701
15702
15703
15704
15705
15706
15707
15708
15709
15710
15711
15712
15713
15714
15715
15716
15717
15718
15719
15720
15721
15722
15723
15724
15725
15726
15727
15728
15729
15730
15731
15732
15733
15734
15735
15736
15737
15738
15739
15740
15741
15742
15743
15744
15745
15746
15747
15748
15749
15750
15751
15752
15753
15754
15755
15756
15757
15758
15759
15760
15761
15762
15763
15764
15765
15766
15767
15768
15769
15770
15771
15772
15773
15774
15775
15776
15777
15778
15779
15780
15781
15782
15783
15784
15785
15786
15787
15788
15789
15790
15791
15792
15793
15794
15795
15796
15797
15798
15799
15800
15801
15802
15803
15804
15805
15806
15807
15808
15809
15810
15811
15812
15813
15814
15815
15816
15817
15818
15819
15820
15821
15822
15823
15824
15825
15826
15827
15828
15829
15830
15831
15832
15833
15834
15835
15836
15837
15838
15839
15840
15841
15842
15843
15844
15845
15846
15847
15848
15849
15850
15851
15852
15853
15854
15855
15856
15857
15858
15859
15860
15861
15862
15863
15864
15865
15866
15867
15868
15869
15870
15871
15872
15873
15874
15875
15876
15877
15878
15879
15880
15881
15882
15883
15884
15885
15886
15887
15888
15889
15890
15891
15892
15893
15894
15895
15896
15897
15898
15899
15900
15901
15902
15903
15904
15905
15906
15907
15908
15909
15910
15911
15912
15913
15914
15915
15916
15917
15918
15919
15920
15921
15922
15923
15924
15925
15926
15927
15928
15929
15930
15931
15932
15933
15934
15935
15936
15937
15938
15939
15940
15941
15942
15943
15944
15945
15946
15947
15948
15949
15950
15951
15952
15953
15954
15955
15956
15957
15958
15959
15960
15961
15962
15963
15964
15965
15966
15967
15968
15969
15970
15971
15972
15973
15974
15975
15976
15977
15978
15979
15980
15981
15982
15983
15984
15985
15986
15987
15988
15989
15990
15991
15992
15993
15994
15995
15996
15997
15998
15999
16000
16001
16002
16003
16004
16005
16006
16007
16008
16009
16010
16011
16012
16013
16014
16015
16016
16017
16018
16019
16020
16021
16022
16023
16024
16025
16026
16027
16028
16029
16030
16031
16032
16033
16034
16035
16036
16037
16038
16039
16040
16041
16042
16043
16044
16045
16046
16047
16048
16049
16050
16051
16052
16053
16054
16055
16056
16057
16058
16059
16060
16061
16062
16063
16064
16065
16066
16067
16068
16069
16070
16071
16072
16073
16074
16075
16076
16077
16078
16079
16080
16081
16082
16083
16084
16085
16086
16087
16088
16089
16090
16091
16092
16093
16094
16095
16096
16097
16098
16099
16100
16101
16102
16103
16104
16105
16106
16107
16108
16109
16110
16111
16112
16113
16114
16115
16116
16117
16118
16119
16120
16121
16122
16123
16124
16125
16126
16127
16128
16129
16130
16131
16132
16133
16134
16135
16136
16137
16138
16139
16140
16141
16142
16143
16144
16145
16146
16147
16148
16149
16150
16151
16152
16153
16154
16155
16156
16157
16158
16159
16160
16161
16162
16163
16164
16165
16166
16167
16168
16169
16170
16171
16172
16173
16174
16175
16176
16177
16178
16179
16180
16181
16182
16183
16184
16185
16186
16187
16188
16189
16190
16191
16192
16193
16194
16195
16196
16197
16198
16199
16200
16201
16202
16203
16204
16205
16206
16207
16208
16209
16210
16211
16212
16213
16214
16215
16216
16217
16218
16219
16220
16221
16222
16223
16224
16225
16226
16227
16228
16229
16230
16231
16232
16233
16234
16235
16236
16237
16238
16239
16240
16241
16242
16243
16244
16245
16246
16247
16248
16249
16250
16251
16252
16253
16254
16255
16256
16257
16258
16259
16260
16261
16262
16263
16264
16265
16266
16267
16268
16269
16270
16271
16272
16273
16274
16275
16276
16277
16278
16279
16280
16281
16282
16283
16284
16285
16286
16287
16288
16289
16290
16291
16292
16293
16294
16295
16296
16297
16298
16299
16300
16301
16302
16303
16304
16305
16306
16307
16308
16309
16310
16311
16312
16313
16314
16315
16316
16317
16318
16319
16320
16321
16322
16323
16324
16325
16326
16327
16328
16329
16330
16331
16332
16333
16334
16335
16336
16337
16338
16339
16340
16341
16342
16343
16344
16345
16346
16347
16348
16349
16350
16351
16352
16353
16354
16355
16356
16357
16358
16359
16360
16361
16362
16363
16364
16365
16366
16367
16368
16369
16370
16371
16372
16373
16374
16375
16376
16377
16378
16379
16380
16381
16382
16383
16384
16385
16386
16387
16388
16389
16390
16391
16392
16393
16394
16395
16396
16397
16398
16399
16400
16401
16402
16403
16404
16405
16406
16407
16408
16409
16410
16411
16412
16413
16414
16415
16416
16417
16418
16419
16420
16421
16422
16423
16424
16425
16426
16427
16428
16429
16430
16431
16432
16433
16434
16435
16436
16437
16438
16439
16440
16441
16442
16443
16444
16445
16446
16447
16448
16449
16450
16451
16452
16453
16454
16455
16456
16457
16458
16459
16460
16461
16462
16463
16464
16465
16466
16467
16468
16469
16470
16471
16472
16473
16474
16475
16476
16477
16478
16479
16480
16481
16482
16483
16484
16485
16486
16487
16488
16489
16490
16491
16492
16493
16494
16495
16496
16497
16498
16499
16500
16501
16502
16503
16504
16505
16506
16507
16508
16509
16510
16511
16512
16513
16514
16515
16516
16517
16518
16519
16520
16521
16522
16523
16524
16525
16526
16527
16528
16529
16530
16531
16532
16533
16534
16535
16536
16537
16538
16539
16540
16541
16542
16543
16544
16545
16546
16547
16548
16549
16550
16551
16552
16553
16554
16555
16556
16557
16558
16559
16560
16561
16562
16563
16564
16565
16566
16567
16568
16569
16570
16571
16572
16573
16574
16575
16576
16577
16578
16579
16580
16581
16582
16583
16584
16585
16586
16587
16588
16589
16590
16591
16592
16593
16594
16595
16596
16597
16598
16599
16600
16601
16602
16603
16604
16605
16606
16607
16608
16609
16610
16611
16612
16613
16614
16615
16616
16617
16618
16619
16620
16621
16622
16623
16624
16625
16626
16627
16628
16629
16630
16631
16632
16633
16634
16635
16636
16637
16638
16639
16640
16641
16642
16643
16644
16645
16646
16647
16648
16649
16650
16651
16652
16653
16654
16655
16656
16657
16658
16659
16660
16661
16662
16663
16664
16665
16666
16667
16668
16669
16670
16671
16672
16673
16674
16675
16676
16677
16678
16679
16680
16681
16682
16683
16684
16685
16686
16687
16688
16689
16690
16691
16692
16693
16694
16695
16696
16697
16698
16699
16700
16701
16702
16703
16704
16705
16706
16707
16708
16709
16710
16711
16712
16713
16714
16715
16716
16717
16718
16719
16720
16721
16722
16723
16724
16725
16726
16727
16728
16729
16730
16731
16732
16733
16734
16735
16736
16737
16738
16739
16740
16741
16742
16743
16744
16745
16746
16747
16748
16749
16750
16751
16752
16753
16754
16755
16756
16757
16758
16759
16760
16761
16762
16763
16764
16765
16766
16767
16768
16769
16770
16771
16772
16773
16774
16775
16776
16777
16778
16779
16780
16781
16782
16783
16784
16785
16786
16787
16788
16789
16790
16791
16792
16793
16794
16795
16796
16797
16798
16799
16800
16801
16802
16803
16804
16805
16806
16807
16808
16809
16810
16811
16812
16813
16814
16815
16816
16817
16818
16819
16820
16821
16822
16823
16824
16825
16826
16827
16828
16829
16830
16831
16832
16833
16834
16835
16836
16837
16838
16839
16840
16841
16842
16843
16844
16845
16846
16847
16848
16849
16850
16851
16852
16853
16854
16855
16856
16857
16858
16859
16860
16861
16862
16863
16864
16865
16866
16867
16868
16869
16870
16871
16872
16873
16874
16875
16876
16877
16878
16879
16880
16881
16882
16883
16884
16885
16886
16887
16888
16889
16890
16891
16892
16893
16894
16895
16896
16897
16898
16899
16900
16901
16902
16903
16904
16905
16906
16907
16908
16909
16910
16911
16912
16913
16914
16915
16916
16917
16918
16919
16920
16921
16922
16923
16924
16925
16926
16927
16928
16929
16930
16931
16932
16933
16934
16935
16936
16937
16938
16939
16940
16941
16942
16943
16944
16945
16946
16947
16948
16949
16950
16951
16952
16953
16954
16955
16956
16957
16958
16959
16960
16961
16962
16963
16964
16965
16966
16967
16968
16969
16970
16971
16972
16973
16974
16975
16976
16977
16978
16979
16980
16981
16982
16983
16984
16985
16986
16987
16988
16989
16990
16991
16992
16993
16994
16995
16996
16997
16998
16999
17000
17001
17002
17003
17004
17005
17006
17007
17008
17009
17010
17011
17012
17013
17014
17015
17016
17017
17018
17019
17020
17021
17022
17023
17024
17025
17026
17027
17028
17029
17030
17031
17032
17033
17034
17035
17036
17037
17038
17039
17040
17041
17042
17043
17044
17045
17046
17047
17048
17049
17050
17051
17052
17053
17054
17055
17056
17057
17058
17059
17060
17061
17062
17063
17064
17065
17066
17067
17068
17069
17070
17071
17072
17073
17074
17075
17076
17077
17078
17079
17080
17081
17082
17083
17084
17085
17086
17087
17088
17089
17090
17091
17092
17093
17094
17095
17096
17097
17098
17099
17100
17101
17102
17103
17104
17105
17106
17107
17108
17109
17110
17111
17112
17113
17114
17115
17116
17117
17118
17119
17120
17121
17122
17123
17124
17125
17126
17127
17128
17129
17130
17131
17132
17133
17134
17135
17136
17137
17138
17139
17140
17141
17142
17143
17144
17145
17146
17147
17148
17149
17150
17151
17152
17153
17154
17155
17156
17157
17158
17159
17160
17161
17162
17163
17164
17165
17166
17167
17168
17169
17170
17171
17172
17173
17174
17175
17176
17177
17178
17179
17180
17181
17182
17183
17184
17185
17186
17187
17188
17189
17190
17191
17192
17193
17194
17195
17196
17197
17198
17199
17200
17201
17202
17203
17204
17205
17206
17207
17208
17209
17210
17211
17212
17213
17214
17215
17216
17217
17218
17219
17220
17221
17222
17223
17224
17225
17226
17227
17228
17229
17230
17231
17232
17233
17234
17235
17236
17237
17238
17239
17240
17241
17242
17243
17244
17245
17246
17247
17248
17249
17250
17251
17252
17253
17254
17255
17256
17257
17258
17259
17260
17261
17262
17263
17264
17265
17266
17267
17268
17269
17270
17271
17272
17273
17274
17275
17276
17277
17278
17279
17280
17281
17282
17283
17284
17285
17286
17287
17288
17289
17290
17291
17292
17293
17294
17295
17296
17297
17298
17299
17300
17301
17302
17303
17304
17305
17306
17307
17308
17309
17310
17311
17312
17313
17314
17315
17316
17317
17318
17319
17320
17321
17322
17323
17324
17325
17326
17327
17328
17329
17330
17331
17332
17333
17334
17335
17336
17337
17338
17339
17340
17341
17342
17343
17344
17345
17346
17347
17348
17349
17350
17351
17352
17353
17354
17355
17356
17357
17358
17359
17360
17361
17362
17363
17364
17365
17366
17367
17368
17369
17370
17371
17372
17373
17374
17375
17376
17377
17378
17379
17380
17381
17382
17383
17384
17385
17386
17387
17388
17389
17390
17391
17392
17393
17394
17395
17396
17397
17398
17399
17400
17401
17402
17403
17404
17405
17406
17407
17408
17409
17410
17411
17412
17413
17414
17415
17416
17417
17418
17419
17420
17421
17422
17423
17424
17425
17426
17427
17428
17429
17430
17431
17432
17433
17434
17435
17436
17437
17438
17439
17440
17441
17442
17443
17444
17445
17446
17447
17448
17449
17450
17451
17452
17453
17454
17455
17456
17457
17458
17459
17460
17461
17462
17463
17464
17465
17466
17467
17468
17469
17470
17471
17472
17473
17474
17475
17476
17477
17478
17479
17480
17481
17482
17483
17484
17485
17486
17487
17488
17489
17490
17491
17492
17493
17494
17495
17496
17497
17498
17499
17500
17501
17502
17503
17504
17505
17506
17507
17508
17509
17510
17511
17512
17513
17514
17515
17516
17517
17518
17519
17520
17521
17522
17523
17524
17525
17526
17527
17528
17529
17530
17531
17532
17533
17534
17535
17536
17537
17538
17539
17540
17541
17542
17543
17544
17545
17546
17547
17548
17549
17550
17551
17552
17553
17554
17555
17556
17557
17558
17559
17560
17561
17562
17563
17564
17565
17566
17567
17568
17569
17570
17571
17572
17573
17574
17575
17576
17577
17578
17579
17580
17581
17582
17583
17584
17585
17586
17587
17588
17589
17590
17591
17592
17593
17594
17595
17596
17597
17598
17599
17600
17601
17602
17603
17604
17605
17606
17607
17608
17609
17610
17611
17612
17613
17614
17615
17616
17617
17618
17619
17620
17621
17622
17623
17624
17625
17626
17627
17628
17629
17630
17631
17632
17633
17634
17635
17636
17637
17638
17639
17640
17641
17642
17643
17644
17645
17646
17647
17648
17649
17650
17651
17652
17653
17654
17655
17656
17657
17658
17659
17660
17661
17662
17663
17664
17665
17666
17667
17668
17669
17670
17671
17672
17673
17674
17675
17676
17677
17678
17679
17680
17681
17682
17683
17684
17685
17686
17687
17688
17689
17690
17691
17692
17693
17694
17695
17696
17697
17698
17699
17700
17701
17702
17703
17704
17705
17706
17707
17708
17709
17710
17711
17712
17713
17714
17715
17716
17717
17718
17719
17720
17721
17722
17723
17724
17725
17726
17727
17728
17729
17730
17731
17732
17733
17734
17735
17736
17737
17738
17739
17740
17741
17742
17743
17744
17745
17746
17747
17748
17749
17750
17751
17752
17753
17754
17755
17756
17757
17758
17759
17760
17761
17762
17763
17764
17765
17766
17767
17768
17769
17770
17771
17772
17773
17774
17775
17776
17777
17778
17779
17780
17781
17782
17783
17784
17785
17786
17787
17788
17789
17790
17791
17792
17793
17794
17795
17796
17797
17798
17799
17800
17801
17802
17803
17804
17805
17806
17807
17808
17809
17810
17811
17812
17813
17814
17815
17816
17817
17818
17819
17820
17821
17822
17823
17824
17825
17826
17827
17828
17829
17830
17831
17832
17833
17834
17835
17836
17837
17838
17839
17840
17841
17842
17843
17844
17845
17846
17847
17848
17849
17850
17851
17852
17853
17854
17855
17856
17857
17858
17859
17860
17861
17862
17863
17864
17865
17866
17867
17868
17869
17870
17871
17872
17873
17874
17875
17876
17877
17878
17879
17880
17881
17882
17883
17884
17885
17886
17887
17888
17889
17890
17891
17892
17893
17894
17895
17896
17897
17898
17899
17900
17901
17902
17903
17904
17905
17906
17907
17908
17909
17910
17911
17912
17913
17914
17915
17916
17917
17918
17919
17920
17921
17922
17923
17924
17925
17926
17927
17928
17929
17930
17931
17932
17933
17934
17935
17936
17937
17938
17939
17940
17941
17942
17943
17944
17945
17946
17947
17948
17949
17950
17951
17952
17953
17954
17955
17956
17957
17958
17959
17960
17961
17962
17963
17964
17965
17966
17967
17968
17969
17970
17971
17972
17973
17974
17975
17976
17977
17978
17979
17980
17981
17982
17983
17984
17985
17986
17987
17988
17989
17990
17991
17992
17993
17994
17995
17996
17997
17998
17999
18000
18001
18002
18003
18004
18005
18006
18007
18008
18009
18010
18011
18012
18013
18014
18015
18016
18017
18018
18019
18020
18021
18022
18023
18024
18025
18026
18027
18028
18029
18030
18031
18032
18033
18034
18035
18036
18037
18038
18039
18040
18041
18042
18043
18044
18045
18046
18047
18048
18049
18050
18051
18052
18053
18054
18055
18056
18057
18058
18059
18060
18061
18062
18063
18064
18065
18066
18067
18068
18069
18070
18071
18072
18073
18074
18075
18076
18077
18078
18079
18080
18081
18082
18083
18084
18085
18086
18087
18088
18089
18090
18091
18092
18093
18094
18095
18096
18097
18098
18099
18100
18101
18102
18103
18104
18105
18106
18107
18108
18109
18110
18111
18112
18113
18114
18115
18116
18117
18118
18119
18120
18121
18122
18123
18124
18125
18126
18127
18128
18129
18130
18131
18132
18133
18134
18135
18136
18137
18138
18139
18140
18141
18142
18143
18144
18145
18146
18147
18148
18149
18150
18151
18152
18153
18154
18155
18156
18157
18158
18159
18160
18161
18162
18163
18164
18165
18166
18167
18168
18169
18170
18171
18172
18173
18174
18175
18176
18177
18178
18179
18180
18181
18182
18183
18184
18185
18186
18187
18188
18189
18190
18191
18192
18193
18194
18195
18196
18197
18198
18199
18200
18201
18202
18203
18204
18205
18206
18207
18208
18209
18210
18211
18212
18213
18214
18215
18216
18217
18218
18219
18220
18221
18222
18223
18224
18225
18226
18227
18228
18229
18230
18231
18232
18233
18234
18235
18236
18237
18238
18239
18240
18241
18242
18243
18244
18245
18246
18247
18248
18249
18250
18251
18252
18253
18254
18255
18256
18257
18258
18259
18260
18261
18262
18263
18264
18265
18266
18267
18268
18269
18270
18271
18272
18273
18274
18275
18276
18277
18278
18279
18280
18281
18282
18283
18284
18285
18286
18287
18288
18289
18290
18291
18292
18293
18294
18295
18296
18297
18298
18299
18300
18301
18302
18303
18304
18305
18306
18307
18308
18309
18310
18311
18312
18313
18314
18315
18316
18317
18318
18319
18320
18321
18322
18323
18324
18325
18326
18327
18328
18329
18330
18331
18332
18333
18334
18335
18336
18337
18338
18339
18340
18341
18342
18343
18344
18345
18346
18347
18348
18349
18350
18351
18352
18353
18354
18355
18356
18357
18358
18359
18360
18361
18362
18363
18364
18365
18366
18367
18368
18369
18370
18371
18372
18373
18374
18375
18376
18377
18378
18379
18380
18381
18382
18383
18384
18385
18386
18387
18388
18389
18390
18391
18392
18393
18394
18395
18396
18397
18398
18399
18400
18401
18402
18403
18404
18405
18406
18407
18408
18409
18410
18411
18412
18413
18414
18415
18416
18417
18418
18419
18420
18421
18422
18423
18424
18425
18426
18427
18428
18429
18430
18431
18432
18433
18434
18435
18436
18437
18438
18439
18440
18441
18442
18443
18444
18445
18446
18447
18448
18449
18450
18451
18452
18453
18454
18455
18456
18457
18458
18459
18460
18461
18462
18463
18464
18465
18466
18467
18468
18469
18470
18471
18472
18473
18474
18475
18476
18477
18478
18479
18480
18481
18482
18483
18484
18485
18486
18487
18488
18489
18490
18491
18492
18493
18494
18495
18496
18497
18498
18499
18500
18501
18502
18503
18504
18505
18506
18507
18508
18509
18510
18511
18512
18513
18514
18515
18516
18517
18518
18519
18520
18521
18522
18523
18524
18525
18526
18527
18528
18529
18530
18531
18532
18533
18534
18535
18536
18537
18538
18539
18540
18541
18542
18543
18544
18545
18546
18547
18548
18549
18550
18551
18552
18553
18554
18555
18556
18557
18558
18559
18560
18561
18562
18563
18564
18565
18566
18567
18568
18569
18570
18571
18572
18573
18574
18575
18576
18577
18578
18579
18580
18581
18582
18583
18584
18585
18586
18587
18588
18589
18590
18591
18592
18593
18594
18595
18596
18597
18598
18599
18600
18601
18602
18603
18604
18605
18606
18607
18608
18609
18610
18611
18612
18613
18614
18615
18616
18617
18618
18619
18620
18621
18622
18623
18624
18625
18626
18627
18628
18629
18630
18631
18632
18633
18634
18635
18636
18637
18638
18639
18640
18641
18642
18643
18644
18645
18646
18647
18648
18649
18650
18651
18652
18653
18654
18655
18656
18657
18658
18659
18660
18661
18662
18663
18664
18665
18666
18667
18668
18669
18670
18671
18672
18673
18674
18675
18676
18677
18678
18679
18680
18681
18682
18683
18684
18685
18686
18687
18688
18689
18690
18691
18692
18693
18694
18695
18696
18697
18698
18699
18700
18701
18702
18703
18704
18705
18706
18707
18708
18709
18710
18711
18712
18713
18714
18715
18716
18717
18718
18719
18720
18721
18722
18723
18724
18725
18726
18727
18728
18729
18730
18731
18732
18733
18734
18735
18736
18737
18738
18739
18740
18741
18742
18743
18744
18745
18746
18747
18748
18749
18750
18751
18752
18753
18754
18755
18756
18757
18758
18759
18760
18761
18762
18763
18764
18765
18766
18767
18768
18769
18770
18771
18772
18773
18774
18775
18776
18777
18778
18779
18780
18781
18782
18783
18784
18785
18786
18787
18788
18789
18790
18791
18792
18793
18794
18795
18796
18797
18798
18799
18800
18801
18802
18803
18804
18805
18806
18807
18808
18809
18810
18811
18812
18813
18814
18815
18816
18817
18818
18819
18820
18821
18822
18823
18824
18825
18826
18827
18828
18829
18830
18831
18832
18833
18834
18835
18836
18837
18838
18839
18840
18841
18842
18843
18844
18845
18846
18847
18848
18849
18850
18851
18852
18853
18854
18855
18856
18857
18858
18859
18860
18861
18862
18863
18864
18865
18866
18867
18868
18869
18870
18871
18872
18873
18874
18875
18876
18877
18878
18879
18880
18881
18882
18883
18884
18885
18886
18887
18888
18889
18890
18891
18892
18893
18894
18895
18896
18897
18898
18899
18900
18901
18902
18903
18904
18905
18906
18907
18908
18909
18910
18911
18912
18913
18914
18915
18916
18917
18918
18919
18920
18921
18922
18923
18924
18925
18926
18927
18928
18929
18930
18931
18932
18933
18934
18935
18936
18937
18938
18939
18940
18941
18942
18943
18944
18945
18946
18947
18948
18949
18950
18951
18952
18953
18954
18955
18956
18957
18958
18959
18960
18961
18962
18963
18964
18965
18966
18967
18968
18969
18970
18971
18972
18973
18974
18975
18976
18977
18978
18979
18980
18981
18982
18983
18984
18985
18986
18987
18988
18989
18990
18991
18992
18993
18994
18995
18996
18997
18998
18999
19000
19001
19002
19003
19004
19005
19006
19007
19008
19009
19010
19011
19012
19013
19014
19015
19016
19017
19018
19019
19020
19021
19022
19023
19024
19025
19026
19027
19028
19029
19030
19031
19032
19033
19034
19035
19036
19037
19038
19039
19040
19041
19042
19043
19044
19045
19046
19047
19048
19049
19050
19051
19052
19053
19054
19055
19056
19057
19058
19059
19060
19061
19062
19063
19064
19065
19066
19067
19068
19069
19070
19071
19072
19073
19074
19075
19076
19077
19078
19079
19080
19081
19082
19083
19084
19085
19086
19087
19088
19089
19090
19091
19092
19093
19094
19095
19096
19097
19098
19099
19100
19101
19102
19103
19104
19105
19106
19107
19108
19109
19110
19111
19112
19113
19114
19115
19116
19117
19118
19119
19120
19121
19122
19123
19124
19125
19126
19127
19128
19129
19130
19131
19132
19133
19134
19135
19136
19137
19138
19139
19140
19141
19142
19143
19144
19145
19146
19147
19148
19149
19150
19151
19152
19153
19154
19155
19156
19157
19158
19159
19160
19161
19162
19163
19164
19165
19166
19167
19168
19169
19170
19171
19172
19173
19174
19175
19176
19177
19178
19179
19180
19181
19182
19183
19184
19185
19186
19187
19188
19189
19190
19191
19192
19193
19194
19195
19196
19197
19198
19199
19200
19201
19202
19203
19204
19205
19206
19207
19208
19209
19210
19211
19212
19213
19214
19215
19216
19217
19218
19219
19220
19221
19222
19223
19224
19225
19226
19227
19228
19229
19230
19231
19232
19233
19234
19235
19236
19237
19238
19239
19240
19241
19242
19243
19244
19245
19246
19247
19248
19249
19250
19251
19252
19253
19254
19255
19256
19257
19258
19259
19260
19261
19262
19263
19264
19265
19266
19267
19268
19269
19270
19271
19272
19273
19274
19275
19276
19277
19278
19279
19280
19281
19282
19283
19284
19285
19286
19287
19288
19289
19290
19291
19292
19293
19294
19295
19296
19297
19298
19299
19300
19301
19302
19303
19304
19305
19306
19307
19308
19309
19310
19311
19312
19313
19314
19315
19316
19317
19318
19319
19320
19321
19322
19323
19324
19325
19326
19327
19328
19329
19330
19331
19332
19333
19334
19335
19336
19337
19338
19339
19340
19341
19342
19343
19344
19345
19346
19347
19348
19349
19350
19351
19352
19353
19354
19355
19356
19357
19358
19359
19360
19361
19362
19363
19364
19365
19366
19367
19368
19369
19370
19371
19372
19373
19374
19375
19376
19377
19378
19379
19380
19381
19382
19383
19384
19385
19386
19387
19388
19389
19390
19391
19392
19393
19394
19395
19396
19397
19398
19399
19400
19401
19402
19403
19404
19405
19406
19407
19408
19409
19410
19411
19412
19413
19414
19415
19416
19417
19418
19419
19420
19421
19422
19423
19424
19425
19426
19427
19428
19429
19430
19431
19432
19433
19434
19435
19436
19437
19438
19439
19440
19441
19442
19443
19444
19445
19446
19447
19448
19449
19450
19451
19452
19453
19454
19455
19456
19457
19458
19459
19460
19461
19462
19463
19464
19465
19466
19467
19468
19469
19470
19471
19472
19473
19474
19475
19476
19477
19478
19479
19480
19481
19482
19483
19484
19485
19486
19487
19488
19489
19490
19491
19492
19493
19494
19495
19496
19497
19498
19499
19500
19501
19502
19503
19504
19505
19506
19507
19508
19509
19510
19511
19512
19513
19514
19515
19516
19517
19518
19519
19520
19521
19522
19523
19524
19525
19526
19527
19528
19529
19530
19531
19532
19533
19534
19535
19536
19537
19538
19539
19540
19541
19542
19543
19544
19545
19546
19547
19548
19549
19550
19551
19552
19553
19554
19555
19556
19557
19558
19559
19560
19561
19562
19563
19564
19565
19566
19567
19568
19569
19570
19571
19572
19573
19574
19575
19576
19577
19578
19579
19580
19581
19582
19583
19584
19585
19586
19587
19588
19589
19590
19591
19592
19593
19594
19595
19596
19597
19598
19599
19600
19601
19602
19603
19604
19605
19606
19607
19608
19609
19610
19611
19612
19613
19614
19615
19616
19617
19618
19619
19620
19621
19622
19623
19624
19625
19626
19627
19628
19629
19630
19631
19632
19633
19634
19635
19636
19637
19638
19639
19640
19641
19642
19643
19644
19645
19646
19647
19648
19649
19650
19651
19652
19653
19654
19655
19656
19657
19658
19659
19660
19661
19662
19663
19664
19665
19666
19667
19668
19669
19670
19671
19672
19673
19674
19675
19676
19677
19678
19679
19680
19681
19682
19683
19684
19685
19686
19687
19688
19689
19690
19691
19692
19693
19694
19695
19696
19697
19698
19699
19700
19701
19702
19703
19704
19705
19706
19707
19708
19709
19710
19711
19712
19713
19714
19715
19716
19717
19718
19719
19720
19721
19722
19723
19724
19725
19726
19727
19728
19729
19730
19731
19732
19733
19734
19735
19736
19737
19738
19739
19740
19741
19742
19743
19744
19745
19746
19747
19748
19749
19750
19751
19752
19753
19754
19755
19756
19757
19758
19759
19760
19761
19762
19763
19764
19765
19766
19767
19768
19769
19770
19771
19772
19773
19774
19775
19776
19777
19778
19779
19780
19781
19782
19783
19784
19785
19786
19787
19788
19789
19790
19791
19792
19793
19794
19795
19796
19797
19798
19799
19800
19801
19802
19803
19804
19805
19806
19807
19808
19809
19810
19811
19812
19813
19814
19815
19816
19817
19818
19819
19820
19821
19822
19823
19824
19825
19826
19827
19828
19829
19830
19831
19832
19833
19834
19835
19836
19837
19838
19839
19840
19841
19842
19843
19844
19845
19846
19847
19848
19849
19850
19851
19852
19853
19854
19855
19856
19857
19858
19859
19860
19861
19862
19863
19864
19865
19866
19867
19868
19869
19870
19871
19872
19873
19874
19875
19876
19877
19878
19879
19880
19881
19882
19883
19884
19885
19886
19887
19888
19889
19890
19891
19892
19893
19894
19895
19896
19897
19898
19899
19900
19901
19902
19903
19904
19905
19906
19907
19908
19909
19910
19911
19912
19913
19914
19915
19916
19917
19918
19919
19920
19921
19922
19923
19924
19925
19926
19927
19928
19929
19930
19931
19932
19933
19934
19935
19936
19937
19938
19939
19940
19941
19942
19943
19944
19945
19946
19947
19948
19949
19950
19951
19952
19953
19954
19955
19956
19957
19958
19959
19960
19961
19962
19963
19964
19965
19966
19967
19968
19969
19970
19971
19972
19973
19974
19975
19976
19977
19978
19979
19980
19981
19982
19983
19984
19985
19986
19987
19988
19989
19990
19991
19992
19993
19994
19995
19996
19997
19998
19999
20000
20001
20002
20003
20004
20005
20006
20007
20008
20009
20010
20011
20012
20013
20014
20015

<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional//EN">
<html lang="en">
<head>
<title>The Life of St. Teresa of Jesus</title>
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1">
</head>
<body>


<pre>

Project Gutenberg's The Life of St. Teresa of Jesus, by Teresa of Avila

Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.

This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file.  Please do not remove it.  Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.

Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file.  Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
how the file may be used.  You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.


**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****


Title: The Life of St. Teresa of Jesus

Author: Teresa of Avila

Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8120]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on June 16, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF ST. TERESA OF JESUS ***




Produced by Elizabeth T. Knuth





</pre>


<p><small>Transcriber's Note: Corrections suggested in the
Corrigenda, p. [viii] of the original text, have been made.
Section number added for L 3.9, since both the translator's
preface and the index refer to it.  Footnotes gathered at the ends
of chapters.  Typographical errors in two Scriptural quotations
have been corrected: In L 21 note 10, I have changed &#34;Quæ
præparavit Deus iis qui&#34; to &#34;Quæ præparavit Deus his
qui;&#34; and in L 29 note 12, I have changed &#34;As the
longing of the heart&#34; to &#34;As the longing of
the hart.&#34;</small></p>
<p><big><a name="halftp">The Life</a></big><br>
<small>of</small><br>
<big><big>St. Teresa of Jesus</big></big></p>
<p><a name="halftpve">Re-imprimatur.</a><br>
+ Franciscus<br>
Archiepiscopus Westmonast.</p>
<p>Die 27 Sept., 1904.</p>
<h1><a name="tp">The Life</a><br>
<small><small>of</small></small><br>
St. Teresa of Jesus,<br>
<small>of the Order of Our Lady of Carmel.</small></h1>
<p>Written by Herself.</p>
<p>Translated from the Spanish by<br>
<big>David Lewis.</big></p>
<p><strong>Third Edition Enlarged.</strong></p>
<p>With additional Notes and an Introduction by<br>
Rev. Fr. Benedict Zimmerman, O.C.D.</p>
<table summary="Places of publication, and publishers."
cellpadding="10">
<tr><td><p> <br>
 London: <br>
 Thomas Baker </p></td>
<td><p> <br>
 New York: <br>
 Benziger Bros. </p></td></tr>
</table>
<p>MCMIV.</p>
<h2><a name="contents">Contents.</a></h2>
<p><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr></p>
<p><a href="#intro">Introduction to the Third Edition</a>, by
<abbr title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> <abbr
title="Benedict">B.</abbr> Zimmerman</p>
<p><a href="#argument"><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's
Arguments of the Chapters</a></p>
<p><a href="#preface">Preface</a> by David Lewis</p>
<p><a href="#annals">Annals of the Saint's Life</a></p>
<p><a href="#prologue">Prologue</a></p>
<p><a href="#l1.0">I</a>. Childhood and early Impressions--The
Blessing of pious Parents--Desire of Martyrdom--Death of the Saint's
Mother</p>
<p><a href="#l2.0">II</a>. Early Impressions--Dangerous Books and
Companions--The Saint is placed in a Monastery</p>
<p><a href="#l3.0">III</a>. The Blessing of being with good
people--How certain Illusions were removed</p>
<p><a href="#l4.0">IV</a>. Our Lord helps her to become a
Nun--Her many Infirmities</p>
<p><a href="#l5.0">V</a>. Illness and Patience of the Saint--The
Story of a Priest whom she rescued from a Life of Sin</p>
<p><a href="#l6.0">VI</a>. The great Debt she owed to our Lord
for His Mercy to her--She takes <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph
for her Patron</p>
<p><a href="#l7.0">VII</a>. Lukewarmness--The Loss of
Grace--Inconvenience of Laxity in Religious Houses</p>
<p><a href="#l8.0">VIII</a>. The Saint ceases not to pray--Prayer
the way to recover what is lost--All exhorted to pray--The great
Advantage of Prayer, even to those who may have ceased from it</p>
<p><a href="#l9.0">IX</a>. The means whereby our Lord quickened
her Soul, gave her Light in her Darkness, and made her strong
in Goodness</p>
<p><a href="#l10.0">X</a>. The Graces she received in
Prayer--What we can do ourselves--The great Importance of
understanding what our Lord is doing for us--She desires her
Confessors to keep her Writings secret, because of the special Graces
of our Lord to her, which they had commanded her to describe</p>
<p><a href="#l11.0">XI</a>. Why men do not attain quickly to the
perfect Love of God--Of Four Degrees of Prayer--Of the First
Degree--The Doctrine profitable for Beginners, and for those who have
no sensible Sweetness</p>
<p><a href="#l12.0">XII</a>. What we can ourselves do--The Evil
of desiring to attain to supernatural States before our Lord
calls us</p>
<p><a href="#l13.0">XIII</a>. Of certain Temptations of
Satan--Instructions relating thereto</p>
<p><a href="#l14.0">XIV</a>. The Second State of Prayer--Its
supernatural Character</p>
<p><a href="#l15.0">XV</a>. Instructions for those who have
attained to the Prayer of Quiet--Many advance so far, but few
go farther</p>
<p><a href="#l16.0">XVI</a>. The Third State of Prayer--Deep
Matters--What the Soul can do that has reached it--Effects of the
great Graces of our Lord</p>
<p><a href="#l17.0">XVII</a>. The Third State of Prayer--The
Effects thereof--The Hindrance caused by the Imagination and
the Memory</p>
<p><a href="#l18.0">XVIII</a>. The Fourth State of Prayer--The
great Dignity of the Soul raised to it by our Lord--Attainable on
Earth, not by our Merit, but by the Goodness of our Lord</p>
<p><a href="#l19.0">XIX</a>. The Effects of this Fourth State of
Prayer--Earnest Exhortations to those who have attained to it not to
go back nor to cease from Prayer, even if they fall--The great
Calamity of going back</p>
<p><a href="#l20.0">XX</a>. The Difference between Union and
Rapture--What Rapture is--The Blessing it is to the Soul--The Effects
of it</p>
<p><a href="#l21.0">XXI</a>. Conclusion of the Subject--Pain of
the Awakening--Light against Delusions</p>
<p><a href="#l22.0">XXII</a>. The Security of Contemplatives lies
in their not ascending to high Things if our Lord does not raise
them--The Sacred Humanity must be the Road to the highest
Contemplation--A Delusion in which the Saint was once entangled</p>
<p><a href="#l23.0">XXIII</a>. The Saint resumes the History of
her Life--Aiming at Perfection--Means whereby it may be
gained--Instructions for Confessors</p>
<p><a href="#l24.0">XXIV</a>. Progress under Obedience--Her
Inability to resist the Graces of God--God multiplies His Graces</p>
<p><a href="#l25.0">XXV</a>. Divine Locutions--Delusions on
that Subject</p>
<p><a href="#l26.0">XXVI</a>. How the Fears of the Saint
vanished--How she was assured that her Prayer was the Work of the
Holy Spirit</p>
<p><a href="#l27.0">XXVII</a>. The Saint prays to be directed in
a different way--Intellectual Visions</p>
<p><a href="#l28.0">XXVIII</a>. Visions of the Sacred Humanity
and of the glorified Bodies--Imaginary Visions--Great Fruits thereof
when they come from God</p>
<p><a href="#l29.0">XXIX</a>. Of Visions--The Graces our Lord
bestowed on the Saint--The Answers our Lord gave her for those who
tried her</p>
<p><a href="#l30.0">XXX</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter
of Alcantara comforts the Saint--Great Temptations and
Interior Trials</p>
<p><a href="#l31.0">XXXI</a>. Of certain outward Temptations and
Appearances of Satan--Of the Sufferings thereby occasioned--Counsels
for those who go on unto Perfection</p>
<p><a href="#l32.0">XXXII</a>. Our Lord shows <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa the Place which she had by her Sins
deserved in Hell--The Torments there--How the Monastery of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph was founded</p>
<p><a href="#l33.0">XXXIII</a>. The Foundation of the Monastery
hindered--Our Lord consoles the Saint</p>
<p><a href="#l34.0">XXXIV</a>. The Saint leaves her Monastery of
the Incarnation for a time, at the command of her superior--Consoles
an afflicted Widow</p>
<p><a href="#l35.0">XXXV</a>. The Foundation of the House of
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph--Observance of holy Poverty
therein--How the Saint left Toledo</p>
<p><a href="#l36.0">XXXVI</a>. The Foundation of the Monastery of
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph--Persecution and
Temptations--Great interior Trial of the Saint, and
her Deliverance</p>
<p><a href="#l37.0">XXXVII</a>. The Effects of the divine Graces
in the Soul--The inestimable Greatness of one Degree of Glory</p>
<p><a href="#l38.0">XXXVIII</a>. Certain heavenly Secrets,
Visions, and Revelations--The Effects of them in her Soul</p>
<p><a href="#l39.0">XXXIX</a>. Other Graces bestowed on the Saint--The
Promises of our Lord to her--Divine Locutions and Visions</p>
<p><a href="#l40.0">XL</a>. Visions, Revelations,
and Locutions</p>
<p><big>The Relations.</big></p>
<p>Relation.</p>
<p><a href="#r1.0">I</a>. Sent to <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter of Alcantara in 1560 from the Monastery
of the Incarnation, Avila</p>
<p><a href="#r2.0">II</a>. To one of her Confessors, from the
House of Doņa Luisa de la Cerda, in 1562</p>
<p><a href="#r3.0">III</a>. Of various Graces granted to the
Saint from the year 1568 to 1571, inclusive</p>
<p><a href="#r4.0">IV</a>. Of the Graces the Saint received in
Salamanca at the end of Lent, 1571</p>
<p><a href="#r5.0">V</a>. Observations on certain Points
of Spirituality</p>
<p><a href="#r6.0">VI</a>. The Vow of Obedience to Father Gratian
which the Saint made in 1575</p>
<p><a href="#r7.0">VII</a>. Made for Rodrigo Alvarez, S.J., in
the year 1575, according to Don Vicente de la Fuente; but in 1576,
according to the Bollandists and <abbr
title="Father">F.</abbr> Bouix</p>
<p><a href="#r8.0">VIII</a>. Addressed to <abbr
title="Father">F.</abbr> Rodrigo Alvarez</p>
<p><a href="#r9.0">IX</a>. Of certain spiritual Graces she
received in Toledo and Avila in the years 1576 and 1577</p>
<p><a href="#r10.0">X</a>. Of a Revelation to the Saint at Avila,
1579, and of Directions concerning the Government of the Order</p>
<p><a href="#r11.0">XI</a>. Written from Palencia in May, 1581,
and addressed to Don Alonzo Velasquez, Bishop of Osma, who had been
when Canon of Toledo, one of the Saint's Confessors</p>
<h2><a name="intro">Introduction to the Present Edition.</a></h2>
<p>When the publisher entrusted me with the task of editing this
volume, one sheet was already printed and a considerable portion of
the book was in type.  Under his agreement with the owners of the
copyright, he was bound to reproduce the text and notes, etc.,
originally prepared by Mr. David Lewis without any change, so that my
duty was confined to reading the proofs and verifying the quotations.
This translation of the <cite>Life</cite> of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa is so excellent, that it could hardly
be improved.  While faithfully adhering to her wording, the translator
has been successful in rendering the lofty teaching in simple and
clear language, an achievement all the more remarkable as in addition
to the difficulty arising from the transcendental nature of the
subject matter, the involved style, and the total absence of
punctuation tend to perplex the reader.  Now and then there might be
some difference of opinion as to how <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Teresa's phrases should be construed, but it is not too much to say
that on the whole Mr. Lewis has been more successful than any other
translator, whether English or foreign. Only in one case have I found
it necessary to make some slight alteration in the text, and I trust
the owners of the copyright will forgive me for doing so.  In <a
href="#l25.4">Chapter XXV., § 4</a>, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, speaking of the difference between
the Divine and the imaginary locutions, says that a person commending
a matter to God with great earnestness, may think that he hears
whether his prayer will be granted or not: <i lang="es">y es muy
posible</i>, &#34;and this is quite possible,&#34; but he who has ever
heard a Divine locution will see at once that this assurance is
something quite different.  Mr. Lewis, following the old Spanish
editions, translated &#34;And it is most <em>impossible</em>,&#34;
whereas both the autograph and the context
demand the wording I have ventured to substitute.</p>
<p>When Mr. Lewis undertook the translation of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's works, he had before him Don Vicente
de la Fuente's edition (Madrid, 1861-1862), supposed to be a faithful
transcript of the original. In 1873 the <span lang="es">Sociedad
Foto-Tipografica-Catolica</span> of Madrid published a photographic
reproduction of the Saint's autograph in 412 pages in folio, which
establishes the true text once for all. Don Vicente prepared a
transcript of this, in which he wisely adopted the modern way of
spelling but otherwise preserved the original text, or at least
pretended to do so, for a minute comparison between autograph and
transcript reveals the startling fact that nearly a thousand
inaccuracies have been allowed to creep in.  Most of these variants
are immaterial, but there are some which ought not to have been
overlooked. Thus, in <a href="#l18.20">Chapter XVIII. § 20</a>, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's words are: <i lang="es">Un gran
letrado de la orden del glorioso santo Domingo</i>, while Don Vicente
retains the old reading <i lang="es">De la orden del glorioso
patriarca santo Domingo</i>.  Mr. Lewis possessed a copy of this
photographic reproduction, but utilised it only in one instance
in his second edition. [<a href="#intnote1">1</a>]</p>
<p>The publication of the autograph has settled a point of some
importance.  The Bollandists (n. 1520), discussing the question
whether the <a href="#argument">headings of the chapters (appended
to this Introduction)</a> are by <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa
or a later addition, come to the conclusion (against the authors of
the <cite lang="es">Reforma de los Descalįos</cite>) that they are
clearly an interpolation (<i lang="la">clarissime patet</i>) on
account of the praise of the doctrine contained in these arguments.
Notwithstanding their high authority the Bollandists are in this
respect perfectly wrong, the arguments are entirely in <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's own hand and are exclusively her own
work.  The <cite>Book of Foundations</cite> and the <cite>Way of
Perfection</cite> contain similar arguments in the Saint's
handwriting.  Nor need any surprise be felt at the alleged praise of
her doctrine for by saying: this chapter is most noteworthy
(<abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> XIV.), or: this is good doctrine
(<abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> XXI.), etc., she takes no credit
for herself because she never grows tired of repeating that she only
delivers the message she has received from our
Lord. [<a href="#intnote2">2</a>]  The Bollandists, not having seen the
original, may be excused, but P. Bouix (whom Mr. Lewis follows in this
matter) had no right to suppress these arguments.  It is to be hoped
that future editions of the works of <abbr
title="Saint">S.</abbr> Teresa will not again deprive the reader of
this remarkable feature of her writings. What she herself thought of
her books is best told by Yepes in a letter to Father Luis de Leon,
the first editor of her works: &#34;She was pleased when her writings
were being praised and her Order and the convents were held in esteem.
Speaking one day of the <cite>Way of Perfection</cite>, she rejoiced
to hear it praised, and said to me with great content: Some grave men
tell me that it is like Holy Scripture.  For being revealed doctrine
it seemed to her that praising her book was like
praising God.&#34; [<a href="#intnote3">3</a>]</p>
<p>A notable feature in Mr. Lewis's translation is his division of the
chapters into short paragraphs. But it appears that he rearranged the
division during the process of printing, with the result that a large
number of references were wrong.  No labour has been spared in the
correction of these, and I trust that the present edition will be the
more useful for it.  In quoting the <cite>Way of Perfection</cite> and
the <cite>Interior Castle</cite> (which he calls <cite>Inner
Fortress</cite>!) Mr. Lewis refers to similar paragraphs which,
however, are to be found in no English edition.  A new translation of
these two works is greatly needed, and, in the case of the <cite>Way
of Perfection</cite>, the manuscript of the Escurial should be
consulted as well as that of Valladolid.  Where the writings of <abbr
title="Saint">S.</abbr> John of the Cross are quoted by volume and
page, the edition referred to is the one of 1864, another of
Mr. Lewis's masterpieces.  The chapters in Ribera's Life of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa refer to the edition in the Acts of
the Saint by the Bollandists.  These and all other quotations have
been carefully verified, with the exception of those taken from the
works on Mystical theology by Antonius a Spiritu Sancto and Franciscus
a S. Thoma, which I was unable to consult.  I should have wished to
replace the quotations from antiquated editions of the Letters of our
Saint by references to the new French edition by P. Grégoire de <abbr
title="Saint">S.</abbr> Joseph (Paris, Poussielgue, 1900), which may
be considered as the standard edition.</p>
<p>In <a href="#l11note2">note 2 to <abbr
title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> XI.</a> Mr. Lewis draws attention to a
passage in a sermon by <abbr title="Saint">S.</abbr> Bernard
containing an allusion to different ways of watering a garden similar
to <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's well-known comparison.  Mr.
Lewis's quotation is incorrect, and I am not certain what sermon he
may have had in view. Something to the point may be found in sermon 22
on the Canticle (Migne, <abbr lang="la" title="Patrologia Latina">P.
L.</abbr> Vol. CLXXXIII, p. 879), and in the first sermon on the
Nativity of our Lord (ibid., p. 115), and also in a sermon on the
Canticle by one of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Bernard's disciples
(Vol. CLXXXIV., p. 195). I am indebted to the Very <abbr
title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> Prior Vincent McNabb, O.P., for the
verification of a <a href="#l20note28">quotation from <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Vincent Ferrer</a>
(<a href="#l20.31"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> XX. § 31</a>).</p>
<p>Since the publication of Mr. Lewis's translation the uncertainty
about the date of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's profession
has been cleared up. Yepes, the Bollandists, P. Bouix, Don Vicente de
la Fuente, Mr. Lewis, and numerous other writers assume that she
entered the convent of the Incarnation [<a href="#intnote4">4</a>] on
November 2nd, 1533, and made her profession on November 3rd, 1534. The
remaining dates of events previous to her conversion are based upon
this, as will he seen from the chronology printed by Mr. Lewis at the
end of his Preface and frequently referred to in the footnotes.  It
rests, however, on inadequate evidence, namely on a single passage in
the Life [<a href="#intnote5">5</a>] where the Saint says that she was
not yet twenty years old when she made her first supernatural
experience in prayer.  She was twenty in March, 1535, and as this
event took place after her profession, the latter was supposed by
Yepes and his followers to have taken place in the previous November.
Even if we had no further evidence, the fact that <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa is not always reliable in her
calculation should have warned us not to rely too much upon a somewhat
casual statement.  In the <a href="#l1.7">first chapter, § 7</a>, she
positively asserts that she was rather less than twelve years old at
the death of her mother, whereas we know that she was at least
thirteen years and eight months old.  As to the profession we have
overwhelming evidence that it took place on the 3rd of November, 1536,
and her entrance in the convent a year and a day earlier.  To begin
with, we have the positive statement of her most intimate friends,
Julian d'Avila, Father Ribera, S.J., and Father Jerome Gratian.
Likewise doņa Maria Pinel, nun of the Incarnation, says in her
deposition: &#34;She (Teresa of Jesus) took the habit on 2 November,
1535.&#34; [<a href="#intnote6">6</a>]  This is corroborated by
various passages in the Saint's writings. Thus, in <a
href="#r7.1">Relation VII.</a>, written in 1575, she says, speaking of
herself: &#34;This nun took the habit forty years ago.&#34;  Again in
a passage of the <cite>Life</cite> written about the end of 1564 or
the beginning of the following year, [<a href="#intnote7">7</a>] she
mentions that she has been a nun for over twenty-eight years, which
points to her profession in 1536.  But there are two documents which
place the date of profession beyond dispute, namely the act of
renunciation of her right to the paternal inheritance and the deed of
dowry drawn up before a public notary.  Both bear the date 31 October,
1536.  The authors of the <cite lang="es">Reforma de los
Descalįos</cite> thought that they must have been drawn up before
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa took the habit, and therefore
placed this event in 1536 and the profession in 1537, but neither of
these documents is necessarily connected with the clothing, yet both
must have been completed before profession.  The Constitutions of
Blessed John Soreth, drawn up in 1462, which were observed at the
convent of the Incarnation, contain the following rule with regard to
the reception and training of novices: [<a href="#intnote8">8</a>] <i
lang="la">Consulimus quod recipiendus ante susceptionem habitus
expediat se de omnibus quae habet in saeculo nisi ex causa rationabili
per priorem generalem vel provincialem fuerit aliter ordinatum</i>.
There was, indeed, good reason in the case of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa to postpone these legal matters.  Her
father was much opposed to her becoming a nun, but considering his
piety it might have been expected that before the end of the year of
probation he would grant his consent (which in the event he did the
very day she took the habit), and make arrangements for the dowry.
One little detail concerning her haste in entering the convent has
been preserved by the <cite lang="es">Reforma</cite> and the
Bollandists, [<a href="#intnote9">9</a>] though neither seem to have
understood its meaning.  On leaving the convent of the Incarnation for
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's in 1563, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa handed the prioress of the former
convent a receipt for her bedding, habit and discipline.  This almost
ludicrous scrupulosity was in conformity with a decision of the
general chapter of 1342 which said: <i lang="la">Ingrediens ordinem ad
sui ipsius instantiam habeat lectisternia pro se ipso, sin autem
recipiens solvat lectum illum</i>.  As <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa entered the convent without the
knowledge of her father she did not bring this insignificant trousseau
with her; accordingly the prioress became responsible for it and
obtained a receipt when <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa went to
the new convent.  The dowry granted by Alphonso Sanchez de Cepeda to
his daughter consisted of twenty-five measures, partly wheat, partly
barley, or, in lieu thereof, two hundred ducats per annum. Few among
the numerous nuns of the Incarnation could have brought a better or
even an equal dowry.</p>
<p>The date of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's profession
being thus fixed on the 3rd of November, 1536, some other dates of the
chronology must be revised.  Her visit to Castellanos de la Caņada
must have taken place in the early part of 1537.  But already before
this time the Saint had an experience which should have proved a
warning to her, and the neglect of which she never ceased to deplore,
namely the vision of our Lord; [<a href="#intnote10">10</a>] her own
words are that this event took place &#34;at the very beginning of her
acquaintance with the person&#34; who exercised so dangerous an
influence upon her.  Mr. Lewis assigns to it the date 1542, which is
impossible seeing that instead of twenty-six it was only twenty-two
years before she wrote that passage of her life.  Moreover, it would
have fallen into the midst of her lukewarmness (according to Mr.
Lewis's chronology) instead of the very beginning.  P. Bouix rightly
assigns it to the year 1537, but as he is two years in advance of our
chronology it does not agree with the surrounding circumstances as
described by him.  Bearing in mind the hint <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa gives [<a href="#intnote11">11</a>] as
to her disposition immediately after her profession, we need not be
surprised if the first roots of her lukewarmness show themselves
so soon.</p>
<p>From Castellanos she proceeded to Hortigosa on a visit to her
uncle. While there she became acquainted with the book called <cite
lang="es">Tercer Abecedario</cite>.  Don Vicente remarks that the
earliest edition known to him was printed in 1537, which tells
strongly against the chronology of the Bollandists, P. Bouix, and
others.  Again, speaking of her cure at Bezadas she gives a valuable
hint by saying that she remained blind to certain dangers for more
than seventeen years until the Jesuit fathers finally undeceived her.
As these came to Avila in 1555 the seventeen years lead us back to
1538, which precisely coincides with her sojourn at Bezadas.  She
remained there until <i lang="es">Pascua florida</i> of the following
year.  P. Bouix and others understand by this term Palm Sunday, but
Don Vicente shows good reason that Easter Sunday is meant, which in
1539 was April the 6th.  She then returned to Avila, more dead than
alive, and remained seriously ill for nearly three years, until she
was cured through the miraculous intervention of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph about the beginning of 1542.  Now
began the period of lukewarmness which was temporally interrupted by
the illness and death of her father, in 1544 or 1545, and came to an
end about 1555.  Don Vicente, <a href="#l7note18">followed
by Mr. Lewis</a>, draws attention to what he believes to be a
&#34;proof of great laxity of the convent,&#34; that <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa should have been urged by one of her
confessors to communicate as often as once a fortnight.  It should be
understood that frequent communion such as we now see it practised was
wholly unknown in her time.  The Constitutions of the Order specified
twelve days on which all those that were not priests should
communicate, adding: <i lang="la">Verumtamen fratres professi prout
Deus eis devotionem contulerit diebus dominicis et festis
duplicibus</i> (<i>i.e.</i>, on feasts of our Lady, the Apostles,
etc.), <i lang="la">communicare poterunt si qui velint</i>.  Thus,
communicating about once a month <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa
acted as ordinary good Religious were wont to do, and by approaching
the sacrament more frequently she placed herself among the more
fervent nuns. [<a href="#intnote12">12</a>]</p>
<p><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa wrote quite a number of
different accounts of her life.  The first, addressed to Father Juan
de Padranos, S.J. [<a href="#intnote13">13</a>] and dated 1557, is now
lost.  The second, written for <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter of
Alcantara, is Relation I. at the end of this volume; a copy of it,
together with a continuation (Relation II.) was sent to Father Pedro
Ibaņez in 1562. It is somewhat difficult to admit that in the very
same year she wrote another, more extensive, account to the same
priest, which is generally called the &#34;first&#34; Life.  At the
end of the <cite>Life</cite> such as we have it now, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa wrote: &#34;This book was finished in
June, 1562,&#34; and Father Baņez wrote underneath: &#34;This date
refers to the first account which the Holy Mother Teresa of Jesus
wrote of her life; it was not then divided into chapters.  Afterwards
she made this copy and inserted in it many things which had taken
place subsequent to this date, such as the foundation of the monastery
of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph of Avila.&#34;  Elsewhere
Father Baņez says: [<a href="#intnote14">14</a>] &#34;Of one of her
books, namely, the one in which she recorded her life and the manner
of prayer whereby God had led her, I can say that she composed it to
the end that her confessors might know her the better and instruct
her, and also that it might encourage and animate those who learn from
it the great mercy God had shown her, a great sinner as she humbly
acknowledged herself to be.  This book was already written when I made
her acquaintance, her previous confessors having given her permission
to that effect.  Among these was a licentiate of the Dominican Order,
the Reverend Father Pedro Ibaņez, reader of Divinity at Avila.  She
afterwards completed and recast this book.&#34;  These two passages of
Baņez have led the biographers of the Saint to think that she wrote
her <cite>Life</cite> twice, first in 1561 and the following year,
completing it in the house of Doņa Luisa de la Cerda at Toledo, in the
month of June; and secondly between 1563 and 1565 at <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's Convent of Avila.  They have been at
pains to point out a number of places which could not have been in the
&#34;first&#34; Life, but must have been added in the
second [<a href="#intnote15">15</a>]; and they took it for granted
that the letter with which the book as we now have it concludes, was
addressed to Father Ibaņez in 1562, when the Saint sent him the
&#34;first&#34; Life. It bears neither address nor date, but from its
contents I am bound to conclude that it was written in 1565, that it
refers to the &#34;second&#34; Life, and that whomsoever it was
addressed to, it cannot have been to Father Ibaņez, who was already
dead at the time. [<a href="#intnote16">16</a>]  Saint Teresa asks the
writer to send a copy of the book to Father Juan de Avila.  Now we
know from her letters that as late as 1568 this request had not been
complied with, and that <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa had to
write twice to Doņa Luisa for this
purpose; [<a href="#intnote17">17</a>] but if she had already given
these instructions in 1562, it is altogether incomprehensible that she
did not see to it earlier, especially when the &#34;first&#34; Life
was returned to her for the purpose of copying and completing it.  The
second reason which prevents me from considering this letter as
connected with the &#34;first&#34; Life will be examined when I come
to speak of the different ends the Saint had in view when writing her
Life.  It is more difficult to say to whom the letter was really
addressed. The <cite lang="es">Reforma</cite> suggests Father Garcia
de Toledo, Dominican, who bade the Saint write the history of the
foundation of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's at
Avila [<a href="#intnote18">18</a>] and who was her confessor at that
convent. It moreover believes that he it is to whom <a
href="#l34.8">Chapter XXXIV. §§ 8-20</a> refers, and this opinion
appears to me plausible. As to the latter point, Yepes thinks the
Dominican at Toledo was Father Vicente Barron, the Bollandists offer
no opinion, and Mr. Lewis, in his first edition gives first the one
and then the other. If, as I think, Father Garcia was meant, the
passage in <a href="#l16.10">Chapter XVI. § 10</a>, beginning &#34;O,
my son,&#34; would concern him also, as well as several passages where
<i lang="es-es">Vuestra Merced</i>--you, my Father--is addressed.  For
although the book came finally into the hands of Father Baņez, it was
first delivered into those of the addressee of the letter.</p>
<p>Whether the previous paper was a mere &#34;Relation,&#34; or really
a first attempt at a &#34;Life,&#34; [<a href="#intnote19">19</a>]
there can be no dispute about its purpose: <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa speaks of it in the following terms:
&#34;I had recourse to my Dominican father (Ibaņez); I told him all
about my visions, my way of prayer, the great graces our Lord had
given me, as clearly as I could, and begged him to consider the matter
well, and tell me if there was anything therein at variance with the
Holy Writings, and give me his opinion on the whole
matter.&#34; [<a href="#intnote20">20</a>]  The account thus rendered
had the object of enabling Father Ibaņez to give her light upon the
state of her soul. But while she was drawing it up, a great change
came over her.  During <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's sojourn
at Toledo she became from a pupil an experienced master in Mystical
knowledge.  &#34;When I was there a religious&#34; (probably Father
Garcia de Toledo) &#34;with whom I had conversed occasionally some
years ago, happened to arrive. When I was at Mass in a monastery of
his Order, I felt a longing to know the state of his
soul.&#34; [<a href="#intnote21">21</a>]  Three times the Saint rose
from her seat, three times she sat down again, but at last she went to
see him in a confessional, not to ask for any light for herself, but
to give him what light she could, for she wished to induce him to
surrender himself more perfectly to God, and this she accomplished by
telling him how she had fared since their last meeting.  No one who
reads this remarkable chapter can help being struck by the change that
has come over Teresa: the period of her schooling is at an end, and
she is now the great teacher of Mystical theology.  Her humility does
not allow her to speak with the same degree of openness upon her
achievements as she did when making known her failings, yet she cannot
conceal the Gift of Wisdom she had received and the use she made
of it.</p>
<p><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's development, if
extraordinary considering the degree of spirituality she reached, was
nevertheless gradual and regular.  With her wonderful power of
analysis, she has given us not only a clear insight into her interior
progress, but also a sketch of the development of her understanding of
supernatural things.  &#34;It is now (<i>i.e.</i>, about the end of
1563) some five or six years, I believe, since our Lord raised me to
this state of prayer, in its fulness, and that more than once,--and I
never understood it, and never could explain it; and so I was
resolved, when I should come thus far in my story, to say very little
or nothing at all.&#34; [<a href="#intnote22">22</a>]  In the
following chapter she adds: &#34;You, my father, will be delighted
greatly to find an account of the matter in writing, and to understand
it; for it is one grace that our Lord gives grace; and it is another
grace to understand what grace and what gift it is; and it is another
and further grace to have the power to describe and explain it to
others. Though it does not seem that more than the first of these--the
giving of grace--is necessary, it is a great advantage and a great
grace to understand it.&#34; [<a href="#intnote23">23</a>]  These
words contain the clue to much that otherwise would be obscure in the
life of our Saint: great graces were bestowed upon her, but at first
she neither understood them herself nor was she able to describe them.
Hence the inability of her confessors and spiritual advisers to guide
her.  Her natural gifts, great though they were, did not help her
much. &#34;Though you, my father, may think that I have a quick
understanding, it is not so; for I have found out in many ways that my
understanding can take in only, as they say, what is given it to eat.
Sometimes my confessor used to be amazed at my ignorance: and he never
explained to me--nor, indeed, did I desire to understand--how God did
this, nor how it could be.  Nor did I ever
ask.&#34; [<a href="#intnote24">24</a>]  At first she was simply
bewildered by the favours shown her, afterwards she could not help
knowing, despite the fears of over anxious friends, that they did come
from God, and that so far from imperilling her soul made a different
woman of her, but even then she was not able to explain to others what
she experienced in herself.  But shortly before the foundation of
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's convent she received the last
of the three graces mentioned above, the Gift of Wisdom, and the scene
at Toledo is the first manifestation of it.</p>
<p>This explains the difference of the &#34;Life&#34; such as we know
it from the first version or the &#34;Relations&#34; preceding it.
Whatever this writing was, it still belonged to the period of her
spiritual education, whereas the volume before us is the first-fruit
of her spiritual Mastership.  The new light that had come to her
induced her confessors [<a href="#intnote25">25</a>] to demand a
detailed work embodying everything she had learned from her heavenly
Teacher. [<a href="#intnote26">26</a>]  The treatise on Mystical
theology contained in Chapters X. to XXI., the investigation of Divine
locutions, Visions and Revelations in the concluding portion of the
work could have had no place in any previous writing.  While her
experiences before she obtained the Gift of Wisdom influenced but
three persons (one of them being her father), a great many profited by
her increased knowledge. [<a href="#intnote27">27</a>]  The earlier
writings were but confidential communications to her confessors, and
if they became known to larger circles this was due to indiscretion.
But her &#34;Life&#34; was written from the beginning with a view to
publication.  Allusions to this object may be found in various
places [<a href="#intnote28">28</a>] as well as in the letter appended
to the book, [<a href="#intnote29">29</a>] but the decisive utterances
must be sought for elsewhere, namely in the &#34;Way of
Perfection.&#34; This work was written immediately after the
&#34;Life,&#34; while the Saint was as yet at the convent of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's.  It was re-written later on and is
now only known in its final shape, but the first version, the original
of which is preserved at the Escurial and has been reproduced
photographically, leaves no doubt as to the intentions of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa in writing her &#34;Life.&#34;  &#34;I
have written a few days ago a certain Relation of my Life.  But since
it might happen that my confessor may not permit you (the Sisters of
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's) to read it, I will put here
some things concerning prayer which are conformable to what I have
said there, as well as some other things which appear to me to be
necessary.&#34; [<a href="#intnote30">30</a>]  Again: &#34;As all this
is better explained in the book which I say I have written, there is
no need for me to speak of it with so much detail.  I have said there
all I know. Those of you who have been led by God to this degree of
contemplation (and I say that some have been led so far), should
procure the book because it is important for you, after I am
dead.&#34; [<a href="#intnote31">31</a>]  At the end she writes:
&#34;Since the Lord has taught you the way and has inspired me as to
what I should put in the book which I say has been written, how they
should behave who have arrived at this fountain of living water and
what the soul feels there, and how God satiates her and makes her lose
the thirst for things of this world and causes her to grow in things
pertaining to the service of God; that book, therefore, will be of
great help for those who have arrived at this state, and will give
them much light.  Procure it.  For Father Domingo Baņez, <span
lang="es">presentado</span> of the Order of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic who, as I say, is my confessor, and
to whom I shall give this, has it: if he judges that you should see
this, and gives it to you, he will also give you the
other.&#34; [<a href="#intnote32">32</a>] While the first and second
of these quotations may be found, somewhat weakened, in the final
version of the &#34;Way of Perfection,&#34; the last one is entirely
omitted. Nor need this surprise us, for Father Baņez had his own ideas
about the advisability of the publication of the &#34;Life.&#34; In
his deposition, already referred to, he says: &#34;It was not
convenient that this book should become public during her lifetime,
but rather that it should be kept at the Holy Office (the Inquisition)
until we knew the end of this person; it was therefore quite against
my will that some copies were taken while it was in the hands of the
bishop Don Alvaro Mendoza, who, being a powerful prelate and having
received it from the said Teresa of Jesus, allowed it to be copied and
showed it to his sister, doņa Maria de Mendoza; thus certain persons
taking an interest in spiritual matters and knowing already some
portions of this treatise (evidently the contents of the divulged
Relations) made further copies, one of which became the property of
the Duchess of Alba, doņa Maria Enriquez, and is now, I think, in the
hands of her daughter-in-law, doņa Maria de Toledo.  All this was
against my wish, and I was much annoyed with the said Teresa of Jesus,
though I knew well it was not her fault but the fault of those to whom
she had confided the book, and I told her she ought to burn the
original because it would never do that the writings of women should
become public property; to which she answered she was quite aware of
it and would certainly burn it if I told her to do so; but knowing her
great humility and obedience I did not dare to have it destroyed but
handed it to the Holy Office for safe-keeping, whence it has been
withdrawn since her death and published in
print.&#34; [<a href="#intnote33">33</a>] From this it will he seen
that Baņez, who had given a most favourable opinion when the
&#34;Life&#34; was denounced to the Inquisition (1574), resulting in
the approbation by Cardinal de Quiroga to the great joy of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, [<a href="#intnote34">34</a>]
returned it to the Holy Office for safety's sake.  It was withdrawn by
the <abbr title="Venerable">Ven.</abbr> Mother Anne of Jesus when the
Order had decided upon the publication of the works of the Saint, but
too late to be utilised then.  Father Luis de Leon, the editor, had to
content himself with the copy already alluded to.</p>
<p><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa wrote her &#34;Life&#34;
slowly. It was begun in spring, 1563, [<a href="#intnote35">35</a>]
and completed in May or June, 1565. She complains that she can only
work at it by stealth on account of her duties at the
distaff; [<a href="#intnote36">36</a>] but the book is written with so
much order and method, the manuscript is so free from mistakes,
corrections and erasures, that we may conclude that while spinning she
worked it out in her mind, so that the apparent delay proved most
advantageous. In this respect the &#34;Life&#34; is superior to the
first version of the &#34;Way of Perfection.&#34;  This latter work
was printed during her lifetime, though it appeared only after her
death.  In 1586 the Definitory of the province of Discalced Carmelites
decided upon the publication of the complete works of the Saint, but
for obvious reasons deemed not only the members of her own Order but
also Dominicans and Jesuits ineligible for the post of editor.  Such
of the manuscripts as could be found were therefore confided to the
Augustinian Father, Luis de Leon, professor at Salamanca, who prepared
the edition but did not live to carry it through the press.  The fact
that he did not know the autograph of the &#34;Life&#34; accounts for
the numerous inaccuracies to be found in nearly all editions, but the
publication of the original should ensure a great improvement for
the future.</p>
<p><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's canonisation took place
before the stringent laws of Urban VIII. came into force.
Consequently, the writings of the Saint were not then enquired into,
the Holy See contenting itself with the approbations granted by the
Spanish Inquisition, and by the congregation of the Rota in Rome.  A
certain number of passages selected from various works having been
denounced by some Roman theologians as being contrary to the teaching
of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Thomas Aquinas and other
authorities, Diego Alvarez, a Dominican, and John Rada, a Franciscan,
were commissioned to examine the matter and report on it.  The twelve
censures with the answers of the two theologians and the final
judgment of the Rota seem to have remained unknown to the
Bollandists. [<a href="#intnote37">37</a>]  The &#34;heavenly
doctrine&#34; of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa is alluded to
not only in the Bull of canonisation but even in the Collect of the
Mass of the Saint.</p>
<p>Concerning the English translations of the &#34;Life&#34; noticed
by Mr. Lewis it should be mentioned that the one ascribed to Abraham
Woodhead is only partly his work.  Father Bede of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Simon Stock (Walter Joseph Travers), a
Discalced Carmelite, labouring on the English Mission from 1660 till
1692, was anxious to complete the translation of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's works into English.  He had not
proceeded very far when he learnt that &#34;others were engaged in the
same task.  On enquiry he found that a new translation was
contemplated by two graduates of the University of Cambridge, converts
to the Faith, most learned and pious men, who were leading a solitary
life, spending their time and talents in the composition of
controversial and devotional works for the good of their neighbour and
the glory of God.&#34;  One of these two men was Woodhead, who,
however, was an Oxford man, but the name of the other, who must have
been a Cambridge man, is not known.  They undertook the translation
while Father Bede provided the funds and bore the risks of what was
then a dangerous work.  As there existed already two English
translations of the &#34;Life,&#34; the first volume to appear (1669)
contained the Book of Foundations, to which was prefixed the history
of the foundation of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's from the
&#34;Life.&#34;  When, therefore, the new translation of the latter
appeared, in 1671, this portion of the book was
omitted. [<a href="#intnote38">38</a>]  The translation was made direct
from the Spanish but &#34;uniformly with the Italian edition.&#34;</p>
<p>Mr. Lewis, whose translation is the fifth, was born on the 12th of
November, 1814, and died on January the 23rd, 1895.  The first edition
was printed in 1870, the second in 1888.  It is regrettable that the
latter edition, of which the present is a reprint, omitted the
marginal notes which would have been so helpful to the reader.</p>
<p><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's life and character having
always been a favourite study of men and women of various schools of
thought, it may be useful to notice here a few recent English and
foreign works on the subject:--</p>
<p><cite>The Life of Saint Teresa</cite>, by the author of
&#34;Devotions before and after Holy Communion&#34; (i.e., Miss Maria
Trench), London, 1875.</p>
<p><cite>The Life of Saint Teresa of the Order of Our Lady of Mount
Carmel</cite>.  Edited with a preface by the Archbishop of Westminster
(Cardinal Manning), London, 1865.  (By Miss Elizabeth Lockhart,
afterwards first abbess of the Franciscan convent, Notting Hill.)
Frequently reprinted.</p>
<p><cite>The Life and Letters of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Teresa</cite>, by Henry James Coleridge, S.J.  Quarterly Series.  3
<abbr title="volumes">vols</abbr> (1881, 1887, 1888).</p>
<p>And, from another point of view:</p>
<p><cite>The Life of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa</cite>, by
Gabriela Cunninghame-Graham, 2 <abbr title="volumes">vols</abbr>,
London, 1894.</p>
<p><cite lang="fr">Histoire de Sainte Thérčse d'aprčs les
Bollandistes</cite>.  2 vols, Nantes, 1882.  Frequently reprinted.
The author is <abbr lang="fr" title="Mademoiselle">Mlle.</abbr>
Adelaide Lecornu (born 5 July, 1852, died at the Carmelite convent at
Caen, 14 December, 1901.  Her name in religion was
Adelaide-Jéronyme-Zoe-Marie du Sacré-Coeur).</p>
<p>An excellent character sketch of the Saint has appeared in
the <span lang="fr">&#34;Les Saints&#34;</span> series (Paris,
Lecoffre, 1901):</p>
<p lang="fr"><cite>Sainte Thérčse</cite>, par Henri Joly.</p>
<p>Although the attempt at explaining the extraordinary phenomena in
the life of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa by animal Magnetism
and similar obscure theories had already been exploded by the
Bollandists, it has lately been revived by Professor Don Arturo
Perales Gutierrez of Granada, and Professor Don Fernando Segundo
Brieva Salvatierra of Madrid, who considered her a subject of
hysterical derangements.  The discussion carried on for some time, not
only in Spain but also in France, Germany, and other countries, has
been ably summed up and disposed of by P. Grégoire de <abbr
title="Saint">S.</abbr> Joseph: <cite lang="fr">La
prétendue Hystérie de Sainte Thérčse</cite>. Lyons.</p>
<p>The <cite lang="fr">Bibliographie Thérčsienne</cite>, by Henry de
Curzon (Paris, 1902) is, unfortunately, too incomplete, not to say
slovenly, to be of much use.</p>
<p>Finally, it is necessary to say a word about the spelling of the
name Teresa.  In Spanish and Italian it should be written without an
<i>h</i> as these languages do not admit the use of <i>Th</i>; in
English, likewise, where this combination of letters represents a
special sound, the name should be spelt with T only.  But the present
fashion of thus writing it in Latin, German, French, and other
languages, which generally maintain the etymological spelling, is
intolerable: The name is Greek, and was placed on the calendar in
honour of a noble Spanish lady, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Therasia, who became the wife of a Saint, Paulinus of Nola, and a
Saint herself. See <cite lang="fr">Sainte Thérčse, Lettres au R. P.
Bouix</cite>, by the Abbé Postel, Paris, 1864.  The derivation of the
name from the Hebrew Thersa can no longer be defended (Father
Jerome-Gratian, in Fuente, <cite lang="es">Obras</cite>, Vol. VI., p.
369 sqq.).</p>
<p>Benedict Zimmerman,<br>
Prior O.C.D.</p>
<p><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Luke's Priory,<br>
Wincanton, Somerset.<br>
16th July, 1904.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="intnote1">1</a>. <a
href="#l34note5"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> xxxiv.,
note 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote2">2</a>. <a href="#l18.11"><abbr
title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> xviii. § 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote3">3</a>. Fuente, <cite
lang="es">Obras</cite> (1881), vol. vi. p. 133.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote4">4</a>. See the licence granted by Leo X.
to the prioress and convent of the Incarnation to build another house
for the use of the said convent, and to migrate thither (Vatican
Archives, Dataria, Leo X., anno i., vol. viii., fol. 82).  Also a
licence to sell or exchange certain property belonging to it (ibid.,
anno iv., vol. vii., f. 274; and a charge to the Bishop of Avila
concerning a recourse of the said convent (ibid., anno vii., vol. iv.,
f. 24).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote5">5</a>. <a
href="#l4.9"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> iv
§ 9</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote6">6</a>. <cite lang="fr">Lettres de <abbr
title="Sainte">Ste.</abbr> Thérčse</cite>, edit. P. Grégoire de <abbr
title="Saint">S.</abbr> Joseph, vol. iii, p. 419, note 2.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote7">7</a>. <a
href="#l36.10"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> xxxvi. §
10</a>.  The date of this part of the <cite>Life</cite> can be easily
ascertained from the two following chapters.  In <a
href="#l37.18">xxxvii. § 18</a>, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa says that she is not yet fifty years
old, consequently the chapter must have been written before the end of
March, 1565; and in the next chapter, <a
href="#l38.15">xxxviii. § 15</a>, she speaks of the death
of Father Pedro Ibaņez, which appears to have taken place on 2nd
February.  This, at least, is the date under which his name appears in
the <cite lang="fr">Année Dominicaine</cite>, and the Very <abbr
title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> Prior Vincent McNabb tells me that there
is every reason to think that it is the date of
his death.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote8">8</a>. When about A.D. 1452 certain
communities of Beguines demanded affiliation to the Carmelite Order,
they were given the Constitutions of the friars without any
alterations.  These Constitutions were revised in 1462, but neither
there nor in the Acts of the General Chapters, so far as these are
preserved, is there the slightest reference to convents of nuns.  The
colophon of the printed edition (Venice, 1499) shows that they held
good for friars and nuns: <i lang="la">Expliciunt sacrae
constitutiones novae fratrum et sororum beatae Mariae de Monte
Carmelo</i>.  They contain the customary laws forbidding the friars
under pain of excommunication, to leave the
precincts of their convents without due licence, but do not enjoin
strict enclosure, which would have been incompatible with their manner
of life and their various duties. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Teresa nowhere insinuates that the Constitutions, such as they were,
were not kept at the Incarnation; her remarks in <a
href="#l7.5"><abbr title="chapter">chap.</abbr> vii.</a> are
aimed at the Constitutions themselves, which were never made for nuns,
and therefore did not provide for the needs of
their convents.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote9">9</a>. <cite lang="es">Reforma</cite> lib. i., cap.
47.  Bollandists. no. 366.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote10">10</a>. <a
href="#l7.11"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> vii.
§ 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote11">11</a>. <a
href="#l5.2"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> v.
§ 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote12">12</a>. Constitutions of 1462. Part i.,
cap. x.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote13">13</a>. <a
href="#l23.17"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> xxiii.
§ 17</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote14">14</a>. Deposition for the process of
canonisation, written in 1591.  Fuente, <cite lang="es">Obras</cite>,
vol. vi., p. 174.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote15">15</a>. See the <a
href="#l7note3">notes to chapters vii. § 11</a>; <a
href="#l16note6">xvi. § 10</a>; <a
href="#l20note6">xx. § 6</a>; <a
href="#l24note2">xxiv. § 4</a>; <a
href="#l27note16">xxvii. § 17</a>.  At the <a
href="#l31note9">end of chapter xxxi.</a> we are told on
the authority of Don Vicente that the &#34;first&#34; Life must have
ended at this point.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote16">16</a>. Bollandists,
no. 1518.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote17">17</a>. <cite lang="fr">Lettres</cite>,
edit. Grégoire. I., pp. 13 (18 May, 1568); 21 (27 May); 35
(2 November).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote18">18</a>. <cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>,
vol. i., lib. v., cap. xxxv., no. 9.  Bollandists,
no. 1518.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote19">19</a>. If the latter, it must have been
very much shorter than the second edition, and can scarcely have
contained more than the first nine chapters (perhaps verbatim) and an
account of the visions, locutions, etc., contained in chapters
xxiii.-xxxi., without comment.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote20">20</a>. <a
href="#l33.7"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> xxxiii.
§ 7</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote21">21</a>. <a
href="#l34.8"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> xxxiv.
§ 8</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote22">22</a>. <a
href="#l16.2"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> xvi.
§ 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote23">23</a>. <a
href="#l17.7"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> xvii.
§ 7</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote24">24</a>. <a
href="#l28.10"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> xxviii.
§ 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote25">25</a>. In the Prologue to the
<cite>Book of Foundations</cite>, Father Garcia de Toledo, [note
continues, p. xviii.] her confessor at <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's Convent, is said to be responsible
for the order to rewrite the &#34;Life&#34;; but in the <a
href="#prologue">Preface to the &#34;Life&#34;</a> <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa speaks of her &#34;confessors&#34; in
the plural.  Fathers Ibaņez and Baņez may be included in the number.
See also <a href="#l30.27">ch. xxx. § 27</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote26">26</a>. <a
href="#l18.11"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> xviii.
§ 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote27">27</a>. <a
href="#l13.22"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> xiii. §
22</a>.  In <a href="#l16.12"><abbr
title="chapter">chap.</abbr> xvi. § 12</a>, the Saint says: &#34;I
wish we five who now love one another in our Lord, had made some such
arrangement, etc.&#34;  Fuente is of opinion that these five were,
besides the Saint, Father Julian de Avila, Don Francisco de Salcedo,
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> John of the Cross, and Don Lorenzo de
Cepeda, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's brother: but this is
impossible at the date of this part of the &#34;Life.&#34;  It is more
probable that she meant Francisco de Salcedo, Gaspar Daza, Julian de
Avila, and Father Ibaņez, the latter being still alive in the
beginning of 1564, when this chapter was written.  It is more
difficult to say who the three confessors were whom <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa desired to see the &#34;Life&#34;
(<a href="#l40.32">ch. xl. § 32</a>).  If, as I think, the
book was first handed to Father Garcia de Toledo, the others may have
been Francisco de Salcedo, Baltasar Alvarez, and Gaspar
de Salazar.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote28">28</a>. <a
href="#l10.11"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> x. §§ 11
and 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote29">29</a>. This is the second reason why
the letter could not have been addressed to Father Ibaņez
in 1562.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote30">30</a>. Edited by Don Francisco Herrero
Bayona, 1883 p. 4.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote31">31</a>. Ibid., <abbr
title="chapter">chap.</abbr> xli. (see Dalton's translation, <abbr
title="chapter">chap.</abbr> xxv.).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote32">32</a>. Ibid., <abbr
title="chapter">chap.</abbr> lxxiii.  See the difference in Dalton's
translation, <abbr title="chapter">chap.</abbr> xlii.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote33">33</a>. Fuente, <cite
lang="es">Obras</cite>, vol. vi., p. 275.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote34">34</a>. See the following Preface, p.
xxxvii.  <cite lang="fr">Lettres</cite>, ed. Grégoire, ii., p. 65.  P.
Bertholde-Ignace, <cite lang="fr">Vie de la Mčre Anne de Jésus</cite>,
i., p. 472.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote35">35</a>. In the Prologue to the
<cite>Book of Foundations</cite>, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Teresa says that Father Garcia de Toledo ordered her to rewrite the
book the same year in which <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's
Convent was founded, <i>i.e.</i> 1562, but seeing that she only spent
a few hours there and that the principal difficulties only arose after
her return to the Incarnation, it appears more probable that Father
Garcia's command was not made until the spring of the following year,
when she went to live at <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote36">36</a>. <a
href="#l10.11"><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr> x.
§ 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote37">37</a>. See <cite lang="la">Historia
Generalis Fratrum Discalceatorum Ordinis B. Virginis Mariae de Monte
Carmelo Congregationis Eliae</cite>.  <span lang="la">Romae</span>,
1668, vol. i., pp. 340-358 ad ann. 1604.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="intnote38">38</a>. See <cite>Carmel in
England</cite>, by <abbr title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> Father B.
Zimmerman, p. 240 sqq.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h2><a name="argument"><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's
Arguments of the Chapters.</a></h2>
<p>J.H.S.</p>
<p>J.H.S. Chapter I. [<a href="#argnote1">1</a>]--In which she tells
how God [<a href="#argnote2">2</a>] began to dispose this soul from
childhood for virtue, and how she was helped by having
virtuous parents.</p>
<p>Chapter II.--How she lost these virtues and how important it is to
deal from childhood with virtuous persons.</p>
<p>Chapter III.--In which she sets forth how good company was the
means of her resuming good intentions, and in what manner God began to
give her some light on the deception to which she was subjected.</p>
<p>Chapter IV.--She explains how, with the assistance of God, she
compelled herself to take the (Religious) habit, and how His Majesty
began to send her many infirmities.</p>
<p>Chapter V.--She continues to speak of the great infirmities she
suffered and the patience God gave her to bear them, and how He turned
evil into good, as is seen from something that happened at the place
where she went for a cure.</p>
<p>Chapter VI.--Of the great debt she owes God for giving her
conformity of her will (with His) in her trials, and how she turned
towards the glorious <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph as her
helper and advocate, and how much she profited thereby.</p>
<p>Chapter VII.--Of the way whereby she lost the graces God had
granted her, and the wretched life she began to lead; she also speaks
of the danger arising from the want of a strict enclosure in convents
of nuns.</p>
<p>Chapter VIII.--Of the great advantage she derived from not entirely
abandoning prayer so as not to lose her soul; and what an excellent
remedy this is in order to win back what one has lost.  She exhorts
everybody to practise prayer, and shows what a gain it is, even if one
should have given it up for a time, to make use of so great
a good.</p>
<p>Chapter IX.--By what means God began to rouse her soul and give
light in the midst of darkness, and to strengthen her virtues so that
she should not offend Him.</p>
<p>Chapter X.--She begins to explain the graces God gave her in
prayer, and how much we can do for ourselves, and of the importance of
understanding God's mercies towards us.  She requests those to whom
this is to be sent to keep the remainder (of this book) secret, since
they have commanded her to go into so many details about the graces
God has shown her.</p>
<p>Chapter XI.--In which she sets forth how it is that we do not love
God perfectly in a short time.  She begins to expound by means of a
comparison four degrees of prayer, of the first of which she treats
here; this is most profitable for beginners and for those who find no
taste in prayer.</p>
<p>Chapter XII.--Continuation of the first state.  She declares how
far, with the grace of God, we can proceed by ourselves, and speaks of
the danger of seeking supernatural and extraordinary experiences
before God lifts up the soul.</p>
<p>Chapter XIII.--She continues to treat of the first degree, and
gives advice with respect to certain temptations sometimes sent by
Satan.  This is most profitable.</p>
<p>Chapter XIV.--She begins to explain the second degree of prayer in
which God already gives the soul special consolations, which she shows
here to be supernatural.  This is most noteworthy.</p>
<p>Chapter XV.--Continuing the same subject, she gives certain advice
how one should behave in the prayer of quiet.  She shows that many
souls advance so far, but that few go beyond.  The matters treated of
in this chapter are very necessary and profitable.</p>
<p>Chapter XVI.--On the third degree of prayer; she declares things of
an elevated nature; what the soul that has come so far can do, and the
effect of such great graces of God.  This is calculated to greatly
animate the spirit to the praise of God, and contains advice for those
who have reached this point.</p>
<p>Chapter XVII.--Continues to declare matters concerning the third
degree of prayer and completes the explanation of its effects.  She
also treats of the impediment caused by the imagination and
the memory.</p>
<p>Chapter XVIII.--She treats of the fourth degree of prayer, and
begins to explain [<a href="#argnote3">3</a>] in what high dignity God
holds a soul that has attained this state; this should animate those
who are given to prayer, to make an effort to reach so high a state
since it can be obtained in this world, though not by merit but only
through the goodness of God [<a href="#argnote4">4</a>].</p>
<p>Chapter XIX.--She continues the same subject, and begins to explain
the effects on the soul of this degree of prayer.  She earnestly
exhorts not to turn back nor to give up prayer even if, after having
received this favour, one should fall.  She shows the damage that
would result (from the neglect of this advice).  This is most
noteworthy and consoling for the weak and for sinners.</p>
<p>Chapter XX.--She speaks of the difference between Union and Trance,
and explains what a Trance is; she also says something about the good
a soul derives from being, through God's goodness, led so far.  She
speaks of the effects of Union. [<a href="#argnote5">5</a>]</p>
<p>Chapter XXI.--She continues and concludes this last degree of
prayer, and says what a soul having reached it feels when obliged to
turn back and live in the world, and speaks of the light God gives
concerning the deceits (of the world).  This is good doctrine.</p>
<p>Chapter XXII.--In which she shows that the safest way for
contemplatives is not to lift up the spirit to high things but to wait
for God to lift it up.  How the Sacred Humanity of Christ is the
medium for the most exalted contemplation.  She mentions an error
under which she laboured for some time.  This chapter is
most profitable.</p>
<p>Chapter XXIII.--She returns to the history of her life, how she
began to practise greater perfection.  This is profitable for those
who have to direct souls practising prayer that they may know how to
deal with beginners, and she speaks of the profit she derived from
such knowledge.</p>
<p>Chapter XXIV.--She continues the same subject and tells how her
soul improved since she began to practise obedience, and how little
she was able to resist God's graces, and how His Majesty continued to
give them more and more abundantly.</p>
<p>Chapter XXV.--Of the manner in which Locutions of God are perceived
by the soul without being actually heard; and of some deceits that
might take place in this matter, and how one is to know which is
which.  This is most profitable for those who are in this degree of
prayer, because it is very well explained, and contains
excellent doctrine.</p>
<p>Chapter XXVI.--She continues the same subject; explains and tells
things that have happened to her which caused her to lose fear and
convinced her that the spirit which spoke to her was a good one.</p>
<p>Chapter XXVII.--Of another way in which God teaches a soul, and,
without speaking, makes His Will known in an admirable manner.  She
goes on to explain a vision, though not an imaginary one, and a great
grace with which God favoured her.  This chapter is noteworthy.</p>
<p>Chapter XXVIII.--She treats of the great favours God showed her,
and how He appeared to her for the first time; she explains what an
imaginary vision is, and speaks of the powerful effects it leaves and
the signs whether it is from God.  This chapter is most profitable
and noteworthy.</p>
<p>Chapter XXIX.--She continues and tells of some great mercies God
showed her, and what His Majesty said to her in order to assure her
(of the truth of these visions), and taught her how to
answer contradictors.</p>
<p>Chapter XXX.--She continues the history of her life, and how God
sent her a remedy for all her anxieties by calling the holy Friar
<span lang="es">Fray</span> Pedro de Alcantara of the Order of the
glorious <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis to the place where she
lived.  She mentions some great temptations and interior trials
through which she sometimes had to pass.</p>
<p>Chapter XXXI.--She speaks of some exterior temptations and
apparitions of Satan, and how he ill-treated her.  She mentions,
moreover, some very good things by way of advice to persons who are
walking on the way of perfection.</p>
<p>Chapter XXXII.--She narrates how it pleased God to put her in
spirit in that place of Hell she had deserved by her sins.  She tells
a little [<a href="#argnote6">6</a>] of what she saw there compared
with what there was besides.  She begins to speak of the manner and
way of founding the convent of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph
where she now lives.</p>
<p>Chapter XXXIII.--She continues the subject of the foundation of the
glorious <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.  How she was commanded
to have nothing (further) to do with it, how she abandoned it, also
the troubles it brought her and how God consoled her in all this.</p>
<p>Chapter XXXIV.--She shows how at that time it happened that she
absented herself from this place and how her Superior commanded her to
go away at the request of a very noble lady who was in great
affliction.  She begins to tell what happened to her there, and the
great grace God bestowed upon her in determining through her
instrumentality a person of distinction to serve Him truly; and how
that person found favour and help in her (Teresa).  This
is noteworthy.</p>
<p>Chapter XXXV.--Continuation of the foundation of this house of our
glorious Father <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph; in what manner
our Lord ordained that holy poverty should be observed there; the
reason why she left the lady with whom she had been staying, and some
other things that happened.</p>
<p>Chapter XXXVI.--She continues the same subject, and shows how the
foundation of this convent of the glorious <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph was finally accomplished, and the
great contradictions and persecutions she had to endure after the
Religious had taken the habit, and the great trials and temptations
through which she passed, and how God led her forth victorious to His
own glory and praise.</p>
<p>Chapter XXXVII.--Of the effects which remained when God granted her
some favour; together with other very good doctrine.  She shows how
one ought to strive after and prize every increase in heavenly glory,
and that for no trouble whatever one should neglect a good that is to
be perpetual.</p>
<p>Chapter XXXVIII.--She treats of some great mercies God showed her,
even making known to her heavenly secrets by means of visions and
revelations His Majesty vouchsafed to grant her; she speaks of the
effects they caused and the great improvement resulting in
her soul.</p>
<p>Chapter XXXIX.--She continues the same subject, mentioning great
graces granted her by God; how He promised to hear her requests on
behalf of persons for whom she should pray.  Some remarkable instances
in which His Majesty thus favoured her.</p>
<p>Chapter XL.--Continuation of the same subject of great mercies God
has shown her.  From some of these very good doctrine may be gathered,
and this, as she declares, was, besides compliance with obedience, her
principal motive (in writing this book), namely to enumerate such of
these mercies as would be instructive to souls.  This chapter brings
the history of her Life, written by herself, to an end.  May it be for
the glory of God.  Amen.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="argnote1">1</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Teresa wrote no title, either of the whole book or of the Preface, but
only the monogram J.H.S., which is repeated at the beginning of the
first chapter and at the end of the last, previous to the letter with
which the volume concludes.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="argnote2">2</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;El
Seņor&#34;</span> is everywhere translated by &#34;God&#34; in
distinction to <span lang="es">&#34;Nuestro Seņor,&#34;</span>
&#34;Our Lord.&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="argnote3">3</a>. &#34;In an excellent manner,&#34;
scored through by the Saint herself.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="argnote4">4</a>. &#34;To be read with great care,
as it is explained in a most delicate way, and contains many
noteworthy points,&#34; also scored through by <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa herself.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="argnote5">5</a>. &#34;This is most admirable,&#34;
scored through by the Saint.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="argnote6">6</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;Una
cifra,&#34;</span> a mere nothing.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h2><a name="preface">Preface by David Lewis.</a></h2>
<p><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa was born in Avila on
Wednesday, March 28, 1515.  Her father was Don Alfonso Sanchez de
Cepeda, and her mother Doņa Beatriz Davila y Ahumada.  The name she
received in her baptism was common to both families, for her
great-grandmother on the father's side was Teresa Sanchez, and her
grandmother on her mother's side was Teresa de las Cuevas.  While she
remained in the world, and even after she had become a nun in the
monastery of the Incarnation, which was under the mitigated rule, she
was known as Doņa Teresa Sanchez Cepeda Davila y Ahumada; for in those
days children took the name either of the father or of the mother, as
it pleased them.  The two families were noble, but that of Ahumada was
no longer in possession of its former wealth and
power. [<a href="#prenote1">1</a>]  Doņa Beatriz was the second wife of
Don Alfonso, and was related in the fourth degree to the first wife,
as appears from the dispensation granted to make the marriage valid on
the 16th of October, 1509.  Of this marriage Teresa was the
third child.</p>
<p>Doņa Beatriz died young, and the eldest daughter, Maria de Cepeda,
took charge of her younger sisters--they were two--and was as a second
mother to them till her marriage, which took place in 1531, when the
Saint was in her sixteenth year.  But as she was too young to be left
in charge of her father's house, and as her education was not
finished, she was sent to the Augustinian monastery, the nuns of which
received young girls, and brought them up in the fear of
God. [<a href="#prenote2">2</a>]  The Saint's own account is that she
was too giddy and careless to be trusted at home, and that it was
necessary to put her under the care of those who would watch over her
and correct her ways.  She remained a year and a half with the
Augustinian nuns, and all the while God was calling her to Himself.
She was not willing to listen to His voice; she would ask the nuns to
pray for her that she might have light to see her way; &#34;but for
all this,&#34; she writes, &#34;I wished not to be a
nun.&#34; [<a href="#prenote3">3</a>]  By degrees her will yielded,
and she had some inclination to become a religious at the end of the
eighteen months of her stay, but that was all.  She became ill; her
father removed her, and the struggle within herself continued,--on the
one hand, the voice of God calling her; on the other, herself
labouring to escape from her vocation.</p>
<p>At last, after a struggle which lasted three months, she made up
her mind, and against her inclination, to give up the world.  She
asked her father's leave, and was refused.  She besieged him through
her friends, but to no purpose.  &#34;The utmost I could get from
him,&#34; she says, &#34;was that I might do as I pleased after his
death.&#34; [<a href="#prenote4">4</a>]  How long this contest with her
father lasted is not known, but it is probable that it lasted many
months, for the Saint was always most careful of the feelings of
others, and would certainly have endured much rather than displease a
father whom she loved so much, and who also loved her more than his
other children. [<a href="#prenote5">5</a>]</p>
<p>But she had to forsake her father, and so she left her father's
house by stealth, taking with her one of her brothers, whom she had
persuaded to give himself to God in religion.  The brother and sister
set out early in the morning, the former for the monastery of the
Dominicans, and the latter for the Carmelite monastery of the
Incarnation, in Avila.  The nuns received her into the house, but sent
word to her father of his child's escape.  Don Alfonso, however,
yielded at once, and consented to the sacrifice which he was compelled
to make.</p>
<p>In the monastery of the Incarnation the Saint was led on, without
her own knowledge, to states of prayer so high, that she became
alarmed about herself.  In the purity and simplicity of her soul, she
feared that the supernatural visitations of God might after all be
nothing else but delusions of Satan. [<a href="#prenote6">6</a>]  She
was so humble, that she could not believe graces so great could be
given to a sinner like herself.  The first person she consulted in her
trouble seems to have been a layman, related to her family, Don
Francisco de Salcedo.  He was a married man, given to prayer, and a
diligent frequenter of the theological lectures in the monastery of
the Dominicans.  Through him she obtained the help of a holy priest,
Gaspar Daza, to whom she made known the state of her soul.  The
priest, hindered by his other labours, declined to be her director,
and the Saint admits that she could have made no progress under his
guidance. [<a href="#prenote7">7</a>]  She now placed herself in the
hands of Don Francis, who encouraged her in every way, and, for the
purpose of helping her onwards in the way of perfection, told her of
the difficulties he himself had met with, and how by the grace of God
he had overcome them.</p>
<p>But when the Saint told him of the great graces which God
bestowed upon her, Don Francis became alarmed; he could not reconcile
them with the life the Saint was living, according to her own account.
He never thought of doubting the Saint's account, and did not suspect
her of exaggerating her imperfections in the depths of her humility:
&#34;he thought the evil spirit might have something to do&#34; with
her, [<a href="#prenote8">8</a>] and advised her to consider carefully
her way of prayer.</p>
<p>Don Francis now applied again to Gaspar Daza, and the two friends
consulted together; but, after much prayer on their part and on that
of the Saint, they came to the conclusion that she &#34;was deluded by
an evil spirit,&#34; and recommended her to have recourse to the
fathers of the Society of Jesus, lately settled in Avila.</p>
<p>The Saint, now in great fear, but still hoping and trusting that
God would not suffer her to be deceived, made preparations for a
general confession; and committed to writing the whole story of her
life, and made known the state of her soul to <abbr
title="Father">F.</abbr> Juan de Padranos, one of the fathers of the
Society.  <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Juan understood it all, and
comforted her by telling her that her way of prayer was sound and the
work of God.  Under his direction she made great progress, and for the
further satisfaction of her confessor, and of Don Francis, who seems
to have still retained some of his doubts, she told everything to
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis de Borja, who on one point
changed the method of direction observed by <abbr
title="Father">F.</abbr> Juan.  That father recommended her to resist
the supernatural visitations of the spirit as much as she could, but
she was not able, and the resistance pained
her; [<a href="#prenote9">9</a>] <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis
told her she had done enough, and that it was not right to prolong
that resistance. [<a href="#prenote10">10</a>]</p>
<p>The account of her life which she wrote before she applied to the
Jesuits for direction has not been preserved; but it is possible that
it was made more for her own security than for the purpose of being
shown to her confessor.</p>
<p>The next account is Relation I., made for <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter of Alcantara, and was probably seen by
many; for that Saint had to defend her, and maintain that the state of
her soul was the work of God, against those who thought that she was
deluded by Satan.  Her own confessor was occasionally alarmed, and had
to consult others, and thus, by degrees, her state became known to
many; and there were some who, were so persuaded of her delusions,
that they wished her to be exorcised as one possessed of an evil
spirit, [<a href="#prenote11">11</a>] and at a later time her friends
were afraid that she might be denounced to
the Inquisitors. [<a href="#prenote12">12</a>]</p>
<p>During the troubles that arose when it became known that the Saint
was about to found the monastery of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, and therein establish the original
rule of her Order in its primitive simplicity and austerity, she went
for counsel to the Father Fra Pedro
Ibaņez, [<a href="#prenote13">13</a>] the Dominican, a most holy and
learned priest.  That father not only encouraged her, and commended
her work, but also ordered her to give him in writing the story of her
spiritual life.  The Saint readily obeyed, and began it in the
monastery of the Incarnation, and finished it in the house of Doņa
Luisa de la Cerda, in Toledo, in the month of June, 1562.  On the 24th
of August, the feast of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Bartholomew, in
the same year, the Reform of the Carmelites began in the new monastery
of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph in Avila.</p>
<p>What the Saint wrote for Fra Ibaņez has not been found.  It is, no
doubt, substantially preserved in her <cite>Life</cite>, as we have it
now, and is supposed to have reached no further than the end of ch.
xxxi.  What follows was added by direction of another Dominican
father, confessor of the Saint in the new monastery of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, Fra Garcia of Toledo, who, in 1562,
bade her &#34;write the history of that foundation, and
other matters.&#34;</p>
<p>But as the Saint carried a heavy burden laid on her by God, a
constant fear of delusion, she had recourse about the same time to the
Inquisitor Soto, who advised her to write a history of her life, send
it to Juan of Avila, the &#34;Apostle of Andalucia,&#34; and abide by
his counsel.  As the direction of Fra Garcia of Toledo and the advice
of the Inquisitor must have been given, according to her account,
about the same time, the <cite>Life</cite>, as we have it now, must
have occupied her nearly six years in the writing of it, which may
well be owing to her unceasing care in firmly establishing the new
monastery of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.  The book at last
was sent to Blessed Juan of Avila by her friend Doņa Luisa de la
Cerda, and that great master of the spiritual life wrote the following
censure of it:</p>
<blockquote><p>&#34;The grace and peace of Jesus Christ be with
you always.</p>
<p>&#34;1. When I undertook to read the book sent me, it was not so
much because I thought myself able to judge of it, as because I
thought I might, by the grace of our Lord, learn something from the
teachings it contains: and praised be Christ; for, though I have not
been able to read it with the leisure it requires, I have been
comforted by it, and might have been edified by it, if the fault had
not been mine.  And although, indeed, I may have been comforted by it,
without saying more, yet the respect due to the subject and to the
person who has sent it will not allow me, I think, to let it go back
without giving my opinion on it, at least in general.</p>
<p>&#34;2. The book is not fit to be in the hands of everybody, for it
is necessary to correct the language in some places, and explain it in
others; and there are some things in it useful for
your spiritual life and not so for others who might adopt them, for
the special ways by which God leads some souls are not meant for
others. These points, or the greater number of them, I have marked for
the purpose of arranging them when I shall be able to do so, and I
shall not fail to send them to you; for if you were aware of my
infirmities and necessary occupations, I believe they would make you
pity me rather than blame me for the omission.</p>
<p>&#34;3. The doctrine of prayer is for the most part sound, and you
may rely on it, and observe it; and the raptures I find to possess the
tests of those which are true.  What you say of God's way of teaching
the soul, without respect to the imagination and without interior
locutions, is safe, and I find nothing to object to it.  <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Augustine speaks well of it.</p>
<p>&#34;4. Interior locutions in these days have been a delusion of
many, and exterior locutions are the least safe.  It is easy enough to
see when they proceed from ourselves, but to distinguish between those
of a good and those of an evil spirit is more difficult.  There are
many rules given for finding out whether they come from our Lord or
not, and one of them is, that they should be sent us in a time of
need, or for some good end, as for the comforting a man under
temptation or in doubt, or as a warning of coming danger.  As a good
man will not speak unadvisedly, neither will God; so, considering
this, and that the locutions are agreeable to the holy writings and
the teaching of the Church, my opinion is that the locutions mentioned
in the book came from God.</p>
<p>&#34;5. Imaginary or bodily visions are those which are most
doubtful, and should in no wise be desired, and if they come undesired
still they should be shunned as much as possible, yet not by treating
them with contempt, unless it be certain that they come from an evil
spirit; indeed, I was filled with horror, and greatly distressed, when
I read of the gestures of contempt that were
made. [<a href="#prenote14">14</a>]  People ought to entreat our Lord
not to lead them by the way of visions, but to reserve for them in
Heaven the blessed vision of Himself and the saints, and to guide them
here along the beaten path as He guides His faithful servants, and
they must take other good measures for avoiding these visions.</p>
<p>&#34;6. But if the visions continue after all this is done, and if
the soul derives good from them, and if they do not lead to vanity,
but deeper humility, and if the locutions be at one with the teaching
the Church, and if they continue for any time, and that with inward
satisfaction--better felt than described--there is no reason for
avoiding them.  But no one ought to rely on his own judgment herein;
he should make everything known to him who can give him light.  That
is the universal remedy to be had recourse to in such matters,
together with hope in God, Who will not let a soul that wishes to be
safe lie under a delusion, if it be humble enough to yield obedience
to the opinion of others.</p>
<p>&#34;7. Nor should any one cause alarm by condemning them
forthwith, because he sees that the person to whom they are granted is
not perfect, for it is nothing new that our Lord in His goodness makes
wicked people just, yea, even grievous sinners; by giving them to
taste most deeply of His sweetness.  I have seen it so myself.  Who
will set bounds to the goodness of our Lord?--especially when these
graces are given, not for merit, nor because one is stronger; on the
contrary, they are given to one because he is weaker; and as they do
not make one more holy, they are not always given to the
most holy.</p>
<p>&#34;8. They are unreasonable who disbelieve these things merely
because they are most high things, and because it seems to them
incredible that infinite Majesty humbles Himself to these loving
relations with one of His creatures. It is written, God is love, and
if He is love, then infinite love and infinite goodness, and we must
not be surprised if such a love and such a goodness breaks out into
such excesses of love as disturb those who know nothing of it.  And
though many know of it by faith, still, as to that special experience
of the loving, and more than loving, converse of God with whom He
will, if not had, how deep it reaches can never be known; and so I
have seen many persons scandalized at hearing of what God in His love
does for His creatures.  As they are themselves very far away from it,
they cannot think that God will do for others what He is not doing for
them.  As this is an effect of love, and that a love which causes
wonder, reason requires we should look upon it as a sign of its being
from God, seeing that He is wonderful in His works, and most
especially in those of his compassion; but they take occasion from
this to be distrustful, which should have been a ground of confidence,
when other circumstances combine as evidences of these visitations
being good.</p>
<p>&#34;9. It seems from the book, I think, that you have resisted,
and even longer than was right.  I think, too, that these locutions
have done your soul good, and in particular that they have made you
see your own wretchedness and your faults more clearly, and amend
them.  They have lasted long, and always with spiritual profit.  They
move you to love God, and to despise yourself, and to do penance.  I
see no reasons for condemning them, I incline rather to regard them as
good, provided you are careful not to rely altogether on them,
especially if they are unusual, or bid you do something out of the
way, or are not very plain.  In all these and the like cases you must
withhold your belief in them, and at once seek for direction.</p>
<p>&#34;10. Also it should be considered that, even if they do come
from God, Satan may mix with them suggestions of his own; you
should therefore be always suspicious of them.  Also,
when they are known to be from God, men must not rest much on them,
seeing that holiness does not lie in them, but in a humble love of God
and our neighbour; everything else, however good, must be feared, and
our efforts directed to the gaining of humility, goodness, and the
love of our Lord.  It is seemly, also, not to worship what is seen in
these visions, but only Jesus Christ, either as in Heaven or in the
Sacrament, or, if it be a vision of the Saints, then to lift up the
heart to the Holy One in Heaven, and not to that which is presented to
the imagination: let it suffice that the imagination may be made use
of for the purpose of raising me up to that which it makes me see.</p>
<p>&#34;11. I say, too, that the things mentioned in this book befall
other persons even in this our day, and that there is great certainty
that they come from God, Whose arm is not shortened that He cannot do
now what He did in times past, and that in weak vessels, for His
own glory.</p>
<p>&#34;12. Go on your road, but always suspecting robbers, and asking
for the right way; give thanks to our Lord, Who has given you His
love, the knowledge of yourself, and a love of penance and the cross,
making no account of these other things.  However, do not despise them
either, for there are signs that most of them come from our Lord, and
those that do not come from Him will not hurt you if you ask
for direction.</p>
<p>&#34;13. I cannot believe that I have written this in my own
strength, for I have none, but it is the effect of your prayers.  I
beg of you, for the love of Jesus Christ our Lord, to burden yourself
with a prayer for me; He knows that I am asking this in great need,
and I think that is enough to make you grant my request.  I ask your
permission to stop now, for I am bound to write another letter.  May
Jesus be glorified in all and by all!  Amen.</p>
<p>&#34;Your servant, for Christ's sake.</p>
<p>&#34;Juan de Avila</p>
<p>&#34;Montilla, 12th Sept., 1568.&#34;</p></blockquote>
<p>Her confessors, having seen the book, &#34;commanded her to make
copies of it,&#34; [<a href="#prenote15">15</a>] one of which has been
traced into the possession of the Duke and Duchess of Alva.</p>
<p>The Princess of Eboli, in 1569, obtained a copy from the Saint
herself, after much importunity; but it was more out of vanity or
curiosity, it is to be feared, than from any real desire to learn the
story of the Saint's spiritual life, that the Princess desired the
boon.  She and her husband promised to keep it from the knowledge of
others, but the promise given was not kept.  The Saint heard within a
few days later that the book was in the hands of the servants of the
Princess, who was angry with the Saint because she had refused to
admit, at the request of the Princess, an Augustinian nun into the
Order of Carmel in the new foundation of Pastrana.  The contents of
the book were bruited abroad, and the visions and revelations of the
Saint were said to be of a like nature with those of Magdalene of the
Cross, a deluded and deluding nun.  The gossip in the house of the
Princess was carried to Madrid, and the result was that the
Inquisition began to make a search for the
book. [<a href="#prenote16">16</a>]  It is not quite clear, however,
that it was seized at this time.</p>
<p>The Princess became a widow in July, 1573, and insisted on becoming
a Carmelite nun in the house she and her husband, Ruy Gomez, had
founded in Pastrana.  When the news of her resolve reached the
monastery, the mother-prioress, Isabel of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic, exclaimed, &#34;The Princess a nun!
I look on the house as ruined.&#34;  The Princess came, and insisted
on her right as foundress; she had compelled a friar to give her the
habit before her husband was buried, and when she came to Pastrana she
began her religious life by the most complete disobedience and
disregard of common propriety.  Don Vicente's description of her is
almost literally correct, though intended only for a general
summary of her most childish conduct:</p>
<p>&#34;On the death of the Prince of Eboli, the Princess would become
a nun in her monastery of Pastrana.  The first day she had a fit of
violent fervour; on the next she relaxed the rule; on the third she
broke it, and conversed with secular people within the cloisters.  She
was also so humble that she required the nuns to speak to her on their
knees, and insisted upon their receiving into the house as religious
whomsoever she pleased.  Hereupon complaints were made to <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, who remonstrated with the Princess,
and showed her how much she was in the wrong, whereupon she replied
that the monastery was hers; but the Saint proved to her that the nuns
were not, and had them removed
to Segovia.&#34; [<a href="#prenote17">17</a>]</p>
<p>The nuns were withdrawn from Pastrana in April, 1574, and then the
anger of the Princess prevailed; she sent the Life of the Saint, which
she had still in her possession, to the Inquisition, and denounced it
as a book containing visions, revelations, and dangerous doctrines,
which the Inquisitors should look into and examine: The book was
forthwith given to theologians for examination, and two Dominican
friars, of whom Baņes was one, were delegated censors of it by
the Inquisition. [<a href="#prenote18">18</a>]</p>
<p>Fra Baņes did not know the Saint when he undertook her defence in
Avila against the authorities of the city, eager to destroy the
monastery of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph; [<a href="#prenote19">19</a>] but from
that time forth he was one of her most faithful friends, strict and
even severe, as became a wise director who had a great Saint for his
penitent.  He testifies in the process of her beatification that he
was firm and sharp with her; while she herself was the more desirous
of his counsel, the more he humbled her, and the less he appeared to
esteem her. [<a href="#prenote20">20</a>]  When he found that copies
of her life were in the hands of secular people,--he had probably also
heard of the misconduct of the Princess of Eboli,--he showed his
displeasure to the Saint, and told her he would burn the book, it
being unseemly that the writings of women should be made public.  The
Saint left it in his hands, but Fra Baņes, struck with her humility,
had not the courage to burn it; he sent it to the Holy Office in
Madrid. [<a href="#prenote21">21</a>]  Thus the book was in a sense
denounced twice,--once by an enemy, the second time by a friend, to
save it. Both the Saint and her confessor, Fra Baņes, state that the
copy given up by the latter was sent to the Inquisition in Madrid, and
Fra Baņes says so twice in his deposition.  The Inquisitor Soto
returned the copy to Fra Baņes, desiring him to read it, and give his
opinion thereon.  Fra Baņes did so, and wrote his &#34;censure&#34; of
the book on the blank leaves at the end. That censure still remains,
and is one of the most important, because given during the lifetime of
the Saint, and while many persons were crying out against her.  Baņes
wished it had been published when the Saint's Life was given to the
world by Fra Luis de Leon; but notwithstanding its value, and its
being preserved in the book which is in the handwriting of the Saint,
no one before Don Vicente made it known.  It was easy enough to praise
the writings of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, and to admit
her sanctity, after her death.  Fra Baņes had no external help in the
applause of the many, and he had to judge the book as a theologian,
and the Saint as one of his ordinary penitents.  When he wrote, he
wrote like a man whose whole life was spent, as he tells us himself,
&#34;in lecturing
and disputing.&#34; [<a href="#prenote22">22</a>]</p>
<p>That censure is as follows:</p>
<blockquote><p>&#34;1. This book, wherein Teresa of Jesus, Carmelite
nun, and foundress of the Barefooted Carmelites, gives a plain account
of the state of her soul, in order to be taught and directed by her
confessors, has been examined by me, and with much attention, and I
have not found anywhere in it anything which, in my opinion, is
erroneous in doctrine.  On the contrary, there are many things in it
highly edifying and instructive for those who give themselves to
prayer.  The great experience of this religious, her discretion also
and her humility, which made her always seek for light and learning in
her confessors, enabled her to speak with an accuracy on the subject
of prayer that the most learned men, through their want of experience,
have not always attained to.  One thing only there is about the book
that may reasonably cause any hesitation till it shall be very
carefully examined; it contains many visions and revelations, matters
always to be afraid of, especially in women, who are very ready to
believe of them that they come from God, and to look on them as proofs
of sanctity, though sanctity does not lie in them. On the contrary,
they should be regarded as dangerous trials for those who are aiming
at perfection, because Satan is wont to transform himself into an
angel of light, [<a href="#prenote23">23</a>] and to deceive souls
which are curious and of scant humility, as we have seen in our day:
nevertheless, we must not therefore lay down a general rule that all
revelations and visions come from the devil.  If it were so, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul could not have said that Satan
transforms himself into an angel of light, if the angel of light did
not sometimes enlighten us.</p>
<p>&#34;2. Saints, both men and women, have had revelations, not only
in ancient, but also in modern times; such were <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Vincent Ferrer, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Catherine of Siena, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Gertrude, and many others that might be
named; and as the Church of God is, and is to be, always holy to the
end, not only because her profession is holiness, but because there
are in her just persons and perfect in holiness, it is unreasonable to
despise visions and revelations, and condemn them in one sweep, seeing
they are ordinarily accompanied with much goodness and a Christian
life.  On the contrary, we should follow the saying of the Apostle in
1 Thess. v. 19-22: <span lang="la">'Spiritum nolite extinguere.
Prophetias nolite spernere.  Omnia [autem] probate: quod bonum est
tenete.  Ab omni specie mala abstinete vos.'</span>  He who will read
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Thomas on that passage will see how
carefully they are to be examined who, in the Church of God, manifest
any particular gift that may be profitable or hurtful to our
neighbour, and how watchful the examiners ought to be lest the fire of
the Spirit of God should be quenched in the good, and others cowed in
the practices of the perfect Christian life.</p>
<p>&#34;3. Judging by the revelations made to her, this woman, even
though she may be deceived in something, is at least not herself a
deceiver, because she tells all the good and the bad so simply, and
with so great a wish to be correct, that no doubt can be made as to
her good intention; and the greater the reason for trying spirits of
this kind, because there are persons in our day who are deceivers with
the appearance of piety, the more necessary it is to defend those who,
with the appearance, have also the reality, of piety.  For it is a
strange thing to see how lax and worldly people delight in seeing
those discredited who have an appearance of goodness.  God complained
of old, by the Prophet Ezekiel, ch. xiii., of those false prophets who
made the just to mourn and who flattered sinners, saying: <span
lang="la">'Maerere fecistis cor justi mendaciter, quem Ego non
contristavi: et comfortastis manus impii.'</span>  In a certain sense
this may be said of those who frighten souls who are going on by the
way of prayer and perfection, telling them that this way is singular
and full of danger, that many who went by it have fallen into
delusions, and that the safest way is that which is plain and common,
travelled by all.</p>
<p>&#34;4. Words of this kind, clearly, sadden the hearts of those who
would observe the counsels of perfection in continual prayer, so far
as it is possible for them, and in much fasting, watching, and
disciplines; and, on the other hand, the lax and the wicked take
courage and lose the fear of God, because they consider the way on
which they are travelling as the safer: and this is their
delusion,--they call that a plain and safe road which is the absence
of the knowledge and consideration of the dangers and precipices
amidst which we are all of us journeying in this world.  Nevertheless,
there is no other security than that which lies in our knowing our
daily enemies, and in humbly imploring the compassion of God, if we
would not be their prisoners.  Besides, there are souls whom God, in a
way, constrains to enter on the way of perfection, and who, if they
relaxed in their fervour, could not keep a middle course, but would
immediately fall into the other extreme of sins, and for souls of this
kind it is of the utmost necessity that they should watch and pray
without ceasing; and, in short, there is nobody whom lukewarmness does
not injure.  Let every man examine his own conscience, and he will
find this to be the truth.</p>
<p>&#34;5. I firmly believe that if God for a time bears with the
lukewarm, it is owing to the prayers of the fervent, who are
continually crying, <span lang="la">'et ne nos inducas in
tentationem.'</span>  I have said this, not for the purpose of
honouring those whom we see walking in the way of contemplation; for
it is another extreme into which the world falls, and a covert
persecution of goodness, to pronounce those holy forthwith who have
the appearance of it.  For that would be to furnish them with motives
for vain-glory, and would do little honour to goodness; on the
contrary, it would expose it to great risks, because, when they fall
who have been objects of praise, the honour of goodness suffers more
than if those people had not been so esteemed. And so I look upon this
exaggeration of their holiness who are still living in the world to be
a temptation of Satan.  That we should have a good opinion of the
servants of God is most just, but let us consider them always as
people in danger, however good they may be, and that their goodness is
not so evident that we can be sure of it even now.</p>
<p>&#34;6. Considering myself that what I have said is true, I have
always proceeded cautiously in the examination of this account of the
prayer and life of this nun, and no one has been more incredulous than
myself as to her visions and revelations,--not so, however as to her
goodness and her good desires, for herein I have had great experience
of her truthfulness, her obedience, mortification, patience, and
charity towards her persecutors, and of her other virtues, which any
one who will converse with her will discern; and this is what may be
regarded as a more certain proof of her real love of God than these
visions and revelations.  I do not, however, undervalue her visions,
revelations, and ecstasies; on the contrary, I suspect them to be the
work of God, as they have been in others who were Saints.  But in this
case it is always safer to be afraid and wary; for if she is confident
about them, Satan will take occasion to interfere, and that which was
once, perhaps, the work of God, may be changed into something else,
and that will be the devil's.</p>
<p>&#34;7. I am of opinion that this book is not to be shown to every
one, but only to men of learning, experience, and Christian
discretion.  It perfectly answers the purpose for which it was
written, namely, that the nun should give an account of the state of
her soul to those who had the charge of it, in order that she might
not fall into delusions.  Of one thing I am very sure, so far as it is
possible for a man to be,--she is not a deceiver; she deserves,
therefore, for her sincerity, that all should be favourable to her in
her good purposes and good works.  For within the last thirteen years
she has, I believe, founded a dozen monasteries of Barefooted
Carmelite nuns, the austerity and perfection of which are exceeded by
none other; of which they who have been visitors of them, as the
Dominican Provincial, master in theology, [<a href="#prenote24">24</a>]
Fra Pedro Fernandez, the master Fra Hernando del Castillo, and many
others, speak highly.  This is what I think, at present, concerning
the censure of this book, submitting my judgment herein to that of
Holy Church our mother, and her ministers.</p>
<p>&#34;Given in the College of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Gregory, Valladolid, on the sixth day of
July, 1575.</p>
<p>&#34;Fra Domingo Baņes.&#34;</p></blockquote>
<p>The book remained in the keeping of the Inquisition, and the Saint
never saw it again.  But she heard of it from the Archbishop of
Toledo, Cardinal Quiroga, President of the Supreme Court of the
Inquisition, when she applied to him for license to found a monastery
in Madrid.  Jerome of the Mother of God was with her; and heard the
Cardinal's reply.  His Eminence said he was glad to see her; that a
book of hers had been in the Holy Office for some years, and had been
rigorously examined; that he had read it himself, and regarded it as
containing sound and wholesome doctrine.  He would grant the license,
and do whatever he could for the Saint.  When she heard this, she
wished to present a petition to the Inquisition for the restitution of
her book; but Gratian thought it better to apply to the Duke of Alba
for the copy which he had, and which the Inquisitors had allowed him
to retain and read. The Duke gave his book to Fra Jerome, who had
copies of it made for the use of the monasteries both of men
and women. [<a href="#prenote25">25</a>]</p>
<p>Anne of Jesus, in 1586, founding a monastery of her Order in
Madrid,--the Saint had died in 1582,--made inquiries about the book,
and applied to the Inquisition for it, for she was resolved to publish
the writings of her spiritual mother.  The Inquisitors made no
difficulty, and consented to the publication.  In this she was
seconded by the Empress Maria, daughter of Charles V., and widow of
Maximilian II., who had obtained one of the copies which Fra Jerome of
the Mother of God had ordered to be made.  Fra Nicholas Doria, then
Provincial, asked Fra Luis de Leon, the Augustinian, to edit the book,
who consented.  He was allowed to compare the copy furnished him with
the original in the keeping of the Inquisition; but his edition has
not been considered accurate, notwithstanding the facilities given
him, and his great reverence for the Saint.  It was published in
Salamanca, A.D. 1588.</p>
<p>With the Life of the Saint, Fra Luis de Leon received certain
papers in the handwriting of the Saint, which he published as an
additional chapter.  Whether he printed all he received, or merely
made extracts, may be doubtful, but anyhow that chapter is singularly
incomplete.  Don Vicente de la Fuente, from whose edition (Madrid,
1861, 1862) this translation has been made, omitted the additional
chapter of Fra Luis de Leon, contrary to the practice of his
predecessors.  But he has done more, for he has traced the paragraphs
of that chapter to their sources, and has given us now a collection of
papers which form almost another Life of the Saint, to which he has
given their old name of Relations, [<a href="#prenote26">26</a>] the
name which the Saint herself had given
them. [<a href="#prenote27">27</a>]  Some of them are usually printed
among the Saint's letters, and portions of some of the others are
found in the Lives of the Saint written by Ribera and Yepes, and in
the Chronicle of the Order; the rest was published for the first time
by Don Vicente: the arrangement of the whole is due to him.</p>
<p>The Relations are ten in the Spanish edition, and eleven in the
translation.  The last, the eleventh, has hitherto been left among the
letters, and Don Vicente, seemingly not without some hesitation, so
left it; but as it is of the like nature with the Relations, it has
now been added to them.</p>
<p>The original text, in the handwriting of the Saint, is preserved in
the Escurial, not in the library, but among the relics of the Church.
Don Vicente examined it at his leisure, and afterwards found in the
National Library in Madrid an authentic and exact transcript of it,
made by order of Ferdinand VI.  His edition is, therefore, far better
than any of its predecessors; but it is possible that even now there
may still remain some verbal errors for future editors to correct.
The most conscientious diligence is not a safeguard against mistakes.
<abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Bouix says that in ch. xxxiv. § 12, the
reading of the original differs from that of the printed editions; yet
Don Vicente takes no notice of it, and retains the common reading. It
is impossible to believe that <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Bouix has
stated as a fact that which is not.  Again, in <a
href="#l39.29">ch. xxxix. § 29</a>, the printed editions
have after the words, &#34;Thou art Mine, and I am thine,&#34; &#34;I
am in the habit . . . . sincerity;&#34; but Don Vicente omits them.
This may have been an oversight, for in general he points out in his
notes all the discrepancies between the printed editions and the
original text.</p>
<p>A new translation of the <cite>Life</cite> of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa seems called for now, because the
original text has been collated since the previous translations were
made, and also because those translations are exceedingly scarce.  The
first is believed to be this--it is a small quarto:</p>
<p>&#34;The Lyf of the Mother Teresa of Jesus, Foundresse of the
Monasteries of the Discalced or Bare-footed Carmelite Nunnes and
Fryers of the First Rule.</p>
<p>&#34;Written by herself at the commaundement of her ghostly
father, and now translated into English out of Spanish.  By W. M., of
the Society of Jesus.</p>
<p>&#34;Imprinted in Antwerp by Henry Jaye.  Anno MDCXI.&#34;</p>
<p>Some thirty years afterwards, Sir Tobias Matthew, S.J.,
dissatisfied, as he says, with the former translation, published
another, with the following title; the volume is a small octavo
in form:</p>
<p>&#34;The Flaming Hart, or the Life of the glorious <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, Foundresse of the Reformation of the
Order of the All-Immaculate Virgin Mother, our B. Lady of
Mount Carmel.</p>
<p>&#34;This History of her Life was written by the Saint in
Spanish, and is newly translated into English in the year of our
Lord God 1642.</p>
<p>'Aut mori aut pati:</p>
<p>Either to dye or else to
suffer.'--<cite><abbr title="chapter">Chap.</abbr></cite> xl.</p>
<p>&#34;Antwerpe, printed by Joannes Meursius.  Anno MDCXLII.&#34;</p>
<p>The next translation was made by Abraham Woodhead, and published in
1671, without the name of the translator, or of the printer, or of the
place of publication.  It is in quarto, and bears the
following title:</p>
<p>&#34;The Life of the Holy Mother <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Teresa, Foundress of the Reformation of the Discalced Carmelites
according to the Primitive Rule.  Printed in the
year MDCLXXI.&#34;</p>
<p>It is not said that the translation was made from the Spanish, and
there are grounds for thinking it to have been made from the Italian.
Ch. xxxii. is broken off at the end of § 10; and ch. xxxiii.,
therefore, is ch. xxxvii.  That which is there omitted has been thrown
into the <cite>Book of the Foundations</cite>, which, in the
translation of Mr. Woodhead, begins with § 11 of ch. xxxii. of the
<cite>Life</cite>, as it also does in the Italian translation.  It is
due, however, to Mr. Woodhead to say that he has printed five of the
Relations separately, not as letters, but as what they really are, and
with that designation.</p>
<p>The last translation is that of the Very Reverend John Dalton,
Canon of Northampton, which is now, though twice published, almost as
scarce as its predecessors.  The title is:</p>
<p>&#34;The Life of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, written by
herself, and translated from the Spanish by the <abbr
title="Reverend">Rev.</abbr> John Dalton.  London, MDCCCLI.&#34;</p>
<p>Septuagesima, 1870.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="prenote1">1</a>. Fr. Anton. a St. Joseph, in his
note on letter 16, but letter 41, vol. iv. ed. Doblado.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote2">2</a>. <cite lang="es">Reforma de los
Descalįos</cite>. lib. i. ch. vii. § 3.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote3">3</a>. <a href="#l3.2">Ch. iii.
§ 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote4">4</a>. <a href="#l3.9">Ch. iii.
§ 9</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote5">5</a>. <a href="#l1.3">Ch. i.
§ 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote6">6</a>. <a href="#l23.2">Ch.
xxiii. § 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote7">7</a>. <a href="#l23.8">Ch.
xxiii. § 8</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote8">8</a>. <a
href="#l23.12"><i><abbr lang="la" title="Idem">Id.</abbr></i>
§ 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote9">9</a>. <a href="#l24.1">Ch.
xxiv. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote10">10</a>. <a
href="#l24.4"><i><abbr lang="la" title="Idem">Id.</abbr></i>
§ 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote11">11</a>. <a href="#l29.4">Ch.
xxix. § 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote12">12</a>. <a href="#l33.6">Ch.
xxxiii. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote13">13</a>. The Saint held him in great
reverence, and in one of her letters--lett. 355, but lett. 100, vol.
ii. ed. Doblado--calls him a founder of her Order, because of the
great services he had rendered her, and told her nuns of Seville that
they need not be veiled in his presence, though they must be so in the
presence of everybody else, and even the friars of
the Reform.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote14">14</a>. See <a
href="#l29.6"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxix.
§ 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote15">15</a>. <a
href="#r7.9"><abbr title="Relations">Rel.</abbr> vii.
§ 9</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote16">16</a>. <cite lang="es">Reforma de los
Descalįos</cite>, lib. ii. c. xxviii. § 6.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote17">17</a>. Introduccion al libro de la
Vida, vol. i. p. 3.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote18">18</a>. Jerome Gratian,
<cite>Lucidario</cite>, c. iv.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote19">19</a>. <a
href="#l36.15"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxxvi.
§ 15</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote20">20</a>. The Saint says of herself, <a
href="#r7.18"><abbr title="Relations">Rel.</abbr> vii. §
18</a>, that &#34;she took the greatest pains not to submit the state
of her soul to any one who she thought would believe that these things
came from God, for she was instantly afraid that the devil would
deceive them both.&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote21">21</a>. <a
href="#r7.16"><abbr title="Relations">Rel.</abbr> vii.
§ 16</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote22">22</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;Como hombre
criado toda mi vida en leer y disputar&#34;</span> (<cite>De la
Fuente</cite>, ii. p. 376).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote23">23</a>. 2 Cor. xi. 14: <span
lang="la">&#34;Ipse enim Satanas transfigurat se in
angelum lucis.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote24">24</a>. The other theologian appointed
by the Inquisition, with Fra Baņes, to examine
the &#34;Life.&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote25">25</a>. This took place in the year
1580, according to the Chronicler of the Order
(<cite lang="es">Reforma de los Descalįos</cite>, lib. v. c. xxxv. §
4); and the Bollandists (n. 1536) accept his statement.  Fra Jerome
says he was Provincial of his Order at the time; and as he was elected
only on the 4th of March, 1581, according to the Chronicler and the
Bollandists, it is more likely that the audience granted to them by
the Cardinal took place in 1581.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote26">26</a>. <cite lang="es">Reforma de los
Descalįos</cite>, lib. v. c. xxxiv. § 4: <span
lang="es">&#34;Relaciones de su espiritu.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="prenote27">27</a>. <a
href="#r2.18"><abbr title="Relations">Rel.</abbr> ii.
§ 18</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h2><a name="annals">Annals of the Saint's Life.</a></h2>
<p>By Don Vicente de la Fuente.</p>
<p>These are substantially the same with those drawn up by the
Bollandists, but they are fuller and more minute, and furnish a more
detailed history of the Saint.</p>
<dl>
<dt>1515.</dt>
<dd><p><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa is born in Avila,
March 28th. [<a href="#annnote1">1</a>]</p></dd>
<dt>1522.</dt>
<dd><p>She desires martyrdom, and leaves her father's house with one of
her brothers.</p></dd>
<dt>1527. [<a href="#annnote2">2</a>]</dt>
<dd><p>Death of her mother.</p></dd>
<dt>1529.</dt>
<dd><p>Writes romances of chivalry, and is misled by a
thoughtless cousin.</p></dd>
<dt>1531.</dt>
<dd><p>Her sister Maria's marriage, and her removal from home to the
Augustinian monastery, where she remains till the autumn of
next year.</p></dd>
<dt>1533. [<a href="#annnote3">3</a>]</dt>
<dd><p>Nov. 2, enters the monastery of the Incarnation.</p></dd>
<dt>1534.</dt>
<dd><p>Nov. 3, makes her profession.</p></dd>
<dt>1535.</dt>
<dd><p>Goes to Castellanos de la Caņada, to her sister's house, where she
remains till the spring of 1536, when she goes to Bezadas.</p></dd>
<dt>1537.</dt>
<dd><p>Returns to Avila on Palm Sunday.  In July seriously ill, and in a
trance for four days, when in her father's house.  Paralysed for more
than two years.</p></dd>
<dt>1539.</dt>
<dd><p>Is cured of her paralysis by <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.</p></dd>
<dt>1541.</dt>
<dd><p>Begins to grow lukewarm, and gives up mental prayer.</p></dd>
<dt>1542.</dt>
<dd><p>Our Lord appears to her in the parlour of the monastery,
&#34;stern and grave &#34;  [<a href="#l7.11">ch. vii.
§ 11</a>, see <a href="#l7note3">note there</a>].</p></dd>
<dt>1555.</dt>
<dd><p>Ceases to converse with secular people, moved thereto by the sight
of a picture of our Lord on the cross
 [<a href="#l9.1">ch. ix. § 1</a>].  The Jesuits come to
Avila and the Saint confesses to <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Juan
de Padranos.</p></dd>
<dt>1556.</dt>
<dd><p>Beginning of the supernatural visitations.</p></dd>
<dt>1557.</dt>
<dd><p><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis de Borja comes to Avila,
and approves of the spirit of the Saint.</p></dd>
<dt>1558.</dt>
<dd><p>First rapture of the Saint
 [<a href="#l24.7">ch. xxiv. § 7</a>].  The vision of Hell
 [<a href="#l32.1">ch. xxxii. § 1</a>].  Father Alvarez
ordained priest.</p></dd>
<dt>1559.</dt>
<dd><p>She takes <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Alvarez for her
confessor.  The transpiercing of her heart
 [<a href="#l29.17">ch. xxix. § 17</a>].  Vision of our Lord
risen from the dead  [<a href="#l27.3">ch. xxvii. § 3</a>,
<a href="#l28.2">ch. xxviii. § 2</a>].</p></dd>
<dt>1560.</dt>
<dd><p>The vow of greater perfection.  <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter of Alcantara approves of her spirit,
and <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Luis Beltran encourages her to
proceed with her plan of founding a new monastery.</p></dd>
<dt>1561.</dt>
<dd><p>F. Gaspar de Salazar, S.J., comes to Avila; her sister Doņa Juana
comes to Avila from Alba de Tormes to help the Saint in the new
foundation  [<a href="#l33.13">ch. xxxiii. § 13</a>].
Restores her nephew to Life  [<a href="#l35note16">ch. xxxv.
§ 14, note</a>].  Fra Ibaņez bids her write her Life.  Receives a sum
of money from her brother in Peru, which enables her to go on with the
building of the new house.</p></dd>
<dt>1562.</dt>
<dd><p>Goes to Toledo, to the house of Doņa Luisa de la Cerda, and
finishes the account of her Life.  Makes the acquaintance of Fra
Baņes, afterwards her principal director, and Fra Garcia of Toledo,
both Dominicans.  Receives a visit from Maria of Jesus.  Has a
revelation that her sister, Doņa Maria, will die
suddenly  [<a href="#l34.24">ch. xxxiv. § 24</a>].  Returns to Avila
and takes possession of the new monastery, August 24.  Troubles in
Avila.  The Saint ordered back to the monastery of the Incarnation.
Is commanded by Fra Garcia of Toledo to write the history of the
foundation of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.</p></dd>
</dl>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="annnote1">1</a>. In the same year <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Philip was born in Florence.  <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa died in 1582, and <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Philip in 1595; but they were canonised on
the same day, with <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Isidore, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Ignatius, and <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Francis Xavier.  The three latter were joined together in the three
final consistories held before the solemn proclamation of their
sanctity, and <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa and <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Philip were joined together in the same way
in the final consistories held
specially, as usual, for them.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="annnote2">2</a>. This must be an error.  See <a
href="#l1note7">ch. i. § 7, note 7</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="annnote3">3</a>. There is a difficulty about this.
The Bollandists maintain that she went to the monastery of the
Incarnation in the year 1533.  On the other hand Ribera, her most
accurate biographer--with whom Fra Jerome agrees,--says that she left
her father's house in 1535, when she was more than twenty years of
age; Yepes, that she was not yet twenty; and the Second Relation of
the Rota, that she was in her twentieth year.  The Bull of
Canonisation and the Office in the Breviary also say that she was in
her twentieth year, that is, A.D. 1534.  The Chronicler of the Order
differs from all and assigns the year 1536 as the year in which she
entered the monastery.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h2>The Life<br>
of the<br>
Holy Mother Teresa of Jesus.</h2>
<p>Written by Herself.</p>
<h3><a name="prologue">Prologue.</a></h3>
<p>As I have been commanded and left at liberty to describe at length
my way of prayer, and the workings of the grace of our Lord within me,
I could wish that I had been allowed at the same time to speak
distinctly and in detail of my grievous sins and wicked life.  But it
has not been so willed; on the contrary, I am laid herein under great
restraint; and therefore, for the love of our Lord, I beg of every one
who shall read this story of my life [<a href="#pronote1">1</a>] to
keep in mind how wicked it has been; and how, among the Saints who
were converted to God, I have never found one in whom I can have any
comfort.  For I see that they, after our Lord had called them, never
fell into sin again; I not only became worse, but, as it seems to me,
deliberately withstood the graces of His Majesty, because I saw that I
was thereby bound to serve Him more earnestly, knowing, at the same
time, that of myself I could not pay the least portion of my debt.</p>
<p>May He be blessed for ever Who waited for me so long!  I implore
Him with my whole heart to send me His grace, so that in all clearness
and truth I may give this account of myself which my confessors
command me to give; and even our Lord Himself, I know it, has also
willed it should be given for some time past, but I had not the
courage to attempt it.  And I pray it may be to His praise and glory,
and a help to my confessors; who, knowing me better, may succour my
weakness, so that I may render to our Lord some portion of the service
I owe Him.  May all creatures praise Him for ever!  Amen.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="pronote1">1</a>. The Saint, in a letter written
November 19, 1581, to Don Pedro de Castro, then canon of Avila,
speaking of this book, calls it the book &#34;Of the compassions of
God&#34;--<i lang="es">Y ansi intitule ese libro De las Misericordias
de Dios.</i> That letter is the 358th in the edition of Don Vicente de
la Fuente, and the 8th of the fourth volume of the Doblado edition of
Madrid. <span lang="la">&#34;Vitam igitur suam internam et
supernaturalem magis pandit quam narrat actiones suas mere
humanas&#34;</span> (<cite>Bollandists</cite>, n. 2).</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l1.0">Chapter I.</a></h3>
<p><big>Childhood and Early Impressions.  The Blessing of Pious
Parents.  Desire of Martyrdom.  Death of the Saint's Mother.</big></p>
<p><a name="l1.1">1</a>. I had a father and mother, who were devout and feared God. Our
Lord also helped me with His grace.  All this would have been enough
to make me good, if I had not been so wicked.  My father was very much
given to the reading of good books; and so he had them in Spanish,
that his children might read them.  These books, with my mother's
carefulness to make us say our prayers, and to bring us up devout to
our Lady and to certain Saints, began to make me think seriously when
I was, I believe, six or seven years old.  It helped me, too, that I
never saw my father and mother respect anything but goodness.  They
were very good themselves.  My father was a man of great charity
towards the poor, and compassion for the sick, and also for servants;
so much so, that he never could be persuaded to keep slaves, for he
pitied them so much: and a slave belonging to one of his brothers
being once in his house, was treated by him with as much tenderness as
his own children.  He used to say that he could not endure the pain of
seeing that she was not free.  He was a man of great truthfulness;
nobody ever heard him swear or speak ill of any one; his life was
most pure.</p>
<p><a name="l1.2">2</a>. My mother also was a woman of great goodness, and her life was
spent in great infirmities.  She was singularly pure in all her ways.
Though possessing great beauty, yet was it never known that she gave
reason to suspect that she made any account whatever of it; for,
though she was only three-and-thirty years of age when she died, her
apparel was already that of a woman advanced in years.  She was very
calm, and had great sense.  The sufferings she went through during her
life were grievous, her death
most Christian. [<a href="#l1note1">1</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l1.3">3</a>. We were three sisters and nine
brothers. [<a href="#l1note2">2</a>]  All, by the mercy of God,
resembled their parents in goodness except myself, though I was the
most cherished of my father.  And, before I began to offend God, I
think he had some reason,--for I am filled with sorrow whenever I
think of the good desires with which our Lord inspired me, and what a
wretched use I made of them.  Besides, my brothers never in any way
hindered me in the service of God.</p>
<p><a name="l1.4">4</a>. One of my brothers was nearly of my own
age; [<a href="#l1note3">3</a>] and he it was whom I most loved, though
I was very fond of them all, and they of me.  He and I used to read
Lives of Saints together.  When I read of martyrdom undergone by the
Saints for the love of God, it struck me that the vision of God was
very cheaply purchased; and I had a great desire to die a martyr's
death,--not out of any love of Him of which I was conscious, but that
I might most quickly attain to the fruition of those great joys of
which I read that they were reserved in Heaven; and I used to discuss
with my brother how we could become martyrs.  We settled to go
together to the country of the Moors, [<a href="#l1note4">4</a>]
begging our way for the love of God, that we might be there
beheaded; [<a href="#l1note5">5</a>] and our Lord, I believe, had given
us courage enough, even at so tender an age, if we could have found
the means to proceed; but our greatest difficulty seemed to be our
father and mother.</p>
<p><a name="l1.5">5</a>. It astonished us greatly to find it said in
what we were reading that pain and bliss were everlasting.  We
happened very often to talk about this; and we had a pleasure in
repeating frequently, &#34;For ever, ever, ever.&#34;  Through the
constant uttering of these words, our Lord was pleased that I should
receive an abiding impression of the way of truth when I was yet
a child.</p>
<p><a name="l1.6">6</a>. As soon as I saw it was impossible to go to
any place where people would put me to death for the sake of God, my
brother and I set about becoming hermits; and in an orchard belonging
to the house we contrived, as well as we could, to build hermitages,
by piling up small stones one on the other, which fell down
immediately; and so it came to pass that we found no means of
accomplishing our wish.  Even now, I have a feeling of devotion when I
consider how God gave me in my early youth what I lost by my own
fault.  I gave alms as I could--and I could but little.  I contrived
to be alone, for the sake of saying my
prayers [<a href="#l1note6">6</a>]--and they were many--especially the
Rosary, to which my mother had a great devotion, and had made us also
in this like herself.  I used to delight exceedingly, when playing
with other children, in the building of monasteries, as if we were
nuns; and I think I wished to be a nun, though not so much as I did to
be a martyr or a hermit.</p>
<p><a name="l1.7">7</a>. I remember that, when my mother
died, [<a href="#l1note7">7</a>] I was about twelve years old--a little
less. When I began to understand my loss, I went in my affliction to
an image of our Lady, [<a href="#l1note8">8</a>] and with many tears
implored her to be my mother.  I did this in my simplicity, and I
believe that it was of service to me; for I have by experience found
the royal Virgin help me whenever I recommended myself to her; and at
last she has brought me back to herself. It distresses me now, when I
think of, and reflect on, that which kept me from being earnest in the
good desires with which I began.</p>
<p><a name="l1.8">8</a>. O my Lord, since Thou art determined to save me--may it be the
pleasure of Thy Majesty to effect it!--and to bestow upon me so many
graces, why has it not been Thy pleasure also--not for my advantage,
but for Thy greater honour--that this habitation, wherein Thou hast
continually to dwell, should not have contracted so much defilement?
It distresses me even to say this, O my Lord, because I know the fault
is all my own, seeing that Thou hast left nothing undone to make me,
even from my youth, wholly Thine.  When I would complain of my
parents, I cannot do it; for I saw nothing in them but all good, and
carefulness for my welfare.  Then, growing up, I began to discover the
natural gifts which our Lord had given me--they were said to be many;
and, when I should have given Him thanks for them, I made use of every
one of them, as I shall now explain, to offend Him.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l1note1">1</a>. See <a href="#l37.1">ch.
xxxvii. § 1</a>; where the Saint says that she saw them in a vision
both in Heaven.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l1note2">2</a>. Alfonso Sanchez de Cepeda, father
of the Saint, married first Catalina del Peso y Henao, and had three
children--one daughter, Maria de Cepeda, and two sons.  After the
death of Catalina, he married Beatriz Davila y Ahumada, by whom he had
nine children--seven boys and two girls.  The third of these, and the
eldest of the daughters, was the Saint, Doņa Teresa Sanchez Cepeda
Davila y Ahumada.  In the Monastery of the Incarnation, where she was
a professed nun for twenty-eight years, she was known as Doņa Teresa;
but in the year 1563, when she left her monastery for the new
foundation of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, of the Reform of
the Carmelites, she took for the first time the name of Teresa of
Jesus (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).  The Saint was born March 28, 1515, and baptized
on the 4th of April, in the church of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> John; on which day Mass was said for the
first time in the Monastery of the Incarnation, where the Saint made
her profession.  Her godfather was Vela Nuņez, and her godmother Doņa
Maria del Aguila. The Bollandists and Father Bouix say that she was
baptized on the very day of her birth.  But the testimony of Doņa
Maria de Pinel, a nun in the Monastery of the Incarnation, is clear:
and Don Vicente de La Fuente, quoting it, vol. i. p. 549, says that
this delay of baptism was nothing singular in those days, provided
there was no danger of death.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l1note3">3</a>. Rodrigo de Cepeda, four years older
than the Saint, entered the army, and, serving in South America, was
drowned in the river Plate, Rio de la Plata.  <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa always considered him a martyr,
because he died in defence of the Catholic faith (<cite>Ribera</cite>,
lib. i. ch. iii.).  Before he sailed for the Indies, he made his will,
and left all his property to the Saint, his sister
(<cite lang="es">Reforma de los Descalįos</cite>, vol. i. lib. i. ch.
iii. § 4).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l1note4">4</a>. The Bollandists incline to believe
that <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa may not have intended to
quit Spain, because all the Moors were not at that time driven out of
the country.  The Bull of the Saint's canonization, and the Lections
of the Breviary, say that she left her father's house, <i lang="la">ut in
Africam trajiceret.</i></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l1note5">5</a>. The two children set out on their
strange journey--one of them seven, the other eleven, years
old--through the Adaja Gate; but when they had crossed the bridge,
they were met by one of their uncles, who brought them back to their
mother, who had already sent through Avila in quest of them.  Rodrigo,
like Adam, excused himself, and laid the blame on the woman
(<cite>Ribera</cite>, lib. i. ch. iii.).  Francisco de Santa Maria,
chronicler of the Order, says that the uncle was Francisco Alvarez de
Cepeda (<cite lang="es">Reforma de los Descalįos</cite>, lib. i. ch.
v. § 4).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l1note6">6</a>. She was also marvellously touched
by the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, of whom there was a
picture in her room (<cite>Ribera</cite>, lib. i. ch. iv.).  She
speaks of this later on.  (See <a href="#l30.24">ch. xxx.
§ 24</a>.)</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l1note7">7</a>. The last will and testament of Doņa
Beatriz de Ahumada was made November 24, 1528 and she may have died
soon after.  If there be no mistake in the copy of that instrument,
the Saint must have been more than twelve years old at that time.  Don
Vicente, in a note, says, with the Bollandists, that Doņa Beatriz died
at the end of the year 1526, or in the beginning of 1527; but it is
probable that, when he wrote that note, he had not read the copy of
the will, which he has printed in the first volume of the Saint's
writings, p. 550.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l1note8">8</a>. Our Lady of Charity, in the church
of the hospital where the poor and pilgrims were received in
Avila (<cite>Bouix</cite>).</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l2.0">Chapter II.</a></h3>
<p><big>Early Impressions.  Dangerous Books and Companions.  The Saint
Is Placed in a Monastery.</big></p>
<p><a name="l2.1">1</a>. What I shall now speak of was, I believe, the
beginning of great harm to me.  I often think how wrong it is of
parents not to be very careful that their children should always, and
in every way, see only that which is good; for though my mother was,
as I have just said, so good herself, nevertheless I, when I came to
the use of reason, did not derive so much good from her as I ought to
have done--almost none at all; and the evil I learned did me much
harm.  She was very fond of books of chivalry; but this pastime did
not hurt her so much as it hurt me, because she never wasted her time
on them; only we, her children, were left at liberty to read them; and
perhaps she did this to distract her thoughts from her great
sufferings, and occupy her children, that they might not go astray in
other ways. It annoyed my father so much, that we had to be careful he
never saw us.  I contracted a habit of reading these books; and this
little fault which I observed in my mother was the beginning of
lukewarmness in my good desires, and the occasion of my falling away
in other respects.  I thought there was no harm in it when I wasted
many hours night and day in so vain an occupation, even when I kept it
a secret from my father.  So completely was I mastered by this
passion, that I thought I could never be happy without a new book.</p>
<p><a name="l2.2">2</a>. I began to make much of dress, to wish to
please others by my appearance.  I took pains with my hands and my
hair, used perfumes, and all vanities within my reach--and they were
many, for I was very much given to them.  I had no evil intention,
because I never wished any one to offend God for me.  This
fastidiousness of excessive neatness [<a href="#l2note1">1</a>] lasted
some years; and so also did other practices, which I thought then were
not at all sinful; now, I see how wrong all this must have been.</p>
<p><a name="l2.3">3</a>. I had some cousins; for into my father's
house no others were allowed an entrance.  In this he was very
cautious; and would to God he had been cautious about them!--for I see
now the danger of conversing, at an age when virtue should begin to
grow, with persons who, knowing nothing themselves of the vanity of
the world, provoke others to throw themselves into the midst of it.
These cousins were nearly of mine own age--a little older, perhaps.
We were always together; and they had a great affection for me.  In
everything that gave them pleasure, I kept the conversation
alive,--listened to the stories of their affections and childish
follies, good for nothing; and, what was still worse, my soul began to
give itself up to that which was the cause of all its disorders.  If I
were to give advice, I would say to parents that they ought to be very
careful whom they allow to mix with their children when young; for
much mischief thence ensues, and our natural inclinations are unto
evil rather than unto good.</p>
<p><a name="l2.4">4</a>. So it was with me; for I had a sister much
older than myself, [<a href="#l2note2">2</a>] from whose modesty and
goodness, which were great, I learned nothing; and learned every evil
from a relative who was often in the house.  She was so light and
frivolous, that my mother took great pains to keep her out of the
house, as if she foresaw the evil I should learn from her; but she
could not succeed, there being so many reasons for her coming.  I was
very fond of this person's company, gossiped and talked with her; for
she helped me in all the amusements I liked, and, what is more, found
some for me, and communicated to me her own conversations and her
vanities.  Until I knew her, I mean, until she became friendly with
me, and communicated to me her own affairs--I was then about fourteen
years old, a little more, I think--I do not believe that I turned away
from God in mortal sin, or lost the fear of Him, though I had a
greater fear of disgrace.  This latter fear had such sway over me,
that I never wholly forfeited my good name--and, as to that, there was
nothing in the world for which I would have bartered it, and nobody in
the world I liked well enough who could have persuaded me to do it.
Thus I might have had the strength never to do anything against the
honour of God, as I had it by nature not to fail in that wherein I
thought the honour of the world consisted; and I never observed that I
was failing in many other ways.  In vainly seeking after it I was
extremely careful; but in the use of the means necessary for
preserving it I was utterly careless.  I was anxious only not to be
lost altogether.</p>
<p><a name="l2.5">5</a>. This friendship distressed my father and
sister exceedingly.  They often blamed me for it; but, as they could
not hinder that person from coming into the house, all their efforts
were in vain; for I was very adroit in doing anything that was wrong.
Now and then, I am amazed at the evil one bad companion can do,--nor
could I believe it if I did not know it by experience,--especially
when we are young: then is it that the evil must be greatest.  Oh,
that parents would take warning by me, and look carefully to this! So
it was; the conversation of this person so changed me, that no trace
was left of my soul's natural disposition to virtue, and I became a
reflection of her and of another who was given to the same kind
of amusements.</p>
<p><a name="l2.6">6</a>. I know from this the great advantage of good
companions; and I am certain that if at that tender age I had been
thrown among good people, I should have persevered in virtue; for if
at that time I had found any one to teach me the fear of God, my soul
would have grown strong enough not to fall away.  Afterwards, when the
fear of God had utterly departed from me, the fear of dishonour alone
remained, and was a torment to me in all I did.  When I thought that
nobody would ever know, I ventured upon many things that were neither
honourable nor pleasing unto God.</p>
<p><a name="l2.7">7</a>. In the beginning, these conversations did me
harm--I believe so.  The fault was perhaps not hers, but mine; for
afterwards my own wickedness was enough to lead me astray, together
with the servants about me, whom I found ready enough for all evil.
If any one of these had given me good advice, I might perhaps have
profited by it; but they were blinded by interest, as I was by
passion.  Still, I was never inclined to much evil,--for I hated
naturally anything dishonourable,--but only to the amusement of a
pleasant conversation.  The occasion of sin, however, being present,
danger was at hand, and I exposed to it my father and brothers.  God
delivered me out of it all, so that I should not be lost, in a manner
visibly against my will, yet not so secretly as to allow me to escape
without the loss of my good name and the suspicions of my father.</p>
<p><a name="l2.8">8</a>. I had not spent, I think, three months in
these vanities, when they took me to a
monastery [<a href="#l2note3">3</a>] in the city where I lived, in
which children like myself were brought up, though their way of life
was not so wicked as mine.  This was done with the utmost concealment
of the true reason, which was known only to myself and one of my
kindred.  They waited for an opportunity which would make the change
seem nothing out of the way; for, as my sister was married, it was not
fitting I should remain alone, without a mother, in the house.</p>
<p><a name="l2.9">9</a>. So excessive was my father's love for me, and
so deep my dissembling, that he never would believe me to be so wicked
as I was; and hence I was never in disgrace with him.  Though some
remarks were made, yet, as the time had been short, nothing could
be positively asserted; and, as I was so much afraid about my good
name, I had taken every care to be secret; and yet I never considered
that I could conceal nothing from Him Who seeth all things.  O my God,
what evil is done in the world by disregarding this, and thinking that
anything can be kept secret that is done against Thee!  I am quite
certain that great evils would be avoided if we clearly understood
that what we have to do is, not to be on our guard against men, but on
our guard against displeasing Thee.</p>
<p><a name="l2.10">10</a>. For the first eight days, I suffered much;
but more from the suspicion that my vanity was known, than from being
in the monastery; for I was already weary of myself--and, though I
offended God, I never ceased to have a great fear of Him, and
contrived to go to confession as quickly as I could.  I was very
uncomfortable; but within eight days, I think sooner, I was much more
contented than I had been in my father's house.  All the nuns were
pleased with me; for our Lord had given me the grace to please every
one, wherever I might be.  I was therefore made much of in the
monastery.  Though at this time I hated to be a nun, yet I was
delighted at the sight of nuns so good; for they were very good in
that house--very prudent, observant of the rule, and recollected.</p>
<p><a name="l2.11">11</a>. Yet, for all this, the devil did not cease
to tempt me; and people in the world sought means to trouble my rest
with messages and presents.  As this could not be allowed, it was soon
over, and my soul began to return to the good habits of my earlier
years; and I recognized the great mercy of God to those whom He places
among good people.  It seems as if His Majesty had sought and sought
again how to convert me to Himself.  Blessed be Thou, O Lord, for
having borne with me so long!  Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l2.12">12</a>. Were it not for my many faults, there was
some excuse for me, I think, in this: that the conversation I shared
in was with one who, I thought, would do well in the estate of
matrimony; [<a href="#l2note4">4</a>] and I was told by my confessors,
and others also, whom in many points I consulted, used to say, that I
was not offending God.  One of the nuns [<a href="#l2note5">5</a>]
slept with us who were seculars, and through her it pleased our Lord
to give me light, as I shall now explain.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l2note1">1</a>. The Saint throughout her life was
extremely careful of cleanliness.  In one of her letters to Father
Jerome Gratian of the Mother of God (No. 323, Letter 28, vol. iii. ed.
Doblado), she begs him, for the love of God, to see that the Fathers
had clean cells and table; and the <abbr
title="Venerable">Ven.</abbr> Mother Anne of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Bartholomew, in her life (Bruxelles, 1708, p.
40), says that she changed the Saint's linen on the day of her death,
and was thanked by her for her carefulness.  &#34;Her soul was so
pure,&#34; says the <abbr title="Venerable">Ven.</abbr> Mother,
&#34;that she could not bear anything that was
not clean.&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l2note2">2</a>. Maria de Cepeda, half-sister of the
Saint.  She was married to Don Martin de Guzman y Barrientos; and the
contract for the dowry was signed January 11, 1531
(<cite lang="es">Reforma de los Descalįos</cite> lib. i. ch. vii.
§ 4).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l2note3">3</a>. The Augustinian Monastery of Our
Lady of Grace.  It was founded in 1509 by the venerable Fra Juan of
Seville, Vicar-General of the Order (<cite lang="es">Reforma de los
Descalįos</cite> lib. i. ch. vii. n. 2).  There were forty nuns in the
house at this time (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l2note4">4</a>. Some have said that the Saint at
this time intended, or wished, to be married; and Father Bouix
translates the passage thus: <span lang="fr">&#34;une alliance
honorable pour moi.&#34;</span>  But it is more probable that the
Saint had listened only to the story of her cousin's intended
marriage; for in <a href="#l5.11">ch. v. § 11</a>, she says
that our Lord had always kept her from seeking to be loved
of men.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l2note5">5</a>. Doņa Maria Brizeņo, mistress of the
secular children who were educated in the monastery
(<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, lib. i. ch. vii. § 3).</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l3.0">Chapter III.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Blessing of Being with Good People.  How Certain Illusions
Were Removed.</big></p>
<p><a name="l3.1">1</a>. I began gradually to like the good and holy
conversation of this nun.  How well she used to speak of God! for she
was a person of great discretion and sanctity.  I listened to her with
delight.  I think there never was a time when I was not glad to listen
to her.  She began by telling me how she came to be a nun through the
mere reading of the words of the Gospel &#34;Many are called, and few
are chosen.&#34; [<a href="#l3note1">1</a>]  She would speak of the
reward which our Lord gives to those who forsake all things for His
sake.  This good companionship began to root out the habits which bad
companionship had formed, and to bring my thoughts back to the desire
of eternal things, as well as to banish in some measure the great
dislike I had to be a nun, which had been very great; and if I saw any
one weep in prayer, or devout in any other way, I envied her very
much; for my heart was now so hard, that I could not shed a tear, even
if I read the Passion through.  This was a grief to me.</p>
<p><a name="l3.2">2</a>. I remained in the monastery a year and a
half, and was very much the better for it.  I began to say many vocal
prayers, and to ask all the nuns to pray for me, that God would place
me in that state wherein I was to serve Him; but, for all this, I
wished not to be a nun, and that God would not be pleased I should be
one, though at the same time I was afraid of marriage.  At the end of
my stay there, I had a greater inclination to be a nun, yet not in
that house, on account of certain devotional practices which I
understood prevailed there, and which I thought overstrained.  Some of
the younger ones encouraged me in this my wish; and if all had been of
one mind, I might have profited by it.  I had also a great
friend [<a href="#l3note2">2</a>] in another monastery; and this made
me resolve, if I was to be a nun, not to be one in any other house
than where she was.  I looked more to the pleasure of sense and vanity
than to the good of my soul.  These good thoughts of being a nun came
to me from time to time.  They left me very soon; and I could not
persuade myself to become one.</p>
<p><a name="l3.3">3</a>. At this time, though I was not careless about
my own good, our Lord was much more careful to dispose me for that
state of life which was best for me.  He sent me a serious illness, so
that I was obliged to return to my father's house.</p>
<p><a name="l3.4">4</a>. When I became well again, they took me to see
my sister [<a href="#l3note3">3</a>] in her house in the country
village where she dwelt.  Her love for me was so great, that, if she
had had her will, I should never have left her.  Her husband also had
a great affection for me--at least, he showed me all kindness.  This
too I owe rather to our Lord, for I have received kindness everywhere;
and all my service in return is, that I am what I am.</p>
<p><a name="l3.5">5</a>. On the road lived a brother of my
father [<a href="#l3note4">4</a>]--a prudent and most excellent man,
then a widower.  Him too our Lord was preparing for Himself.  In his
old age, he left all his possessions and became a religious.  He so
finished his course, that I believe him to have the vision of God.  He
would have me stay with him some days.  His practice was to read good
books in Spanish; and his ordinary conversation was about God and the
vanity of the world. These books he made me read to him; and, though I
did not much like them, I appeared as if I did; for in giving pleasure
to others I have been most particular, though it might be painful to
myself--so much so, that what in others might have been a virtue was
in me a great fault, because I was often extremely indiscreet.  O my
God, in how many ways did His Majesty prepare me for the state wherein
it was His will I should serve Him!--how, against my own will, He
constrained me to do violence to myself!  May He be blessed for
ever! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l3.6">6</a>. Though I remained here but a few days, yet,
through the impression made on my heart by the words of God both heard
and read, and by the good conversation of my uncle, I came to
understand the truth I had heard in my childhood, that all things are
as nothing, the world vanity, and passing rapidly away.  I also began
to be afraid that, if I were then to die, I should go down to hell.
Though I could not bend my will to be a nun, I saw that the religious
state was the best and the safest.  And thus, by little and little, I
resolved to force myself into it.</p>
<p><a name="l3.7">7</a>. The struggle lasted three months.  I used to
press this reason against myself: The trials and sufferings of living
as a nun cannot be greater than those of purgatory, and I have well
deserved to be in hell.  It is not much to spend the rest of my life
as if I were in purgatory, and then go straight to Heaven--which was
what I desired.  I was more influenced by servile fear, I think, than
by love, to enter religion.</p>
<p><a name="l3.8">8</a>. The devil put before me that I could not
endure the trials of the religious life, because of my delicate
nurture.  I defended myself against him by alleging the trials which
Christ endured, and that it was not much for me to suffer something
for His sake; besides, He would help me to bear it.  I must have
thought so, but I do not remember this consideration.  I endured many
temptations during these days.  I was subject to fainting-fits,
attended with fever,--for my health was always weak.  I had become by
this time fond of good books, and that gave me life.  I read the
Epistles of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Jerome, which filled me
with so much courage, that I resolved to tell my father of my
purpose,--which was almost like taking the habit; for I was so jealous
of my word, that I would never, for any consideration, recede from a
promise when once my word had been given.</p>
<p><a name="l3.9">9</a>. My father's love for me was so great, that I
could never obtain his consent; nor could the prayers of others, whom
I persuaded to speak to him, be of any avail.  The utmost I could get
from him was that I might do as I pleased after his death.  I now
began to be afraid of myself, and of my own weakness--for I might go
back.  So, considering that such waiting was not safe for me, I
obtained my end in another way, as I shall now relate.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l3note1">1</a>. <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Matt. xx. 16: <span lang="la">&#34;Multi enim
sunt vocati, pauci vero electi.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l3note2">2</a>. Juana Suarez, in the Monastery of
the incarnation, Avila (<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, lib. i. ch.
vii. § 7).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l3note3">3</a>. Maria de Cepeda, married to Don
Martin Guzman y Barrientos.  They lived in Castellanos de la Caņada,
where they had considerable property; but in the later years of their
lives they were in straitened circumstances (<cite>De la
Fuente</cite>).  See below, <a href="#l34.24">ch. xxxiv.
§ 24</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l3note4">4</a>. Don Pedro Sanchez de Cepeda.  He
lived in Hortigosa, four leagues from Avila (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l4.0">Chapter IV.</a></h3>
<p><big>Our Lord Helps Her to Become a Nun.  Her Many
Infirmities.</big></p>
<p><a name="l4.1">1</a>. In those days, when I was thus resolved, I
had persuaded one of my brothers, [<a href="#l4note1">1</a>] by
speaking to him of the vanity of the world, to become a friar; and we
agreed together to set out one day very early in the morning for the
monastery where that friend of mine lived for whom I had so great an
affection: [<a href="#l4note2">2</a>] though I would have gone to any
other monastery, if I thought I should serve God better in it, or to
any one my father liked, so strong was my resolution now to become a
nun--for I thought more of the salvation of my soul now, and made no
account whatever of mine own ease.  I remember perfectly well, and it
is quite true, that the pain I felt when I left my father's house was
so great, that I do not believe the pain of dying will be greater--for
it seemed to me as if every bone in my body were wrenched
asunder; [<a href="#l4note3">3</a>] for, as I had no love of God to
destroy my love of father and of kindred, this latter love came upon
me with a violence so great that, if our Lord had not been my keeper,
my own resolution to go on would have failed me.  But He gave me
courage to fight against myself, so that I executed
my purpose. [<a href="#l4note4">4</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l4.2">2</a>. When I took the
habit, [<a href="#l4note5">5</a>] our Lord at once made me understand
how He helps those who do violence to themselves in order to serve
Him.  No one observed this violence in me; they saw nothing but the
greatest good will.  At that moment, because I was entering on that
state, I was filled with a joy so great, that it has never failed me
to this day; and God converted the aridity of my soul into the
greatest tenderness.  Everything in religion was a delight unto me;
and it is true that now and then I used to sweep the house during
those hours of the day which I had formerly spent on my amusements and
my dress; and, calling to mind that I was delivered from such follies,
I was filled with a new joy that surprised me, nor could I understand
whence it came.</p>
<p><a name="l4.3">3</a>. Whenever I remember this, there is nothing in
the world, however hard it may be, that, if it were proposed to me, I
would not undertake without any hesitation whatever; for I know now,
by experience in many things, that if from the first I resolutely
persevere in my purpose, even in this life His Majesty rewards it in a
way which he only understands who has tried it.  When the act is done
for God only, it is His will before we begin it that the soul, in
order to the increase of its merits, should be afraid; and the greater
the fear, if we do but succeed, the greater the reward, and the
sweetness thence afterwards resulting.  I know this by experience, as
I have just said, in many serious affairs; and so, if I were a person
who had to advise anybody, I would never counsel any one, to whom good
inspirations from time to time may come, to resist them through fear
of the difficulty of carrying them into effect; for if a person lives
detached for the love of God only, that is no reason for being afraid
of failure, for He is omnipotent.  May He be blessed for
ever! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l4.4">4</a>. O supreme Good, and my Rest, those graces
ought to have been enough which Thou hadst given me hitherto, seeing
that Thy compassion and greatness had drawn me through so many
windings to a state so secure, to a house where there are so many
servants of God, from whom I might learn how I may advance in Thy
service.  I know not how to go on, when I call to mind the
circumstances of my profession, the great resolution and joy with
which I made it, and my betrothal unto Thee. I cannot speak of it
without tears; and my tears ought to be tears of blood, my heart ought
to break, and that would not be much to suffer because of the many
offences against Thee which I have committed since that day.  It seems
to me now that I had good reasons for not wishing for this dignity,
seeing that I have made so sad a use of it.  But Thou, O my Lord, hast
been willing to bear with me for almost twenty years of my evil using
of Thy graces, till I might become better.  It seems to me, O my God,
that I did nothing but promise never to keep any of the promises then
made to Thee.  Yet such was not my intention: but I see that what I
have done since is of such a nature, that I know not what my intention
was.  So it was and so it happened, that it may be the better known, O
my Bridegroom, Who Thou art and what I am.</p>
<p><a name="l4.5">5</a>. It is certainly true that very frequently the
joy I have in that the multitude of Thy mercies is made known in me,
softens the bitter sense of my great faults.  In whom, O Lord, can
they shine forth as they do in me, who by my evil deeds have shrouded
in darkness Thy great graces, which Thou hadst begun to work in me?
Woe is me, O my Maker!  If I would make an excuse, I have none to
offer; and I only am to blame.  For if I could return to Thee any
portion of that love which Thou hadst begun to show unto me, I would
give it only unto Thee, and then everything would have been safe.
But, as I have not deserved this, nor been so happy as to have done
it, let Thy mercy, O Lord, rest upon me.</p>
<p><a name="l4.6">6</a>. The change in the habits of my life, and in
my food, proved hurtful to my health; and though my happiness was
great, that was not enough.  The fainting-fits began to be more
frequent; and my heart was so seriously affected, that every one who
saw it was alarmed; and I had also many other ailments.  And thus it
was I spent the first year, having very bad health, though I do not
think I offended God in it much.  And as my illness was so serious--I
was almost insensible at all times, and frequently wholly so--my
father took great pains to find some relief; and as the physicians who
attended me had none to give, he had me taken to a place which had a
great reputation for the cure of other infirmities.  They said I
should find relief there. [<a href="#l4note6">6</a>]  That friend of
whom I have spoken as being in the house went with me.  She was one of
the elder nuns.  In the house where I was a nun, there was no vow
of enclosure. [<a href="#l4note7">7</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l4.7">7</a>. I remained there nearly a year, for three
months of it suffering most cruel tortures--effects of the violent
remedies which they applied.  I know not how I endured them; and
indeed, though I submitted myself to them, they were, as I shall
relate, [<a href="#l4note8">8</a>] more than my constitution
could bear.</p>
<p><a name="l4.8">8</a>. I was to begin the treatment in the spring,
and went thither when winter commenced.  The intervening time I spent
with my sister, of whom I spoke before, [<a href="#l4note9">9</a>] in
her house in the country, waiting for the month of April, which was
drawing near, that I might not have to go and return.  The uncle of
whom I have made mention before, [<a href="#l4note10">10</a>] and
whose house was on our road, gave me a book called <cite
lang="es">Tercer Abecedario</cite>, [<a href="#l4note11">11</a>] which
treats of the prayer of recollection. Though in the first year I had
read good books--for I would read no others, because I understood now
the harm they had done me--I did not know how to make my prayer, nor
how to recollect myself. I was therefore much pleased with the book,
and resolved to follow the way of prayer it described with all my
might. And as our Lord had already bestowed upon me the gift of tears,
and I found pleasure in reading, I began to spend a certain time in
solitude, to go frequently to confession, and make a beginning of that
way of prayer, with this book for my guide; for I had no master--I
mean, no confessor--who understood me, though I sought for such a one
for twenty years afterwards: which did me much harm, in that I
frequently went backwards, and might have been even utterly lost; for,
anyhow, a director would have helped me to escape the risks I ran of
sinning against God.</p>
<p><a name="l4.9">9</a>. From the very beginning, God was most
gracious unto me.  Though I was not so free from sin as the book
required, I passed that by; such watchfulness seemed to me almost
impossible.  I was on my guard against mortal sin--and would to God I
had always been so!--but I was careless about venial sins, and that
was my ruin.  Yet, for all this, at the end of my stay there--I spent
nearly nine months in the practice of solitude--our Lord began to
comfort me so much in this way of prayer, as in His mercy to raise me
to the prayer of quiet, and now and then to that of union, though I
understood not what either the one or the other was, nor the great
esteem I ought to have had of them.  I believe it would have been a
great blessing to me if I had understood the matter.  It is true that
the prayer of union lasted but a short time: I know not if it
continued for the space of an <i lang="la">Ave Maria</i>; but the
fruits of it remained; and they were such that, though I was then not
twenty years of age, I seemed to despise the world utterly; and so I
remember how sorry I was for those who followed its ways, though only
in things lawful.</p>
<p><a name="l4.10">10</a>. I used to labour with all my might to
imagine Jesus Christ, our Good and our Lord, present within me.  And
this was the way I prayed.  If I meditated on any mystery of His life,
I represented it to myself as within me, though the greater part of my
time I spent in reading good books, which was all my comfort; for God
never endowed me with the gift of making reflections with the
understanding, or with that of using the imagination to any good
purpose: my imagination is so sluggish, [<a href="#l4note12">12</a>]
that even if I would think of, or picture to myself, as I used to
labour to picture, our Lord's Humanity, I never could do it.</p>
<p><a name="l4.11">11</a>. And though men may attain more quickly to
the state of contemplation, if they persevere, by this way of
inability to exert the intellect, yet is the process more laborious
and painful; for if the will have nothing to occupy it, and if love
have no present object to rest on, the soul is without support and
without employment--its isolation and dryness occasion great pain, and
the thoughts assail it most grievously.  Persons in this condition
must have greater purity of conscience than those who can make use of
their understanding; for he who can use his intellect in the way of
meditation on what the world is, on what he owes to God, on the great
sufferings of God for him, his own scanty service in return, and on
the reward God reserves for those who love Him, learns how to defend
himself against his own thoughts, and against the occasions and perils
of sin.  On the other hand, he who has not that power is in greater
danger, and ought to occupy himself much in reading, seeing that he is
not in the slightest degree able to help himself.</p>
<p><a name="l4.12">12</a>. This way of proceeding is so exceedingly
painful, that if the master who teaches it insists on cutting off the
succours which reading gives, and requires the spending of much time
in prayer, then, I say, it will be impossible to persevere long in it:
and if he persists in his plan, health will be ruined, because it is a
most painful process.  Reading is of great service towards procuring
recollection in any one who proceeds in this way; and it is even
necessary for him, however little it may be that he reads, if only as
a substitute for the mental prayer
which is beyond his reach.</p>
<p><a name="l4.13">13</a>. Now I seem to understand that it was the
good providence of our Lord over me that found no one to teach me.  If
I had, it would have been impossible for me to persevere during the
eighteen years of my trial and of those great aridities because of my
inability to meditate.  During all this time, it was only after
Communion that I ever ventured to begin my prayer without a book--my
soul was as much afraid to pray without one, as if it had to fight
against a host.  With a book to help me--it was like a companion, and
a shield whereon to receive the blows of many thoughts--I found
comfort; for it was not usual with me to be in aridity: but I always
was so when I had no book; for my soul was disturbed, and my thoughts
wandered at once.  With one, I began to collect my thoughts, and,
using it as a decoy, kept my soul in peace, very frequently by merely
opening a book--there was no necessity for more.  Sometimes, I read
but little; at other times, much--according as our Lord had pity
on me.</p>
<p><a name="l4.14">14</a>. It seemed to me, in these beginnings of
which I am speaking, that there could be no danger capable of
withdrawing me from so great a blessing, if I had but books, and could
have remained alone; and I believe that, by the grace of God, it would
have been so, if I had had a master or any one to warn me against
those occasions of sin in the beginning, and, if I fell, to bring me
quickly out of them.  If the devil had assailed me openly then, I
believe I should never have fallen into any grievous sin; but he was
so subtle, and I so weak, that all my good resolutions were of little
service--though, in those days in which I served God, they were very
profitable in enabling me, with that patience which His Majesty gave
me, to endure the alarming illnesses which I had to bear.  I have
often thought with wonder of the great goodness of God; and my soul
has rejoiced in the contemplation of His great magnificence and mercy.
May He be blessed for ever!--for I see clearly that He has not omitted
to reward me, even in this life, for every one of my good desires.  My
good works, however wretched and imperfect, have been made better and
perfected by Him Who is my Lord: He has rendered them meritorious.  As
to my evil deeds and my sins, He hid them at once.  The eyes of those
who saw them, He made even blind; and He has blotted them out of their
memory.  He gilds my faults, makes virtue to shine forth, giving it to
me Himself, and compelling me to possess it, as it were, by force.</p>
<p><a name="l4.15">15</a>. I must now return to that which has been
enjoined me.  I say, that if I had to describe minutely how our Lord
dealt with me in the beginning, it would be necessary for me to have
another understanding than that I have: so that I might be able to
appreciate what I owe to Him, together with my own ingratitude and
wickedness; for I have forgotten it all.</p>
<p>May He be blessed for ever Who has borne with me so
long! Amen.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l4note1">1</a>. Antonio de Ahumada; who, according
to the most probable opinion, entered the Dominican monastery of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Thomas, Avila.  It is said that he died
before he was professed.  Some said he joined the Hieronymites; but
this is not so probable (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>). Ribera, however,
says that he did enter the novitiate of the Hieronymites. but died
before he was out of it (lib. i. ch. vi.).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l4note2">2</a>. Juana Suarez, in the Monastery of
the Incarnation, Avila.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l4note3">3</a>. See <a
href="#r6.3"><cite>Relation</cite>, vi. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l4note4">4</a>. The nuns sent word to the father of
his child's escape, and of her desire to become a nun, but without any
expectation of obtaining his consent.  He came to the monastery
forthwith, and &#34;offered up his Isaac on Mount Carmel&#34;
(<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, lib. i. ch. viii. § 5).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l4note5">5</a>. The Saint entered the Monastery of
the Incarnation Nov. 2, 1533, and made her profession Nov. 3, 1534
(<cite>Bollandists</cite> and <cite>Bouix</cite>).  Ribera says she
entered November 2, 1535; and the chronicler of the Order, relying on
the contract by which her father bound himself to the monastery, says
that she took the habit Nov. 2, 1536, and that Ribera had made
a mistake.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l4note6">6</a>. Her father took her from the
monastery in the autumn of 1535, according to the Bollandists, but of
1538, according to the chronicler, who adds, that she was taken to her
uncle's house--Pedro Sanchez de Cepeda--in Hortigosa, and then to
Castellanos de la Caņada, to the house of her sister, Doņa Maria,
where she remained till the spring, when she went to Bezadas for
her cure (<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, lib. i. ch. xi.
§ 2).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l4note7">7</a>. It was in 1563 that all nuns were
compelled to observe enclosure (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l4note8">8</a>. <a href="#l5.15">Ch. v.
§ 15</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l4note9">9</a>. <a href="#l3.4">Ch. iii.
§ 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l4note10">10</a>. <a href="#l3.5">Ch.
iii. § 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l4note11">11</a>. By <span lang="es">Fray</span>
Francisco de Osuna, of the Order of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis (<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>,
lib. i. ch. xi. § 2).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l4note12">12</a>. See <a href="#l9.4">ch.
ix. §§ 4</a>, <a href="#l9.7">7</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l5.0">Chapter V.</a></h3>
<p><big>Illness and Patience of the Saint.  The Story of a Priest Whom
She Rescued from a Life of Sin.</big></p>
<p><a name="l5.1">1</a>. I forgot to say how, in the year of my
novitiate, I suffered much uneasiness about things in themselves of no
importance; but I was found fault with very often when I was
blameless.  I bore it painfully and with imperfection; however, I went
through it all, because of the joy I had in being a nun.  When they
saw me seeking to be alone, and even weeping over my sins at times,
they thought I was discontented, and said so.</p>
<p><a name="l5.2">2</a>. All religious observances had an attraction
for me, but I could not endure any which seemed to make me
contemptible.  I delighted in being thought well of by others, and was
very exact in everything I had to do.  All this I thought was a
virtue, though it will not serve as any excuse for me, because I knew
what it was to procure my own satisfaction in everything, and so
ignorance does not blot out the blame.  There may be some excuse in
the fact that the monastery was not founded in great perfection.  I,
wicked as I was, followed after that which I saw was wrong, and
neglected that which was good.</p>
<p><a name="l5.3">3</a>. There was then in the house a nun labouring
under a most grievous and painful disorder, for there were open ulcers
in her body, caused by certain obstructions, through which her food
was rejected.  Of this sickness she soon died.  All the sisters, I
saw, were afraid of her malady.  I envied her patience very much; I
prayed to God that He would give me a like patience; and then,
whatever sickness it might be His pleasure to send, I do not think I
was afraid of any, for I was resolved on gaining eternal good, and
determined to gain it by any and by every means.</p>
<p><a name="l5.4">4</a>. I am surprised at myself, because then I had
not, as I believe, that love of God which I think I had after I began
to pray.  Then, I had only light to see that all things that pass away
are to be lightly esteemed, and that the good things to be gained by
despising them are of great price, because they are for ever.  His
Majesty heard me also in this, for in less than two years I was so
afflicted myself that the illness which I had, though of a different
kind from that of the sister, was, I really believe, not less painful
and trying for the three years it lasted, as I shall now relate.</p>
<p><a name="l5.5">5</a>. When the time had come for which I was
waiting in the place I spoke of before [<a href="#l5note1">1</a>]--I
was in my sister's house, for the purpose of undergoing the medical
treatment--they took me away with the utmost care of my comfort; that
is, my father, my sister, and the nun, my friend, who had come from
the monastery with me,--for her love for me was very great.  At that
moment, Satan began to trouble my soul; God, however, brought forth a
great blessing out of that trouble.</p>
<p><a name="l5.6">6</a>. In the place to which I had gone for my cure
lived a priest of good birth and understanding, with some learning,
but not much.  I went to confession to him, for I was always fond of
learned men, although confessors indifferently learned did my soul
much harm; for I did not always find confessors whose learning was as
good as I could wish it was.  I know by experience that it is better,
if the confessors are good men and of holy lives, that they should
have no learning at all, than a little; for such confessors never
trust themselves without consulting those who are learned--nor would I
trust them myself: and a really learned confessor never deceived
me. [<a href="#l5note2">2</a>]  Neither did the others willingly
deceive me, only they knew no better; I thought they were learned, and
that I was not under any other obligation than that of believing them,
as their instructions to me were lax, and left me more at liberty--for
if they had been strict with me, I am so wicked, I should have sought
for others. That which was a venial sin, they told me was no sin at
all; of that which was most grievously mortal, they said it
was venial. [<a href="#l5note3">3</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l5.7">7</a>. This did me so much harm, that it is no
wonder I should speak of it here as a warning to others, that they may
avoid an evil so great; for I see clearly that in the eyes of God I
was without excuse, that the things I did being in themselves not
good, this should have been enough to keep me from them.  I believe
that God, by reason of my sins, allowed those confessors to deceive
themselves and to deceive me.  I myself deceived many others by saying
to them what had been said to me.</p>
<p><a name="l5.8">8</a>. I continued in this blindness, I believe,
more than seventeen years, till a most learned Dominican
Father [<a href="#l5note4">4</a>] undeceived me in part, and those of
the Company of Jesus made me altogether so afraid, by insisting on the
erroneousness of these principles, as I shall
hereafter show. [<a href="#l5note5">5</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l5.9">9</a>. I began, then, by going to confession to that
priest of whom I spoke before. [<a href="#l5note6">6</a>]  He took an
extreme liking to me, because I had then but little to confess in
comparison with what I had afterwards; and I had never much to say
since I became a nun.  There was no harm in the liking he had for me,
but it ceased to be good, because it was in excess.  He clearly
understood that I was determined on no account whatever to do anything
whereby God might be seriously offended.  He, too, gave me a like
assurance about himself, and accordingly our conferences were many.
But at that time, through the knowledge and fear of God which filled
my soul, what gave me most pleasure in all my conversations with
others was to speak of God; and, as I was so young, this made him
ashamed; and then, out of that great goodwill he bore me, he began to
tell me of his wretched state. It was very sad, for he had been nearly
seven years in a most perilous condition, because of his affection
for, and conversation with, a woman of that place; and yet he used to
say Mass.  The matter was so public, that his honour and good name
were lost, and no one ventured to speak to him about it.  I was
extremely sorry for him, because I liked him much.  I was then so
imprudent and so blind as to think it a virtue to be grateful and
loyal to one who liked me.  Cursed be that loyalty which reaches so
far as to go against the law of God.  It is a madness common in the
world, and it makes me mad to see it.  We are indebted to God for all
the good that men do to us, and yet we hold it to be an act of virtue
not to break a friendship of this kind, though it lead us to go
against Him.  Oh, blindness of the world!  Let me, O Lord, be most
ungrateful to the world; never at all unto Thee.  But I have been
altogether otherwise through my sins.</p>
<p><a name="l5.10">10</a>. I procured further information about the
matter from members of his household; I learned more of his ruinous
state, and saw that the poor man's fault was not so grave, because the
miserable woman had had recourse to enchantments, by giving him a
little image made of copper, which she had begged him to wear for love
of her around his neck; and this no one had influence enough to
persuade him to throw away.  As to this matter of enchantments, I do
not believe it to be altogether true; but I will relate what I saw, by
way of warning to men to be on their guard against women who will do
things of this kind.  And let them be assured of this, that women--for
they are more bound to purity than men--if once they have lost all
shame before God, are in nothing whatever to be trusted; and that in
exchange for the gratification of their will, and of that affection
which the devil suggests, they will hesitate at nothing.</p>
<p><a name="l5.11">11</a>. Though I have been so wicked myself, I
never fell into anything of this kind, nor did I ever attempt to do
evil; nor, if I had the power, would I have ever constrained any one
to like me, for our Lord kept me from this.  But if He had abandoned
me, I should have done wrong in this, as I did in other things--for
there is nothing in me whereon anyone may rely.</p>
<p><a name="l5.12">12</a>. When I knew this, I began to show him
greater affection: my intention was good, but the act was wrong, for I
ought not to do the least wrong for the sake of any good, how great
soever it may be.  I spoke to him most frequently of God; and this
must have done him good--though I believe that what touched him most
was his great affection for me, because, to do me a pleasure, he gave
me that little image of copper, and I had it at once thrown into a
river.  When he had given it up, like a man roused from deep sleep, he
began to consider all that he had done in those years; and then,
amazed at himself, lamenting his ruinous state, that woman came to be
hateful in his eyes.  Our Lady must have helped him greatly, for he
had a very great devotion to her Conception, and used to keep the
feast thereof with great solemnity.  In short, he broke off all
relations with that woman utterly, and was never weary of giving God
thanks for the light He had given him; and at the end of the year from
the day I first saw him, he died.</p>
<p><a name="l5.13">13</a>. He had been most diligent in the service of
God; and as for that great affection he had for me, I never observed
anything wrong in it, though it might have been of greater purity.
There were also occasions wherein he might have most grievously
offended, if he had not kept himself in the near presence of God.
As I said before, [<a href="#l5note7">7</a>] I would not then have
done anything I knew was a mortal sin.  And I think that observing
this resolution in me helped him to have that affection for me; for I
believe that all men must have a greater affection for those women
whom they see disposed to be good; and even for the attainment of
earthly ends, women must have more power over men because they are
good, as I shall show hereafter.  I am convinced that the priest is in
the way of salvation.  He died most piously, and completely withdrawn
from that occasion of sin.  It seems that it was the will of our Lord
he should be saved by these means.</p>
<p><a name="l5.14">14</a>. I remained three months in that place, in
the most grievous sufferings; for the treatment was too severe for my
constitution.  In two months--so strong were the medicines--my life
was nearly worn out; and the severity of the pain in the
heart, [<a href="#l5note8">8</a>] for the cure of which I was there was
much more keen: it seemed to me, now and then, as if it had been
seized by sharp teeth.  So great was the torment, that it was feared
it might end in madness.  There was a great loss of strength, for I
could eat nothing whatever, only drink.  I had a great loathing for
food, and a fever that never left me.  I was so reduced, for they had
given me purgatives daily for nearly a month, and so parched up, that
my sinews began to shrink.  The pains I had were unendurable, and I
was overwhelmed in a most deep sadness, so that I had no rest either
night or day.</p>
<p><a name="l5.15">15</a>. This was the result; and thereupon my
father took me back.  Then the physicians visited me again.  All gave
me up; they said I was also consumptive.  This gave me little or no
concern; what distressed me were the pains I had--for I was in pain
from my head down to my feet.  Now, nervous pains, according to the
physicians, are intolerable; and all my nerves were shrunk.
Certainly, if I had not brought this upon myself by my sins, the
torture would have been unendurable.</p>
<p><a name="l5.16">16</a>. I was not more than three months in this
cruel distress, for it seemed impossible that so many ills could be
borne together.  I now am astonished at myself, and the patience His
Majesty gave me--for it clearly came from Him--I look upon as a great
mercy of our Lord.  It was a great help to me to be patient, that I
had read the story of Job, in the <cite>Morals</cite> of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Gregory (our Lord seems to have prepared me
thereby); and that I had begun the practice of prayer, so that I might
bear it all, conforming my will to the will of God.  All my
conversation was with God.  I had continually these words of Job in my
thoughts and in my mouth: &#34;If we have received good things of the
hand of our Lord, why should we not receive evil
things?&#34; [<a href="#l5note9">9</a>]  This seemed to give
me courage.</p>
<p><a name="l5.17">17</a>. The feast of our Lady, in August, came
round; from April until then I had been in great pain, but more
especially during the last three months.  I made haste to go to
confession, for I had always been very fond of frequent confession.
They thought I was driven by the fear of death; and so my father, in
order to quiet me, would not suffer me to go.  Oh, the unreasonable
love of flesh and blood!  Though it was that of a father so Catholic
and so wise--he was very much so, and this act of his could not be the
effect of any ignorance on his part--what evil it might have
done me!</p>
<p><a name="l5.18">18</a>. That very night my sickness became so
acute, that for about four days I remained insensible.  They
administered the Sacrament of the last Anointing, and every hour, or
rather every moment, thought I was dying; they did nothing but repeat
the <i lang="la">Credo</i>, as if I could have understood anything
they said.  They must have regarded me as dead more than once, for I
found afterwards drops of wax on my eyelids.  My father, because he
had not allowed me to go to confession, was grievously distressed.
Loud cries and many prayers were made to God: blessed be He Who
heard them.</p>
<p><a name="l5.19">19</a>. For a day-and-a-half the grave was open in
my monastery, waiting for my body; [<a href="#l5note10">10</a>] and the
Friars of our Order, in a house at some distance from this place,
performed funeral solemnities.  But it pleased our Lord I should come
to myself.  I wished to go to confession at once.  I communicated with
many tears; but I do not think those tears had their source in that
pain and sorrow only for having offended God, which might have
sufficed for my salvation--unless, indeed, the delusion which I
laboured under were some excuse for me, and into which I had been led
by those who had told me that some things were not mortal sins which
afterwards I found were so certainly.</p>
<p><a name="l5.20">20</a>. Though my sufferings were unendurable, and
my perceptions dull, yet my confession, I believe, was complete as to
all matters wherein I understood myself to have offended God.  This
grace, among others, did His Majesty bestow on me, that ever since my
first Communion never in confession have I failed to confess anything
I thought to be a sin, though it might be only a venial sin.  But I
think that undoubtedly my salvation was in great peril, if I had died
at that time--partly because my confessors were so unlearned, and
partly because I was so very wicked.  It is certainly true that when I
think of it, and consider how our Lord seems to have raised me up from
the dead, I am so filled with wonder, that I almost tremble
with fear. [<a href="#l5note11">11</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l5.21">21</a>. And now, O my soul, it were well for thee
to look that danger in the face from which our Lord delivered thee;
and if thou dost not cease to offend Him out of love thou shouldst do
so out of fear.  He might have slain thee a thousand times, and in a
far more perilous state.  I believe I exaggerate nothing if I say a
thousand times again, though he may rebuke me who has commanded me to
restrain myself in recounting my sins; and they are glossed over
enough. I pray him, for the love of God, not to suppress one of my
faults, because herein shines forth the magnificence of God, as well
as His long-suffering towards souls.  May He be blessed for evermore,
and destroy me utterly, rather than let me cease to love Him
any more!</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l5note1">1</a>. <a href="#l4.6">Ch. iv. §
6</a>.  The person to whom she was taken was a woman famous for
certain cures she had wrought, but whose skill proved worse than
useless to the Saint (<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, lib. i. ch. xi.
§ 2).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l5note2">2</a>. Schram, <cite
lang="la"><abbr title="Institutiones theologiæ mysticæ ad usum
directorum animarum, curatorum, omniumque perfectioni christianæ
studentium">Theolog. Mystic.</abbr></cite>, § 483. <span
lang="la">&#34;Magni doctores scholastici, si non sint spirituales,
vel omni rerum spiritualium experientia careant, non solent esse
magistri spirituales idonei--nam theologia scholastica est perfectio
intellectus; mystica, perfectio intellectus et voluntatis: unde bonus
theologus scholasticus potest esse malus theologus mysticus.  In rebus
tamen difficilibus, dubiis, spiritualibus, præstat mediocriter
spiritualem theologum consulere quam
spiritualem idiotam.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l5note3">3</a>. See <cite>Way of Perfection</cite>,
ch. viii. § 2; but ch. v. Dalton's edition.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l5note4">4</a>. F. Vicente
Barron (<cite>Bouix</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l5note5">5</a>. See <a href="#l23.0">ch.
xxiii</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l5note6">6</a>. <a href="#l5.6">§
6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l5note7">7</a>. <a href="#l5.9">§
9</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l5note8">8</a>. <a href="#l4.6">Ch. iv.
§ 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l5note9">9</a>. Job ii. 10: <span lang="la">&#34;Si
bona suscepimus de manu Dei, mala quare
non suscipiamus?&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l5note10">10</a>. Some of the nuns of the
Incarnation were in the house, sent thither from the monastery; and,
but for the father's disbelief in her death, would have taken her home
for burial (<cite>Ribera</cite>, lib. i. ch. iv.).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l5note11">11</a>. <cite>Ribera</cite>, lib. i. ch.
iv., says he heard Fra Baņes, in a sermon, say that the Saint told him
she had, during these four days, seen hell in a vision.  And the
chronicler says that though there was bodily illness, yet it was a
trance of the soul at the same time (vol. i. lib. i. ch. xii.
§ 3).</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l6.0">Chapter VI.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Great Debt She Owed to Our Lord for His Mercy to Her.  She
Takes <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph for Her Patron.</big></p>
<p><a name="l6.1">1</a>. After those four days, during which I was
insensible, so great was my distress, that our Lord alone knoweth the
intolerable sufferings I endured.  My tongue was bitten to pieces;
there was a choking in my throat because I had taken nothing, and
because of my weakness, so that I could not swallow even a drop of
water; all my bones seemed to be out of joint, and the disorder of my
head was extreme.  I was bent together like a coil of ropes--for to
this was I brought by the torture of those days--unable to move either
arm, or foot, or hand, or head, any more than if I had been dead,
unless others moved me; I could move, however, I think, one finger of
my right hand.  Then, as to touching me, that was impossible, for I
was so bruised that I could not endure it.  They used to move me in a
sheet, one holding one end, and another the other.  This lasted till
Palm Sunday. [<a href="#l6note1">1</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l6.2">2</a>. The only comfort I had was this--if no one
came near me, my pains frequently ceased; and then, because I had a
little rest, I considered myself well, for I was afraid my patience
would fail: and thus I was exceedingly happy when I saw myself free
from those pains which were so sharp and constant, though in the cold
fits of an intermittent fever, which were most violent, they were
still unendurable.  My dislike of food was very great.</p>
<p><a name="l6.3">3</a>. I was now so anxious to return to my
monastery, that I had myself conveyed thither in the state I was in.
There they received alive one whom they had waited for as dead; but
her body was worse than dead: the sight of it could only give pain.
It is impossible to describe my extreme weakness, for I was nothing
but bones.  I remained in this state, as I have already
said, [<a href="#l6note2">2</a>] more than eight months; and was
paralytic, though getting better, for about three years.  I praised
God when I began to crawl on my hands and knees.  I bore all this with
great resignation, and, if I except the beginning of my illness, with
great joy; for all this was as nothing in comparison with the pains
and tortures I had to bear at first.  I was resigned to the will of
God, even if He left me in this state for ever.  My anxiety about the
recovery of my health seemed to be grounded on my desire to pray in
solitude, as I had been taught; for there were no means of doing so in
the infirmary.  I went to confession most frequently, spoke much about
God, and in such a way as to edify everyone; and they all marvelled at
the patience which our Lord gave me--for if it had not come from the
hand of His Majesty, it seemed impossible to endure so great an
affliction with so great a joy.</p>
<p><a name="l6.4">4</a>. It was a great thing for me to have had the
grace of prayer which God had wrought in me; it made me understand
what it is to love Him.  In a little while, I saw these virtues
renewed within me; still they were not strong, for they were not
sufficient to sustain me in justice.  I never spoke ill in the
slightest degree whatever of any one, and my ordinary practice was to
avoid all detraction; for I used to keep most carefully in mind that I
ought not to assent to, nor say of another, anything I should not like
to have said of myself.  I was extremely careful to keep this
resolution on all occasions though not so perfectly, upon some great
occasions that presented themselves, as not to break it sometimes.
But my ordinary practice was this: and thus those who were about me,
and those with whom I conversed, became so convinced that it was
right, that they adopted it as a habit.  It came to be understood that
where I was, absent persons were safe; so they were also with my
friends and kindred, and with those whom I instructed.  Still, for all
this, I have a strict account to give unto God for the bad example I
gave in other respects.  May it please His Majesty to forgive me, for
I have been the cause of much evil; though not with intentions as
perverse as were the acts that followed.</p>
<p><a name="l6.5">5</a>. The longing for solitude remained, and I
loved to discourse and speak of God; for if I found any one with whom
I could do so, it was a greater joy and satisfaction to me than all
the refinements--or rather to speak more correctly, the real
rudeness--of the world's conversation.  I communicated and confessed
more frequently still, and desired to do so; I was extremely fond of
reading good books; I was most deeply penitent for having offended
God; and I remember that very often I did not dare to pray, because I
was afraid of that most bitter anguish which I felt for having
offended God, dreading it as a great chastisement.  This grew upon me
afterwards to so great a degree, that I know of no torment wherewith
to compare it; and yet it was neither more nor less because of any
fear I had at any time, for it came upon me only when I remembered the
consolations of our Lord which He gave me in prayer, the great debt I
owed Him, the evil return I made: I could not bear it.  I was also
extremely angry with myself on account of the many tears I shed for my
faults, when I saw how little I improved, seeing that neither my good
resolutions, nor the pains I took, were sufficient to keep me from
falling whenever I had the opportunity.  I looked on my tears as a
delusion; and my faults, therefore, I regarded as the more grievous,
because I saw the great goodness of our Lord to me in the shedding of
those tears, and together with them such deep compunction.</p>
<p><a name="l6.6">6</a>. I took care to go to confession as soon as I
could; and, as I think, did all that was possible on my part to return
to a state of grace.  But the whole evil lay in my not thoroughly
avoiding the occasions of sin, and in my confessors, who helped me so
little.  If they had told me that I was travelling on a dangerous
road, and that I was bound to abstain from those conversations, I
believe, without any doubt, that the matter would have been remedied,
because I could not bear to remain even for one day in mortal sin, if
I knew it.</p>
<p><a name="l6.7">7</a>. All these tokens of the fear of God came to
me through prayer; and the greatest of them was this, that fear was
swallowed up of love--for I never thought of chastisement.  All the
time I was so ill, my strict watch over my conscience reached to all
that is mortal sin.</p>
<p><a name="l6.8">8</a>. O my God! I wished for health, that I might
serve Thee better; that was the cause of all my ruin.  For when I saw
how helpless I was through paralysis, being still so young, and how
the physicians of this world had dealt with me, I determined to ask
those of heaven to heal me--for I wished, nevertheless, to be well,
though I bore my illness with great joy.  Sometimes, too, I used to
think that if I recovered my health, and yet were lost for ever, I was
better as I was.  But, for all that, I thought I might serve God much
better if I were well.  This is our delusion; we do not resign
ourselves absolutely to the disposition of our Lord, Who knows best
what is for our good.</p>
<p><a name="l6.9">9</a>. I began by having Masses and prayers said for
my intention--prayers that were highly sanctioned; for I never liked
those other devotions which some people, especially women, make use of
with a ceremoniousness to me intolerable, but which move them to be
devout.  I have been given to understand since that they were unseemly
and superstitious; and I took for my patron and lord the glorious
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, and recommended myself
earnestly to him.  I saw clearly that both out of this my present
trouble, and out of others of greater importance, relating to my
honour and the loss of my soul, this my father and lord delivered me,
and rendered me greater services than I knew how to ask for.  I cannot
call to mind that I have ever asked him at any time for anything which
he has not granted; and I am filled with amazement when I consider the
great favours which God hath given me through this blessed Saint; the
dangers from which he hath delivered me, both of body and of soul.  To
other Saints, our Lord seems to have given grace to succour men in
some special necessity; but to this glorious Saint, I know by
experience, to help us in all: and our Lord would have us understand
that as He was Himself subject to him upon earth--for <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph having the title of father, and being
His guardian, could command Him--so now in heaven He performs all his
petitions.  I have asked others to recommend themselves to <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, and they too know this by experience;
and there are many who are now of late devout to
him, [<a href="#l6note3">3</a>] having had experience of
this truth.</p>
<p><a name="l6.10">10</a>. I used to keep his feast with all the
solemnity I could, but with more vanity than spirituality, seeking
rather too much splendour and effect, and yet with good intentions.  I
had this evil in me, that if our Lord gave me grace to do any good,
that good became full of imperfections and of many faults; but as for
doing wrong, the indulgence of curiosity and vanity, I was very
skilful and active therein.  Our Lord forgive me!</p>
<p><a name="l6.11">11</a>. Would that I could persuade all men to be
devout to this glorious Saint; for I know by long experience what
blessings he can obtain for us from God.  I have never known any one
who was really devout to him, and who honoured him by particular
services, who did not visibly grow more and more in virtue; for he
helps in a special way those souls who commend themselves to him.  It
is now some years since I have always on his feast asked him for
something, and I always have it.  If the petition be in any way amiss,
he directs it aright for my greater good.</p>
<p><a name="l6.12">12</a>. If I were a person who had authority to
write, it would be a pleasure to me to be diffusive in speaking most
minutely of the graces which this glorious Saint has obtained for me
and for others.  But that I may not go beyond the commandment that is
laid upon me, I must in many things be more brief than I could wish,
and more diffusive than is necessary in others; for, in short, I am a
person who, in all that is good, has but little discretion.  But I
ask, for the love of God, that he who does not believe me will make
the trial for himself--when he will see by experience the great
good that results from commending oneself to this glorious patriarch,
and being devout to him.  Those who give themselves to prayer should
in a special manner have always a devotion to <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph; for I know not how any man can think
of the Queen of the angels, during the time that she suffered so much
with the Infant Jesus, without giving thanks to <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph for the services he rendered them
then.  He who cannot find any one to teach him how to pray, let him
take this glorious Saint for his master, and he will not wander out of
the way.</p>
<p><a name="l6.13">13</a>. May it please our Lord that I have not done
amiss in venturing to speak about <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Joseph; for, though I publicly profess my devotion to him, I have
always failed in my service to him and imitation of him.  He was like
himself when he made me able to rise and walk, no longer a paralytic;
and I, too, am like myself when I make so bad a use of this grace.</p>
<p><a name="l6.14">14</a>. Who could have said that I was so soon to
fall, after such great consolations from God--after His Majesty had
implanted virtues in me which of themselves made me serve Him--after I
had been, as it were, dead, and in such extreme peril of eternal
damnation--after He had raised me up, soul and body, so that all who
saw me marvelled to see me alive?  What can it mean, O my Lord?  The
life we live is so full of danger!  While I am writing this--and it
seems to me, too, by Thy grace and mercy--I may say with <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul, though not so truly as he did: &#34;It
is not I who live now, but Thou, my Creator, livest in
me.&#34; [<a href="#l6note4">4</a>]  For some years past, so it seems
to me, Thou hast held me by the hand; and I see in myself desires and
resolutions--in some measure tested by experience, in many ways,
during that time--never to do anything, however slight it may be,
contrary to Thy will, though I must have frequently offended Thy
Divine Majesty without being aware of it; and I also think that
nothing can be proposed to me that I should not with great resolution
undertake for Thy love. In some things Thou hast Thyself helped me to
succeed therein.  I love neither the world, nor the things of the
world; nor do I believe that anything that does not come from Thee can
give me pleasure; everything else seems to me a heavy cross.</p>
<p><a name="l6.15">15</a>. Still, I may easily deceive myself, and it
may be that I am not what I say I am; but Thou knowest, O my Lord,
that, to the best of my knowledge, I lie not.  I am afraid, and with
good reason, lest Thou shouldst abandon me; for I know now how far my
strength and little virtue can reach, if Thou be not ever at hand to
supply them, and to help me never to forsake Thee.  May His Majesty
grant that I be not forsaken of Thee even now, when I am thinking all
this of myself!</p>
<p><a name="l6.16">16</a>. I know not how we can wish to live, seeing
that everything is so uncertain.  Once, O Lord, I thought it
impossible to forsake Thee so utterly; and now that I have forsaken
Thee so often, I cannot help being afraid; for when Thou didst
withdraw but a little from me, I fell down to the ground at once.
Blessed for ever be Thou!  Though I have forsaken Thee, Thou hast not
forsaken me so utterly but that Thou hast come again and raised me up,
giving me Thy hand always.  Very often, O Lord, I would not take it:
very often I would not listen when Thou wert calling me again, as I am
going to show.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l6note1">1</a>. March 25, 1537.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l6note2">2</a>. <a href="#l5.17">Ch. v. §
17</a>.  The Saint left her monastery in 1535; and in the spring of
1536 went from her sister's house to Bezadas; and in July of that year
was brought back to her father's house in Avila, wherein she remained
till Palm Sunday, 1537, when she returned to the Monastery of the
Incarnation.  She had been seized with paralysis there, and laboured
under it nearly three years, from 1536 to 1539, when she was
miraculously healed through the intercession of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph (<cite>Bolland</cite>, n. 100, 101).
The dates of the Chronicler are different from these.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l6note3">3</a>. Of the devotion to <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, F. Faber (<cite>The Blessed
Sacrament</cite>, bk. ii. p. 199, 3rd ed.) says that it took its rise
in the West, in a confraternity in Avignon.  &#34;Then it spread over
the church. Gerson was raised up to be its doctor and theologian, and
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa to be its Saint, and <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis of Sales to be its popular teacher
and missionary.  The houses of Carmel were like the holy house of
Nazareth to it; and the colleges of the Jesuits, its peaceful sojourns
in dark Egypt.&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l6note4">4</a>. Galat. ii. 20: <span
lang="la">&#34;Vivo autem, jam non ego; vivit vero in
me Christus.&#34;</span></small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l7.0">Chapter VII.</a></h3>
<p><big>Lukewarmness.  The Loss of Grace.  Inconvenience of Laxity in
Religious Houses.</big></p>
<p><a name="l7.1">1</a>. So, then, going on from pastime to pastime,
from vanity to vanity, from one occasion of sin to another, I began to
expose myself exceedingly to the very greatest dangers: my soul was so
distracted by many vanities, that I was ashamed to draw near unto God
in an act of such special friendship as that of
prayer. [<a href="#l7note1">1</a>]  As my sins multiplied, I began to
lose the pleasure and comfort I had in virtuous things: and that loss
contributed to the abandonment of prayer.  I see now most clearly, O
my Lord, that this comfort departed from me because I had departed
from Thee.</p>
<p><a name="l7.2">2</a>. It was the most fearful delusion into which
Satan could plunge me--to give up prayer under the pretence of
humility.  I began to be afraid of giving myself to prayer, because I
saw myself so lost.  I thought it would be better for me, seeing that
in my wickedness I was one of the most wicked, to live like the
multitude--to say the prayers which I was bound to say, and that
vocally: not to practise mental prayer nor commune with God so much;
for I deserved to be with the devils, and was deceiving those who were
about me, because I made an outward show of goodness; and therefore
the community in which I dwelt is not to be blamed; for with my
cunning I so managed matters, that all had a good opinion of me; and
yet I did not seek this deliberately by simulating devotion; for in
all that relates to hypocrisy and ostentation--glory be to God!--I do
not remember that I ever offended Him, [<a href="#l7note2">2</a>] so
far as I know.  The very first movements herein gave me such pain,
that the devil would depart from me with loss, and the gain remained
with me; and thus, accordingly, he never tempted me much in this way.
Perhaps, however, if God had permitted Satan to tempt me as sharply
herein as he tempted me in other things, I should have fallen also
into this; but His Majesty has preserved me until now.  May He be
blessed for evermore!  It was rather a heavy affliction to me that I
should be thought so well of; for I knew my own secret.</p>
<p><a name="l7.3">3</a>. The reason why they thought I was not so
wicked was this: they saw that I, who was so young, and exposed to so
many occasions of sin, withdrew myself so often into solitude for
prayer, read much, spoke of God, that I liked to have His image
painted in many places, to have an oratory of my own, and furnish it
with objects of devotion, that I spoke ill of no one, and other things
of the same kind in me which have the appearance of virtue.  Yet all
the while--I was so vain--I knew how to procure respect for myself by
doing those things which in the world are usually regarded
with respect.</p>
<p><a name="l7.4">4</a>. In consequence of this, they gave me as much
liberty as they did to the oldest nuns, and even more, and had great
confidence in me; for as to taking any liberty for myself, or doing
anything without leave--such as conversing through the door, or in
secret, or by night--I do not think I could have brought myself to
speak with anybody in the monastery in that way, and I never did it;
for our Lord held me back.  It seemed to me--for I considered many
things carefully and of set purpose--that it would be a very evil deed
on my part, wicked as I was, to risk the credit of so many nuns, who
were all good--as if everything else I did was well done!  In truth,
the evil I did was not the result of deliberation, as this would have
been, if I had done it, although it was too much so.</p>
<p><a name="l7.5">5</a>. Therefore, I think that it did me much harm
to be in a monastery not enclosed.  The liberty which those who were
good might have with advantage--they not being obliged to do more than
they do, because they had not bound themselves to enclosure--would
certainly have led me, who am wicked, straight to hell, if our Lord,
by so many remedies and means of His most singular mercy, had not
delivered me out of that danger--and it is, I believe, the very
greatest danger--namely, a monastery of women unenclosed--yea, more, I
think it is, for those who will be wicked, a road to hell, rather than
a help to their weakness.  This is not to be understood of my
monastery; for there are so many there who in the utmost sincerity,
and in great perfection, serve our Lord, so that His Majesty,
according to His goodness, cannot but be gracious unto them; neither
is it one of those which are most open for all religious observances
are kept in it; and I am speaking only of others which I have seen
and known.</p>
<p><a name="l7.6">6</a>. I am exceedingly sorry for these houses,
because our Lord must of necessity send His special inspirations not
merely once, but many times, if the nuns therein are to be saved,
seeing that the honours and amusements of the world are allowed among
them, and the obligations of their state are so ill-understood.  God
grant they may not count that to be virtue which is sin, as I did so
often!  It is very difficult to make people understand this; it is
necessary our Lord Himself should take the matter seriously into His
own hands.</p>
<p><a name="l7.7">7</a>. If parents would take my advice, now that
they are at no pains to place their daughters where they may walk in
the way of salvation without incurring a greater risk than they would
do if they were left in the world, let them look at least at that
which concerns their good name.  Let them marry them to persons of a
much lower degree, rather than place them in monasteries of this kind,
unless they be of extremely good inclinations, and God grant that
these inclinations may come to good! or let them keep them at home.
If they will be wicked at home, their evil life can be hidden only for
a short time; but in monasteries it can be hidden long, and, in the
end, it is our Lord that discovers it.  They injure not only
themselves, but all the nuns also.  And all the while the poor things
are not in fault; for they walk in the way that is shown them.  Many
of them are to be pitied; for they wished to withdraw from the world,
and, thinking to escape from the dangers of it, and that they were
going to serve our Lord, have found themselves in ten worlds at once,
without knowing what to do, or how to help themselves.  Youth and
sensuality and the devil invite them and incline them to follow
certain ways which are of the essence of worldliness.  They see these
ways, so to speak, considered as safe there.</p>
<p><a name="l7.8">8</a>. Now, these seem to me to be in some degree
like those wretched heretics who will make themselves blind, and who
will consider that which they do to be good, and so believe, but
without really believing; for they have within themselves something
that tells them it is wrong.</p>
<p><a name="l7.9">9</a>. Oh, what utter ruin! utter ruin of religious
persons--I am not speaking now more of women than of men--where the
rules of the Order are not kept; where the same monastery offers two
roads: one of virtue and observance, the other of inobservance, and
both equally frequented!  I have spoken incorrectly: they are not
equally frequented; for, on account of our sins, the way of the
greatest imperfection is the most frequented; and because it is the
broadest, it is also the most in favour.  The way of religious
observance is so little used, that the friar and the nun who would
really begin to follow their vocation thoroughly have reason to fear
the members of their communities more than all the devils together.
They must be more cautious, and dissemble more, when they would speak
of that friendship with God which they desire to have, than when they
would speak of those friendships and affections which the devil
arranges in monasteries.  I know not why we are astonished that the
Church is in so much trouble, when we see those, who ought to be an
example of every virtue to others, so disfigure the work which the
spirit of the Saints departed wrought in their Orders.  May it please
His Divine Majesty to apply a remedy to this, as He sees it to be
needful! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l7.10">10</a>. So, then, when I began to indulge in these
conversations, I did not think, seeing they were customary, that my
soul must be injured and dissipated, as I afterwards found it must be,
by such conversations.  I thought that, as receiving visits was so
common in many monasteries, no more harm would befall me thereby than
befell others, whom I knew to be good.  I did not observe that they
were much better than I was, and that an act which was perilous for me
was not so perilous for them; and yet I have no doubt there was some
danger in it, were it nothing else but a waste of time.</p>
<p><a name="l7.11">11</a>. I was once with a person--it was at the
very beginning of my acquaintance with her when our Lord was pleased
to show me that these friendships were not good for me: to warn me
also, and in my blindness, which was so great, to give me light.
Christ stood before me, stern and grave, giving me to understand what
in my conduct was offensive to Him.  I saw Him with the eyes of the
soul more distinctly than I could have seen Him with the eyes of the
body.  The vision made so deep an impression upon me, that, though it
is more than twenty-six years ago, [<a href="#l7note3">3</a>] I seem to
see Him present even now.  I was greatly astonished and disturbed, and
I resolved not to see that person again.</p>
<p><a name="l7.12">12</a>. It did me much harm that I did not then
know it was possible to see anything otherwise than with the eyes of
the body; [<a href="#l7note4">4</a>] so did Satan too, in that he
helped me to think so: he made me understand it to be impossible, and
suggested that I had imagined the vision--that it might be Satan
himself--and other suppositions of that kind.  For all this, the
impression remained with me that the vision was from God, and not an
imagination; but, as it was not to my liking, I forced myself to lie
to myself; and as I did not dare to discuss the matter with any one,
and as great importunity was used, I went back to my former
conversation with the same person, and with others also, at different
times; for I was assured that there was no harm in seeing such a
person, and that I gained, instead of losing, reputation by doing so.
I spent many years in this pestilent amusement; for it never appeared
to me, when I was engaged in it, to be so bad as it really was, though
at times I saw clearly it was not good.  But no one caused me the same
distraction which that person did of whom I am speaking; and that was
because I had a great affection for her.</p>
<p><a name="l7.13">13</a>. At another time, when I was with that
person, we saw, both of us, and others who were present also saw,
something like a great toad crawling towards us, more rapidly than
such a creature is in the habit of crawling.  I cannot understand how
a reptile of that kind could, in the middle of the day, have come
forth from that place; it never had done so
before, [<a href="#l7note5">5</a>] but the impression it made on me was
such, that I think it must have had a meaning; neither have I ever
forgotten it. Oh, the greatness of God! with what care and tenderness
didst Thou warn me in every way! and how little I profited by
those warnings!</p>
<p><a name="l7.14">14</a>. There was in that house a nun, who was
related to me, now grown old, a great servant of God, and a strict
observer of the rule.  She too warned me from time to time; but I not
only did not listen to her, but was even offended, thinking she was
scandalized without cause.  I have mentioned this in order that my
wickedness and the great goodness of God might be understood, and to
show how much I deserved hell for ingratitude so great, and, moreover,
if it should be our Lord's will and pleasure that any nun at
any time should read this, that she might take warning by me.  I
beseech them all, for the love of our Lord, to flee from such
recreations as these.</p>
<p><a name="l7.15">15</a>. May His Majesty grant I may undeceive some
one of the many I led astray when I told them there was no harm in
these things, and assured them there was no such great danger therein.
I did so because I was blind myself; for I would not deliberately lead
them astray.  By the bad example I set before them--I spoke of this
before [<a href="#l7note6">6</a>]--I was the occasion of much evil, not
thinking I was doing so much harm.</p>
<p><a name="l7.16">16</a>. In those early days, when I was ill, and
before I knew how to be of use to myself, I had a very strong desire
to further the progress of others: [<a href="#l7note7">7</a>] a most
common temptation of beginners.  With me, however, it had good
results.  Loving my father so much, I longed to see him in the
possession of that good which I seemed to derive myself from prayer.
I thought that in this life there could not be a greater good than
prayer; and by roundabout ways, as well as I could, I contrived make
him enter upon it; I gave him books for that end.  As he was so
good--I said so before [<a href="#l7note8">8</a>]--this exercise took
such a hold upon him, that in five or six years, I think it was, he
made so great a progress that I used to praise our Lord for it.  It
was a very great consolation to me. He had most grievous trials of
diverse kinds; and he bore them all with the greatest resignation.  He
came often to see me; for it was a comfort to him to speak of the
things of God.</p>
<p><a name="l7.17">17</a>. And now that I had become so dissipated,
and had ceased to pray, and yet saw that he still thought I was what I
used to be, I could not endure it, and so undeceived him.  I had been
a year and more without praying, thinking it an act of greater
humility to abstain.  This--I shall speak of it
again [<a href="#l7note9">9</a>]--was the greatest temptation I ever
had, because it very nearly wrought my utter
ruin; [<a href="#l7note10">10</a>] for, when I used to pray, if I
offended God one day, on the following days I would recollect myself,
and withdraw farther from the occasions of sin.</p>
<p><a name="l7.18">18</a>. When that blessed man, having that good
opinion of me, came to visit me, it pained me to see him so deceived
as to think that I used to pray to God as before.  So I told him that
I did not pray; but I did not tell him why.  I put my infirmities
forward as an excuse; for though I had recovered from that which was
so troublesome, I have always been weak, even very much so; and though
my infirmities are somewhat less troublesome now than they were, they
still afflict me in many ways; specially, I have been suffering for
twenty years from sickness every morning, [<a href="#l7note11">11</a>]
so that I could not take any food till past mid-day, and even
occasionally not till later; and now, since my Communions have become
more frequent, it is at night, before I lie down to rest, that the
sickness occurs, and with greater pain; for I have to bring it on with
a feather, or other means.  If I do not bring it on, I suffer more;
and thus I am never, I believe, free from great pain, which is
sometimes very acute, especially about the heart; though the
fainting-fits are now but of rare occurrence.  I am also, these eight
years past, free from the paralysis, and from other infirmities of
fever, which I had so often.  These afflictions I now regard so
lightly, that I am even glad of them, believing that our Lord in some
degree takes His pleasure in them.</p>
<p><a name="l7.19">19</a>. My father believed me when I gave him that
for a reason, as he never told a lie himself; neither should I have
done so, considering the relation we were in.  I told him, in order to
be the more easily believed, that it was much for me to be able to
attend in choir, though I saw clearly that this was no excuse
whatever; neither, however, was it a sufficient reason for giving
up a practice which does not require, of necessity, bodily strength,
but only love and a habit thereof; yet our Lord always furnishes an
opportunity for it, if we but seek it.  I say always; for though there
may be times, as in illness, and from other causes, when we cannot be
much alone, yet it never can be but there must be opportunities when
our strength is sufficient for the purpose; and in sickness itself,
and amidst other hindrances, true prayer consists, when the soul
loves, in offering up its burden, and in thinking of Him for Whom it
suffers, and in the resignation of the will, and in a thousand ways
which then present themselves. It is under these circumstances that
love exerts itself for it is not necessarily prayer when we are alone;
and neither is it not prayer when we are not.</p>
<p><a name="l7.20">20</a>. With a little care, we may find great
blessings on those occasions when our Lord, by means of afflictions,
deprives us of time for prayer; and so I found it when I had a good
conscience. But my father, having that opinion of me which he had, and
because of the love he bore me, believed all I told him; moreover, he
was sorry for me; and as he had now risen to great heights of prayer
himself, he never remained with me long; for when he had seen me, he
went his way, saying that he was wasting his time.  As I was wasting
it in other vanities, I cared little about this.</p>
<p><a name="l7.21">21</a>. My father was not the only person whom I
prevailed upon to practise prayer, though I was walking in vanity
myself.  When I saw persons fond of reciting their prayers, I showed
them how to make a meditation, and helped them and gave them books;
for from the time I began myself to pray, as I said
before, [<a href="#l7note12">12</a>] I always had a desire that others
should serve God.  I thought, now that I did not myself serve our Lord
according to the light I had, that the knowledge His Majesty had given
me ought not to be lost, and that others should serve Him for
me. [<a href="#l7note13">13</a>]  I say this in order to explain the
great blindness I was in: going to ruin myself, and labouring to
save others.</p>
<p><a name="l7.22">22</a>. At this time, that illness befell my father
of which he died; [<a href="#l7note14">14</a>] it lasted some days.  I
went to nurse him, being more sick in spirit than he was in body,
owing to my many vanities--though not, so far as I know, to the extent
of being in mortal sin--through the whole of that wretched time of
which I am speaking; for, if I knew myself to be in mortal sin, I
would not have continued in it on any account.  I suffered much myself
during his illness.  I believe I rendered him some service in return
for what he had suffered in mine.  Though I was very ill, I did
violence to myself; and though in losing him I was to lose all the
comfort and good of my life--he was all this to me--I was so
courageous, that I never betrayed my sorrows, concealing them till he
was dead, as if I felt none at all.  It seemed as if my very soul were
wrenched when I saw him at the point of death--my love for him was
so deep.</p>
<p><a name="l7.23">23</a>. It was a matter for which we ought to
praise our Lord--the death that he died, and the desire he had to die;
so also was the advice he gave us after the last anointing, how he
charged us to recommend him to God, and to pray for mercy for him, how
he bade us serve God always, and consider how all things come to an
end.  He told us with tears how sorry he was that he had not served
Him himself; for he wished he was a friar--I mean, that he had been
one in the Strictest Order that is.  I have a most assured conviction
that our Lord, some fifteen days before, had revealed to him he was
not to live; for up to that time, though very ill, he did not think
so; but now, though he was somewhat better, and the physicians said
so, he gave no heed to them, but employed himself in the ordering of
his soul.</p>
<p><a name="l7.24">24</a>. His chief suffering consisted in a most
acute pain of the shoulders, which never left him: it was so sharp at
times, that it put him into great torture.  I said to him, that as he
had so great a devotion to our Lord carrying His cross on His
shoulders, he should now think that His Majesty wished him to feel
somewhat of that pain which He then suffered Himself.  This so
comforted him, that I do not think I heard him
complain afterwards.</p>
<p><a name="l7.25">25</a>. He remained three days without
consciousness; but on the day he died, our Lord restored him so
completely, that we were astonished: he preserved his understanding to
the last; for in the middle of the creed, which he repeated himself,
he died.  He lay there like an angel--such he seemed to me, if I may
sayso, both in soul and disposition: he was very good.</p>
<p><a name="l7.26">26</a>. I know not why I have said this, unless it
be for the purpose of showing how much the more I am to be blamed for
my wickedness; for after seeing such a death, and knowing what his
life had been, I, in order to be in any wise like unto such a father,
ought to have grown better.  His confessor, a most learned
Dominican, [<a href="#l7note15">15</a>] used to say that he had no
doubt he went straight to heaven. [<a href="#l7note16">16</a>]  He had
heard his confession for some years, and spoke with praise of the
purity of his conscience.</p>
<p><a name="l7.27">27</a>. This Dominican father, who was a very good
man, fearing God, did me a very great service; for I confessed to him.
He took upon himself the task of helping my soul in earnest, and of
making me see the perilous state I was in. [<a href="#l7note17">17</a>]
He sent me to Communion once a fortnight; [<a href="#l7note18">18</a>]
and I, by degrees beginning to speak to him, told him about my prayer.
He charged me never to omit it: that, anyhow, it could not do me
anything but good.  I began to return to it--though I did not cut off
the occasions of sin--and never afterwards gave it up.  My life became
most wretched, because I learned in prayer more and more of my faults.
On one side, God was calling me; on the other, I was following the
world. All the things of God gave me great pleasure; and I was a
prisoner to the things of the world.  It seemed as if I wished to
reconcile two contradictions, so much at variance one with another as
are the life of the spirit and the joys and pleasures and amusements
of sense. [<a href="#l7note19">19</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l7.28">28</a>. I suffered much in prayer; for the spirit
was slave, and not master; and so I was not able to shut myself up
within myself--that was my whole method of prayer--without shutting up
with me a thousand vanities at the same time.  I spent many years in
this way; and I am now astonished that any one could have borne it
without abandoning either the one or the other.  I know well that it
was not in my power then to give up prayer, because He held me in His
hand Who sought me that He might show me greater mercies.</p>
<p><a name="l7.29">29</a>. O my God! if I might, I would speak of the
occasions from which God delivered me, and how I threw myself into
them again; and of the risks I ran of losing utterly my good name,
from which He delivered me.  I did things to show what I was; and our
Lord hid the evil, and revealed some little virtue--if so be I had
any--and made it great in the eyes of all, so that they always held me
in much honour.  For although my follies came occasionally into light,
people would not believe it when they saw other things, which they
thought good.  The reason is, that He Who knoweth all things saw it
was necessary it should be so, in order that I might have some credit
given me by those to whom in after years I was to speak of His
service.  His supreme munificence regarded not my great sins, but
rather the desires I frequently had to please Him, and the pain I felt
because I had not the strength to bring those desires to
good effect.</p>
<p><a name="l7.30">30</a>. O Lord of my soul! how shall I be able to
magnify the graces which Thou, in those years, didst bestow upon me?
Oh, how, at the very time that I offended Thee most, Thou didst
prepare me in a moment, by a most profound compunction, to taste of
the sweetness of Thy consolations and mercies!  In truth, O my King,
Thou didst administer to me the most delicate and painful chastisement
it was possible for me to bear; for Thou knewest well what would have
given me the most pain.  Thou didst chastise my sins with great
consolations.  I do not believe I am saying foolish things, though it
may well be that I am beside myself whenever I call to mind my
ingratitude and my wickedness.</p>
<p><a name="l7.31">31</a>. It was more painful for me, in the state I
was in, to receive graces, when I had fallen into grievous faults,
than it would have been to receive chastisement; for one of those
faults, I am sure, used to bring me low, shame and distress me, more
than many diseases, together with many heavy trials, could have done.
For, as to the latter, I saw that I deserved them; and it seemed to me
that by them I was making some reparation for my sins, though it was
but slight, for my sins are so many.  But when I see myself receive
graces anew, after being so ungrateful for those already received,
that is to me--and, I believe, to all who have any knowledge or love
of God--a fearful kind of torment.  We may see how true this is by
considering what a virtuous mind must be.  Hence my tears and vexation
when I reflected on what I felt, seeing myself in a condition to fall
at every moment, though my resolutions and desires then--I am speaking
of that time--were strong.</p>
<p><a name="l7.32">32</a>. It is a great evil for a soul to be alone
in the midst of such great dangers; it seems to me that if I had had
any one with whom I could have spoken of all this, it might have
helped me not to fall.  I might, at least, have been ashamed before
him--and yet I was not ashamed before God.</p>
<p><a name="l7.33">33</a>. For this reason, I would advise those who
give themselves to prayer, particularly at first, to form friendships;
and converse familiarly, with others who are doing the same thing.  It
is a matter of the last importance, even if it lead only to helping
one another by prayer: how much more, seeing that it has led to much
greater gain!  Now, if in their intercourse one with another, and in
the indulgence of human affections even not of the best kind, men seek
friends with whom they may refresh themselves, and for the purpose of
having greater satisfaction in speaking of their empty joys, I know no
reason why it should not be lawful for him who is beginning to love
and serve God in earnest to confide to another his joys and sorrows;
for they who are given to prayer are thoroughly accustomed
to both.</p>
<p><a name="l7.34">34</a>. For if that friendship with God which he
desires be real, let him not be afraid of vain-glory; and if the first
movements thereof assail him, he will escape from it with merit; and I
believe that he who will discuss the matter with this intention will
profit both himself and those who hear him, and thus will derive more
light for his own understanding, as well as for the instruction of his
friends.  He who in discussing his method of prayer falls into
vain-glory will do so also when he hears Mass devoutly, if he is seen
of men, and in doing other good works, which must be done under pain
of being no Christian; and yet these things must not be omitted
through fear of vain-glory.</p>
<p><a name="l7.35">35</a>. Moreover, it is a most important matter for
those souls who are not strong in virtue; for they have so many
people, enemies as well as friends, to urge them the wrong way, that I
do not see how this point is capable of exaggeration.  It seems to me
that Satan has employed this artifice--and it is of the greatest
service to him--namely, that men who really wish to love and please
God should hide the fact, while others, at his suggestion, make open
show of their malicious dispositions; and this is so common, that it
seems a matter of boasting now, and the offences committed against God
are thus published abroad.</p>
<p><a name="l7.36">36</a>. I do not know whether the things I am
saying are foolish or not.  If they be so, your reverence will strike
them out.  I entreat you to help my simplicity by adding a good deal
to this, because the things that relate to the service of God are so
feebly managed, that it is necessary for those who would serve Him to
join shoulder to shoulder, if they are to advance at all; for it is
considered safe to live amidst the vanities and pleasures of the
world, and few there be who regard them with unfavourable eyes.  But
if any one begins to give himself up to the service of God, there are
so many to find fault with him, that it becomes necessary for him to
seek companions, in order that he may find protection among them till
he grows strong enough not to feel what he may be made to suffer.  If
he does not, he will find himself in great straits.</p>
<p><a name="l7.37">37</a>. This, I believe, must have been the reason
why some of the Saints withdrew into the desert.  And it is a kind of
humility in man not to trust to himself, but to believe that God will
help him in his relations with those with whom he converses; and
charity grows by being diffused; and there are a thousand blessings
herein which I would not dare to speak of, if I had not known by
experience the great importance of it.  It is very true that I am the
most wicked and the basest of all who are born of women; but I believe
that he who, humbling himself, though strong, yet trusteth not in
himself, and believeth another who in this matter has had experience,
will lose nothing.  Of myself I may say that, if our Lord had not
revealed to me this truth, and given me the opportunity of speaking
very frequently to persons given to prayer, I should have gone on
falling and rising till I tumbled into hell.  I had many friends to
help me to fall; but as to rising again, I was so much left to myself,
that I wonder now I was not always on the ground.  I praise God for
His mercy; for it was He only Who stretched out His hand to me.  May
He be blessed for ever! Amen.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l7note1">1</a>. See <cite>Way of Perfection</cite>,
ch. xl.; but ch. xxvii. of the former editions.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note2">2</a>. See <a
href="#r1.18"><cite>Relation</cite>, i.
§ 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note3">3</a>. A.D. 1537, when the Saint was
twenty-two years old (<cite>Bouix</cite>).  This passage, therefore,
must he one of the additions to the second Life; for the first was
written in 1562, twenty-five years only after the vision.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note4">4</a>. See <a href="#l27.3">ch.
xxvii. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note5">5</a>. In the parlour of the monastery of
the Incarnation, Avila, a painting of this is preserved to this day
(<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note6">6</a>. <a href="#l6.4">Ch. vi. §
4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note7">7</a>. See <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>, v.
iii. § 1.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note8">8</a>. <a href="#l1.1">Ch. i. §
i</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note9">9</a>. <a href="#l19.9">Ch.
xix. §§ 9</a>, <a href="#l19.17">17</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note10">10</a>. See <a href="#l7.2">§ 2</a>,
above.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note11">11</a>. See <a
href="#l11.23">ch. xi. § 23</a>: <cite>Inner
Fortress</cite>, vi. i. § 8.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note12">12</a>. <a
href="#l7.16">§ 16</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note13">13</a>. See <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>,
v. iii. § 1.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note14">14</a>. In 1541, when the Saint was
twenty-five years of age (<cite>Bouix</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note15">15</a>. F. Vicente Barron
(<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, lib. i. ch. xv.).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note16">16</a>. See <a
href="#l38.1">ch. xxxviii. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note17">17</a>. See <a
href="#l19.19">ch. xix. § 19</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note18">18</a>. The Spanish editor calls
attention to this as a proof of great laxity in those days--that a nun
like <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa should be urged to
communicate as often as once in a fortnight.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l7note19">19</a>. See <a
href="#l13.7">ch. xiii. §§ 7, 8</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l8.0">Chapter VIII.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Saint Ceases Not to Pray.  Prayer the Way to Recover What
Is Lost.  All Exhorted to Pray.  The Great Advantage of Prayer, Even
to Those Who May Have Ceased from It.</big></p>
<p><a name="l8.1">1</a>. It is not without reason that I have dwelt so
long on this portion of my life.  I see clearly that it will give no
one pleasure to see anything so base; and certainly I wish those who
may read this to have me in abhorrence, as a soul so obstinate and so
ungrateful to Him Who did so much for me.  I could wish, too, I had
permission to say how often at this time I failed in my duty to God,
because I was not leaning on the strong pillar of prayer.  I passed
nearly twenty years on this stormy sea, falling and rising, but rising
to no good purpose, seeing that I went and fell again.  My life was
one of perfection; but it was so mean, that I scarcely made any
account whatever of venial sins; and though of mortal sins I was
afraid, I was not so afraid of them as I ought to have been, because I
did not avoid the perilous occasions of them.  I may say that it was
the most painful life that can be imagined, because I had no sweetness
in God, and no pleasure in the world.</p>
<p><a name="l8.2">2</a>. When I was in the midst of the pleasures of
the world, the remembrance of what I owed to God made me sad; and when
I was praying to God, my worldly affections disturbed me.  This is so
painful a struggle, that I know not how I could have borne it for a
month, let alone for so many years. Nevertheless, I can trace
distinctly the great mercy of our Lord to me, while thus immersed in
the world, in that I had still the courage to pray.  I say courage,
because I know of nothing in the whole world which requires greater
courage than plotting treason against the King, knowing that He knows
it, and yet never withdrawing from His presence; for, granting that we
are always in the presence of God, yet it seems to me that those who
pray arc in His presence in a very different sense; for they, as it
were, see that He is looking upon them; while others may be for days
together without even once recollecting that God sees them.</p>
<p><a name="l8.3">3</a>. It is true, indeed, that during these years
there were many months, and, I believe, occasionally a whole year, in
which I so kept guard over myself that I did not offend our Lord, gave
myself much to prayer, and took some pains, and that successfully, not
to offend Him.  I speak of this now, because all I am saying is
strictly true; but I remember very little of those good days, and so
they must have been few, while my evil days were many.  Still, the
days that passed over without my spending a great part of them in
prayer were few, unless I was very ill, or very much occupied.</p>
<p><a name="l8.4">4</a>. When I was ill, I was well with God.  I
contrived that those about me should be so, too, and I made
supplications to our Lord for this grace, and spoke frequently of Him.
Thus, with the exception of that year of which I have been speaking,
during eight-and-twenty years of prayer, I spent more than eighteen in
that strife and contention which arose out of my attempts to reconcile
God and the world.  As to the other years, of which I have now to
speak, in them the grounds of the warfare, though it was not slight,
were changed; but inasmuch as I was--at least, I think so--serving
God, and aware of the vanity of the world, all has been pleasant, as I
shall show hereafter. [<a href="#l8note1">1</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l8.5">5</a>. The reason, then, of my telling this at so
great a length is that, as I have just said, [<a href="#l8note2">2</a>]
the mercy of God and my ingratitude, on the one hand, may become
known; and, on the other, that men may understand how great is the
good which God works in a soul when He gives it a disposition to pray
in earnest, though it may not be so well prepared as it ought to be.
If that soul perseveres in spite of sins, temptations, and relapses,
brought about in a thousand ways by Satan, our Lord will bring it at
last--I am certain of it--to the harbour of salvation, as He has
brought me myself; for so it seems to me now.  May His Majesty grant I
may never go back and be lost!  He who gives himself to prayer is in
possession of a great blessing, of which many saintly and good men
have written--I am speaking of mental prayer--glory be to God for it;
and, if they had not done so, I am not proud enough, though I have but
little humility, to presume to discuss it.</p>
<p><a name="l8.6">6</a>. I may speak of that which I know by
experience; and so I say, let him never cease from prayer who has once
begun it, be his life ever so wicked; for prayer is the way to amend
it, and without prayer such amendment will be much more difficult.
Let him not be tempted by Satan, as I was, to give it up, on the
pretence of humility; [<a href="#l8note3">3</a>] let him rather believe
that His words are true Who says that, if we truly repent, and resolve
never to offend Him, He will take us into His favour
again, [<a href="#l8note4">4</a>] give us the graces He gave us before,
and occasionally even greater, if our repentance deserve it.  And as
to him who has not begun to pray, I implore him by the love of our
Lord not to deprive himself of so great a good.</p>
<p><a name="l8.7">7</a>. Herein there is nothing to be afraid
of, but everything to hope for.  Granting that such a one does not
advance, nor make an effort to become perfect, so as to merit the joys
and consolations which the perfect receive from God, yet he will by
little and little attain to a knowledge of the road which leads to
heaven. And if he perseveres, I hope in the mercy of God for him,
seeing that no one ever took Him for his friend that was not amply
rewarded; for mental prayer is nothing else, in my opinion, but being
on terms of friendship with God, frequently conversing in secret with
Him Who, we know, loves us.  Now, true love and lasting friendship
require certain dispositions: those of our Lord, we know, are
absolutely perfect; ours, vicious, sensual, and thankless; and you
cannot therefore, bring yourselves to love Him as He loves you,
because you have not the disposition to do so; and if you do not love
Him, yet, seeing how much it concerns you to have His friendship, and
how great is His love for you, rise above that pain you feel at being
much with Him Who is so different from you.</p>
<p><a name="l8.8">8</a>. O infinite goodness of my God!  I seem to see
Thee and myself in this relation to one another.  O Joy of the angels!
when I consider it, I wish I could wholly die of love!  How true it is
that Thou endurest those who will not endure Thee!  Oh, how good a
friend art Thou, O my Lord! how Thou comfortest and endurest, and also
waitest for them to make themselves like unto Thee, and yet, in the
meanwhile, art Thyself so patient of the state they are in!  Thou
takest into account the occasions during which they seek Thee, and for
a moment of penitence forgettesttheir offences against Thyself.</p>
<p><a name="l8.9">9</a>. I have seen this distinctly in my own case,
and I cannot tell why the whole world does not labour to draw near to
Thee in this particular friendship.  The wicked, who do not resemble
Thee, ought to do so, in order that Thou mayest make them good,
and for that purpose should permit Thee to remain with them at least
for two hours daily, even though they may not remain with Thee but, as
I used to do, with a thousand distractions, and with worldly thoughts.
In return for this violence which they offer to themselves for the
purpose of remaining in a company so good as Thine--for at first they
can do no more, and even afterwards at times--Thou, O Lord, defendest
them against the assaults of evil spirits, whose power Thou
restrainest, and even lessenest daily, giving to them the victory over
these their enemies.  So it is, O Life of all lives, Thou slayest none
that put their trust in Thee, and seek Thy friendship; yea, rather,
Thou sustainest their bodily life in greater vigour, and makest their
soul to live.</p>
<p><a name="l8.10">10</a>. I do not understand what there can be to
make them afraid who are afraid to begin mental prayer, nor do I know
what it is they dread.  The devil does well to bring this fear upon
us, that he may really hurt us by putting me in fear, he can make me
cease from thinking of my offences against God, of the great debt I
owe Him, of the existence of heaven and hell, and of the great sorrows
and trials He underwent for me.  That was all my prayer, and had been,
when I was in this dangerous state, and it was on those subjects I
dwelt whenever I could; and very often, for some years, I was more
occupied with the wish to see the end of the time I had appointed for
myself to spend in prayer, and in watching the hour-glass, than with
other thoughts that were good.  If a sharp penance had been laid upon
me, I know of none that I would not very often have willingly
undertaken, rather than prepare myself for prayer by
self-recollection.  And certainly the violence with which Satan
assailed me was so irresistible, or my evil habits were so strong,
that I did not betake myself to prayer; and the sadness I felt on
entering the oratory was so great, that it required all the courage I
had to force myself in.  They say of me that my courage is not slight,
and it is known that God has given me a courage beyond that of a
woman; but I have made a bad use of it.  In the end, our Lord came to
my help; and then, when I had done this violence to myself, I found
greater peace and joy than I sometimes had when I had a desire
to pray.</p>
<p><a name="l8.11">11</a>. If, then, our Lord bore so long with me,
who was so wicked--and it is plain that it was by prayer all my evil
was corrected--why should any one, how wicked soever he may be, have
any fear?  Let him be ever so wicked, he will not remain in his
wickedness so many years as I did, after receiving so many graces from
our Lord.  Is there any one who can despair, when He bore so long with
me, only because I desired and contrived to find some place and some
opportunities for Him to be alone with me--and that very often against
my will? for I did violence to myself, or rather our Lord Himself did
violence to me.</p>
<p><a name="l8.12">12</a>. If, then, to those who do not serve God,
but rather offend Him, prayer be all this, and so necessary, and if no
one can really find out any harm it can do him, and if the omission of
it be not a still greater harm, why, then, should they abstain from it
who serve and desire to serve God?  Certainly I cannot comprehend it,
unless it be that men have a mind to go through the troubles of this
life in greater misery, and to shut the door in the face of God, so
that He shall give them no comfort in it.  I am most truly sorry for
them, because they serve God at their own cost; for of those who pray,
God Himself defrays the charges, seeing that for a little trouble He
gives sweetness, in order that, by the help it supplies, they may bear
their trials.</p>
<p><a name="l8.13">13</a>. But because I have much to say hereafter of
this sweetness, which our Lord gives to those who persevere in
prayer, [<a href="#l8note5">5</a>] I do not speak of it here; only this
will I say: prayer is the door to those great graces which our Lord
bestowed upon me.  If this door be shut, I do not see how He can
bestow them; for even if He entered into a soul to take His delight
therein, and to make that soul also delight in Him, there is no way by
which He can do so; for His will is, that such a soul should be lonely
and pure, with a great desire to receive His graces.  If we put many
hindrances in the way, and take no pains whatever to remove them, how
can He come to us, and how can we have any desire that He should show
us His great mercies?</p>
<p><a name="l8.14">14</a>. I will speak now--for it is very important
to understand it--of the assaults which Satan directs against a soul
for the purpose of taking it, and of the contrivances and compassion
wherewith our Lord labours to convert it to Himself, in order that men
may behold His mercy, and the great good it was for me that I did not
give up prayer and spiritual reading, and that they may be on their
guard against the dangers against which I was not on my guard myself.
And, above all, I implore them for the love of our Lord, and for the
great love with which He goeth about seeking our conversion to
Himself, to beware of the occasions of sin; for once placed therein,
we have no ground to rest on--so many enemies then assail us, and our
own weakness is such, that we cannot defend ourselves.</p>
<p><a name="l8.15">15</a>. Oh, that I knew how to describe the
captivity of my soul in those days!  I understood perfectly that I was
in captivity, but I could not understand the nature of it; neither
could I entirely believe that those things which my confessors did not
make so much of were so wrong as I in my soul felt them to be.  One of
them--I had gone to him with a scruple--told me that, even if I were
raised to high contemplation, those occasions and conversations were
not unfitting for me.  This was towards the end, when, by the grace of
God, I was withdrawing more and more from those great dangers, but not
wholly from the occasions of them.</p>
<p><a name="l8.16">16</a>. When they saw my good desires, and how I
occupied myself in prayer, I seemed to them to have done much; but my
soul knew that this was not doing what I was bound to do for Him to
Whom I owed so much.  I am sorry for my poor soul even now, because of
its great sufferings, and the little help it had from any one except
God, and for the wide door that man opened for it, that it might go
forth to its pastimes and pleasures, when they said that these things
were lawful.</p>
<p><a name="l8.17">17</a>. Then there was the torture of sermons, and
that not a slight one; for I was very fond of them.  If I heard any
one preach well and with unction, I felt, without my seeking it, a
particular affection for him, neither do I know whence it came.  Thus,
no sermon ever seemed to me so bad, but that I listened to it with
pleasure; though, according to others who heard it, the preaching was
not good.  If it was a good sermon, it was to me a most special
refreshment.  To speak of God, or to hear Him spoken of, never wearied
me.  I am speaking of the time after I gave myself to prayer.  At one
time I had great comfort in sermons, at another they distressed me,
because they made me feel that I was very far from being what I ought
to have been.</p>
<p><a name="l8.18">18</a>. I used to pray to our Lord for help; but,
as it now seems to me, I must have committed the fault of not putting
my whole trust in His Majesty, and of not thoroughly distrusting
myself.  I sought for help, took great pains; but it must be that I
did not understand how all is of little profit if we do not root out
all confidence in ourselves, and place it wholly in God.  I wished to
live, but I saw clearly that I was not living, but rather wrestling
with the shadow of death; there was no one to give me life, and I was
not able to take it.  He Who could have given it me had good reasons
for not coming to my aid, seeing that He had brought me back to
Himself so many times, and I as often had left Him.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l8note1">1</a>. <a href="#l9.10">Ch. ix.
 § 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l8note2">2</a>. <a href="#l8.1">§ 1</a>,
above.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l8note3">3</a>. <a href="#l7.17">Ch.
vii. § 17</a>; <a href="#l19.8">ch. xix.
§ 8</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l8note4">4</a>. Ezech. xviii. 21: <span
lang="la">&#34;Si autem impius egerit poenitentiam, . . . vita vivet,
et non morietur.  Omnium iniquitatum ejus . . . non
recordabor.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l8note5">5</a>. See <a href="#l10.2">ch.
x. § 2</a>, and <a href="#l11.22">ch. xi.
§ 22</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l9.0">Chapter IX.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Means Whereby Our Lord Quickened Her Soul, Gave Her Light
in Her Darkness, and Made Her Strong in Goodness.</big></p>
<p><a name="l9.1">1</a>. My soul was now grown weary; and the
miserable habits it had contracted would not suffer it to rest, though
it was desirous of doing so.  It came to pass one day, when I went
into the oratory, that I saw a picture which they had put by there,
and which had been procured for a certain feast observed in the house.
It was a representation of Christ most grievously wounded; and so
devotional, that the very sight of it, when I saw it, moved me--so
well did it show forth that which He suffered for us.  So keenly did I
feel the evil return I had made for those wounds, that I thought my
heart was breaking.  I threw myself on the ground beside it, my tears
flowing plenteously, and implored Him to strengthen me once for all,
so that I might never offend Him any more.</p>
<p><a name="l9.2">2</a>. I had a very great devotion to the glorious
Magdalene, and very frequently used to think of her
conversion--especially when I went to Communion.  As I knew for
certain that our Lord was then within me, I used to place myself at
His feet, thinking that my tears would not be despised.  I did not
know what I was saying; only He did great things for me, in that He
was pleased I should shed those tears, seeing that I so soon forgot
that impression. I used to recommend myself to that glorious Saint,
that she might obtain my pardon.</p>
<p><a name="l9.3">3</a>. But this last time, before that picture of
which I am speaking, I seem to have made greater progress; for I was
now very distrustful of myself, placing all my confidence in God.  It
seems to me that I said to Him then that I would not rise up till He
granted my petition.  I do certainly believe that this was of great
service to me, because I have grown better
ever since. [<a href="#l9note1">1</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l9.4">4</a>. This was my method of prayer: as I could not
make reflections with my understanding, I contrived to picture Christ
as within me; [<a href="#l9note2">2</a>] and I used to find myself the
better for thinking of those mysteries of His life during which He was
most lonely.  It seemed to me that the being alone and afflicted, like
a person in trouble, must needs permit me to come near unto Him.</p>
<p><a name="l9.5">5</a>. I did many simple things of this kind; and in
particular I used to find myself most at home in the prayer in the
Garden, whither I went in His company.  I thought of the bloody sweat,
and of the affliction He endured there; I wished, if it had been
possible, to wipe away that painful sweat from His face; but I
remember that I never dared to form such a resolution--my sins stood
before me so grievously.  I used to remain with Him there as long as
my thoughts allowed me, and I had many thoughts to torment me.  For
many years, nearly every night before I fell asleep, when I
recommended myself to God, that I might sleep in peace, I used always
to think a little of this mystery of the prayer in the Garden--yea,
even before I was a nun, because I had been told that many indulgences
were to be gained thereby.  For my part, I believe that my soul gained
very much in this way, because I began to practise prayer without
knowing what it was; and now that it had become my constant habit, I
was saved from omitting it, as I was from omitting to bless myself
with the sign of the cross before I slept.</p>
<p><a name="l9.6">6</a>. And now to go back to what I was saying of
the torture which my thoughts inflicted upon me.  This method of
praying, in which the understanding makes no reflections, hath this
property: the soul must gain much, or lose.  I mean, that those who
advance without meditation, make great progress, because it is done by
love.  But to attain to this involves great labour, except to those
persons whom it is our Lord's good pleasure to lead quickly to the
prayer of quiet. I know of some.  For those who walk in this way, a
book is profitable, that by the help thereof they may the more quickly
recollect themselves.  It was a help to me also to look on fields,
water, and flowers. [<a href="#l9note3">3</a>] In them I saw traces of
the Creator--I mean, that the sight of these things was as a book unto
me; it roused me, made me recollected, and reminded me of my
ingratitude and of my sins.  My understanding was so dull, that I
could never represent in the imagination either heavenly or high
things in any form whatever until our Lord placed them before me in
another way. [<a href="#l9note4">4</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l9.7">7</a>. I was so little able to put things before me
by the help of my understanding, that, unless I saw a thing with my
eyes, my imagination was of no use whatever.  I could not do as others
do, who can put matters before themselves so as to become thereby
recollected.  I was able to think of Christ only as man.  But so it
was; and I never could form any image of Him to myself, though I read
much of His beauty, and looked at pictures of Him.  I was like one who
is blind, or in the dark, who, though speaking to a person present,
and feeling his presence, because he knows for certain that he is
present--I mean, that he understands him to be present, and believes
it--yet does not see him.  It was thus with me when I used to think of
our Lord.  This is why I was so fond of images.  Wretched are they
who, through their own fault, have lost this blessing; it is clear
enough that they do not love our Lord--for if they loved Him, they
would rejoice at the sight of His picture, just as men find pleasure
when they see the portrait of one they love.</p>
<p><a name="l9.8">8</a>. At this time, the <cite>Confessions</cite> of
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Augustine were given me.  Our Lord
seems to have so ordained it, for I did not seek them myself, neither
had I ever seen them before.  I had a very great devotion to <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Augustine, because the monastery in which I
lived when I was yet in the world was of his
Order; [<a href="#l9note5">5</a>] and also because he had been a
sinner--for I used to find great comfort in those Saints whom, after
they had sinned, our Lord converted to Himself.  I thought they would
help me, and that, as our Lord had forgiven them, so also He would
forgive me. One thing, however, there was that troubled me--I have
spoken of it before [<a href="#l9note6">6</a>]--our Lord had called
them but once, and they never relapsed; while my relapses were now so
many.  This it was that vexed me.  But calling to mind the love that
He bore me, I took courage again.  Of His mercy I never doubted once,
but I did very often of myself.</p>
<p><a name="l9.9">9</a>. O my God, I amazed at the hardness of my
heart amidst so many succours from Thee.  I am filled with dread when
I see how little I could do with myself, and how I was clogged, so
that I could not resolve to give myself entirely to God.  When I began
to read the <cite>Confessions</cite>, I thought I saw myself there
described, and began to recommend myself greatly to this glorious
Saint.  When I came to his conversion, and read how he heard that
voice in the garden, it seemed to me nothing less than that our Lord
had uttered it for me: I felt so in my heart.  I remained for some
time lost in tears, in great inward affliction and distress.  O my
God, what a soul has to suffer because it has lost the liberty it had
of being mistress over itself! and what torments it has to endure!  I
wonder now how I could live in torments so great: God be praised Who
gave me life, so that I might escape from so fatal a death!  I believe
that my soul obtained great strength from His Divine Majesty, and that
He must have heard my cry, and had compassion upon so many tears.</p>
<p><a name="l9.10">10</a>. A desire to spend more time with Him began
to grow within me, and also to withdraw from the occasions of sin: for
as soon as I had done so, I turned lovingly to His Majesty at once.  I
understood clearly, as I thought, that I loved Him; but I did not
understand, as I ought to have understood it, wherein the true love of
God consists.  I do not think I had yet perfectly disposed myself to
seek His service when His Majesty turned towards me with His
consolations.  What others strive after with great labour, our Lord
seems to have looked out for a way to make me willing to accept--that
is, in these later years to give me joy and comfort.  But as for
asking our Lord to give me either these things or sweetness in
devotion, I never dared to do it; the only thing I prayed Him to give
me was the grace never to offend Him, together with the forgiveness of
my great sins.  When I saw that my sins were so great, I never
ventured deliberately to ask for consolation or for sweetness.  He had
compassion enough upon me, I think--and, in truth, He dealt with me
according to His great mercy--when He allowed me to stand before Him,
and when He drew me into His presence; for I saw that, if He had not
drawn me, I should not have come at all.</p>
<p><a name="l9.11">11</a>. Once only in my life do I remember asking
for consolation, being at the time in great aridities.  When I
considered what I had done, I was so confounded, that the very
distress I suffered from seeing how little humility I had, brought me
that which I had been so bold as to ask for.  I knew well that it was
lawful to pray for it; but it seemed to me that it is lawful only for
those who are in good dispositions, who have sought with all their
might to attain to true devotion--that is, not to offend God, and to
be disposed and resolved for all goodness.  I looked upon those tears
of mine as womanish and weak, seeing that I did not obtain my desires
by them; nevertheless, I believe that they did me some service; for,
specially after those two occasions of great compunction and sorrow of
heart, [<a href="#l9note7">7</a>] accompanied by tears, of which I am
speaking, I began in an especial way to give myself more to prayer,
and to occupy myself less with those things which did me harm--though
I did not give them up altogether.  But God Himself, as I have just
said, came to my aid, and helped me to turn away from them.  As His
Majesty was only waiting for some preparation on my part, the
spiritual graces grew in me as I shall now explain.  It is not the
custom of our Lord to give these graces to any but to those who keep
their consciences in greater pureness. [<a href="#l9note8">8</a>]</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l9note1">1</a>. In the year 1555
(<cite>Bouix</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l9note2">2</a>. See <a href="#l4.10">ch.
iv. § 10</a>; <a href="#l10.1">ch. x. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l9note3">3</a>. See <a
href="#r1.12"><cite>Relation</cite>, i.
§ 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l9note4">4</a>. See <a href="#l4.11">ch.
iv. § 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l9note5">5</a>. <a href="#l2.8">Ch. ii.
§ 8</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l9note6">6</a>. In the <a
href="#prologue">Prologue</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l9note7">7</a>. <a href="#l9.1">§
1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l9note8">8</a>. <a href="#l4.11">Ch. iv.
§ 11</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l10.0">Chapter X.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Graces She Received in Prayer.  What We Can Do Ourselves.
The Great Importance of Understanding What Our Lord Is Doing for Us.
She Desires Her Confessors to Keep Her Writings Secret, Because of the
Special Graces of Our Lord to Her, Which They Had Commanded Her
to Describe.</big></p>
<p><a name="l10.1">1</a>. I used to have at times, as I have
said, [<a href="#l10note1">1</a>] though it used to pass quickly
away--certain commencements of that which I am going now to describe.
When I formed those pictures within myself of throwing myself at the
feet of Christ, as I said before, [<a href="#l10note2">2</a>] and
sometimes even when I was reading, a feeling of the presence of God
would come over me unexpectedly, so that I could in no wise doubt
either that He was within me, or that I was wholly absorbed in Him.
It was not by way of vision; I believe it was what is called
mystical theology.  The soul is suspended in such a way that it seems
to be utterly beside itself.  The will loves; the memory, so it seems
to me, is as it were lost; and the understanding, so I think, makes no
reflections--yet is not lost: as I have just said, it is not at work,
but it stands as if amazed at the greatness of the things it
understands; for God wills it to understand that it understands
nothing whatever of that which His Majesty places before it.</p>
<p><a name="l10.2">2</a>. Before this, I had a certain tenderness of
soul which was very abiding, partially attainable, I believe, in some
measure, by our own efforts: a consolation which is not wholly in the
senses, nor yet altogether in the spirit, but is all of it the gift of
God.  However, I think we can contribute much towards the attaining of
it by considering our vileness and our ingratitude towards God--the
great things He has done for us--His Passion, with its grievous
pains--and His life, so full of sorrows; also, by rejoicing in the
contemplation of His works, of His greatness, and of the love that He
bears us.  Many other considerations there are which he who really
desires to make progress will often stumble on, though he may not be
very much on the watch for them.  If with this there be a little love,
the soul is comforted, the heart is softened, and tears flow.
Sometimes it seems that we do violence to ourselves and weep; at other
times, our Lord seems to do so, so that we have no power to resist
Him.  His Majesty seems to reward this slight carefulness of ours with
so grand a gift as is this consolation which He ministers to the soul
of seeing itself weeping for so great a Lord.  I am not surprised; for
the soul has reason enough, and more than enough, for its joy.  Here
it comforts itself--here it rejoices.</p>
<p><a name="l10.3">3</a>. The comparison which now presents itself
seems to me to be good.  These joys in prayer are like what those of
heaven must be.  As the vision of the saints, which is measured by
their merits there, reaches no further than our Lord wills, and as the
blessed see how little merit they had, every one of them is satisfied
with the place assigned him: there being the very greatest difference
between one joy and another in heaven, and much greater than between
one spiritual joy and another on earth--which is, however, very great.
And in truth, in the beginning, a soul in which God works this grace
thinks that now it has scarcely anything more to desire, and counts
itself abundantly rewarded for all the service it has rendered Him.
And there is reason for this: for one of those tears--which, as I have
just said, are almost in our own power, though without God nothing can
be done--cannot, in my opinion, be purchased with all the labours of
the world, because of the great gain it brings us.  And what greater
gain can we have than some testimony of our having pleased God?  Let
him, then, who shall have attained to this, give praise unto
God--acknowledge himself to be one of His greatest debtors; because it
seems to be His will to take him into His house, having chosen him for
His kingdom, if he does not turn back.</p>
<p><a name="l10.4">4</a>. Let him not regard certain kinds of humility
which exist, and of which I mean to speak. [<a href="#l10note3">3</a>]
Some think it humility not to believe that God is bestowing His gifts
upon them.  Let us clearly understand this, and that it is perfectly
clear God bestows His gifts without any merit whatever on our part;
and let us be grateful to His Majesty for them; for if we do not
recognize the gifts received at His hands, we shall never be moved to
love Him.  It is a most certain truth, that the richer we see
ourselves to be, confessing at the same time our poverty, the greater
will be our progress, and the more real our humility.</p>
<p><a name="l10.5">5</a>. An opposite course tends to take away all
courage; for we shall think ourselves incapable of great blessings, if
we begin to frighten ourselves with the dread of vain-glory when our
Lord begins to show His mercy upon us. [<a href="#l10note4">4</a>]
Let us believe that He Who gives these gifts will also, when the devil
begins to tempt us herein, give us the grace to detect him, and the
strength to resist him--that is, He will do so if we walk in
simplicity before God, aiming at pleasing Him only, and not men.  It
is a most evident truth, that our love for a person is greater, the
more distinctly we remember the good he has done us.</p>
<p><a name="l10.6">6</a>. If, then, it is lawful, and so meritorious,
always to remember that we have our being from God, that He has
created us out of nothing, that He preserves us, and also to remember
all the benefits of His death and Passion, which He suffered long
before He made us for every one of us now alive--why should it not be
lawful for me to discern, confess, and consider often that I was once
accustomed to speak of vanities, and that now our Lord has given me
the grace to speak only of Himself?</p>
<p><a name="l10.7">7</a>. Here, then, is a precious pearl, which, when
we remember that it is given us, and that we have it in possession,
powerfully invites us to love.  All this is the fruit of prayer
founded on humility.  What, then, will it be when we shall find
ourselves in possession of other pearls of greater price, such as
contempt of the world and of self, which some servants of God have
already received?  It is clear that such souls must consider
themselves greater debtors--under greater obligations to serve Him: we
must acknowledge that we have nothing of ourselves, and confess the
munificence of our Lord, Who, on a soul so wretched and poor, and so
utterly undeserving, as mine is,--for whom the first of these pearls
was enough, and more than enough,--would bestow greater riches than I
could desire.</p>
<p><a name="l10.8">8</a>. We must renew our strength to serve Him, and
strive not to be ungrateful, because it is on this condition that our
Lord dispenses His treasures; for if we do not make a good use of
them, and of the high estate to which He raises us, He will return and
take them from us, and we shall be poorer than ever.  His Majesty will
give the pearls to him who shall bring them forth and employ them
usefully for himself and others.  For how shall he be useful, and how
shall he spend liberally, who does not know that he is rich?  It is
not possible, I think, our nature being what it is, that he can have
the courage necessary for great things who does not know that God is
on his side; for so miserable are we, so inclined to the things of
this world, that he can hardly have any real abhorrence of, with great
detachment from, all earthly things who does not see that he holds
some pledges for those things that are above.  It is by these gifts
that our Lord gives us that strength which we through our sins
have lost.</p>
<p><a name="l10.9">9</a>. A man will hardly wish to be held in
contempt and abhorrence, nor will he seek after the other great
virtues to which the perfect attain, if he has not some pledges of the
love which God bears him, together with a living faith.  Our nature is
so dead, that we go after that which we see immediately before us; and
it is these graces, therefore, that quicken and strengthen our faith.
It may well be that I, who am so wicked, measure others by myself, and
that others require nothing more than the verities of the faith, in
order to render their works most perfect; while I, wretched that I am!
have need of everything.</p>
<p><a name="l10.10">10</a>. Others will explain this.  I speak from my
own experience, as I have been commanded; and if what I say be not
correct, let him [<a href="#l10note5">5</a>] to whom I send it destroy
it; for he knows better than I do what is wrong in it.  I entreat him,
for the love of our Lord, to publish abroad what I have thus far said
of my wretched life, and of my sins.  I give him leave to do so; and
to all my confessors, also,--of whom he is one--to whom this is to be
sent, if it be their pleasure, even during my life, so that I may no
longer deceive people who think there must be some good in
me. [<a href="#l10note6">6</a>]  Certainly, I speak in all sincerity,
so far as I understand myself.  Such publication will give me
great comfort.</p>
<p><a name="l10.11">11</a>. But as to that which I am now going to
say, I give no such leave; nor, if it be shown to any one, do I
consent to its being said who the person is whose experience it
describes, nor who wrote it.  This is why I mention neither my own
name, nor that of any other person whatever.  I have written it in the
best way I could, in order not to be known; and this I beg of them for
the love of God.  Persons so learned and grave as they
are [<a href="#l10note7">7</a>] have authority enough to approve of
whatever right things I may say, should our Lord give me the grace to
do so; and if I should say anything of the kind, it will be His, and
not mine--because I am neither learned nor of good life, and I have no
person of learning or any other to teach me; for they only who ordered
me to write know that I am writing, and at this moment they are not
here.  I have, as it were, to steal the time, and that with
difficulty, because my writing hinders me from spinning.  I am living
in a house that is poor, and have many things to
do. [<a href="#l10note8">8</a>]  If, indeed, our Lord had given me
greater abilities and a better memory, I might then profit by what I
have seen and read; but my abilities are very slight.  If, then, I
should say anything that is right, our Lord will have it said for some
good purpose; that which may be wrong will be mine, and your reverence
will strike it out.</p>
<p><a name="l10.12">12</a>. In neither case will it be of any use to
publish my name: during my life, it is clear that no good I may have
done ought to be told; after death, there is no reason against it,
except that it will lose all authority and credit, because related of
a person so vile and so wicked as I am.  And because I think your
reverence and the others who may see this writing will do this that I
ask of you, for the love of our Lord, I write with freedom.  If it
were not so, I should have great scruples, except in declaring my
sins: and in that matter I should have none at all. For the rest, it
is enough that I am a woman to make my sails droop: how much more,
then, when I am a woman, and a wicked one?</p>
<p><a name="l10.13">13</a>. So, then, everything here beyond the
simple story of my life your reverence must take upon yourself--since
you have so pressed me to give some account of the graces which our
Lord bestowed upon me in prayer--if it he consistent with the truths
of our holy Catholic faith; if it be not, your reverence must burn it
at once--for I give my consent.  I will recount my experience, in
order that, if it be consistent with those truths, your reverence may
make some use of it; if not, you will deliver my soul from delusion,
so that Satan may gain nothing there where I seemed to be gaining
myself.  Our Lord knows well that I, as I shall show
hereafter, [<a href="#l10note9">9</a>] have always laboured to find out
those who could give me light.</p>
<p><a name="l10.14">14</a>. How clear soever I may wish to make my
account of that which relates to prayer, it will be obscure enough for
those who are without experience.  I shall speak of certain
hindrances, which, as I understand it, keep men from advancing on this
road--and of other things which are dangerous, as our Lord has taught
me by experience.  I have also discussed the matter with men of great
learning, with persons who for many years had lived spiritual lives,
who admit that, in the twenty-seven years only during which I have
given myself to prayer--though I walked so ill, and stumbled so often
on the road--His Majesty granted me that experience which others
attain to in seven-and-thirty, or seven-and-forty, years; and they,
too, being persons who ever advanced in the way of penance and
of virtue.</p>
<p><a name="l10.15">15</a>. Blessed be God for all, and may His
infinite Majesty make use of me!  Our Lord knoweth well that I have no
other end in this than that He may be praised and magnified a little,
when men shall see that on a dunghill so foul and rank He has made a
garden of flowers so sweet.  May it please His Majesty that I may not
by my own fault root them out, and become again what I was before.
And I entreat your reverence, for the love of our Lord, to beg this of
Him for me, seeing that you have a clearer knowledge of what I am than
you have allowed me to give of myself here.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l10note1">1</a>. The Saint interrupts her history
here to enter on the difficult questions of mystical theology, and
resumes it in <a href="#l23.1">ch. xxiii</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l10note2">2</a>. <a href="#l9.4">Ch. ix.
§ 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l10note3">3</a>. <a href="#l30.10">Ch.
xxx. §§ 10 and 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l10note4">4</a>. See <a
href="#l13.5">ch. xiii. § 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l10note5">5</a>. F. Pedro Ybaņez, of the Order of
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l10note6">6</a>. See <a
href="#l31.17">ch. xxxi. § 17</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l10note7">7</a>. See <a
href="#l15.12">ch. xv. § 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l10note8">8</a>. See <a
href="#l14.12">ch. xiv. § 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l10note9">9</a>. See <a
href="#l24.5">ch. xxiv. § 5</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l11.0">Chapter XI.</a></h3>
<p><big>Why Men Do Not Attain Quickly to the Perfect Love of God.  Of
Four Degrees of Prayer.  Of the First Degree.  The Doctrine Profitable
for Beginners, and for Those Who Have No Sensible Sweetness.</big></p>
<p><a name="l11.1">1</a>. I speak now of those who begin to be the
servants of love; that seems to me to be nothing else but to resolve
to follow Him in the way of prayer, who has loved us so much.  It is a
dignity so great, that I have a strange joy in thinking of it; for
servile fear vanishes at once, if we are, as we ought to be, in the
first degree.  O Lord of my soul, and my good, how is it that, when a
soul is determined to love Thee--doing all it can, by forsaking all
things, in order that it may the better occupy itself with the love of
God--it is not Thy will it should have the joy of ascending at once to
the possession of perfect love?  I have spoken amiss; I ought to have
said, and my complaint should have been, why is it we do not? for the
fault is wholly our own that we do not rejoice at once in a dignity so
great, seeing that the attaining to the perfect possession of this
true love brings all blessings with it.</p>
<p><a name="l11.2">2</a>. We think so much of ourselves, and are so
dilatory in giving ourselves wholly to God, that, as His Majesty will
not let us have the fruition of that which is so precious but at a
great cost, so neither do we perfectly prepare ourselves for it.  I
see plainly that there is nothing by which so great a good can be
procured in this world.  If, however, we did what we could, not
clinging to anything upon earth, but having all our thoughts and
conversation in Heaven, I believe that this blessing would quickly be
given us, provided we perfectly prepared ourselves for it at once, as
some of the saints have done.  We think we are giving all to God; but,
in fact, we are offering only the revenue or the produce, while we
retain the fee-simple of the land in our own possession.</p>
<p><a name="l11.3">3</a>. We resolve to become poor, and it is a
resolution of great merit; but we very often take great care not to be
in want, not simply of what is necessary, but of what is superfluous:
yea, and to make for ourselves friends who may supply us; and in this
way we take more pains, and perhaps expose ourselves to greater
danger, in order that we may want nothing, than we did formerly, when
we had our own possessions in our own power.</p>
<p><a name="l11.4">4</a>. We thought, also, that we gave up all desire
of honour when we became religious, or when we began the spiritual
life, and followed after perfection; and yet, when we are touched on
the point of honour, we do not then remember that we had given it up
to God.  We would seize it again, and take it, as they say, out of His
Hands, even after we had made Him, to all appearance, the Lord of our
own will.  So is it in every thing else.</p>
<p><a name="l11.5">5</a>. A pleasant way this of seeking the love of
God! we retain our own affections, and yet will have that love, as
they say, by handfuls.  We make no efforts to bring our desires to
good effect, or to raise them resolutely above the earth; and yet,
with all this, we must have many spiritual consolations.  This is not
well, and we are seeking things that are incompatible one with the
other.  So, because we do not give ourselves up wholly and at once,
this treasure is not given wholly and at once to us.  May it be the
good pleasure of our Lord to give it us drop by drop, though it may
cost us all the trials in the world.</p>
<p><a name="l11.6">6</a>. He showeth great mercy unto him to whom He
gives the grace and resolution to strive for this blessing with all
his might; for God withholds Himself from no one who perseveres.  He
will by little and little strengthen that soul, so that it may come
forth victorious.  I say resolution, because of the multitude of those
things which Satan puts before it at first, to keep it back from
beginning to travel on this road; for he knoweth what harm will befall
him thereby--he will lose not only that soul, but many others also.
If he who enters on this road does violence to himself, with the help
of God, so as to reach the summit of perfection, such a one, I
believe, will never go alone to Heaven; he will always take many with
him: God gives to him, as to a good captain, those who shall be of
his company.</p>
<p><a name="l11.7">7</a>. Thus, then, the dangers and difficulties
which Satan puts before them are so many, that they have need, not of
a little, but of a very great, resolution, and great grace from God,
to save them from falling away.</p>
<p><a name="l11.8">8</a>. Speaking, then, of their beginnings who are
determined to follow after this good, and to succeed in their
enterprise--what I began to say [<a href="#l11note1">1</a>] of mystical
theology--I believe they call it by that name--I shall proceed with
hereafter--I have to say that the labour is greatest at first; for it
is they who toil, our Lord, indeed, giving them strength.  In the
other degrees of prayer, there is more of fruition; although they who
are in the beginning, the middle, and the end, have their crosses to
carry: the crosses, however, are different.  They who would follow
Christ, if they do not wish to be lost, must walk in the way He walked
Himself.  Blessed labours! even here, in this life, so
superabundantly rewarded!</p>
<p><a name="l11.9">9</a>. I shall have to make use of a comparison; I
should like to avoid it, because I am a woman, and write simply what I
have been commanded.  But this language of spirituality is so
difficult of utterance for those who are not learned, and such am I.
I have therefore to seek for some means to make the matter plain.  It
may be that the comparison will very rarely be to the purpose--your
reverence will be amused when you see my stupidity.  I think, now, I
have either read or heard of this comparison; but as my memory is bad,
I know not where, nor on what occasion; however, I am satisfied with
it for my present purpose. [<a href="#l11note2">2</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l11.10">10</a>. A beginner must look upon himself as
making a garden, wherein our Lord may take His delight, but in a soil
unfruitful, and abounding in weeds.  His Majesty roots up the weeds,
and has to plant good herbs.  Let us, then, take for granted that this
is already done when a soul is determined to give itself to prayer,
and has begun the practice of it.  We have, then, as good gardeners,
by the help of God, to see that the plants grow, to water them
carefully, that they may not die, but produce blossoms, which shall
send forth much fragrance, refreshing to our Lord, so that He may come
often for His pleasure into this garden, and delight Himself in the
midst of these virtues.</p>
<p><a name="l11.11">11</a>. Let us now see how this garden is to be
watered, that we may understand what we have to do: how much trouble
it will cost us, whether the gain be greater than the trouble, or how
long a time it will take us.  It seems to me that the garden may be
watered in four ways: by water taken out of a well, which is very
laborious; or with water raised by means of an engine and buckets,
drawn by a windlass--I have drawn it this way sometimes--it is a less
troublesome way than the first, and gives more water; or by a stream
or brook, whereby the garden is watered in a much better way--for the
soil is more thoroughly saturated, and there is no necessity to water
it so often, and the labour of the gardener is much less; or by
showers of rain, when our Lord Himself waters it, without labour on
our part--and this way is incomparably better than all the others of
which I have spoken.</p>
<p><a name="l11.12">12</a>. Now, then, for the application of these
four ways of irrigation by which the garden is to be maintained; for
without water it must fail.  The comparison is to my purpose, and it
seems to me that by the help of it I shall be able to explain, in some
measure, the four degrees of prayer to which our Lord, of His
goodness, has occasionally raised my soul.  May He graciously grant
that I may so speak as to be of some service to one of those who has
commanded me to write, whom our Lord has raised in four months to a
greater height than I have reached in seventeen years!  He prepared
himself better than I did, and therefore is his garden without labour
on his part, irrigated by these four waters--though the last of them
is only drop by drop; but it is growing in such a way, that soon, by
the help of our Lord, he will be swallowed up therein, and it will be
a pleasure to me, if he finds my explanation absurd, that he should
laugh at it.</p>
<p><a name="l11.13">13</a>. Of those who are beginners in prayer, we
may say, that they are those who draw the water up out of the well--a
process which, as I have said, is very laborious; for they must be
wearied in keeping the senses recollected, and this is a great labour,
because the senses have been hitherto accustomed to distractions.  It
is necessary for beginners to accustom themselves to disregard what
they hear or see, and to put it away from them during the time of
prayer; they must be alone, and in retirement think over their past
life.  Though all must do this many times, beginners as well as those
more advanced; all, however, must not do so equally, as I shall show
hereafter. [<a href="#l11note3">3</a>] Beginners at first suffer much,
because they are not convinced that they are penitent for their sins;
and yet they are, because they are so sincerely resolved on serving
God.  They must strive to meditate on the life of Christ, and the
understanding is wearied thereby.  Thus far we can advance of
ourselves--that is, by the grace of God--for without that, as every
one knows, we never can have one good thought.</p>
<p><a name="l11.14">14</a>. This is beginning to draw water up out of
the well.  God grant there may be water in it!  That, however, does
not depend on us; we are drawing it, and doing what we can towards
watering the flowers.  So good is God, that when, for reasons known to
His Majesty--perhaps for our greater good--it is His will the well
should be dry, He Himself preserves the flowers without water--we,
like good gardeners, doing what lies in our power--and makes our
virtues grow.  By water here I mean tears, and if there be none, then
tenderness and an inward feeling of devotion.</p>
<p><a name="l11.15">15</a>. What, then, will he do here who sees that,
for many days, he is conscious only of aridity, disgust, dislike, and
so great an unwillingness to go to the well for water, that he would
give it up altogether, if he did not remember that he has to please
and serve the Lord of the garden; if he did not trust that his service
was not in vain, and did not hope for some gain by a labour so great
as that of lowering the bucket into the well so often, and drawing it
up without water in it?  It will happen that he is often unable to
move his arms for that purpose, or to have one good thought: working
with the understanding is drawing water out of the well.</p>
<p><a name="l11.16">16</a>. What, then, once more, will the gardener
do now?  He must rejoice and take comfort, and consider it as the
greatest favour to labour in the garden of so great an Emperor; and as
he knows that he is pleasing Him in the matter--and his purpose must
not be to please himself, but Him--let him praise Him greatly for the
trust He has in him--for He sees that, without any recompense, he is
taking so much care of that which has been confided to him; let him
help Him to carry the Cross, and let him think how He carried it all
His life long; let him not seek his kingdom here, nor ever intermit
his prayer; and so let him resolve, if this aridity should last even
his whole life long, never to let Christ fall down beneath
the Cross. [<a href="#l11note4">4</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l11.17">17</a>. The time will come when he shall be paid
once for all.  Let him have no fear that his labour is in vain: he
serves a good Master, Whose eyes are upon him.  Let him make no
account of evil thoughts, but remember that Satan suggested them to
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Jerome also in the
desert. [<a href="#l11note5">5</a>]  These labours have their reward, I
know it; for I am one who underwent them for many years.  When I drew
but one drop of water out of this blessed well, I considered it was a
mercy of God.  I know these labours are very great, and require, I
think, greater courage than many others in this world; but I have seen
clearly that God does not leave them without a great recompense, even
in this life; for it is very certain that in one hour, during which
our Lord  gave me to taste His sweetness, all the anxieties which I
had to bear when persevering in prayer seem to me ever afterwards
perfectly rewarded.</p>
<p><a name="l11.18">18</a>. I believe that it is our Lord's good
pleasure frequently in the beginning, and at times in the end, to send
these torments, and many other incidental temptations, to try those
who love Him, and to ascertain if they will drink the
chalice, [<a href="#l11note6">6</a>] and help Him to carry the Cross,
before He intrusts them with His great treasures.  I believe it to be
for our good that His Majesty should lead us by this way, so that we
may perfectly understand how worthless we are; for the graces which He
gives afterwards are of a dignity so great, that He will have us by
experience know our wretchedness before He grants them, that it may
not be with us as it was with Lucifer.</p>
<p><a name="l11.19">19</a>. What canst Thou do, O my Lord, that is not
for the greater good of that soul which Thou knowest to be already
Thine, and which gives itself up to Thee to follow Thee whithersoever
Thou goest, even to the death of the Cross; and which is determined to
help Thee to carry that Cross, and not to leave Thee alone with it?
He who shall discern this resolution in himself has nothing to fear:
no, no; spiritual people have nothing to fear.  There is no reason why
he should be distressed who is already raised to so high a degree as
this is of wishing to converse in solitude with God, and to abandon
the amusements of the world.  The greater part of the work is done;
give praise to His Majesty for it, and trust in His goodness who has
never failed those who love Him.  Close the eyes of your imagination,
and do not ask why He gives devotion to this person in so short a
time, and none to me after so many years.  Let us believe that all is
for our greater good; let His Majesty guide us whithersoever He will:
we are not our own, but His.  He shows us mercy enough when it is His
pleasure we should be willing to dig in His garden, and to be so near
the Lord of it: He certainly is near to us.  If it be His will that
these plants and flowers should grow--some of them when He gives water
we may draw from the well, others when He gives none--what is that to
me?  Do Thou, O Lord, accomplish Thy will; let me never offend Thee,
nor let my virtues perish; if Thou hast given me any, it is out of Thy
mere goodness.  I wish to suffer, because Thou, O Lord, hast suffered;
do Thou in every way fulfil Thy will in me, and may it never be the
pleasure of Thy Majesty that a gift of so high a price as that of Thy
love, be given to people who serve Thee only because of the sweetness
they find thereby.</p>
<p><a name="l11.20">20</a>. It is much to be observed, and I say so
because I know by experience, that the soul which, begins to walk in
the way of mental prayer with resolution, and is determined not to
care much, neither to rejoice nor to be greatly afflicted, whether
sweetness and tenderness fail it, or our Lord grants them, has already
travelled a great part of the road.  Let that soul, then, have no fear
that it is going back, though it may frequently stumble; for the
building is begun on a firm foundation.  It is certain that the love
of God does not consist in tears, nor in this sweetness and tenderness
which we for the most part desire, and with which we console
ourselves; but rather in serving Him in justice, fortitude, and
humility.  That seems to me to be a receiving rather than a giving of
anything on our part.</p>
<p><a name="l11.21">21</a>. As for poor women, such as I am, weak and
infirm of purpose, it seems to me to be necessary that I should be led
on through consolations, as God is doing now, so that I might be able
to endure certain afflictions which it has pleased His Majesty I
should have.  But when the servants of God, who are men of weight,
learning, and sense, make so much account, as I see they do, whether
God gives them sweetness in devotion or not, I am disgusted when I
listen to them.  I do not say that they ought not to accept it, and
make much of it, when God gives it--because, when He gives it, His
Majesty sees it to be necessary for them--but I do say that they ought
not to grow weary when they have it not.  They should then understand
that they have no need of it, and be masters of themselves, when His
Majesty does not give it.  Let them be convinced of this, there is a
fault here; I have had experience of it, and know it to be so.  Let
them believe it as an imperfection: they are not advancing in liberty
of spirit, but shrinking like cowards from the assault.</p>
<p><a name="l11.22">22</a>. It is not so much to beginners that I say
this--though I do insist upon it, because it is of great importance to
them that they should begin with this liberty and resolution--as to
others, of whom there are many, who make a beginning, but never come
to the end; and that is owing, I believe, in great measure, to their
not having embraced the Cross from the first.  They are distressed,
thinking they are doing nothing; the understanding ceases from its
acts, and they cannot bear it.  Yet, perhaps, at that very time, the
will is feeding and gathering strength, and they know it not.</p>
<p><a name="l11.23">23</a>. We must suppose that our Lord does not
regard these things; for though they seem to us to be faults, yet they
are not.  His Majesty knoweth our misery and natural vileness better
than we do ourselves.  He knoweth that these souls long to be always
thinking of Him and loving Him.  It is this resolution that He seeks
in us; the other anxieties which we inflict upon ourselves serve to no
other end but to disquiet the soul--which, if it be unable to derive
any profit in one hour, will by them be disabled for four.  This comes
most frequently from bodily indisposition--I have had very great
experience in the matter, and I know it is true; for I have carefully
observed it and discussed it afterwards with spiritual persons--for we
are so wretched, that this poor prisoner of a soul shares in the
miseries of the body.  The changes of the seasons, and the alterations
of the humours, very often compel it, without fault of its own, not to
do what it would, but rather to suffer in every way.  Meanwhile, the
more we force the soul on these occasions, the greater the mischief,
and the longer it lasts.  Some discretion must be used, in order to
ascertain whether ill-health be the occasion or not.  The poor soul
must not be stifled.  Let those who thus suffer understand that they
are ill; a change should be made in the hour of prayer, and oftentimes
that change should be continued for some days. Let souls pass out of
this desert as they can, for it is very often the misery of one that
loves God to see itself living in such wretchedness, unable to do what
it would, because it has to keep so evil a guest as the body.</p>
<p><a name="l11.24">24</a>. I spoke of discretion, because sometimes
the devil will do the same work; and so it is not always right to omit
prayer when the understanding is greatly distracted and disturbed, nor
to torment the soul to the doing of that which is out of its power.
There are other things then to be done--exterior works, as of charity
and spiritual reading--though at times the soul will not be able to do
them.  Take care, then, of the body, for the love of God, because at
many other times the body must serve the soul; and let recourse be had
to some recreations--holy ones--such as conversation, or going out
into the fields, as the confessor shall advise.  Altogether,
experience is a great matter, and it makes us understand what is
convenient for us.  Let God be served in all things--His yoke is
sweet; [<a href="#l11note7">7</a>] and it is of great importance that
the soul should not be dragged, as they say, but carried gently, that
it may make greater progress.</p>
<p><a name="l11.25">25</a>. So, then, I come back to what I advised
before [<a href="#l11note8">8</a>]--and though I repeat it often, it
matters not; it is of great importance that no one should distress
himself on account of aridities, or because his thoughts are restless
and distracted; neither should he be afflicted thereat, if he would
attain to liberty of spirit, and not be always in trouble.  Let him
begin by not being afraid of the Cross, and he will see how our Lord
will help him to carry it, how joyfully he will advance, and what
profit he will derive from it all.  It is now clear, if there is no
water in the well, that we at least can put none into it.  It is true
we must not be careless about drawing it when there is any in it,
because at that time it is the will of God to multiply our virtues by
means thereof.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l11note1">1</a>. <a href="#l10.1">Ch. x.
§ 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l11note2">2</a>. <i lang="la">Vide</i> <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Bernard, <cite
lang="la"><abbr title="in Cantica">in Cantic.</abbr></cite> <abbr
lang="la" title="Sermo">Serm.</abbr> 30. n. 7, ed. <abbr lang="la"
title="monachorum Sancti Benedicti">Ben.</abbr></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l11note3">3</a>. <a href="#l13.23">Ch.
xiii. § 23</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l11note4">4</a>. See <a
href="#l15.17">ch. xv. § 17</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l11note5">5</a>. Epist. 22, <cite lang="la">ad
Eustochium</cite>: <span lang="la">&#34;O quoties ego ipse in eremo
constitutus, et in illa vasta solitudine quæ exusta solis ardoribus
horridum monachis præstat habitaculum putabam me Romanis interesse
deliciis.  Sedebam solus. . . Horrebant sacco membra deformia. . . .
Ille igitur ego, qui ob Gehennæ metum tali me carcere damnaveram,
scorpionum tantum socius et ferarum, sæpe choris intereram puellarum,
pallebant ora jejuniis, et mens desideriis æstuabat in frigido
corpore, et ante hominem sua jam carne præmortuum sola libidinum
incendia bulliebant.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l11note6">6</a>. <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Matt. xx. 22: <span lang="la">&#34;Potestis
bibere calicem?&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l11note7">7</a>. <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Matt. xi. 30: <span lang="la">&#34;Jugum enim
meum suave est.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l11note8">8</a>. <a href="#l11.18">§
18</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l12.0">Chapter XII.</a></h3>
<p><big>What We Can Ourselves Do.  The Evil of Desiring to Attain to
Supernatural States Before Our Lord Calls Us.</big></p>
<p><a name="l12.1">1</a>. My aim in the foregoing chapter--though I
digressed to many other matters, because they seemed to me very
necessary--was to explain how much we may attain to of ourselves; and
how, in these beginnings of devotion, we are able in some degree to
help ourselves: because thinking of, and pondering on, the sufferings
of our Lord for our sakes moves us to compassion, and the sorrow and
tears which result therefrom are sweet.  The thought of the
blessedness we hope for, of the love our Lord bore us, and of His
resurrection, kindle within us a joy which is neither wholly spiritual
nor wholly sensual; but the joy is virtuous, and the sorrow is
most meritorious.</p>
<p><a name="l12.2">2</a>. Of this kind are all those things which
produce a devotion acquired in part by means of the understanding,
though it can neither be merited nor had, if God grants it not.  It is
best for a soul which God has not raised to a higher state than this
not to try to rise of itself.  Let this be well considered, because
all the soul will gain in that way will be a loss.  In this state it
can make many acts of good resolutions to do much for God, and
enkindle its love; other acts also, which may help the growth of
virtues, according to that which is written in a book called <cite>The
Art of Serving God</cite>, [<a href="#l12note1">1</a>] a most
excellent work, and profitable for those who are in this state,
because the understanding is active now.</p>
<p><a name="l12.3">3</a>. The soul may also place itself in the
presence of Christ, and accustom itself to many acts of love directed
to His sacred Humanity, and remain in His presence continually, and
speak to Him, pray to Him in its necessities, and complain to Him of
its troubles; be merry with Him in its joys, and yet not forget Him
because of its joys.  All this it may do without set prayers, but
rather with words befitting its desires and its needs.</p>
<p><a name="l12.4">4</a>. This is an excellent way whereby to advance,
and that very quickly.  He that will strive to have this precious
companionship, and will make much of it, and will sincerely love our
Lord, to whom we owe so much, is one, in my opinion, who has made some
progress.  There is therefore no reason why we should trouble
ourselves because we have no sensible devotion, as I said
before. [<a href="#l12note2">2</a>]  But let us rather give thanks to
our Lord, who allows us to have a desire to please Him, though our
works be poor.  This practice of the presence of Christ is profitable
in all states of prayer, and is a most safe way of advancing in the
first state, and of attaining quickly to the second; and as for the
last states, it secures us against those risks which the devil
may occasion.</p>
<p><a name="l12.5">5</a>. This, then, is what we can do.  He who would
pass out of this state, and upraise his spirit, in order to taste
consolations denied him, will, in my opinion, lose both the one and
the other. [<a href="#l12note3">3</a>]  These consolations being
supernatural, and the understanding inactive, the soul is then left
desolate and in great aridity.  As the foundation of the whole
building is humility, the nearer we draw unto God the more this virtue
should grow; if it does not, everything is lost. It seems to be a kind
of pride when we seek to ascend higher, seeing that God descends so
low, when He allows us, being what we are, to draw near unto Him.</p>
<p><a name="l12.6">6</a>. It must not be supposed that I am now
speaking of raising our thoughts to the consideration of the high
things of heaven and of its glory, or unto God and His great wisdom.
I never did this myself, because I had not the capacity for it--as I
said before; [<a href="#l12note4">4</a>] and I was so worthless, that,
as to thinking even of the things of earth, God gave me grace to
understand this truth: that in me it was no slight boldness to do so.
How much more, then, the thinking of heavenly things?  Others,
however, will profit in that way, particularly those who are learned;
for learning, in my opinion, is a great treasury in the matter of this
exercise, if it be accompanied with humility.  I observed this a few
days ago in some learned men who had shortly before made a beginning,
and had made great progress.  This is the reason why I am so very
anxious that many learned men may become spiritual.  I shall speak of
this by and by. [<a href="#l12note5">5</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l12.7">7</a>. What I am saying--namely, let them not rise
if God does not raise them--is the language of spirituality.  He will
understand me who has had any experience; and I know not how to
explain it, if what I have said does not make it plain.</p>
<p><a name="l12.8">8</a>. In mystical theology--of which I spoke
before [<a href="#l12note6">6</a>]--the understanding ceases from its
acts, because God suspends it--as I shall explain by and by, if I
can; [<a href="#l12note7">7</a>] and God give me the grace to do so.
We must neither imagine nor think that we can of ourselves bring about
this suspension.  That is what I say must not be done; nor must we
allow the understanding to cease from its acts; for in that case we
shall be stupid and cold, and the result will be neither the one nor
the other.  For when our Lord suspends the understanding, and makes it
cease from its acts, He puts before it that which astonishes and
occupies it: so that without making any reflections, it shall
comprehend in a moment [<a href="#l12note8">8</a>] more than we
could comprehend in many years with all the efforts in the world.</p>
<p><a name="l12.9">9</a>. To have the powers of the mind occupied, and
to think that you can keep them at the same time quiet, is folly.  I
repeat it, though it be not so understood, there is no great humility
in this; and, if it be blameless, it is not left unpunished--it is
labour thrown away, and the soul is a little disgusted: it feels like
a man about to take a leap, and is held back.  Such a one seems to
have used up his strength already, and finds himself unable to do that
which he wished to have done: so here, in the scanty gain that
remains, he who will consider the matter will trace that slight want
of humility of which I have spoken; [<a href="#l12note9">9</a>] for
that virtue has this excellence: there is no good work attended by
humility that leaves the soul disgusted.  It seems to me that I have
made this clear enough; yet, after all, perhaps only for myself.  May
our Lord open their eyes who read this, by giving them experience; and
then however slight that experience may be, they will immediately
understand it.</p>
<p><a name="l12.10">10</a>. For many years I read much, and understood
nothing; and for a long time, too, though God gave me understanding
herein, I never could utter a word by which I might explain it to
others.  This was no little trouble to me.  When His Majesty pleases,
He teaches everything in a moment, so that I am lost in wonder.  One
thing I can truly say: though I conversed with many spiritual persons,
who sought to make me understand what our Lord was giving me, in order
that I might be able to speak of it, the fact is, that my dulness was
so great, that I derived no advantage whatever, much or little, from
their teaching.</p>
<p><a name="l12.11">11</a>. Or it may be, as His Majesty has always
been my Master--may He be blessed for ever! for I am ashamed of myself
that I can say so with truth--that it was His good pleasure I should
meet with no one to whom I should be indebted in this matter.  So,
without my wishing or asking it--I never was careful about this, for
that would have been a virtue in me, but only about vanity--God gave
me to understand with all distinctness in a moment, and also enabled
me to express myself, so that my confessors were astonished but I more
than they, because I knew my own dulness better.  It is not long since
this happened.  And so that which our Lord has not taught me, I seek
not to know it, unless it be a matter that touches my conscience.</p>
<p><a name="l12.12">12</a>. Again I repeat my advice: it is of great
moment not to raise our spirit ourselves, if our Lord does not raise
it for us; and if He does, there can be no mistaking it.  For women,
it is specially wrong, because the devil can delude them--though I am
certain our Lord will never allow him to hurt any one who labours to
draw near unto God in humility.  On the contrary, such a one will
derive more profit and advantage out of that attack by which Satan
intended to hurt him.</p>
<p><a name="l12.13">13</a>. I have dwelt so long upon this matter
because this way of prayer is the most common with beginners, and
because the advice I have given is very important.  It will be found
much better given elsewhere: that I admit; and I admit, also, that in
writing it I am ashamed of myself, and covered with confusion--though
not so much so as I ought to be.  Blessed for ever be our Lord, of
whose will and pleasure it is that I am allowed, being what I am, to
speak of things which are His, of such a nature, and so deep.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l12note1">1</a>. <cite lang="es">Arte de servir a
Dios</cite>, by Rodrigue de Solis, friar of the Augustinian Order
(<cite>Bouix</cite>).  <cite lang="es">Arte para servir a Dios</cite>,
by Fra. Alonso de Madrid (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l12note2">2</a>. <a href="#l11.20">Ch.
xi. §§ 20</a>, <a href="#l11.25">25</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l12note3">3</a>. That is, he will lose the prayer
of acquired quiet, because he voluntarily abandons it before the time;
and will not attain to the prayer of infused quiet, because he
attempts to rise into it before he is called (Francis. de Sancto
Thoma, <cite lang="la">Medulla Mystica</cite>, tr. iv. ch. xi.
n. 69).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l12note4">4</a>. <a href="#l4.10">Ch. iv.
§ 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l12note5">5</a>. <a href="#l34.9">Ch.
xxxiv. § 9</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l12note6">6</a>. <a href="#l10.1">Ch. x.
§ 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l12note7">7</a>. <a href="#l16.4">Ch.
xvi. § 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l12note8">8</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;En un
credo.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l12note9">9</a>. <a
href="#l12.5">§ 5</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l13.0">Chapter XIII.</a></h3>
<p><big>Of Certain Temptations of Satan. Instructions
Relating Thereto.</big></p>
<p><a name="l13.1">1</a>. I have thought it right to speak of certain
temptations I have observed to which beginners are liable--some of
them I have had myself--and to give some advice about certain things
which to me seem necessary.  In the beginning, then, we should strive
to be cheerful and unconstrained; for there are people who think it is
all over with devotion if they relax themselves ever so little.  It is
right to be afraid of self; so that, having no confidence in
ourselves, much or little, we may not place ourselves in those
circumstances wherein men usually sin against God; for it is a most
necessary fear, till we become very perfect in virtue.  And there are
not many who are so perfect as to be able to relax themselves on those
occasions which offer temptations to their natural temper; for always
while we live, were it only to preserve humility, it is well we should
know our own miserable nature; but there are many occasions on which
it is permitted us--as I said just now [<a href="#l13note1">1</a>]--to
take some recreation, in order that we may with more vigour resume
our prayer.</p>
<p><a name="l13.2">2</a>. Discretion is necessary throughout.  We must
have great confidence; because it is very necessary for us not to
contract our desires, but put our trust in God; for, if we do violence
to ourselves by little and little, we shall, though not at once, reach
that height which many Saints by His grace have reached.  If they had
never resolved to desire, and had never by little and little acted
upon that resolve, they never could have ascended to so high
a state.</p>
<p><a name="l13.3">3</a>. His Majesty seeks and loves courageous
souls; but they must be humble in their ways, and have no confidence
in themselves.  I never saw one of those lag behind on the road; and
never a cowardly soul, though aided by humility, make that progress in
many years which the former makes in a few. I am astonished at the
great things done on this road by encouraging oneself to undertake
great things, though we may not have the strength for them at once;
the soul takes a flight upwards and ascends high, though, like a
little bird whose wings are weak, it grows weary and rests.</p>
<p><a name="l13.4">4</a>. At one time I used often to think of those
words of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul: &#34;That all things are
possible in God.&#34; [<a href="#l13note2">2</a>]  I saw clearly that
of myself I could do nothing.  This was of great service to me.  So
also was the saying of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Augustine:
&#34;Give me, O Lord, what Thou commandest, and command what Thou
wilt.&#34; [<a href="#l13note3">3</a>]  I was often thinking how <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter lost nothing by throwing himself into
the sea, though he was afterwards afraid. [<a href="#l13note4">4</a>]
These first resolutions are a great matter--although it is necessary
in the beginning that we should be very reserved, controlled by the
discretion and authority of a director; but we must take care that he
be one who does not teach us to crawl like toads, nor one who may be
satisfied when the soul shows itself fit only to catch lizards.
Humility must always go before: so that we may know that this strength
can come out of no strength of our own.</p>
<p><a name="l13.5">5</a>. But it is necessary we should understand
what manner of humility this should be, because Satan, I believe, does
great harm; for he hinders those who begin to pray from going onwards,
by suggesting to them false notions of humility.  He makes them think
it is pride to have large desires, to wish to imitate the Saints, and
to long for martyrdom.  He tells us forthwith, or he makes us think,
that the actions of the Saints are to be admired, not to be imitated,
by us who are sinners.  I, too, say the same thing; but we must see
what those actions are which we are to admire, and what those are
which we are to imitate; for it would be wrong in a person who is weak
and sickly to undertake much fasting and sharp penances to retire into
the desert, where he could not sleep, nor find anything to eat; or,
indeed, to undertake any austerities of this kind.</p>
<p><a name="l13.6">6</a>. But we ought to think that we can force
ourselves, by the grace of God, to hold the world in profound
contempt--to make light of honour, and be detached from our
possessions.  Our hearts, however, are so mean that we think the earth
would fail us under our feet, if we were to cease to care even for a
moment for the body, and give ourselves up to spirituality.  Then we
think that to have all we require contributes to recollection, because
anxieties disturb prayer.  It is painful to me that our confidence in
God is so scanty, and our self-love so strong, as that any anxiety
about our own necessities should disturb us. But so it is; for when
our spiritual progress is so slight, a mere nothing will give us as
much trouble as great and important matters will give to others.  And
we think ourselves spiritual!</p>
<p><a name="l13.7">7</a>. Now, to me, this way of going on seems to
betray a disposition to reconcile soul and body together, in order
that we may not miss our ease in this world, and yet have the fruition
of God in the next; and so it will be if we walk according to justice,
clinging to virtue; but it is the pace of a hen--it will never bring
us to liberty of spirit.  It is a course of proceeding, as it seems to
me, most excellent for those who are in the married state, and who
must live according to their vocation; but for the other state, I by
no means wish for such a method of progress, neither can I be made to
believe it to be sound; for I have tried it, and I should have
remained in that way, if our Lord in His goodness had not taught me
another and a shorter road.</p>
<p><a name="l13.8">8</a>. Though, in the matter of desires, I always
had generous ones; but I laboured, as I said
before, [<a href="#l13note5">5</a>] to make my prayer, and, at the same
time, to live at my ease.  If there had been any one to rouse me to a
higher flight, he might have brought me, so I think, to a state in
which these desires might have had their effects; but, for our sins,
so few and so rare are they whose discretion in that matter is not
excessive. That, I believe, is reason enough why those who begin do
not attain more quickly to great perfection; for our Lord never fails
us, and it is not His fault; the fault and the wretchedness of this
being all our own.</p>
<p><a name="l13.9">9</a>. We may also imitate the Saints by striving
after solitude and silence, and many other virtues that will not kill
these wretched bodies of ours, which insist on being treated so
orderly, that they may disorder the soul; and Satan, too, helps much
to make them unmanageable.  When he sees us a little anxious about
them, he wants nothing more to convince us that our way of life must
kill us, and destroy our health; even if we weep, he makes us afraid
of blindness.  I have passed through this, and therefore I know it;
but I know of no better sight or better health that we can desire,
than the loss of both in such a cause.  Being myself so sickly, I was
always under constraint, and good for nothing, till I resolved to make
no account of my body nor of my health; even now I am
worthless enough.</p>
<p><a name="l13.10">10</a>. But when it pleased God to let me find out
this device of Satan, I used to say to the latter, when he suggested
to me that I was ruining my health, that my death was of no
consequence; when he suggested rest, I replied that I did not want
rest, but the Cross.  His other suggestions I treated in the same way.
I saw clearly that in most things, though I was really very sickly, it
was either a temptation of Satan, or a weakness on my part.  My health
has been much better since I have ceased to look after my ease and
comforts.  It is of great importance not to let our own thoughts
frighten us in the beginning, when we set ourselves to pray.  Believe
me in this, for I know it by experience.  As a warning to others, it
may be that this story of my failures may be useful.</p>
<p><a name="l13.11">11</a>. There is another temptation, which is very
common: when people begin to have pleasure in the rest and the fruit
of prayer, they will have everybody else be very spiritual also.  Now,
to desire this is not wrong, but to try to bring it about may not be
right, except with great discretion and with much reserve, without any
appearance of teaching.  He who would do any good in this matter ought
to be endowed with solid virtues, that he may not put temptation in
the way of others.  It happened to me--that is how I know it--when, as
I said before, [<a href="#l13note6">6</a>] I made others apply
themselves to prayer, to be a source of temptation and disorder; for,
on the one hand, they heard me say great things of the blessedness of
prayer, and, on the other, saw how poor I was in virtue,
notwithstanding my prayer.  They had good reasons on their side, and
afterwards they told me of it; for they knew not how these things
could be compatible one with the other.  This it was that made them
not to regard that as evil which was really so in itself, namely, that
they saw me do it myself, now and then, during the time that they
thought well of me in some measure.</p>
<p><a name="l13.12">12</a>. This is Satan's work: he seems to take
advantage of the virtues we may have, for the purpose of giving a
sanction, so far as he can, to the evil he aims at; how slight soever
that evil may be, his gain must be great, if it prevail in a religious
house.  How much, then, must his gain have been, when the evil I did
was so very great!  And thus, during many years, only three persons
were the better for what I said to them; but now that our Lord has
made me stronger in virtue, in the course of two or three years many
persons have profited, as I shall
show hereafter. [<a href="#l13note7">7</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l13.13">13</a>. There is another great inconvenience in
addition to this: the loss to our own soul; for the utmost we have to
do in the beginning is to take care of our own soul only, and consider
that in the whole world there is only God and our soul.  This is a
point of great importance.</p>
<p><a name="l13.14">14</a>. There is another temptation--we ought to
be aware of it, and be cautious in our conduct: persons are carried
away by a zeal for virtue, through the pain which the sight of the
sins and failings of others occasions them.  Satan tells them that
this pain arises only out of their desire that God may not be
offended, and out of their anxiety about His honour; so they
immediately seek to remedy the evil.  This so disturbs them, that they
cannot pray.  The greatest evil of all is their thinking this an act
of virtue, of perfection, and of a great zeal for God.  I am not
speaking of the pain which public sins occasion, if they be habitual
in any community, nor of wrongs done to the Church, nor of heresies by
which so many souls are visibly lost; for this pain is most wholesome,
and being wholesome is no source of disquiet.  The security,
therefore, of that soul which would apply itself to prayer lies in
casting away from itself all anxiety about persons and things, in
taking care of itself, and in pleasing God.  This is the most
profitable course.</p>
<p><a name="l13.15">15</a>. If I were to speak of the mistakes which I
have seen people make, in reliance on their own good intentions, I
should never come to an end.  Let us labour, therefore, always to
consider the virtues and the good qualities which we discern in
others, and with our own great sins cover our eyes, so that we may see
none of their failings.  This is one way of doing our work; and though
we may not be perfect in it at once, we shall acquire one great
virtue--we shall look upon all men as better than ourselves; and we
begin to acquire that virtue in this way, by the grace of God, which
is necessary in all things--for when we have it not, all our
endeavours are in vain--and by imploring Him to give us this virtue;
for He never fails us, if we do what we can.</p>
<p><a name="l13.16">16</a>. This advice, also, they must take into
their consideration who make much use of their understanding,
eliciting from one subject many thoughts and conceptions.  As to those
who, like myself, cannot do it, I have no advice to give, except that
they are to have patience, until our Lord shall send them both matter
and light; for they can do so little of themselves, that their
understanding is a hindrance to them rather than a help.</p>
<p><a name="l13.17">17</a>. To those, then, who can make use of their
understanding, I say that they are not to spend the whole time in that
way; for though it be most meritorious, yet they must not, when prayer
is sweet, suppose that there never will be a Sunday or a time when no
work ought to be done.  They think it lost time to do otherwise; but I
think that loss their greatest gain.  Let them rather, as I have
said, [<a href="#l13note8">8</a>] place themselves in the presence of
Christ, and, without fatiguing the understanding, converse with Him,
and in Him rejoice, without wearying themselves in searching out
reasons; but let them rather lay their necessities before Him, and the
just reasons there are why He should not suffer us in His presence: at
one time this, at another time that, lest the soul should be wearied
by always eating of the same food.  These meats are most savoury and
wholesome, if the palate be accustomed to them; they will furnish a
great support for the life of the soul, and they have many other
advantages also.</p>
<p><a name="l13.18">18</a>. I will explain myself further; for the
doctrine of prayer is difficult, and, without a director, very hard to
understand.  Though I would willingly be concise, and though a mere
hint is enough for his clear intellect who has commanded me to write
on the subject of prayer, yet so it is, my dulness does not allow me
to say or explain in a few words that which it is so important to
explain well.  I, who have gone through so much, am sorry for those
who begin only with books; for there is a strange difference between
that which we learn by reading, and that which we learn
by experience.</p>
<p><a name="l13.19">19</a>. Going back, then, to what I was saying.
We set ourselves to meditate upon some mystery of the Passion: let us
say, our Lord at the pillar.  The understanding goeth about seeking
for the sources out of which came the great dolours and the bitter
anguish which His Majesty endured in that desolation.  It considers
that mystery in many lights, which the intellect, if it be skilled in
its work, or furnished with learning, may there obtain.  This is a
method of prayer which should be to everyone the beginning, the
middle, and the end: a most excellent and safe way, until our Lord
shall guide them to other supernatural ways.</p>
<p><a name="l13.20">20</a>. I say to all, because there are many souls
who make greater progress by meditation on other subjects than on the
Sacred Passion; for as there are many mansions in heaven, so there are
also many roads leading thither.  Some persons advance by considering
themselves in hell, others in heaven--and these are distressed by
meditations on hell.  Others meditate on death; some persons, if
tender-hearted, are greatly fatigued by continual meditations on the
Passion; but are consoled and make progress when they meditate on the
power and greatness of God in His creatures, and on His love visible
in all things.  This is an admirable method--not omitting, however,
from time to time, the Passion and Life of Christ, the Source of all
good that ever came, and that ever shall come.</p>
<p><a name="l13.21">21</a>. He who begins is in need of instruction,
whereby he may ascertain what profits him most.  For this end it is
very necessary he should have a director, who ought to be a person of
experience; for if he be not, he will make many mistakes, and direct a
soul without understanding its ways, or suffering it to understand
them itself; for such a soul, knowing that obedience to a director is
highly meritorious, dares not transgress the commandments it receives.
I have met with souls cramped and tormented, because he who directed
them had no experience: that made me sorry for them. Some of them knew
not what to do with themselves; for directors who do not understand
the spirit of their penitents afflict them soul and body, and hinder
their progress. [<a href="#l13note9">9</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l13.22">22</a>. One person I had to do with had been kept
by her director for eight years, as it were, in prison; he would not
allow her to quit the subject of self-knowledge; and yet our Lord had
already raised her to the prayer of quiet; so she had much
to suffer.</p>
<p><a name="l13.23">23</a>. Although this matter of self-knowledge
must never be put aside--for there is no soul so great a giant on this
road but has frequent need to turn back, and be again an infant at the
breast; and this must never be forgotten.  I shall repeat
it, [<a href="#l13note10">10</a>] perhaps, many times, because of its
great importance--for among all the states of prayer, however high
they may be, there is not one in which it is not often necessary to go
back to the beginning.  The knowledge of our sins, and of our own
selves, is the bread which we have to eat with all the meats, however
delicate they may be, in the way of prayer; without this bread, life
cannot be sustained, though it must be taken by measure.  When a soul
beholds itself resigned, and clearly understands that there is no
goodness in it--when it feels itself abashed in the presence of so
great a King, and sees how little it pays of the great debt it owes
Him--why should it be necessary for it to waste its time on
this subject?  Why should it not rather proceed to other matters which
our Lord places before it, and for neglecting which there is no
reason? His Majesty surely knows better than we do what kind of food
is proper for us.</p>
<p><a name="l13.24">24</a>. So, then, it is of great consequence that
the director should be prudent--I mean, of sound understanding--and a
man of experience.  If, in addition to this, he is a learned man, it
is a very great matter.  But if these three qualities cannot be had
together, the first two are the most important, because learned men
may be found with whom we can communicate when it is necessary.  I
mean, that for beginners learned men are of little use, if they are
not men of prayer.  I do not say that they are to have nothing to do
with learned men, because a spirituality, the foundations of which are
not resting on the truth, I would rather were not accompanied with
prayer.  Learning is a great thing, for it teaches us who know so
little, and enlightens us; so when we have come to the knowledge of
the truths contained in the holy writings, we do what we ought to do.
From silly devotions, God deliver us!</p>
<p><a name="l13.25">25</a>. I will explain myself further, for I am
meddling, I believe, with too many matters.  It has always been my
failing that I could never make myself understood--as I said
before [<a href="#l13note11">11</a>]--but at the cost of many words.  A
nun begins to practise prayer; if her director be silly, and if he
should take it into his head, he will make her feel that it is better
for her to obey him than her own superior.  He will do all this
without any evil purpose, thinking that he is doing right.  For if he
be not a religious himself, he will think this right enough.  If his
penitent be a married woman, he will tell her that it is better for
her to give herself unto prayer, when she ought to attend to her
house, although she may thereby displease her husband.  And so it is,
he knows not how to make arrangements for time and business,
so that everything may be done as it ought to be done; he has no light
himself, and can therefore give none to others, however much he may
wish to do so.</p>
<p><a name="l13.26">26</a>. Though learning does not seem necessary
for discretion, my opinion has always been, and will be, that every
Christian should continue to be guided by a learned director if he
can, and the more learned the better.  They who walk in the way of
prayer have the greater need of learning; and the more spiritual they
are the greater is that need.  Let them not say that learned men not
given to prayer are not fit counsellors for those who pray: that is a
delusion.  I have conversed with many; and now for some years I have
sought them the more, because of my greater need of them.  I have
always been fond of them; for though some of them have no experience,
they do not dislike spirituality, neither are they ignorant of what it
is, because in the sacred writings with which they are familiar they
always find the truth about spirituality.  I am certain myself that a
person given to prayer, who treats of these matters with learned men,
unless he is deceived with his own consent, will never be carried away
by any illusions of the devil.  I believe that the evil spirits are
exceedingly afraid of learned men who are humble and virtuous, knowing
that they will be found out and defeated by them.</p>
<p><a name="l13.27">27</a>. I have said this because there are
opinions held to the effect that learned men, if they are not
spiritual, are not suited for persons given to prayer.  I have just
said that a spiritual director is necessary; but if he be not a
learned man, he is a great hindrance.  It will help us much if we
consult those who are learned, provided they be virtuous; even if they
be not spiritual, they will be of service to me, and God will enable
them to understand what they should teach; He will even make them
spiritual, in order that they may help us on.  I do not say this
without having had experience of it; and I have met with more
than two.</p>
<p><a name="l13.28">28</a>. I say, then, that a person who shall
resign his soul to be wholly subject to one director will make a great
mistake, if he is in religion, unless he finds a director of this
kind, because of the obedience due to his own superior.  His director
may be deficient in the three requisites I speak
of, [<a href="#l13note12">12</a>] and that will be no slight cross,
without voluntarily subjecting the understanding to one whose
understanding is none of the best.  At least, I have never been able
to bring myself to do it, neither does it seem to me to be right.</p>
<p><a name="l13.29">29</a>. But if he be a person living in the world,
let him praise God for the power he has of choosing whom he will obey,
and let him not lose so excellent a liberty; yea, rather let him be
without a director till he finds him--for our Lord will give him one,
if he is really humble, and has a desire to meet with the right
person.  I praise God greatly--we women, and those who are unlearned,
ought always to render Him unceasing thanks--because there are persons
who, by labours so great, have attained to the truth, of which we
unlearned people are ignorant.  I often wonder at learned
men--particularly those who are in religion--when I think of the
trouble they have had in acquiring that which they communicate to me
for my good, and that without any more trouble to me than the asking
for it. And yet there are people who will not take advantage of their
learning: God grant it may not be so!</p>
<p><a name="l13.30">30</a>. I see them undergo the poverty of the
religious life, which is great, together with its penances, its meagre
food, the yoke of obedience, which makes me ashamed of myself at
times; and with all this, interrupted sleep, trials everywhere,
everywhere the Cross.  I think it would be a great evil for any one to
lose so great a good by his own fault.  It may be some of us, who are
exempted from these burdens--who have our food put into our mouths, as
they say, and live at our ease--may think, because we give ourselves a
little more to prayer, that we are raised above the necessity of such
great hardships.  Blessed be Thou, O Lord, who hast made me so
incapable and so useless; but I bless Thee still more for this--that
Thou quickenest so many to quicken us.  Our prayer must therefore be
very earnest for those who give us light.  What should we be without
them in the midst of these violent storms which now disturb the
Church?  If some have fallen, the good will shine more and
more. [<a href="#l13note13">13</a>]  May it please our Lord to hold
them in His hand, and help them, that they may help us.</p>
<p><a name="l13.31">31</a>. I have gone far away from the subject I
began to speak of; but all is to the purpose for those who are
beginners, that they may begin a journey which is so high in such a
way as that they shall go on by the right road.  Coming back, then, to
what I spoke of before, [<a href="#l13note14">14</a>] the meditation on
Christ bound to the pillar, it is well we should make reflections for
a time, and consider the sufferings He there endured, for whom He
endured them, who He is who endured them, and the love with which He
bore them.  But a person should not always fatigue himself in making
these reflections, but rather let him remain there with Christ, in the
silence of the understanding.</p>
<p><a name="l13.32">32</a>. If he is able, let him employ himself in
looking upon Christ, who is looking upon him; let him accompany Him,
and make his petitions to Him; let him humble himself, and delight
himself in Christ, and keep in mind that he never deserved to be
there.  When he shall be able to do this, though it may be in the
beginning of his prayer, he will find great advantage; and this way of
prayer brings great advantages with it--at least, so my soul has found
it.  I do not know whether I am describing it aright; you, my father,
will see to it.  May our Lord grant me to please Him rightly for
ever! Amen.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l13note1">1</a>. <a href="#l11.24">Ch.
xi. § 24</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note2">2</a>. Philipp. iv. 13; <span
lang="la">&#34;Omnia possum in Eo.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note3">3</a>. <cite
lang="la"><abbr title="Confessiones">Confess.</abbr></cite> x. ch. 29:
<span lang="la">&#34;Da quod jubes, et jube
quod vis.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note4">4</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. xiv. 30: <span lang="la">&#34;Videns vero ventum
validum, timuit.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note5">5</a>. <a href="#l7.27">Ch.
vii. §§ 27</a>, <a href="#l7.31">31</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note6">6</a>. <a href="#l7.16">Ch.
vii. § 16</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note7">7</a>. See <a
href="#l31.7">ch. xxxi. § 7</a>, and <a
href="#l39.14">ch. xxxix. § 14</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note8">8</a>. <a href="#l12.3">Ch.
xii. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note9">9</a>. See <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> John of the Cross, <cite>Living Flame</cite>,
pp. 267, 278-284, Engl. trans.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note10">10</a>. See <a
href="#l15.20">ch. xv. § 20</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note11">11</a>. <a
href="#l13.18">§ 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note12">12</a>. Prudence, experience, and
learning; see <a href="#l13.24">§ 24</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note13">13</a>. Dan. xii. 3: <span
lang="la">&#34;Qui autem docti fuerint, fulgebunt quasi
splendor firmamenti.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l13note14">14</a>. <a
href="#l13.19">§ 19</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l14.0">Chapter XIV.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Second State of Prayer.  Its Supernatural
Character.</big></p>
<p><a name="l14.1">1</a>. Having spoken of the toilsome efforts and of
the strength required for watering the garden when we have to draw the
water out of the well, let us now speak of the second manner of
drawing the water, which the Lord of the vineyard has ordained; of the
machine of wheel and buckets whereby the gardener may draw more water
with less labour, and be able to take some rest without being
continually at work.  This, then, is what I am now going to describe;
and I apply it to the prayer called the prayer of quiet.</p>
<p><a name="l14.2">2</a>. Herein the soul begins to be recollected; it
is now touching on the supernatural--for it never could by any efforts
of its own attain to this.  True, it seems at times to have been
wearied at the wheel, labouring with the understanding, and filling
the buckets; but in this second degree the water is higher, and
accordingly the labour is much less than it was when the water had to
be drawn up out of the well; I mean, that the water is nearer to it,
for grace reveals itself more distinctly to the soul.</p>
<p><a name="l14.3">3</a>. This is a gathering together of the
faculties of the soul within itself, in order that it may have the
fruition of that contentment in greater sweetness; but the faculties
are not lost, neither are they asleep: the will alone is occupied in
such a way that, without knowing how it has become a captive, it gives
a simple consent to become the prisoner of God; for it knows well what
is to be the captive of Him it loves.  O my Jesus and my Lord, how
pressing now is Thy love! [<a href="#l14note1">1</a>]  It binds our
love in bonds so straitly, that it is not in its power at this moment
to love anything else but Thee.</p>
<p><a name="l14.4">4</a>. The other two faculties help the will, that
it may render itself capable of the fruition of so great a good;
nevertheless, it occasionally happens, even when the will is in union,
that they hinder it very much: but then it should never heed them at
all, simply abiding in its fruition and
quiet. [<a href="#l14note2">2</a>]  For if it tried to make them
recollected, it would miss its way together with them, because they
are at this time like doves which are not satisfied with the food the
master of the dovecot gives them without any labouring for it on their
part, and which go forth in quest of it elsewhere, and so hardly find
it that they come back.  And so the memory and the understanding come
and go, seeking whether the will is going to give them that into the
fruition ofwhich it has entered itself.</p>
<p><a name="l14.5">5</a>. If it be our Lord's pleasure to throw them
any food, they stop; if not, they go again to seek it.  They must be
thinking that they are of some service to the will; and now and then
the memory or the imagination, seeking to represent to it that of
which it has the fruition, does it harm.  The will, therefore, should
be careful to deal with them as I shall explain. Everything that takes
place now in this state brings the very greatest consolation; and the
labour is so slight, that prayer, even if persevered in for some time,
is never wearisome.  The reason is, that the understanding is now
working very gently, and is drawing very much more water than it drew
out of the well.  The tears, which God now sends, flow with joy;
though we feel them, they are not the result of any efforts of
our own.</p>
<p><a name="l14.6">6</a>. This water of grand blessings and graces,
which our Lord now supplies, makes the virtues thrive much more,
beyond all comparison, than they did in the previous state of prayer;
for the soul is already ascending out of its wretched state, and some
little knowledge of the blissfulness of glory is communicated to it.
This, I believe, is it that makes the virtues grow the more, and also
to draw nearer to essential virtue, God Himself, from Whom all virtues
proceed; for His Majesty has begun to communicate Himself to this
soul, and will have it feel how He is communicating Himself.</p>
<p><a name="l14.7">7</a>. As soon as the soul has arrived thus far, it
begins to lose the desire of earthly
things, [<a href="#l14note3">3</a>] and no wonder; for it sees clearly
that, even for a moment, this joy is not to be had on earth; that
there are no riches, no dominion, no honours, no delights, that can
for one instant, even for the twinkling of an eye, minister such a
joy; for it is a true satisfaction, and the soul sees that it really
does satisfy. Now, we who are on earth, as it seems to me, scarcely
ever understand wherein our satisfaction lies, for it is always liable
to disappointment; but in this, at that time, there is none: the
disappointment cometh afterwards, when the soul sees that all is over,
and that it has no power to recover it, neither does it know how; for
if it cut itself in pieces by penance and prayer, and every other kind
of austerities, all would be of little use, if our Lord did not grant
it.  God, in His great mercy, will have the soul comprehend that His
Majesty is so near to it, that it need not send messengers to Him, but
may speak to Him itself, and not with a loud crying, because so near
is He already, that He understands even the movements of its lips.</p>
<p><a name="l14.8">8</a>. It seems absurd to say this, seeing that we
know that God understands us always, and is present with us.  It is
so, and there can be no doubt of it; but our Emperor and Lord will
have us now understand that He understands us; and also have us
understand what His presence bringeth about, and that He means in a
special way to begin a work in the soul, which is manifested in the
great joy, inward and outward, which He communicates, and in the
difference there is, as I said just now, between this joy and delight
and all the joys of earth; for He seems to be filling up the void in
our souls occasioned by our sins.</p>
<p><a name="l14.9">9</a>. This satisfaction lies in the innermost part
of the soul, and the soul knows not whence, nor how, it came, very
often it knows not what to do, or wish, or pray for.  It seems to find
all this at once, and knoweth not what it hath found; nor do I know
how to explain it, because learning is necessary for many things.
Here, indeed, learning would be very much to the purpose, in order to
explain the general and particular helps of grace; for there are many
who know nothing about them.  Learning would serve to show how our
Lord now will have the soul to see, as it were, with the naked eye, as
men speak, this particular help of grace, and be also useful in many
other ways wherein I am likely to go astray.  But as what I write is
to be seen by those who have the learning to discover whether I make
mistakes or not, I go on without anxiety; for I know I need have none
whatever about either the letter or the spirit, because it is in their
power to whom it is to be sent to do with it as they will: they will
understand it, and blot out whatever may be amiss.</p>
<p><a name="l14.10">10</a>. I should like them to explain this,
because it is a principal point, and because a soul, when our Lord
begins to bestow these graces upon it, does not understand them, and
does not know what to do with itself; for if God leads it by the way
of fear, as He led me, its trial will be heavy, if there be no one who
understands the state it is in; and to see itself as in a picture is a
great comfort; and then it sees clearly that it is travelling on that
road.  The knowledge of what it has to do is a great blessing for it,
so that it may advance forwards in every one of these degrees of
prayer; for I have suffered greatly, and lost much time, because I did
not know what to do; and I am very sorry for those souls who find
themselves alone when they come to this state; for though I read many
spiritual books, wherein this very matter is discussed, they threw
very little light upon it.  And if it be not a soul much exercised in
prayer, it will find it enough to understand its state, be the books
ever so clear.</p>
<p><a name="l14.11">11</a>. I wish much that our Lord would help me to
describe the effects on the soul of these things, now that they begin
to be supernatural, so that men might know by these effects whether
they come from the Spirit of God.  I mean, known as things are known
here below--though it is always well to live in fear, and on our
guard; for even if they do come from God, now and then the devil will
be able to transform himself into an angel of
light; [<a href="#l14note4">4</a>] and the soul, if not experienced
herein, will not understand the matter; and it must have so much
experience for the understanding thereof, that it is necessary it
should have attained to the highest perfection of prayer.</p>
<p><a name="l14.12">12</a>. The little time I have helps me but
little, and it is therefore necessary His Majesty should undertake it
Himself; for I have to live in community, and have very many things to
employ me, as I am in a house which is newly founded--as will appear
hereafter; [<a href="#l14note5">5</a>] and so I am writing, with very
many interruptions, by little and little at a time.  I wish I had
leisure; for when our Lord gives the spirit, it is more easily and
better done; it is then as with a person working embroidery with the
pattern before her; but if the spirit be wanting, there is no more
meaning in the words than in gibberish, so to speak, though many years
may have been spent in prayer.  And thus I think it a very great
advantage to be in this state of prayer when I am writing this; for I
see clearly that it is not I who speak, nor is it I who with her
understanding has arranged it; and afterwards I do not know how I came
to speak so accurately. [<a href="#l14note6">6</a>]  It has often
happened to me thus.</p>
<p><a name="l14.13">13</a>. Let us now return to our orchard, or
flower-garden, and behold now how the trees begin to fill with sap for
the bringing forth of the blossoms, and then of the fruit--the flowers
and the plants, also, their fragrance.  This illustration pleases me;
for very often, when I was beginning--and our Lord grant that I have
really begun to serve His Majesty--I mean, begun in relation to what I
have to say of my life,--it was to me a great joy to consider my soul
as a garden, and our Lord as walking in it.  I used to beseech Him to
increase the fragrance of the little flowers of virtues--which were
beginning, as it seemed to bud--and preserve them, that they might be
to His glory; for I desired nothing for myself.  I prayed Him to cut
those He liked, because I already knew that they would grow
the better.</p>
<p><a name="l14.14">14</a>. I say cut; for there are times in which
the soul has no recollection of this garden--everything seems parched,
and there is no water to be had for preserving it--and in which it
seems as if the soul had never possessed any virtue at all.  This is
the season of heavy trials; for our Lord will have the poor gardener
suppose all the trouble he took in maintaining and watering the garden
to have been taken to no purpose.  Then is the time really for weeding
and rooting out every plant, however small it may be, that is
worthless, in the knowledge that no efforts of ours are sufficient, if
God withholds from us the waters of His grace; and in despising
ourselves as being nothing, and even less than nothing.  In this way
we gain great humility--the flowers grow afresh.</p>
<p><a name="l14.15">15</a>. O my Lord and my Good!  I cannot utter
these words without tears, and rejoicing in my soul; for Thou wilt be
thus with us, and art with us, in the Sacrament.  We may believe so
most truly; for so it is, and the comparison I make is a great truth;
and, if our sins stand not in the way, we may rejoice in Thee, because
Thou rejoicest in us; for Thou hast told us that Thy delight is to be
with the children of men. [<a href="#l14note7">7</a>]  O my Lord, what
does it mean?  Whenever I hear these words, they always give me great
consolation, and did so even when I was most wicked.</p>
<p><a name="l14.16">16</a>. Is it possible, 0 Lord, that there can be
a soul which, after attaining to this state wherein Thou bestowest
upon it the like graces and consolations, and wherein it understands
that Thou delightest to be with it, can yet fall back and offend Thee
after so many favours, and such great demonstrations of the love Thou
bearest it, and of which there cannot be any doubt, because the effect
of it is so visible?  Such a soul there certainly is; for I have done
so, not once, but often.  May it please Thy goodness, O Lord, that I
may be alone in my ingratitude--the only one who has committed so
great an iniquity, and whose ingratitude has been so immeasurable!
But even out of my ingratitude Thine infinite goodness has brought
forth some good; and the greater my wickedness, the greater the
splendour of the great mercy of Thy compassions.  Oh, what reasons
have I to magnify them for ever!</p>
<p><a name="l14.17">17</a>. May it be so, I beseech Thee, O my God,
and may I sing of them for ever, now that Thou hast been pleased to
show mercies so great unto me that they who see them are astonished,
mercies which draw me out of myself continually, that I may praise
Thee more and more! for, remaining in myself, without Thee, I could
do nothing, O my Lord, but be as the withered flowers of the garden;
so that this miserable earth of mine becomes a heap of refuse, as it
was before.  Let it not be so, O Lord!--let not a soul which Thou hast
purchased with so many labours be lost, one which Thou hast so often
ransomed anew, and delivered from between the teeth of the
hideous dragon!</p>
<p><a name="l14.18">18</a>. You, my father, must forgive me for
wandering from the subject; and, as I am speaking to the purpose I
have in view, you must not be surprised.  What I write is what my soul
has understood; and it is very often hard enough to abstain from the
praises of God when, in the course of writing, the great debt I owe
Him presents itself before me.  Nor do I think that it can be
disagreeable to you; because both of us, I believe, may sing the same
song, though in a different way; for my debt is much the greater,
seeing that God has forgiven me more, as you, my father, know.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l14note1">1</a>. 2 Cor. v. 14: <span
lang="la">&#34;Charitas enim Christi
urget nos.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l14note2">2</a>. See <a
href="#l17.12">ch. xvii. § 12</a>; <cite>Way of
Perfection</cite>, ch. liii., but xxxi. of the
old editions.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l14note3">3</a>. See <a
href="#r1.12"><cite>Relation</cite>, i.
§ 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l14note4">4</a>. 2 Cor. xi. 14: <span
lang="la">&#34;Ipse enim Satanas transfigurat se in
angelum lucis.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l14note5">5</a>. See <a
href="#l10.11">ch. x. § 11</a>.  As that passage refers
probably to the monastery of the Incarnation, this must refer to that
of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, newly founded in Avila; for
that of the Incarnation was founded a short time before the Saint was
born; and she could hardly say of it, now that she was at least in her
forty-seventh year, that it was newly founded.  The house, however,
was poor; for she says, <a href="#l33.12">ch. xxxii. §
12</a>, that the nuns occasionally quitted the monastery for a time,
because of its poverty.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l14note6">6</a>. See <a
href="#l18.10">ch. xviii. § 10</a>.  In the second Report
of the Rota, p. 477--quoted by Benedict XIV., <cite lang="la">De
Canoniz.</cite> iii. 26, n. 12, and by the Bollandists in the <cite
lang="la">Acta</cite>, 1315--we have these words, and they throw great
light on the text: <span lang="la">&#34;Sunt et alli testes de visu
affirmantes quod quando beata Teresa scribebat libros, facies ejus
resplendebat.&#34;</span>  In the information taken in Granada, the
Mother Anne of the Incarnation says she saw the Saint one night, while
writing the <cite>Fortress of the Soul</cite>, with her face shining;
and Mary of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis deposes to the same
effect in the informations taken in Medina (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>,
vol. ii. pp. 389, 392).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l14note7">7</a>. Prov. viii. 31: <span
lang="la">&#34;Deliciæ meæ esse cum
filiis hominum.&#34;</span></small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l15.0">Chapter XV.</a></h3>
<p><big>Instructions for Those Who Have Attained to the Prayer of
Quiet.  Many Advance So Far, But Few Go Farther.</big></p>
<p><a name="l15.1">1</a>. Let us now go back to the subject.  This
quiet and recollection of the soul makes itself in great measure felt
in the satisfaction and peace, attended with very great joy and repose
of the faculties, and most sweet delight, wherein the soul is
established. [<a href="#l15note1">1</a>]  It thinks, because it has not
gone beyond it, that there is nothing further to wish for, but that
its abode might be there, and it would willingly say so with <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter. [<a href="#l15note2">2</a>]  It dares
not move nor stir, because it thinks that this blessing it has
received must then escape out of its hands; now and then, it could
wish it did not even breathe. [<a href="#l15note3">3</a>]  The poor
little soul is not aware that, as of itself it could do nothing to
draw down this blessing on itself, it is still less able to retain it
a moment longer than our Lord wills it should remain.</p>
<p><a name="l15.2">2</a>. I have already said that, in the prior
recollection and quiet, [<a href="#l15note4">4</a>] there is no failure
of the powers of the soul; but the soul is so satisfied in God that,
although two of its powers be distracted, yet, while the recollection
lasts, as the will abides in union with God, so its peace and quiet
are not disturbed; on the contrary, the will by degrees brings the
understanding and the memory back again; for though the will is not
yet altogether absorbed, it continues still occupied without knowing
how, so that, notwithstanding all the efforts of the memory and the
understanding, they cannot rob it of its delight and
joy [<a href="#l15note5">5</a>]--yea, rather, it helps without any
labour at all to keep this little spark of the love of God from
being quenched.</p>
<p><a name="l15.3">3</a>. Oh, that His Majesty would be gracious unto
me, and enable me to give a clear account of the matter; for many are
the souls who attain to this state, and few are they who go farther:
and I know not who is in fault; most certainly it is not God; for when
His Majesty shows mercy unto a soul, so that it advances so far, I
believe that He will not fail to be more merciful still, if there be
no shortcomings on our part.</p>
<p><a name="l15.4">4</a>. And it is of great importance for the soul
that has advanced so far as this to understand the great dignity of
its state, the great grace given it by our Lord, and how in all reason
it should not belong to earth; because He, of His goodness, seems to
make it here a denizen of heaven, unless it be itself in fault.  And
miserable will that soul be if it turns back; it will go down, I think
so, even to the abyss, as I was going myself, if the mercy of our Lord
had not brought me back; because, for the most part, it must be the
effect of grave faults--that is my opinion: nor is it possible to
forsake so great a good otherwise than through the blindness
occasioned by much evil.</p>
<p><a name="l15.5">5</a>. Therefore, for the love of our Lord, I
implore those souls to whom His Majesty has given so great a
grace--the attainment of this state--to know and make much of
themselves, with a humble and holy presumption, in order that they may
never return to the flesh-pots of Egypt.  And if through weakness and
wickedness, and a mean and wretched nature, they should fall, as I
did, let them always keep in mind the good they have lost; let them
suspect and fear--they have reason to do so--that, if they do not
resume their prayer, they may go on from bad to worse.  I call that a
real fall which makes us hate the way by which so great a good was
obtained.  I address myself to those souls; but I am not saying that
they will never offend God, nor fall into sin,--though there are good
reasons why those who have received these graces should keep
themselves carefully from sin; but we are miserable creatures.  What I
earnestly advise is this: let there be no giving up of prayer; it is
by prayer they will understand what they are doing, and obtain from
our Lord the grace to repent, and strength to rise again; they must
believe and believe again that, if they cease from praying, they
run--so I think--into danger.  I know not if I understand what I am
saying; for, as I said before, I measure others
by myself. [<a href="#l15note6">6</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l15.6">6</a>. The prayer of quiet, then, is a little spark
of the true love of Himself, which our Lord begins to enkindle in the
soul; and His will is, that the soul should understand what this love
is by the joy it brings.  This quiet and recollection and little
spark, if it is the work of the Spirit of God, and not a sweetness
supplied by Satan, or brought about by ourselves, produces great
results.  A person of experience, however, cannot possibly fail to
understand at once that it is not a thing that can be acquired, were
it not that our nature is so greedy of sweetness, that it seeks for it
in every way.  But it becomes cold very soon; for, however much we try
to make the fire burn, in order to obtain this sweetness, it does not
appear that we do anything else but throw water on it, to put it out.
This spark, then, given of God, however slight it may be, causes a
great crackling; and if men do not quench it by their faults, it is
the beginning of the great fire, which sends forth--I shall speak of
it in the proper place [<a href="#l15note7">7</a>]--the flames of that
most vehement love of God which His Majesty will have perfect souls
to possess.</p>
<p><a name="l15.7">7</a>. This little spark is a sign or pledge which
God gives to a soul, in token of His having chosen it for great
things, if it will prepare to receive them.  It is a great gift, much
too great for me to be able to speak of it.  It is a great sorrow to
me; because, as I said before, [<a href="#l15note8">8</a>] I know that
many souls come thus far, and that those who go farther, as they ought
to go, are so few, that I am ashamed to say it.  I do not mean that
they are absolutely few: there must be many, because God is patient
with us, for some reasons; I speak of what I have seen.</p>
<p><a name="l15.8">8</a>. I should like much to recommend these souls
to take care that they do not hide their talent; for it may be that
God has chosen them to be the edification of many others, especially
in these days, when the friends of God should be strong, in order that
they may support the weak.  Those who discern in themselves this
grace, must look upon themselves as such friends, if they would fulfil
the law which even the honourable friendship of the world respects; if
not, as I said just now, [<a href="#l15note9">9</a>] let them fear and
tremble, lest they should be doing mischief to themselves--and
God grant it be to themselves only!</p>
<p><a name="l15.9">9</a>. What the soul has to do at those seasons
wherein it is raised to the prayer of quiet is nothing more than to be
gentle and without noise.  By noise, I mean going about with the
understanding in search of words and reflections whereby to give God
thanks for this grace, and heaping up its sins and imperfections
together to show that it does not deserve it.  All this commotion
takes place now, and the understanding comes forward, and the memory
is restless, and certainly to me these powers bring much weariness at
times; for, though my memory is not strong, I cannot control it.  Let
the will quietly and wisely understand that it is not by dint of
labour on our part that we can converse to any good purpose with God,
and that our own efforts are only great logs of wood, laid on without
discretion to quench this little spark; and let it confess this, and
in humility say, O Lord, what can I do here? what has the servant to
do with her Lord, and earth with heaven? or words of love that suggest
themselves now, firmly grounded in the conviction that what it says is
truth; and let it make no account of the understanding, which is
simply tiresome.</p>
<p><a name="l15.10">10</a>. And if the will wishes to communicate to
the understanding any portion of that the fruition of which itself has
entered on, or if it labours to make the understanding recollected, it
shall not succeed; for it will often happen that the will is in union
and at rest, while the understanding is in extreme disorder.  It is
better for it to leave it alone, and not to run after it--I am
speaking of the will; for the will should abide in the fruition of
that grace, recollected itself, like the prudent bee; for if no bees
entered the hive, and each of them wandered abroad in search of the
rest, the honey would hardly be made.  In the same way, the soul will
lose much if it be not careful now, especially if the understanding be
acute; for when it begins to make reflections and search for reasons,
it will think at once that it is doing something if its reasons and
reflections are good.</p>
<p><a name="l15.11">11</a>. The only reason that ought to be admitted
now is to understand clearly that there is no reason whatever, except
His mere goodness, why God should grant us so great a grace, and to be
aware that we are so near Him, and to pray to His Majesty for mercies,
to make intercession for the Church, for those who had been
recommended to us, and for the souls in purgatory,--not, however, with
noise of words, but with a heartfelt desire to be heard.  This is a
prayer that contains much, and by it more is obtained than by many
reflections of the understanding.  Let the will stir up some of those
reasons, which proceed from reason itself, to quicken its love, such
as the fact of its being in a better state, and let it make certain
acts of love, as what it will do for Him to whom it owes so much,--and
that, as I said just now, without any noise of the understanding, in
the search after profound reflections.  A little straw,--and it will
be less than straw, if we bring it ourselves,--laid on with humility,
will be more effectual here, and will help to kindle a fire more than
many fagots of most learned reasons, which, in my opinion, will put it
out in a moment.</p>
<p><a name="l15.12">12</a>. This is good for those learned men who
have commanded me to write, [<a href="#l15note10">10</a>] and who all,
by the goodness of God, have come to this state; for it may be that
they spend the time in making applications of passages of the
Scriptures.  And though learning could not fail to be of great use to
them, both before and after prayer, still, in the very time of prayer
itself, there is little necessity for it, in my opinion, unless it be
for the purpose of making the will tepid; for the understanding then,
because of its nearness to the light, is itself illuminated; so that
even I, who am what I am, seem to be a different person.  And so it
is; for it has happened to me, who scarcely understand a word of what
I read in Latin, and specially in the Psalms, when in the prayer of
quiet, not only to understand the Latin as if it were Spanish, but,
still more, to take a delight in dwelling on the meaning of that I
knew through the Spanish.  We must make an exception: if these learned
men have to preach or to teach, they will do well to take advantage of
their learning, that they may help poor people of little learning, of
whom I am one.  Charity is a great thing; and so always is ministering
unto souls, when done simply for God.</p>
<p><a name="l15.13">13</a>. So, then, when the soul is in the prayer
of quiet, let it repose in its rest--let learning be put on one side.
The time will come when they may make use of it in the service of our
Lord--when they that possess it will appreciate it so highly as to be
glad that they had not neglected it even for all the treasures of the
world, simply because it enables them to serve His Majesty; for it is
a great help.  But in the eyes of Infinite Wisdom, believe me, a
little striving after humility, and a single act thereof, are worth
more than all the science in the world.  This is not the time for
discussing, but for understanding plainly what we are, and presenting
ourselves in simplicity before God, who will have the soul make itself
as a fool--as, indeed, it is--in His presence, seeing that His Majesty
so humbles Himself as to suffer it to be near Him, we being what
we are.</p>
<p><a name="l15.14">14</a>. Moreover, the understanding bestirs itself
to make its thanksgiving in phrases well arranged; but the will, in
peace, not daring to lift up its eyes with the
publican, [<a href="#l15note11">11</a>] makes perhaps a better act of
thanksgiving than the understanding, with all the tropes of its
rhetoric.  In a word, mental prayer is not to be abandoned altogether
now, nor even vocal prayer, if at any time we wish, or can, to make
use of either of them; for if the state of quiet be profound, it
becomes difficult to speak, and it can be done only with
great pain.</p>
<p><a name="l15.15">15</a>. I believe myself that we know whether this
proceeds from the Spirit of God, or is brought about by endeavours of
our own, in the commencement of devotion which God gives; and we seek
of ourselves, as I said before, [<a href="#l15note12">12</a>] to pass
onwards to this quiet of the will. Then, no effect whatever is
produced; it is quickly over, and aridity is the result.  If it comes
from Satan, the practised soul, in my opinion, will detect it, because
it leaves trouble behind, and scant humility and poor dispositions for
those effects which are wrought if it comes from God; it leaves
neither light in the understanding nor steadiness in
the truth. [<a href="#l15note13">13</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l15.16">16</a>. Here Satan can do little or no harm, if
the soul directs unto God the joy and sweetness it then feels; and if
it fixes the thoughts and desires on Him, according to the advice
already given, the devil can gain nothing whatever--on the contrary,
by the permission of God, he will lose much by that very joy which he
causes in the soul, because that joy will help the soul, inasmuch as
it thinks the joy comes from God, to betake itself often to prayer in
its desire for it.  And if the soul is humble, indifferent to, and
detached from, all joy, however spiritual, and if it loves the cross,
it will make no account of the sweetness which Satan sends.  But it
cannot so deal with that which comes from the Spirit of God; of that
it will make much.  Now, when Satan sends it, as he is nothing but a
lie, and when he sees that the soul humbles itself through that joy
and sweetness--and here, in all things relating to prayer and
sweetness, we must be very careful to endeavour to make ourselves
humble,--Satan will not often repeat his work, when he sees that he
loses by it.</p>
<p><a name="l15.17">17</a>. For this and for many other reasons, when
I was speaking of the first degree of prayer, and of the first method
of drawing the water, [<a href="#l15note14">14</a>] I insisted upon
it that the great affair of souls is, when they begin to pray, to
begin also to detach themselves from every kind of joy, and to enter
on it resolved only on helping to carry the cross of Christ like good
soldiers, willing to serve their King without present pay, because
they are sure of it at last, having their eyes directed to the true
and everlasting kingdom at the conquest of which we are aiming.</p>
<p><a name="l15.18">18</a>. It is a very great matter to have this
always before our eyes, especially in the beginning; afterwards, it
becomes so clear, that it is rather a matter of necessity to forget
it, in order to live on.  Now, labouring to keep in mind that all
things here below are of short duration, that they are all nothing,
that the rest we have here is to be accounted as none,--all this, I
say, seems to be exceedingly low; and so, indeed, it is,--because
those who have gone on to greater perfection would look upon it as a
reproach, and be ashamed of themselves, if they thought that they were
giving up the goods of this world because they are perishable, or that
they would not be glad to give them up for God--even if they were to
last for ever.  The greater the perfection of these persons, the
greater their joy, and the greater also would that joy be if the
duration of these worldly goods were greater.</p>
<p><a name="l15.19">19</a>. In these persons, thus far advanced, love
is already grown, and love is that which does this work.  But as to
beginners, to them it is of the utmost importance, and they must not
regard this consideration as unbecoming, for the blessings to be
gained are great,--and that is why I recommend it so much to them; for
they will have need of it--even those who have attained to great
heights of prayer--at certain times, when God will try them, and when
His Majesty seems to have forsaken them.</p>
<p><a name="l15.20">20</a>. I have said as much already, and I would
not have it forgotten, [<a href="#l15note15">15</a>] in this our life
on earth, the growth of the soul is not like that of the body.
We, however, so speak of it--and, in truth, it does grow.  A youth
that is grown up, whose body is formed, and who is become a man, does
not ungrow, nor does his body lessen in size; but as to the soul, it
so is by our Lord's will, so far as I have seen it in my own
experience,--but I know nothing of it in any other way.  It must be in
order to humble us for our greater good, and to keep us from being
careless during our exile; seeing that he who has ascended the higher
has the more reason to be afraid, and to be less confident in himself.
A time may come when they whose will is so wrapt up in the will of
God--and who, rather than fall into a single imperfection, would
undergo torture and suffer a thousand deaths--will find it necessary,
if they would be delivered from offending God, and from the commission
of sin, to make use of the first armour of prayer, to call to mind how
everything is coming to an end, that there is a heaven and a hell, and
to make use of other reflections of that nature, when they find
themselves assailed by temptations and persecutions.</p>
<p><a name="l15.21">21</a>. Let us go back to what I was saying.  The
great source of our deliverance from the cunning devices and the
sweetness which Satan sends is to begin with a resolution to walk in
the way of the Cross from the very first, and not to desire any
sweetness at all, seeing that our Lord Himself has pointed out to us
the way of perfection, saying, &#34;Take up thy cross and follow
Me.&#34; [<a href="#l15note16">16</a>]  He is our example; and
whosoever follows His counsels only to please Him has nothing to fear.
In the improvement which they detect in themselves, they who do so
will see that this is no work of Satan and if they fall, they have a
sign of the presence of our Lord in their rising again at once.  They
have other signs, also, of which I am going to speak.</p>
<p><a name="l15.22">22</a>. When it is the work of the Spirit of God,
there is no necessity for going about searching for reasons, on the
strength of which we may elicit acts of humility and of shame, because
our Lord Himself supplies them in a way very different from that by
which we could acquire them by our own poor reflections, which are as
nothing in comparison with that real humility arising out of the light
which our Lord here gives us, and which begets a confusion of face
that undoes us.  The knowledge with which God supplies us, in order
that we may know that of ourselves we have no good in us, is perfectly
apprehended--and the more perfectly, the greater the graces.  It fills
us with a great desire of advancing in prayer, and of never giving it
up, whatever troubles may arise.  The soul offers to suffer
everything.  A certain security, joined with humility and fear
concerning our salvation, casts out servile fear at once from the
soul, and in its place plants a loyal
fear [<a href="#l15note17">17</a>] of more perfect
growth. [<a href="#l15note18">18</a>]  There is a visible beginning of
a love of God, utterly divested of all self-interest, together with a
longing after seasons of solitude, in order to obtain a greater
fruition of this good.</p>
<p><a name="l15.23">23</a>. In short, not to weary myself, it is the
beginning of all good; the flowers have so thriven, that they are on
the point of budding.  And this the soul sees most clearly, and it is
impossible to persuade it now that God was not with it, till it turns
back upon itself, and beholds its own failings and imperfections.
Then it fears for everything; and it is well it should do so--though
there are souls whom the certain conviction that God is with them
benefits more than all the fear they may ever have.  If a soul love
greatly, and is thankful naturally, the remembrance of the mercies of
God makes it turn to Him more effectually than all the chastisements
of hell it can ever picture to itself--at least, it was so with me,
though I am so wicked.</p>
<p><a name="l15.24">24</a>. As I shall speak at greater length of the
signs of a good spirit [<a href="#l15note19">19</a>]--it has cost me
much labour to be clear about them--I do not treat of them here.
I believe, too, that, with the help of God, I shall be able to speak
somewhat to the point, because--setting aside the experience I have
had, and by which I learned much--I have had the help of some most
learned men and persons of great holiness, whom we may reasonably
believe in the matter.  Souls, therefore, are not to weary themselves
so much as I did, when, by the goodness of our Lord, they may have
come to this state.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l15note1">1</a>. See <cite>Way of
Perfection</cite>, ch. liii., but ch. xxxii of
the old edition.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note2">2</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. xvii. 4: <span lang="la">&#34;Bonum est nos
hic esse.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note3">3</a>. See <a
href="#l17.6">ch. xvii. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note4">4</a>. <a href="#l10.1">Ch. x.
§ 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note5">5</a>. <a href="#l14.3">Ch.
xiv. §§ 3, 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note6">6</a>. <a href="#l10.9">Ch. x.
§ 9</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note7">7</a>. <a href="#l18.4">Ch.
xviii. § 4</a>, and <a href="#l21.9">ch. xxi.
§ 9</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note8">8</a>. <a
href="#l15.3">§ 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note9">9</a>. <a
href="#l15.5">§ 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note10">10</a>. <a href="#l10.1">Ch.
x. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note11">11</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Luke xviii. 13: <span lang="la">&#34;Nolebat nec oculos ad
coelum levare.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note12">12</a>. <a href="#l12.5">Ch.
xii. § 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note13">13</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;Firmeza en
la verdad.&#34;</span> Francisco de St. Thoma, in his <cite
lang="la">Medulla Mystica</cite>, p. 204, quoting this passage, has,
<span lang="es">&#34;firmeza en la voluntad.&#34;</span>  Philip a
SS. Trinitate, <cite>Theolog. Mystic.</cite> p. 354, and his
Abbreviator, <abbr title="Antonius">Anton.</abbr> a <abbr
title="Spiritu">Sp.</abbr> Sancto, <cite
lang="la"><abbr title="Directorium Mysticum">Direct.
Mystic.</abbr></cite> tr. iv. disp. i. § 11, n. 94, seem also to have
preferred <span lang="es">&#34;voluntad&#34;</span> to <span
lang="es">&#34;verdad;&#34;</span> for the words they use are, <span
lang="la">&#34;nec intellectui lux nec voluntati firmitas;&#34;</span>
and, <span lang="la">&#34;defectus lucis in intellectu, et firmitatis
in voluntate.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note14">14</a>. <a href="#l11.16">Ch.
xi. § 16</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note15">15</a>. <a href="#l13.23">Ch.
xiii. § 23</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note16">16</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. xvi. 24: <span lang="la">&#34;Tollat crucem suam et
sequatur Me.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note17">17</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;Fiel
temor.&#34;</span>  In the
previous editions it was <em lang="es">filial</em>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note18">18</a>. <a href="#l11.1">Ch.
xi. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l15note19">19</a>. See <a
href="#l25.0">ch. xxv</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l16.0">Chapter XVI.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Third State of Prayer.  Deep Matters.  What the Soul Can
Do That Has Reached It.  Effects of the Great Graces of
Our Lord.</big></p>
<p><a name="l16.1">1</a>. Let us now speak of the third water
wherewith this garden is watered,--water running from a river or from
a brook,--whereby the garden is watered with very much less trouble,
although there is some in directing the
water. [<a href="#l16note1">1</a>]  In this state our Lord will help
the gardener, and in such a way as to be, as it were, the Gardener
Himself, doing all the work.  It is a sleep of the powers of the soul,
which are not wholly lost, nor yet understanding how they are at work.
The pleasure, sweetness, and delight are incomparably greater than in
the former state of prayer; and the reason is, that the waters of
grace have risen up to the neck of the soul, so that it can neither
advance nor retreat--nor does it know how to do so; it seeks only the
fruition of exceeding bliss.  It is like a dying man with the candle
in his hand, on the point of dying the death desired.  It is rejoicing
in this agony with unutterable joy; to me it seems to be nothing else
but a death, as it were, to all the things of this world, and a
fruition of God.  I know of no other words whereby to describe it or
to explain it; neither does the soul then know what to do,--for it
knows not whether to speak or be silent, whether it should laugh or
weep. It is a glorious folly, a heavenly madness, wherein true wisdom
is acquired; and to the soul a kind of fruition most full
of delight. [<a href="#l16note2">2</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l16.2">2</a>. It is now some five or six years, I believe,
since our Lord raised me to this state of prayer, in its fulness, and
that more than once,--and I never understood it, and never could
explain it; and so I was resolved, when I should come thus far in my
story, to say very little or nothing at all.  I knew well enough that
it was not altogether the union of all the faculties, and yet most
certainly it was higher than the previous state of prayer; but I
confess that I could not determine and understand the difference.</p>
<p><a name="l16.3">3</a>. The humility of your reverence, willing to
be helped by a simplicity so great as mine, has been the cause, I
believe, why our Lord, to-day, after Communion, admitted me to this
state of prayer, without the power of going further, and suggested to
me these comparisons, and taught me how to speak of it, and of what
the soul must do therein.  Certainly, I was amazed, and in a moment
understood it all.  I have often been thus, as it were, beside myself,
drunk with love, and yet never could understand how it was.  I knew
well that it was the work of God, but I never was able to understand
the manner of His working here; for, in fact, the faculties are almost
all completely in union, yet not so absorbed that they do not act.  I
have been singularly delighted in that I have been able to comprehend
the matter at last.  Blessed be our Lord, who has thus
consoled me!</p>
<p><a name="l16.4">4</a>. The faculties of the soul now retain only
the power of occupying themselves wholly with God; not one of them
ventures to stir, neither can we move one of them without making great
efforts to distract ourselves--and, indeed, I do not think we can do
it at all at this time.  Many words are then uttered in praise of
God--but disorderly, unless it be that our Lord orders them himself.
At least, the understanding is utterly powerless here; the soul longs
to send forth words of praise, but it has no control over itself,--it
is in a state of sweet restlessness.  The flowers are already opening;
they are beginning to send forth their fragrance.</p>
<p><a name="l16.5">5</a>. The soul in this state would have all men
behold and know of its bliss, to the praise of God, and help it to
praise Him.  It would have them to be partakers of its joy; for its
joy is greater than it can bear.  It seems to me that it is like the
woman in the Gospel, who would, or used to, call in her
neighbours. [<a href="#l16note3">3</a>]  The admirable spirit of David,
the royal prophet, must have felt in the same way, so it seems to me,
when he played on the harp, singing the praises of God.  I have a very
great devotion to this glorious king; [<a href="#l16note4">4</a>] and I
wish all had it, particularly those who are sinners like myself.</p>
<p><a name="l16.6">6</a>. O my God, what must that soul be when it is
in this state?  It wishes it were all tongue, in order that it may
praise our Lord.  It utters a thousand holy follies, striving
continually to please Him by whom it is thus possessed.  I know
one [<a href="#l16note5">5</a>] who, though she was no poet, yet
composed, without any preparation, certain stanzas, full of feeling,
most expressive of her pain: they were not the work of her own
understanding; but, in order to have a greater fruition of that bliss
which so sweet a pain occasioned her, she complained of it in that way
to God.  She was willing to be cut in pieces, soul and body, to show
the delight she felt in that pain.  To what torments could she be then
exposed, that would not be delicious to endure for her Lord?  She sees
clearly that the martyrs did little or nothing, so far as they were
concerned, when they endured their tortures, because the soul is well
aware that its strength is derived from another source.</p>
<p><a name="l16.7">7</a>. But what will be its sufferings when it
returns to the use of the senses, to live in the world, and go back to
the anxieties and the fashions thereof?  I do not think that I have
exaggerated in any way, but rather have fallen short, in speaking of
that joy, which our Lord, of His good pleasure, gives to the soul in
this its exile.  Blessed for ever be Thou, O Lord! and may all created
things praise Thee for ever!</p>
<p><a name="l16.8">8</a>. O my King, seeing that I am now, while
writing this, still under the power of this heavenly madness, an
effect of Thy mercy and goodness,--and it is a mercy I never
deserved,--grant, I beseech Thee, that all those with whom I may have
to converse may become mad through Thy love, or let me converse with
none, or so order it that I may have nothing to do in the world, or
take me away from it.  This Thy servant, O my God, is no longer able
to endure sufferings so great as those are which she must bear when
she sees herself without Thee if she must live, she seeks no repose in
this life,--and do Thou give her none.  This my soul longs to be
free--eating is killing it, and sleep is wearisome; it sees itself
wasting the time of this life in comforts, and that there is no
comfort for it now but in Thee; it seems to be living contrary to
nature--for now, it desires to live not in itself, but in Thee.</p>
<p><a name="l16.9">9</a>. O my true Lord and my happiness! what a
cross hast Thou prepared for those who attain to this state!--light
and most heavy at the same time: light, because sweet; heavy, because
now and then there is no patience left to endure it--and yet the soul
never wishes to be delivered from it, unless it be that it may come to
Thee.  When the soul remembers that it has never served Thee at all,
and that by living on it may do Thee some service, it longs for a
still heavier cross, and never to die before the end of the world.
Its own repose it counts as nothing in comparison with doing a slight
service to Thee.  It knows not what to desire; but it clearly
understands that it desires nothing else but Thee.</p>
<p><a name="l16.10">10</a>. O my son, [<a href="#l16note6">6</a>] so
humble is he to whom this writing is directed, and who has commanded
me to write, that he suffers himself to be thus addressed,--you, my
father, only must see these things, in which I seem to have
transgressed all bounds; for no reason can keep me reasonable when our
Lord draws me out of myself.  Since my communion this
morning, [<a href="#l16note7">7</a>] I do not believe that I am the
person who is speaking; I seem to be dreaming the things I see, and I
wish I might never see any but people ill, as I am now.  I beseech
you, my father, let us all be mad, for the love of Him who for our
sakes suffered men to say of Him that He
was mad. [<a href="#l16note8">8</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l16.11">11</a>. You, my father, say that you wish me well.
I wish you would prove it by disposing yourself so that God may bestow
this grace upon you; for I see very few people who have not too much
sense for everything they have to do: and it may be that I have more
than anybody else.  Your reverence must not allow it; you are my
father, for you are my confessor, and the person to whom I have
trusted my soul; disperse my delusions by telling the truth; for
truths of this sort are very rarely told.</p>
<p><a name="l16.12">12</a>. I wish we five, who now love one another
in our Lord, had made some such arrangement as this: as others in
these times have met together in secret [<a href="#l16note9">9</a>] to
plot wickedness and heresies against His Majesty, so we might contrive
to meet together now and then, in order to undeceive one another, to
tell each other wherein we might improve ourselves, and be more
pleasing unto God; for there is no one that knows himself as well as
he is known of others who see him, if it be with eyes of love and the
wish to do him good.  I say; in secret; for language of this kind is
no longer in use; even preachers go about arranging their sermons so
as to displease no one. [<a href="#l16note10">10</a>]  They have a
good intention, and their work is good; yet still few amend their
lives. But how is it that they are not many who, in consequence of
these sermons, abstain from public sins?  Well, I think it is because
the preachers are highly sensible men.  They are not burning with the
great fire of the love of God, as the Apostles were, casting worldly
prudence aside; and so their fire throws out but little heat.  I do
not say that their fire ought to burn like that of the Apostles, but I
do wish it were a stronger fire than I see it is.  Do you, my father,
know wherein much of this fire consists?  In the hatred of this life,
in the desertion of its honours, in being utterly indifferent whether
we lose or gain anything or everything, provided the truth be told and
maintained for the glory of God; for he who is courageously in earnest
for God, looks upon loss or gain indifferently.  I do not say that I
am a person of this kind, but I wish I was.</p>
<p><a name="l16.13">13</a>. Oh, grand freedom, to regard it as a
captivity to be obliged to live and converse with men according to the
laws of the world!  It is the gift of our Lord; there is not a slave
who would not imperil everything that he might escape and return to
his country; and as this is the true road, there is no reason why we
should linger; for we shall never effectually gain a treasure so
great, so long as this life is not ended.  May our Lord give us His
grace for that end!  You, my father, if it shall seem good to you,
will tear up what I have written, and consider it as a letter for
yourself alone, and forgive me that I have been very bold.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l16note1">1</a>. &#34;The third degree, or third
water, of the Saint, must begin, I think, with the prayer of infused
recollection, include that of infused quiet, and end in that of
inebriation; because it is not in our power to draw this water--all we
can do is to direct the stream.&#34; (Francis. de St. Thoma, <cite
lang="la">Medulla Mystica</cite>, tr. iv. ch. xii.
p. 208).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l16note2">2</a>. See <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John of the Cross, <cite><abbr title="Spiritual">Spirit.</abbr>
Canticle</cite>, stanza xvii. vol. ii. p. 98, Engl. trans.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l16note3">3</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Luke xv. 9: <span lang="la">&#34;Convocat amicas
et vicinas.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l16note4">4</a>. <cite>Foundations</cite>, ch.
xxix. § 9.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l16note5">5</a>. The Saint herself (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l16note6">6</a>. This was either <abbr
title="Fra">F.</abbr> Ybaņez or the Inquisitor Soto, if the expression
did not occur in the first Life. <abbr
title="Fra">F.</abbr> <abbr title="Domingo">Dom.</abbr> Baņes struck
out &#34;son,&#34; and wrote &#34;father&#34; in its place, omitting
the words, &#34;so humble is he&#34; (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l16note7">7</a>. See <a href="#l16.3">§ 3</a>,
above.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l16note8">8</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John x. 20: <span lang="la">&#34;Dæmonium habet
et insanit.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l16note9">9</a>. The Saint refers to the secret
meetings of heretics in Valladolid, under the direction of a fallen
priest, the Doctor Agostino Cazalla, whose vanity led him to imitate
Luther.  Some nuns in Valladolid were imprisoned, Cazalla strangled,
and his body burnt, in 1559 (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l16note10">10</a>. Father Baņes wrote here on the
margin of the Saint's <abbr title="manuscript">MS</abbr>,
<span lang="la">&#34;Legant prædicatores&#34;</span> (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l17.0">Chapter XVII.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Third State of Prayer.  The Effects Thereof.  The
Hindrance Caused by the Imagination and the Memory.</big></p>
<p><a name="l17.1">1</a>. Enough has been said of this manner of
prayer, and of what the soul has to do, or rather, to speak more
correctly, of what God is doing within it; for it is He who now takes
upon Himself the gardener's work, and who will have the soul take its
ease; except that the will is consenting to the graces, the fruition
of which it has, and that it must resign itself to all that the True
Wisdom would accomplish in it--for which it is certain it has need of
courage; because the joy is so great, that the soul seems now and then
to be on the very point of going forth out of the body: and what a
blessed death that would be!  Now, I think it is for the soul's
good--as you, my father, have been told--to abandon itself into the
arms of God altogether; if He will take it to heaven, let it go; if to
hell, no matter, as it is going thither with its sovereign Good.  If
life is to come to an end for ever, so it wills; if it is to last a
thousand years, it wills that also: His Majesty may do with it as with
His own property,--the soul no longer belongs to itself, it has been
given wholly to our Lord; let it cast all care utterly away.</p>
<p><a name="l17.2">2</a>. My meaning is that, in a state of prayer, so
high as this, the soul understands that God is doing His work without
any fatiguing of the understanding, except that, as it seems to me, it
is as if amazed in beholding our Lord taking upon Himself the work of
the good gardener, refusing to let the soul undergo any labour
whatever, but that of taking its pleasure in the flowers beginning to
send forth their fragrance; for when God raises a soul up to this
state, it can do all this, and much more,--for these are the effects
of it.</p>
<p><a name="l17.3">3</a>. In one of these visits, how brief soever it
may be, the Gardener, being who He is,--in a word, the Creator of the
water,--pours the water without stint; and what the poor soul, with
the labour, perhaps, of twenty years in fatiguing the understanding,
could not bring about, that the heavenly Gardener accomplishes in an
instant, causing the fruit both to grow and ripen; so that the soul,
such being the will of our Lord, may derive its sustenance from its
garden.  But He allows it not to divide the fruit with others, until
by eating thereof, it is strong enough not to waste it in the mere
tasting of it,--giving to Him none of the produce, nor making any
compensation for it to Him who supplies it,--lest it should be
maintaining others, feeding them at its own cost, and itself perhaps
dying of hunger. [<a href="#l17note1">1</a>]  The meaning of this is
perfectly clear for those who have understanding enough to apply
it--much more clear than I can make it; and I am tired.</p>
<p><a name="l17.4">4</a>. Finally, the virtues are now stronger than
they were during the preceding prayer of quiet; for the soul sees
itself to be other than it was, and it knows not how it is beginning
to do great things in the odour which the flowers send forth; it being
our Lord's will that the flowers should open, in order that the soul
may believe itself to be in possession of virtue; though it sees most
clearly that it cannot, and never could, acquire them in many years,
and that the heavenly Gardener has given them to it in that instant.
Now, too, the humility of the soul is much greater and deeper than it
was before; because it sees more clearly that it did neither much nor
little, beyond giving its consent that our Lord might work those
graces in it, and then accepting them willingly.</p>
<p><a name="l17.5">5</a>. This state of prayer seems to me to be a
most distinct union of the whole soul with God, but for this, that His
Majesty appears to give the faculties leave to be intent upon, and
have the fruition of, the great work He is doing then.  It happens at
times, and indeed very often, that, the will being in union, the soul
should be aware of it, and see that the will is a captive and in joy,
that the will alone is abiding in great peace,--while, on the other
hand, the understanding and the memory are so free, that they can be
employed in affairs and be occupied in works of charity.  I say this,
that you, my father, may see it is so, and understand the matter when
it shall happen to yourself; at least, it carried me out of myself,
and that is the reason why I speak of it here.</p>
<p><a name="l17.6">6</a>. It differs from the prayer of quiet, of
which I have spoken, [<a href="#l17note2">2</a>] though it does seem as
if it were all one with it.  In that prayer, the soul, which would
willingly neither stir nor move, is delighting in the holy repose of
Mary; but in this prayer it can be like Martha
also. [<a href="#l17note3">3</a>]  Accordingly, the soul is, as it
were, living the active and contemplative life at once, and is able to
apply itself to works of charity and the affairs of its state, and to
spiritual reading.  Still, those who arrive at this state, are not
wholly masters of themselves, and are well aware that the better part
of the soul is elsewhere.  It is as if we were speaking to one person,
and another speaking to us at the same time, while we ourselves are
not perfectly attentive either to the one or the other.  It is a state
that is most easily ascertained, and one, when attained to, that
ministers great joy and contentment, and that prepares the soul in the
highest degree, by observing times of solitude, or of freedom from
business, for the attainment of the most tranquil quietude.  It is
like the life of a man who is full, requiring no food, with his
appetite satisfied, so that he will not eat of everything set before
him, yet not so full either as to refuse to eat if he saw any
desirable food.  So the soul has no satisfaction in the world,
and seeks no pleasure in it then; because it has in itself that which
gives it a greater satisfaction, greater joys in God, longings for the
satisfaction of its longing to have a deeper joy in being with
Him--this is what the soul seeks.</p>
<p><a name="l17.7">7</a>. There is another kind of union, which,
though not a perfect union, is yet more so than the one of which I
have just spoken; but not so much so as this spoken of as the third
water.  You, my father, will be delighted greatly if our Lord should
bestow them all upon you, if you have them not already, to find an
account of the matter in writing, and to understand it; for it is one
grace that our Lord gives grace; and it is another grace to understand
what grace and what gift it is; and it is another and further grace to
have the power to describe and explain it to others.  Though it does
not seem that more than the first of these--the giving of the
grace--is necessary to enable the soul to advance without confusion
and fear, and to walk with the greater courage in the way of our Lord,
trampling under foot all the things of this world, it is a great
advantage and a great grace to understand it; for every one who has it
has great reason to praise our Lord; and so, also, has he who has it
not: because His Majesty has bestowed it upon some person living who
is to make us profit by it.</p>
<p><a name="l17.8">8</a>. This union, of which I would now speak,
frequently occurs, particularly to myself.  God has very often
bestowed such a grace upon me, whereby He constrains the will, and
even the understanding, as it seems to me, seeing that it makes no
reflections, but is occupied in the fruition of God: like a person who
looks on, and sees so many things, that he knows not where to
look--one object puts another out of sight, and none of them leaves
any impression behind.</p>
<p><a name="l17.9">9</a>. The memory remains free, and it must be so,
together with the imagination; and so, when it finds itself alone, it
is marvellous to behold what war it makes on the soul, and how it
labours to throw everything into disorder.  As for me, I am wearied by
it, and I hate it; and very often do I implore our Lord to deprive me
of it on these occasions, if I am to be so much troubled by it.  Now
and then, I say to Him: O my God, when shall my soul praise Thee
without distraction, not dissipated in this way, unable to control
itself!  I understand now the mischief that sin has done, in that it
has rendered us unable to do what we desire--to be always occupied
in God. [<a href="#l17note4">4</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l17.10">10</a>. I say that it happens to me from time to
time,--it has done so this very day, and so I remember it well,--to
see my soul tear itself, in order to find itself there where the
greater part of it is, and to see, at the same time, that it is
impossible: because the memory and the imagination assail it with such
force, that it cannot prevail against them; yet, as the other
faculties give them no assistance, they are not able to do it any
harm--none whatever; they do enough when they trouble its rest.  When
I say they do no harm, my meaning is, that they cannot really hurt it,
because they have not strength enough, and because they are too
discursive.  As the understanding gives no help, neither much nor
little, in the matters put before the soul, they never rest anywhere,
but hurry to and fro, like nothing else but gnats at night,
troublesome and unquiet: and so they go about from one subject
to another.</p>
<p><a name="l17.11">11</a>. This comparison seems to me to be
singularly to the purpose; for the memory and the imagination, though
they have no power to do any harm, are very troublesome.  I know of no
remedy for it; and, hitherto, God has told me of none.  If He had,
most gladly would I make use of it; for I am, as I say, tormented very
often.  This shows our wretchedness and brings out most distinctly the
great power of God, seeing that the faculty which is free hurts
and wearies us so much; while the others, occupied with His Majesty,
give us rest.</p>
<p><a name="l17.12">12</a>. The only remedy I have found, after many
years of weariness, is that I spoke of when I was describing the
prayer of quiet: [<a href="#l17note5">5</a>] to make no more account of
it than of a madman, but let it go with its subject; for God alone can
take it from it,--in short, it is a slave here.  We must bear
patiently with it, as Jacob bore with Lia; for our Lord showeth us
mercy enough when we are allowed to have Rachel with us.</p>
<p><a name="l17.13">13</a>. I say that it remains a slave; for, after
all, let it do what it will, it cannot drag the other faculties in its
train; on the contrary, they, without taking any trouble, compel it to
follow after them.  Sometimes God is pleased to take pity on it, when
He sees it so lost and so unquiet, through the longing it has to be
united with the other faculties, and His Majesty consents to its
burning itself in the flame of that divine candle by which the others
are already reduced to ashes, and their nature lost, being, as it
were, supernaturally in the fruition of blessings so great.</p>
<p><a name="l17.14">14</a>. In all these states of prayer of which I
have spoken, while explaining this last method of drawing the water
out of the well, so great is the bliss and repose of the soul, that
even the body most distinctly shares in its joy and delight,--and this
is most plain; and the virtues continue to grow, as I said
before. [<a href="#l17note6">6</a>]  It seems to have been the good
pleasure of our Lord to explain these states of prayer, wherein the
soul finds itself, with the utmost clearness possible, I think, here
on earth.</p>
<p><a name="l17.15">15</a>. Do you, my father, discuss it with any
spiritual person who has arrived at this state, and is learned. If  he
says of it, it is well, you may believe that God has spoken it, and
you will give thanks to His Majesty; for, as I said just
now, [<a href="#l17note7">7</a>] in the course of time you will
rejoice greatly in that you have understood it.  Meanwhile, if He does
not allow you to understand what it is, though He does give you the
possession of it, yet, with your intellect and learning, seeing that
His Majesty has given you the first, you will know what it is, by the
help of what I have written here.  Unto Him be praise for ever and
ever! Amen.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l17note1">1</a>. See <a
href="#l19.4">ch. xix. § 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l17note2">2</a>. <a href="#l15.1">Ch.
xv. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l17note3">3</a>. See <a
href="#r8.6"><cite>Relation</cite>, viii. § 6</a>; and
<cite>Way of Perfection</cite>, ch. liii., but ch xxxi. of former
editions.  See also <cite>Concept. of the Love of God</cite>,
ch. vii.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l17note4">4</a>. See <a
href="#r8.17"><cite>Relation</cite>, viii.
§ 17</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l17note5">5</a>. <a href="#l14.4">Ch.
xiv. § 4</a>.  See also <cite>Way of Perfection</cite>, ch. liii., but
ch. xxxi. of the old editions.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l17note6">6</a>. <a href="#l14.6">Ch.
xiv. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l17note7">7</a>. <a
href="#l17.7">§ 7</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l18.0">Chapter XVIII.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Fourth State of Prayer.  The Great Dignity of the Soul
Raised to It by Our Lord.  Attainable on Earth, Not by Our Merit, But
by the Goodness of Our Lord.</big></p>
<p><a name="l18.1">1</a>. May our Lord teach me words whereby I may in
some measure describe the fourth water. [<a href="#l18note1">1</a>]  I
have great need of His help--even more than I had while speaking of
the last; for in that the soul still feels that it is not dead
altogether.  We may thus speak, seeing that to the world it is really
dead.  But, as I have said, [<a href="#l18note2">2</a>] it retains the
sense to see that it is in the world, and to feel its own loneliness;
and it makes use of that which is outward for the purpose of
manifesting its feelings, at least by signs.  In the whole of the
prayer already spoken of, and in all the states of it, the gardener
undergoes some labour: though in the later states the labour is
attended with so much bliss and comfort of the soul, that the soul
would never willingly pass out of it,--and thus the labour is not felt
as labour, but as bliss.</p>
<p><a name="l18.2">2</a>. In this the fourth state there is no sense
of anything, only fruition, without understanding what that is the
fruition of which is granted.  It is understood that the fruition is
of a certain good containing in itself all good together at once; but
this good is not comprehended.  The senses are all occupied in this
fruition in such a way that not one of them is at liberty, so as to be
able to attend to anything else, whether outward or inward.</p>
<p><a name="l18.3">3</a>. The senses were permitted before, as I have
said, [<a href="#l18note3">3</a>] to give some signs of the great joy
they feel; but now, in this state, the joy of the soul is incomparably
greater, and the power of showing it is still less; for there is no
power in the body, and the soul has none, whereby this fruition can be
made known.  Everything of that kind would be a great hindrance, a
torment, and a disturbance of its rest.  And I say, if it really be a
union of all the faculties, that the soul, even if it wished,--I mean,
when it is in union,--cannot make it known; and if it can, then it is
not union at all.</p>
<p><a name="l18.4">4</a>. How this, which we call union, is effected,
and what it is, I cannot tell.  Mystical theology explains it, and I
do not know the terms of that science; nor can I understand what the
mind is, nor how it differs from the soul or the spirit either: all
three seem to me but one; though I do know that the soul sometimes
leaps forth out of itself, like a fire that is burning and is become a
flame; and occasionally this fire increases violently--the flame
ascends high above the fire; but it is not therefore a different
thing: it is still the same flame of the same fire.  Your learning, my
fathers, will enable you to understand the matter; I can go
no further.</p>
<p><a name="l18.5">5</a>. What I undertake to explain is that which
the soul feels when it is in the divine union.  It is plain enough
what union is--two distinct things becoming one.  O my Lord, how good
Thou art!  Blessed be Thou for ever, O my God!  Let all creatures
praise Thee, Who hast so loved us that we can truly speak of this
communication which Thou hast with souls in this our exile!  Yea, even
if they be good souls, it is on Thy part great munificence and
magnanimity,--in a word, it is Thy munificence, O my Lord, seeing that
Thou givest like Thyself.  O infinite Munificence!--how magnificent
are Thy works! Even he whose understanding is not occupied with the
things of earth is amazed that he is unable to understand these
truths.  Why, then, give graces so high to souls who have been such
great sinners?  Truly, this passeth my understanding; and when I come
to think of it, I can get no further.  Is there any way at all for me
to go on which is not a going back?  For, as to giving Thee thanks for
mercies so great, I know not how to do it. Sometimes I relieve myself
by giving utterance to follies.  It often happens to me, either when I
receive these graces, or when God is about to bestow them,--for, in
the midst of them, I have already said, [<a href="#l18note4">4</a>] I
was able to do nothing,--that I would break out into words
like these.</p>
<p><a name="l18.6">6</a>. O Lord, consider what Thou art doing; forget
not so soon the great evils that I have done.  To forgive me, Thou
must already have forgotten them; yet, in order that there may be some
limit to Thy graces, I beseech Thee remember them.  O my Creator, pour
not a liquor so precious into a vessel so broken; for Thou hast
already seen how on other occasions I allowed it to run waste.  Lay
not up treasure like this, where the longing after the consolations of
this life is not so mortified as it ought to be; for it will be
utterly lost.  How canst Thou commit the defence of the city, and the
keys of its fortress to a commander so cowardly, who at the first
assault will let the enemy enter within?  Oh, let not Thy love be so
great, O King Eternal, as to imperil jewels so precious!  O my Lord,
to me it seems that it becomes a ground for undervaluing them, when
Thou puttest them in the power of one so wretched, so vile, so frail,
so miserable, and so worthless as I am, who, though she may labour not
to lose them, by the help of Thy grace,--and I have need of no little
grace for that end, being what I am,--is not able to win over any one
to Thee,--in short, I am a woman, not good, but wicked.  It seems to
me that the talents are not only hidden, but buried, when they are
committed to earth so vile.  It is not Thy wont, O Lord, to bestow
graces and mercies like these upon a soul, unless it be that it may
edify many.</p>
<p><a name="l18.7">7</a>. Thou, O my God, knowest already that I beg
this of Thee with my whole will, from the bottom of my heart, and that
I have done so more than once, and I account it a blessing to lose the
greatest blessings which may be had on earth, if Thou wouldst but
bestow these graces upon him who will make a better use of them to the
increase of Thy glory.  These, and expressions like these, it has
happened to me often to utter.  I saw afterwards my own foolishness
and want of humility; for our Lord knoweth well what is expedient, and
that there is no strength in my soul to be saved, if His Majesty did
not give it with graces so great.</p>
<p><a name="l18.8">8</a>. I purpose also to speak of the graces and
effects which abide in the soul, and of that which the soul itself can
do, or rather, if it can do anything of itself towards attaining to a
state so high.  The elevation of the spirit, or union, comes together
with heavenly love but, as I understand it, union is a different thing
from elevation in union itself.  To him who may not have had any
experience of the latter, it must seem that it is not; and, according
to my view of it, even if they are both one, the operations of our
Lord therein are different: there is a growth of the soul's detachment
from creatures more abundantly still in the flight of the
spirit. [<a href="#l18note5">5</a>]  I have clearly seen that this is a
particular grace, though, as I say, it may be the same, or seem to be
so, with the other; but a little fire, also, is as much fire as a
great fire--and yet there is a visible difference between them.
Before a small piece of iron is made red-hot in a little fire, some
time must pass; but if the fire be great, the iron very quickly,
though bulky, loses its nature altogether in appearance.</p>
<p><a name="l18.9">9</a>. So, it seems to me, is it with these two
kinds of graces which our Lord bestows.  He who has had raptures will,
I am sure, understand it well; to him who has not had that experience,
it must appear folly.  And, indeed, it may well be so; for if a person
like myself should speak of a matter of this kind, and give any
explanation at all of that for the description of which no words ever
can possibly be found, it is not to be wondered at that I may be
speaking foolishly.</p>
<p><a name="l18.10">10</a>. But I have this confidence in our Lord,
that He will help me here; for His Majesty knoweth that my object in
writing--the first is to obey--is to inspire souls with a longing
after so high a good.  I will speak of nothing that I do not know by
great experience: and so, when I began to describe the last kind of
water, I thought it more impossible for me to speak of it at all than
to speak Greek.  It is a very difficult matter; so I left it, and went
to Communion.  Blessed be our Lord, who is merciful to the ignorant!
Oh, virtue of obedience! it can do everything! God enlightened my
understanding--at one time suggesting the words, at another showing me
how to use them; for, as in the preceding state of prayer, so also
now, His Majesty seems to utter what I can neither speak
nor understand. [<a href="#l18note6">6</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l18.11">11</a>. What I am saying is the simple truth; and
therefore whatever is good herein is His teaching; what is erroneous,
clearly comes out of that sea of evil--myself.  If there be any--and
there must be many--who, having attained to these states of prayer
whereunto our Lord in His mercy has brought me--wretch that I am!--and
who, thinking they have missed their way, desire to treat of these
matters with me, I am sure that our Lord will help His servant to
declare the truth more plainly.</p>
<p><a name="l18.12">12</a>. I am now speaking of the water which
cometh down from heaven to fill and saturate in its abundance the
whole of this garden with water.  If our Lord never ceased to pour it
down whenever it was necessary, the gardener certainly would have
plenty of rest; and if there were no winter, but an ever temperate
season, fruits and flowers would never fail.  The gardener would have
his delight therein; but in this life that is impossible.  We must
always be careful, when one water fails, to obtain another.  This
water from heaven comes down very often when the gardener least
expects it.</p>
<p><a name="l18.13">13</a>. The truth is that, in the beginning, this
almost always happens after much mental prayer.  Our Lord advances
step by step to lay hold of the little bird, and to lay it in the nest
where it may repose.  He observed it fluttering for a long time,
striving with the understanding and the will, and with all its might,
to seek God and to please Him; so now it is His pleasure to reward it
even in this life.  And what a reward!--one moment is enough to repay
all the possible trials of this life.</p>
<p><a name="l18.14">14</a>. The soul, while thus seeking after God, is
conscious, with a joy excessive and sweet, that it is, as it were,
utterly fainting away in a kind of trance: breathing, and all the
bodily strength, fail it, so that it cannot even move the hands
without great pain; the eyes close involuntarily, and if they are
open, they are as if they saw nothing; nor is reading possible,--the
very letters seem strange, and cannot be distinguished,--the letters,
indeed, are visible, but, as the understanding furnishes no help, all
reading is impracticable, though seriously attempted.  The ear hears;
but what is heard is not comprehended.  The senses are of no use
whatever, except to hinder the soul's fruition; and so they rather
hurt it.  It is useless to try to speak, because it is not possible to
conceive a word; nor, if it were conceived, is there strength
sufficient to utter it; for all bodily strength vanishes, and that of
the soul increases, to enable it the better to have the fruition of
its joy.  Great and most perceptible, also, is the outward joy
now felt.</p>
<p><a name="l18.15">15</a>. This prayer, however long it may last,
does no harm--at least, it has never done any to me; nor do I
remember, however ill I might have been when our Lord had mercy upon
me in this way, that I ever felt the worse for it--on the contrary, I
was always better afterwards.  But so great a blessing, what harm can
it do?  The outward effects are so plain as to leave no doubt possible
that there must have been some great cause, seeing that it thus robs
us of our bodily powers with so much joy, in order to leave
them greater.</p>
<p><a name="l18.16">16</a>. The truth is, it passes away so quickly in
the beginning--at least, so it was with me--that neither by the
outward signs, nor by the failure of the senses, can it be perceived
when it passes so quickly away.  But it is plain, from the overflowing
abundance of grace, that the brightness of the sun which had shone
there must have been great, seeing that it has thus made the soul to
melt away.  And this is to be considered; for, as it seems to me, the
period of time, however long it may have been, during which the
faculties of the soul were entranced, is very short; if half an hour,
that would be a long time.  I do not think that I have ever been so
long. [<a href="#l18note7">7</a>]  The truth of the matter is this: it
is extremely difficult to know how long, because the senses are in
suspense; but I think that at any time it cannot be very long before
some one of the faculties recovers itself.  It is the will that
persists in the work; the other two faculties quickly begin to molest
it.  As the will is calm, it entrances them again; they are quiet for
another moment, and then they recover themselves once more.</p>
<p><a name="l18.17">17</a>. In this way, some hours may be, and are,
passed in prayer; for when the two faculties begin to drink deep, and
to perceive the taste of this divine wine, they give themselves up
with great readiness, in order to be the more absorbed: they follow
the will, and the three rejoice together. But this state of complete
absorption, together with the utter rest of the imagination,--for I
believe that even the imagination is then wholly at rest,--lasts only
for a short time; though the faculties do not so completely recover
themselves as not to be for some hours afterwards as if in disorder:
God, from time to time, drawing them to Himself.</p>
<p><a name="l18.18">18</a>. Let us now come to that which the soul
feels interiorly.  Let him describe it who knows it; for as it is
impossible to understand it, much more is it so to describe it.  When
I purposed to write this, I had just communicated, and had risen from
the very prayer of which I am speaking.  I am thinking of what the
soul was then doing.  Our Lord said to me: It undoes itself utterly,
My daughter, in order that it may give itself more and more to Me: it
is not itself that then lives, it is I.  As it cannot comprehend what
it understands, it understands by
not understanding. [<a href="#l18note8">8</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l18.19">19</a>. He who has had experience of this will
understand it in some measure, for it cannot be more clearly
described, because what then takes place is so obscure.  All I am able
to say is, that the soul is represented as being close to God; and
that there abides a conviction thereof so certain and strong, that it
cannot possibly help believing so.  All the faculties fail now, and
are suspended in such a way that, as I said
before, [<a href="#l18note9">9</a>] their operations cannot be traced.
If the soul is making a meditation on any subject, the memory of it is
lost at once, just as if it had never been thought of.  If it reads,
what is read is not remembered nor dwelt upon; neither is it otherwise
with vocal prayer.  Accordingly, the restless little butterfly of the
memory has its wings burnt now, and it cannot fly.  The will must be
fully occupied in loving, but it understands not how it loves; the
understanding, if it understands, does not understand how it
understands--at least, it can comprehend nothing of that it
understands: it does not understand, as it seems to me, because, as I
said just now, this cannot be understood.  I do not understand it at
all myself.</p>
<p><a name="l18.20">20</a>. In the beginning, it happened to me that I
was ignorant of one thing--I did not know that God was in all
things: [<a href="#l18note10">10</a>] and when He seemed to me to be so
near, I thought it impossible.  Not to believe that He was present,
was not in my power; for it seemed to me, as it were, evident that I
felt there His very presence.  Some unlearned men used to say to me,
that He was present only by His grace.  I could not believe that,
because, as I am saying, He seemed to me to be present Himself: so I
was distressed.  A most learned man, of the Order of the glorious
Patriarch <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic, delivered me from
this doubt; for he told me that He was present, and how He communed
with us: this was a great comfort to me.</p>
<p><a name="l18.21">21</a>. It is to be observed and understood that
this water from heaven,--this greatest grace of our Lord--always
leaves in the soul the greatest fruits, as I shall now show.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l18note1">1</a>. See <a
href="#l11.11">ch. xi. § 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l18note2">2</a>. <a href="#l16.7">Ch.
xvi. §§ 7, 8</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l18note3">3</a>. <a href="#l17.5">Ch.
xvii. § 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l18note4">4</a>. <a
href="#l18.3">§ 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l18note5">5</a>. See <a
href="#l20.10">ch. xx. § 10</a>; and <a
href="#r8.10"><cite>Relation</cite>, viii.
§ 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l18note6">6</a>. See <a
href="#l14.12">ch. xiv. § 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l18note7">7</a>. See <abbr
title="Antonius">Anton.</abbr> a <abbr
title="Spiritu">Sp.</abbr> Sancto, <cite
lang="la"><abbr title="Directorium Mysticum">Director. Mystic.</abbr></cite>
tr. iv. § 9, n. 72.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l18note8">8</a>. Thomas ā Jesu, <cite lang="la">De
Contemplatione Divina</cite>, lib. v. c. xiii.: <span
lang="la">&#34;Quasi dicat: cum intellectus non possit Dei immensam
illam claritatem et incomprehensibilem plenitudinem comprehendere, hoc
ipsum est illam conspicere ac intelligere, intelligere se non posse
intellectu cognoscere: quod quidem nihil aliud est quam Deum sub
ratione incomprehensibilitatis videre
ac cognoscere.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><abbr title="Philippus">Philip.</abbr> ā SS. Trinitate,
<cite>Theolog. Mystic. Disc. Proem.</cite> art. iv. p. 6: <span
lang="la">&#34;Cum ipsa [S. Teresa] scire vellet, quid in illa mystica
unione operaretur intellectus, respondit [Christus] illi, cum non
possit comprehendere quod intelligit, est non intelligere
intelligendo: tum quia præ claritate nimia quodammodo offuscatur
intellectus, unde præ altissima et supereminentissima Dei cognitione
videtur anima potius Deum ignorare
quam cognoscere.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l18note9">9</a>. <a href="#l10.1">Ch. x.
§ 1</a>, and <a href="#l18.16">ch. xviii.
§ 16</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l18note10">10</a>. See <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>,
v. ch. i. § 11.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l19.0">Chapter XIX.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Effects of This Fourth State of Prayer.  Earnest
Exhortations to Those Who Have Attained to It Not to Go Back, Nor to
Cease from Prayer, Even If They Fall.  The Great Calamity of
Going Back.</big></p>
<p><a name="l19.1">1</a>. There remains in the soul, when the prayer
of union is over, an exceedingly great tenderness; so much so, that it
would undo itself--not from pain, but through tears of joy it finds
itself bathed therein, without being aware of it, and it knows not how
or when it wept them.  But to behold the violence of the fire subdued
by the water, which yet makes it burn the more, gives it great
delight.  It seems as if I were speaking an unknown language.  So it
is, however.</p>
<p><a name="l19.2">2</a>. It has happened to me occasionally, when
this prayer was over, to be so beside myself as not to know whether I
had been dreaming, or whether the bliss I felt had really been mine;
and, on finding myself in a flood of tears--which had painlessly
flowed, with such violence and rapidity that it seemed as if a cloud
from heaven [<a href="#l19note1">1</a>] had shed them--to perceive that
it was no dream.  Thus it was with me in the beginning, when it passed
quickly away.  The soul remains possessed of so much courage, that if
it were now hewn in pieces for God, it would be a great consolation to
it.  This is the time of resolutions, of heroic determinations, of the
living energy of good desires, of the beginning of hatred of the
world, and of the most clear perception of its vanity.  The soul makes
greater and higher progress than it ever made before in the previous
states of prayer; and grows in humility more and more, because it sees
clearly that neither for obtaining nor for retaining this grace,
great beyond all measure, has it ever done, or ever been able to do,
anything of itself. It looks upon itself as most unworthy--for in a
room into which the sunlight enters strongly, not a cobweb can be hid;
it sees its own misery; self-conceit is so far away, that it seems as
if it never could have had any--for now its own eyes behold how very
little it could ever do, or rather, that it never did anything, that
it hardly gave even its own consent, but that it rather seemed as if
the doors of the senses were closed against its will in order that it
might have more abundantly the fruition of our Lord.  It is abiding
alone with Him: what has it to do but to love Him? It neither sees nor
hears, unless on compulsion: no thanks to it. Its past life stands
before it then, together with the great mercy of God, in great
distinctness; and it is not necessary for it to go forth to hunt with
the understanding, because what it has to eat and ruminate upon, it
sees now ready prepared.  It sees, so far as itself is concerned, that
it has deserved hell, and that its punishment is bliss.  It undoes
itself in the praises of God, and I would gladly undo myself now.</p>
<p><a name="l19.3">3</a>. Blessed be Thou, O my Lord, who, out of a
pool so filthy as I am, bringest forth water so clean as to be meet
for Thy table!  Praised be Thou, O Joy of the Angels, who hast been
thus pleased to exalt so vile a worm!</p>
<p><a name="l19.4">4</a>. The good effects of this prayer abide in the
soul for some time.  Now that it clearly apprehends that the fruit is
not its own, the soul can begin to share it with others, and that
without any loss to itself.  It begins to show signs of its being a
soul that is guarding the treasures of heaven, and to be desirous of
communicating them to others, [<a href="#l19note2">2</a>] and to pray
to God that itself may not be the only soul that is rich in them.  It
begins to benefit its neighbours, as it were, without being aware of
it, or doing anything consciously: its neighbours understand the
matter, because the odour of the flowers has grown so strong as to
make them eager to approach them.  They understand that this soul is
full of virtue: they see the fruit, how delicious it is, and they wish
to help that soul to eat it.</p>
<p><a name="l19.5">5</a>. If this ground be well dug by troubles, by
persecutions, detractions, and infirmities,--they are few who ascend
so high without this,--if it be well broken up by great detachment
from all self-interest, it will drink in so much water that it can
hardly ever be parched again.  But if it be ground which is mere
waste, and covered with thorns (as I was when I began); if the
occasions of sin be not avoided; if it be an ungrateful soil, unfitted
for so great a grace,--it will be parched up again.  If the gardener
become careless,--and if our Lord, out of His mere goodness, will not
send down rain upon it,--the garden is ruined.  Thus has it been with
me more than once, so that I am amazed at it; and if I had not found
it so by experience, I could not have believed it.</p>
<p><a name="l19.6">6</a>. I write this for the comfort of souls which
are weak, as I am, that they may never despair, nor cease to trust in
the power of God; even if they should fall after our Lord has raised
them to so high a degree of prayer as this is, they must not be
discouraged, unless they would lose themselves utterly.  Tears gain
everything, and one drop of water attracts another.</p>
<p><a name="l19.7">7</a>. One of the reasons that move me, who am what
I am, under obedience to write this, and give an account of my
wretched life, and of the graces our Lord has wrought in me,--though I
never served Him, but offended Him rather,--is what I have just given:
and, certainly, I wish I was a person of great authority, that people
might believe what I say.  I pray to our Lord that His Majesty would
be pleased to grant me this grace.  I repeat it, let no one who has
begun to give himself to prayer be discouraged, and say: If I fall
into sin, it will be worse for me if I go on now with the practice of
prayer.  I think so too, if he gives up prayer, and does not correct
his evil ways; but if he does not give up prayer, let him be assured
of this--prayer will bring him to the haven of light.</p>
<p><a name="l19.8">8</a>. In this the devil turned his batteries
against me, and I suffered so much because I thought it showed but
little humility if I persevered in prayer when I was so wicked,
that--as I have already said [<a href="#l19note3">3</a>]--I gave it up
for a year and a half--at least, for a year, but I do not remember
distinctly the other six months.  This could not have been, neither
was it, anything else but to throw myself down into hell; there was no
need of any devils to drag me thither.  O my God, was there ever
blindness so great as this?  How well Satan prepares his measures for
his purpose, when he pursues us in this way!  The traitor knows that
he has already lost that soul which perseveres in prayer, and that
every fall which he can bring about helps it, by the goodness of God,
to make greater progress in His service.  Satan has some interest
in this.</p>
<p><a name="l19.9">9</a>. O my Jesus, what a sight that must be--a
soul so highly exalted falling into sin, and raised up again by Thee;
who, in Thy mercy, stretchest forth Thine hand to save!  How such a
soul confesses Thy greatness and compassion and its own wretchedness!
It really looks on itself as nothingness, and confesses Thy power.  It
dares not lift up its eyes; it raises them, indeed, but it is to
acknowledge how much it oweth unto Thee.  It becomes devout to the
Queen of Heaven, that she may propitiate Thee; it invokes the Saints,
who fell after Thou hadst called them, for succour.  Thou seemest now
to be too bountiful in Thy gifts, because it feels itself to be
unworthy of the earth it treads on.  It has recourse to the
Sacraments, to a quickened faith, which abides in it at the
contemplation of the power which Thou hast lodged in them.  It praises
Thee because Thou hast left us such medicines and ointment for our
wounds, which not only heal them on the surface, but remove all traces
whatever of them.</p>
<p><a name="l19.10">10</a>. The soul is amazed at it.  Who is there, O
Lord of my soul, that is not amazed at compassion so great and mercy
so surpassing, after treason so foul and so hateful?  I know not how
it is that my heart does not break when I write this, for I am wicked.
With these scanty tears which I am now weeping, but yet Thy
gift,--water out of a well, so far as it is mine, so impure,--I seem
to make Thee some recompense for treachery so great as mine, in that I
was always doing evil, labouring to make void the graces Thou hast
given me.  Do Thou, O Lord, make my tears available; purify the water
which is so muddy; at least, let me not be to others a temptation to
rash judgments, as I have been to myself, when I used to think such
thoughts as these.  Why, O Lord, dost Thou pass by most holy persons,
who have always served Thee, and who have been tried; who have been
brought up in religion, and are really religious--not such as I am,
having only the name--so as to make it plain that they are not
recipients of those graces which Thou hast bestowed upon me?</p>
<p><a name="l19.11">11</a>. I see clearly now, O Thou my Good, Thou
hast kept the reward to give it them all at once: my weakness has need
of these succours.  They, being strong, serve Thee without them, and
Thou dealest with them as with a strong race, free from all
self-interest.  But yet Thou knowest, O my Lord, that I have often
cried unto Thee, making excuses for those who murmured against me; for
I thought they had reason on their side.  This I did then when Thou of
Thy goodness hadst kept me back from offending Thee so much, and when
I was departing from everything which I thought displeasing unto Thee.
It was when I did this that Thou, O Lord, didst begin to lay open Thy
treasures for Thy servant.  It seemed as if Thou wert looking for
nothing else but that I should be willing and ready to receive them;
accordingly, Thou didst begin at once, not only to give them, but also
to make others know that Thou wert giving them.</p>
<p><a name="l19.12">12</a>. When this was known, there began to
prevail a good opinion of her, of whom all had not yet clearly
understood how wicked she was, though much of that wickedness was
plain enough.  Calumny and persecution began at once, and, as I think,
with good reason; so I looked on none of them as an enemy, but made my
supplications to Thee, imploring Thee to consider the grounds they
had.  They said that I wished to be a saint, and that I invented
novelties; but I had not then attained in many things even to the
observance of my rule; nor had I come near those excellent and holy
nuns who were in the house,--and I do not believe I ever shall, if God
of His goodness will not do that for me Himself; on the contrary, I
was there only to do away with what was good, and introduce customs
which were not good; at least, I did what I could to bring them in,
and I was very powerful for evil.  Thus it was that they were
blameless, when they blamed me.  I do not mean the nuns only, but the
others as well: they told me truths; for it was Thy will.</p>
<p><a name="l19.13">13</a>. I was once saying the Office,--I had had
this temptation for some time,--and when I came to these words, <span
lang="la">&#34;Justus es, Domine, et rectum judicium
tuum,&#34;</span> [<a href="#l19note4">4</a>] I began to think what a
deep truth it was. Satan never was strong enough to tempt me in any
way to doubt of Thy goodness, or of any article of the faith: on the
contrary, it seems to me that the more these truths were above nature,
the more firmly I held them, and my devotion grew; when I thought of
Thy omnipotence, I accepted all Thy wonderful works, and I say it
again, I never had a doubt.  Then, as I was thinking how it could be
just in Thee to allow so many, who, as I said, are Thy most faithful
servants, to remain without those consolations and graces which Thou
hast given to me, who am what I am, Thou, O my Lord, didst answer me:
Serve thou Me, and meddle not with this.</p>
<p><a name="l19.14">14</a>. This was the first word which I ever heard
Thee speak to me, and it made me greatly afraid.  But as I shall speak
hereafter [<a href="#l19note5">5</a>] of this way of hearing, and of
other matters, I say nothing here; for to do so would be to digress
from my subject, and I have already made digressions enough.  I
scarcely know what I have said, nor can it be otherwise; but you, my
father, must bear with these interruptions; for when I consider what
God must have borne with from me, and when I see the state I am in, it
is not strange that I should wander in what I am saying, and what I
have still to say.</p>
<p><a name="l19.15">15</a>. May it please our Lord that my wanderings
may be of this kind, and may His Majesty never suffer me to have
strength to resist Him even in the least; yea, rather than that, may
He destroy me this moment.  It is evidence enough of His great
compassions, that He has forgiven so much ingratitude, not once, but
often.  He forgave <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter once; but I
have been forgiven many times.  Satan had good reasons for tempting
me: I ought never to have pretended to a strict friendship with One,
my hatred of whom I made so public.  Was there ever blindness so great
as mine?  Where could I think I should find help but in Thee?  What
folly to run away from the light, to be for ever stumbling!  What a
proud humility was that which Satan devised for me, when I ceased to
lean upon the pillar, and threw the staff away which supported me, in
order that my fall might not be great! [<a href="#l19note6">6</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l19.16">16</a>. I make the sign of the cross this moment.
I do not think I ever escaped so great a danger as this device of
Satan, which he would have imposed upon me in the disguise of
humility. [<a href="#l19note7">7</a>]  He filled me with such thoughts
as these: How could I make my prayer, who was so wicked, and yet had
received so many mercies?  It was enough for me to recite the Office,
as all others did; but as I did not that much well, how could I desire
to do more?  I was not reverential enough, and made too little of the
mercies of God.  There was no harm in these thoughts and feelings in
themselves; but to act upon them, that was an exceedingly great
wickedness.  Blessed be Thou, O Lord; for Thou camest to my help. This
seems to me to be in principle the temptation of Judas, only that
Satan did not dare to tempt me so openly.  But he might have led me by
little and little, as he led Judas, to the same pit
of destruction.</p>
<p><a name="l19.17">17</a>. Let all those who give themselves to
prayer, for the love of God, look well to this.  They should know that
when I was neglecting it, my life was much worse than it had ever
been; let them reflect on the excellent help and the pleasant humility
which Satan provided for me: it was a grave interior disquietude. But
how could my spirit be quiet?  It was going away in its misery from
its true rest.  I remembered the graces and mercies I had received,
and felt that the joys of this world were loathsome.  I am astonished
that I was able to bear it.  It must have been the hope I had; for, as
well as I can remember now, it is more than twenty-one years ago.  I
do not think I ever gave up my purpose of resuming my prayer; but I
was waiting to be very free from sin first.</p>
<p><a name="l19.18">18</a>. Oh, how deluded I was in this expectation!
The devil would have held it out before me till the day of judgment,
that he might then take me with him to hell.  Then, when I applied
myself to prayer and to spiritual reading,--whereby I might perceive
these truths, and the evil nature of the way I was walking in, and was
often importunate with our Lord in tears,--I was so wicked, that it
availed me nothing; when I gave that up, and wasted my time in amusing
myself, in great danger of falling into sin, and with scanty
helps,--and I may venture to say no help at all, unless it was a help
to my ruin,--what could I expect but that of which I have spoken?</p>
<p><a name="l19.19">19</a>. I believe that a certain Dominican friar,
a most learned man, has greatly merited in the eyes of God; for it was
he who roused me from this slumber.  He made me--I think I said so
before [<a href="#l19note8">8</a>]--go to Communion once a fortnight,
and be less given to evil; I began to be converted, though I did not
cease to offend our Lord all at once: however, as I had not lost my
way, I walked on in it, though slowly, falling and rising again; and
he who does not cease to walk and press onwards, arrives at last, even
if late.  To lose one's way is--so it seems to me--nothing else but
the giving up of prayer.  God, of His mercy, keeps us from this!</p>
<p><a name="l19.20">20</a>. It is clear from this,--and, for the love
of God, consider it well,--that a soul, though it may receive great
graces from God in prayer, must never rely on itself, because it may
fall, nor expose itself in any way whatever to any risks of sin.  This
should be well considered because much depends on it; for the delusion
here, wherein Satan is able to entangle us afterwards, though the
grace be really from God, lies in the traitor's making use of that
very grace, so far as he can, for his own purpose, and particularly
against persons not grown strong in virtues, who are neither mortified
nor detached; for these are not at present strong enough--as I shall
explain hereafter [<a href="#l19note9">9</a>]--to expose themselves to
dangerous occasions, notwithstanding the noble desires and resolutions
they may have.</p>
<p><a name="l19.21">21</a>. This doctrine is excellent, and not mine,
but the teaching of God, and accordingly I wish ignorant people like
myself knew it; for even if a soul were in this state, it must not
rely so much upon itself as to go forth to the battle, because it will
have enough to do in defending itself.  Defensive armour is the
present necessity; the soul is not yet strong enough to assail Satan,
and to trample him under foot, as those are who are in the state of
which I shall speak further on. [<a href="#l19note10">10</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l19.22">22</a>. This is the delusion by which Satan
prevails: when a soul sees itself so near unto God, when it sees the
difference there is between the things of heaven and those of earth,
and when it sees the love which our Lord bears it, there grows out of
that love a certain trust and confidence that there is to be no
falling away from that the fruition of which it then possesses.  It
seems to see the reward distinctly, as if it were impossible for it to
abandon that which, even in this life, is so delicious and sweet, for
anything so mean and impure as worldly joy.  Through this confidence,
Satan robs it of that distrust which it ought to have in itself; and
so, as I have just said, [<a href="#l19note11">11</a>] the soul
exposes itself to dangers, and begins, in the fulness of its zeal, to
give away without discretion the fruit of its garden, thinking that
now it has no reason to be afraid for itself.  Yet this does not come
out of pride; for the soul clearly understands that of itself it can
do no good thing; but rather out of an excessive confidence in God,
without discretion: because the soul does not see itself to be
unfledged.  It can go forth out of its nest, and God Himself may take
it out, but still it cannot fly, because the virtues are not strong,
and itself has no experience wherewith to discern the dangers; nor is
it aware of the evil which trusting to itself may do it.</p>
<p><a name="l19.23">23</a>. This it was that ruined me.  Now, to
understand this, and everything else in the spiritual life, we have
great need of a director, and of conference with spiritual persons.  I
fully believe, with respect to that soul which God raises to this
state, that He will not cease to be gracious to it, nor suffer it to
be lost, if it does not utterly forsake His Majesty.  But when that
soul--as I said--falls, let it look to it again and again, for the
love of our Lord, that Satan deceive it not by tempting it to give up
prayer, as he tempted me, through that false humility of which I have
spoken before, [<a href="#l19note12">12</a>] and would gladly speak of
again and again.  Let it rely on the goodness of God, which is
greater than all the evil we can do.  When we, acknowledging our own
vileness, desire to return into His grace, He remembers our
ingratitude no more,--no, not even the graces He has given us, for the
purpose of chastising us, because of our misuse of them; yea, rather,
they help to procure our pardon the sooner, as of persons who have
been members of His household, and who, as they say, have eaten of
His bread.</p> <p><a name="l19.24">24</a>. Let them remember His
words, and behold what He hath done unto me, who grew weary of sinning
before He grew weary of forgiving.  He is never weary of giving, nor
can His compassion be exhausted.  Let us not grow weary ourselves of
receiving.  May He be blessed for ever, Amen; and may all created
things praise Him!</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l19note1">1</a>. See <a
href="#l20.2">ch. xx. § 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l19note2">2</a>. See <a
href="#l17.3">ch. xvii. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l19note3">3</a>. <a href="#l7.17">Ch.
vii. § 17</a>, and <a href="#l8.5">ch. viii.
§ 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l19note4">4</a>. Psalm cxviii. 137: &#34;Thou art
just, O Lord, and Thy judgment is right.&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l19note5">5</a>. See <a href="#l25.0">ch.
xxv</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l19note6">6</a>. See <a href="#l8.1">ch.
viii. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l19note7">7</a>. <a href="#l7.17">Ch.
vii. § 17</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l19note8">8</a>. <a href="#l7.27">Ch.
vii. § 27</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l19note9">9</a>. <a href="#l31.21">Ch.
xxxi. § 21</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l19note10">10</a>. <a href="#l20.33">Ch.
xx. § 33</a>, and <a href="#l25.24">ch. xxv.
§ 24</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l19note11">11</a>. <a href="#l19.4">Ch. xix.
§ 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l19note12">12</a>. See <a
href="#l19.16">§ 16</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l20.0">Chapter XX.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Difference Between Union and Rapture.  What Rapture Is.
The Blessing It Is to the Soul.  The Effects of It.</big></p>
<p><a name="l20.1">1</a>. I wish I could explain, with the help of
God, wherein union differs from rapture, or from transport, or from
flight of the spirit, as they speak, or from a trance, which are all
one. [<a href="#l20note1">1</a>]  I mean, that all these are only
different names for that one and the same thing, which is also called
ecstasy. [<a href="#l20note2">2</a>]  It is more excellent
than union, the fruits of it are much greater, and its other
operations more manifold; for union is uniform in the beginning, the
middle, and the end, and is so also interiorly.  But as raptures have
ends of a much higher kind, they produce effects both within and
without. [<a href="#l20note3">3</a>]  As our Lord has explained the
other matters, so also may He explain this; for certainly, if He had
not shown me in what way and by what means this explanation was in
some measure possible, I should never have been able to do it.</p>
<p><a name="l20.2">2</a>. Consider we now that this last water, of
which I am speaking, is so abundant that, were it not that the ground
refuses to receive it, we might suppose that the cloud of His great
Majesty is here raining down upon us on earth.  And when we are giving
Him thanks for this great mercy, drawing near to Him in earnest, with
all our might, then it is our Lord draws up the soul, as the clouds,
so to speak, gather the mists from the face of the earth, and carries
it away out of itself,--I have heard it said that the clouds, or the
sun, draw the mists together, [<a href="#l20note4">4</a>]--and as a
cloud, rising up to heaven, takes the soul with Him, and begins to
show it the treasures of the kingdom which He has prepared for it.  I
know not whether the comparison be accurate or not; but the fact is,
that is the way in which it is brought about.  During rapture, the
soul does not seem to animate the body, the natural heat of which is
perceptibly lessened; the coldness increases, though accompanied with
exceeding joy and sweetness. [<a href="#l20note5">5</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l20.3">3</a>. A rapture is absolutely irresistible; whilst
union, inasmuch as we are then on our own ground, may be hindered,
though that resistance be painful and violent; it is, however, almost
always impossible.  But rapture, for the most part, is irresistible.
It comes, in general, as a shock, quick and sharp, before you can
collect your thoughts, or help yourself in any way, and you see and
feel it as a cloud, or a strong eagle rising upwards, and carrying you
away on its wings.</p>
<p><a name="l20.4">4</a>. I repeat it: you feel and see yourself
carried away, you know not whither.  For though we feel how delicious
it is, yet the weakness of our nature makes us afraid at first, and we
require a much more resolute and courageous spirit than in the
previous states, in order to risk everything, come what may, and to
abandon ourselves into the hands of God, and go willingly whither we
are carried, seeing that we must be carried away, however painful it
may be; and so trying is it, that I would very often resist, and exert
all my strength, particularly at those times when the rapture was
coming on me in public.  I did so, too, very often when I was alone,
because I was afraid of delusions.  Occasionally I was able, by great
efforts, to make a slight resistance; but afterwards I was worn out,
like a person who had been contending with a strong giant; at other
times it was impossible to resist at all: my soul was carried away,
and almost always my head with it,--I had no power over it,--and now
and then the whole body as well, so that it was lifted up from
the ground.</p>
<p><a name="l20.5">5</a>. This has not happened to me often: once,
however, it took place when we were all together in choir, and I, on
my knees, on the point of communicating.  It was a very sore distress
to me; for I thought it a most extraordinary thing, and was afraid it
would occasion much talk; so I commanded the nuns--for it happened
after I was made Prioress--never to speak of it.  But at other times,
the moment I felt that our Lord was about to repeat the act, and once,
in particular, during a sermon,--it was the feast of our house, some
great ladies being present,--I threw myself on the ground; then the
nuns came around me to hold me; but still the rapture
was observed.</p>
<p><a name="l20.6">6</a>. I made many supplications to our Lord, that
He would be pleased to give me no more of those graces which were
outwardly visible; for I was weary of living under such great
restraint, and because His Majesty could not bestow such graces on me
without their becoming known.  It seems that, of His goodness, He has
been pleased to hear my prayer; for I have never been enraptured
since.  It is true that it was not
long ago. [<a href="#l20note6">6</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l20.7">7</a>. It seemed to me, when I tried to make some
resistance, as if a great force beneath my feet lifted me up.  I know
of nothing with which to compare it; but it was much more violent than
the other spiritual visitations, and I was therefore as one ground to
pieces; for it is a great struggle, and, in short, of little use,
whenever our Lord so wills it.  There is no power against
His power.</p>
<p><a name="l20.8">8</a>. At other times He is pleased to be satisfied
when He makes us see that He is ready to give us this grace, and that
it is not He that withholds it.  Then, when we resist it out of
humility, He produces those very effects which would have resulted if
we had fully consented to it.</p>
<p><a name="l20.9">9</a>. The effects of rapture are great: one is
that the mighty power of our Lord is manifested; and as we are not
strong enough, when His Majesty wills it, to control either soul or
body, so neither have we any power over it; but, whether we like it or
not, we see that there is one mightier than we are, that these graces
are His gifts, and that of ourselves we can do nothing whatever; and
humility is deeply imprinted in us.  And further, I confess that it
threw me into great fear, very great indeed at first; for when I saw
my body thus lifted up from the earth, how could I help it?  Though
the spirit draws it upwards after itself, and that with great
sweetness, if unresisted, the senses are not lost; at least, I was so
much myself as to be able to see that I was being lifted up.  The
majesty of Him who can effect this so manifests itself, that the hairs
of my head stand upright, [<a href="#l20note7">7</a>] and a great fear
comes upon me of offending God, who is so mighty.  This fear is bound
up in exceedingly great love, which is acquired anew, and directed to
Him, who, we see, bears so great a love to a worm so vile, and who
seems not to be satisfied with attracting the soul to Himself in so
real a way, but who will have the body also, though it be mortal and
of earth so foul, such as it is through our sins, which are
so great.</p>
<p><a name="l20.10">10</a>. Rapture leaves behind a certain strange
detachment also, which I shall never be able to describe; I think I
can say that it is in some respects different from--yea, higher
than--the other graces, which are simply spiritual; for though these
effect a complete detachment in spirit from all things, it seems that
in this of rapture our Lord would have the body itself to be detached
also: and thus a certain singular estrangement from the things of
earth is wrought, which makes life much more distressing.  Afterwards
it causes a pain, which we can never inflict of ourselves, nor remove
when once it has come.</p>
<p><a name="l20.11">11</a>. I should like very much to explain this
great pain, and I believe I shall not be able; however, I will say
something if I can.  And it is to be observed that this is my present
state, and one to which I have been brought very lately, after all the
visions and revelations of which I shall speak, and after that time,
wherein I gave myself to prayer, in which our Lord gave me so much
sweetness and delight. [<a href="#l20note8">8</a>]  Even now I have
that sweetness occasionally; but it is the pain of which I speak that
is the most frequent and the most common.  It varies in its intensity.
I will now speak of it when it is sharpest; for I shall speak later
on [<a href="#l20note9">9</a>] of the great shocks I used to feel when
our Lord would throw me into those trances, and which are, in my
opinion, as different from this pain as the most corporeal thing is
from the most spiritual; and I believe that I am not exaggerating
much.  For though the soul feels that pain, it is in company with the
body; [<a href="#l20note10">10</a>] both soul and body apparently
share it, and it is not attended with that extremity of abandonment
which belongs to this.</p>
<p><a name="l20.12">12</a>. As I said
before, [<a href="#l20note11">11</a>] we have no part in causing this
pain; but very often there springs up a desire unexpectedly,--I know
not how it comes,--and because of this desire, which pierces the soul
in a moment, the soul begins to be wearied, so much so that it rises
upwards above itself, and above all created things.  God then so
strips it of everything, that, do what it may, there is nothing on
earth that can be its companion.  Neither, indeed, would it wish to
have any; it would rather die in that loneliness.  If people spoke to
it, and if itself made every effort possible to speak, it would be of
little use: the spirit, notwithstanding all it may do, cannot be
withdrawn from that loneliness; and though God seems, as it were, far
away from the soul at that moment, yet He reveals His grandeurs at
times in the strangest way conceivable.  That way is indescribable; I
do not think any one can believe or comprehend it who has not
previously had experience of it.  It is a communication made, not to
console, but to show the reason why the soul must be weary; because it
is far away from the Good which in itself comprehends all good.</p>
<p><a name="l20.13">13</a>. In this communication the desire grows,
so also does the bitterness of that loneliness wherein the soul
beholds itself, suffering a pain so sharp and piercing that, in that
very loneliness in which it dwells, it may literally say of
itself,--and perhaps the royal prophet said so, being in that very
loneliness himself, except that our Lord may have granted to him,
being a saint, to feel it more deeply,--&#34;Vigilavi, et factus sum
sicut passer solitarius in tecto.&#34; [<a href="#l20note12">12</a>]
These words presented themselves to me in such a way that I thought I
saw them fulfilled in myself.  It was a comfort to know that others
had felt this extreme loneliness; how much greater my comfort, when
these persons were such as David was!  The soul is then--so I
think--not in itself, but on the house-top, or on the roof, above
itself, and above all created things; for it seems to me to have its
dwelling higher than even in the highest part of itself.</p>
<p><a name="l20.14">14</a>. On other occasions, the soul seems to be,
as it were, in the utmost extremity of need, asking itself, and
saying, &#34;Where is Thy God?&#34; [<a href="#l20note13">13</a>]  And
it is to be remembered, that I did not know how to express in Spanish
the meaning of those words.  Afterwards, when I understood what it
was, I used to console myself with the thought, that our Lord, without
any effort of mine, had made me remember them.  At other times, I used
to recollect a saying of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul's, to the
effect that he was crucified to the
world. [<a href="#l20note14">14</a>]  I do not mean that this is true
of me: I know it is not; but I think it is the state of the enraptured
soul. No consolation reaches it from heaven, and it is not there
itself; it wishes for none from earth, and it is not there either; but
it is, as it were, crucified between heaven and earth, enduring its
passion: receiving no succour from either.</p>
<p><a name="l20.15">15</a>. Now, the succour it receives from
heaven--which, as I have said, [<a href="#l20note15">15</a>] is a most
marvellous knowledge of God, above all that we can desire--brings with
it greater pain; for the desire then so grows, that, in my opinion,
its intense painfulness now and then robs the soul of all sensation;
only, it lasts but for a short time after the senses are suspended. It
seems as if it were the point of death; only, the agony carries with
it so great a joy, that I know of nothing wherewith to compare it.  It
is a sharp martyrdom, full of sweetness; for if any earthly thing be
then offered to the soul, even though it may be that which it
habitually found most sweet, the soul will have none of it; yea, it
seems to throw it away at once.  The soul sees distinctly that it
seeks nothing but God; yet its love dwells not on any attribute of Him
in particular; it seeks Him as He is, and knows not what it seeks.  I
say that it knows not, because the imagination forms no representation
whatever; and, indeed, as I think, during much of that time the
faculties are at rest.  Pain suspends them then, as joy suspends them
in union and in a trance.</p>
<p><a name="l20.16">16</a>. O Jesus! oh, that some one would clearly
explain this to you, my father, were it only that you may tell me what
it means, because this is the habitual state of my soul!  Generally,
when I am not particularly occupied, I fall into these agonies of
death, and I tremble when I feel them coming on, because they are not
unto death.  But when I am in them, I then wish to spend therein all
the rest of my life, though the pain be so very great, that I can
scarcely endure it.  Sometimes my pulse ceases, as it were, to beat at
all,--so the sisters say, who sometimes approach me, and who now
understand the matter better,--my bones are racked, and my hands
become so rigid, that I cannot always join them. Even on the following
day I have a pain in my wrists, and over my whole body, as if my bones
were out of joint. [<a href="#l20note16">16</a>]  Well, I think
sometimes, if it continues as at present, that it will end, in the
good pleasure of our Lord, by putting an end to my life; for the pain
seems to me sharp enough to cause death; only, I do not
deserve it.</p>
<p><a name="l20.17">17</a>. All my anxiety at these times is that I
should die: I do not think of purgatory, nor of the great sins I have
committed, and by which I have deserved hell.  I forget everything in
my eagerness to see God; and this abandonment and loneliness seem
preferable to any company in the world.  If anything can be a
consolation in this state, it is to speak to one who has passed
through this trial, seeing that, though the soul may complain of it,
no one seems disposed to believe in it.</p>
<p><a name="l20.18">18</a>. The soul is tormented also because the
pain has increased so much, that it seeks solitude no longer, as it
did before, nor companionship, unless it be that of those to whom it
may make its complaint.  It is now like a person, who, having a rope
around his neck, and being strangled, tries to breathe. This desire of
companionship seems to me to proceed from our weakness; for, as pain
brings with it the risk of death,--which it certainly does; for I have
been occasionally in danger of death, in my great sickness and
infirmities, as I have said before, [<a href="#l20note17">17</a>] and I
think I may say that this pain is as great as any,--so the desire not
to be parted, which possesses soul and body, is that which raises the
cry for succour in order to breathe, and by speaking of it, by
complaining, and distracting itself, causes the soul to seek means of
living very much against the will of the spirit, or the higher part of
the soul, which would not wish to be delivered from this pain.</p>
<p><a name="l20.19">19</a>. I am not sure that I am correct in what I
say, nor do I know how to express myself, but to the best of my
knowledge it comes to pass in this way.  See, my father, what rest I
can have in this life, now that what I once had in prayer and
loneliness--therein our Lord used to comfort me--has become in general
a torment of this kind; while, at the same time, it is so full of
sweetness, that the soul, discerning its inestimable worth, prefers it
to all those consolations which it formerly had.  It seems also to be
a safer state, because it is the way of the cross; and involves, in my
opinion, a joy of exceeding worth, because the state of the body in it
is only pain.  It is the soul that suffers and exults alone in that
joy and contentment which suffering supplies.</p>
<p><a name="l20.20">20</a>. I know not how this can be, but so it is;
it comes from the hand of our Lord, and, as I said
before, [<a href="#l20note18">18</a>] is not anything that I have
acquired myself, because it is exceedingly supernatural, and I think I
would not barter it for all the graces of which I shall speak further
on: I do not say for all of them together, but for any one of them
separately.  And it must not be forgotten that, as I have just said,
these impetuosities came upon me after I had received those graces
from our Lord [<a href="#l20note19">19</a>] which I am speaking of now,
and all those described in this book, and it is in this state our Lord
keeps me at this moment. [<a href="#l20note20">20</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l20.21">21</a>. In the beginning I was afraid--it happens
to me to be almost always so when our Lord leads me by a new way,
until His Majesty reassures me as I proceed--and so our Lord bade me
not to fear, but to esteem this grace more than all the others He had
given me; for the soul was purified by this pain--burnished, or
refined as gold in the crucible, so that it might be the better
enamelled with His gifts, and the dross burnt away in this life, which
would have to be burnt away in purgatory.</p>
<p><a name="l20.22">22</a>. I understood perfectly that this pain was
a great grace; but I was much more certain of it now and my confessor
tells me I did well.  And though I was afraid, because I was so
wicked, I never could believe it was anything wrong: on the other
hand, the exceeding greatness of the blessing made me afraid, when I
called to mind how little I had deserved it.  Blessed be our Lord, who
is so good! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l20.23">23</a>. I have, it seems, wandered from my
subject; for I began by speaking of raptures, and that of which I have
been speaking is even more than a rapture, and the effects of it are
what I have described.  Now let us return to raptures, and speak of
their ordinary characteristics.  I have to say that, when the rapture
was over, my body seemed frequently to be buoyant, as if all weight
had departed from it; so much so, that now and then I scarcely knew
that my feet touched the ground.  But during the rapture itself the
body is very often as if it were dead, perfectly powerless.  It
continues in the position it was in when the rapture came upon it--if
sitting, sitting; if the hands were open, or if they were shut, they
will remain open or shut. [<a href="#l20note21">21</a>]  For though the
senses fail but rarely, it has happened to me occasionally to lose
them wholly--seldom, however, and then only for a short time.  But in
general they are in disorder; and though they have no power whatever
to deal with outward things, there remains the power of hearing and
seeing; but it is as if the things heard and seen were at a great
distance, far away.</p>
<p><a name="l20.24">24</a>. I do not say that the soul sees and hears
when the rapture is at the highest,--I mean by at the highest, when
the faculties are lost, because profoundly united with God,--for then
it neither sees, nor hears, nor perceives, as I believe; but, as I
said of the previous prayer of union, [<a href="#l20note22">22</a>]
this utter transformation of the soul in God continues only for an
instant; yet while it continues no faculty of the soul is aware
of it, or knows what is passing there.  Nor can it be understood while
we are living on the earth--at least, God will not have us understand
it, because we must be incapable of understanding it.  I know it
by experience.</p>
<p><a name="l20.25">25</a>. You, my father, will ask me: How comes it,
then, that a rapture occasionally lasts so many hours?  What has often
happened to me is this,--I spoke of it before, when writing of the
previous state of prayer, [<a href="#l20note23">23</a>]--the rapture is
not continuous, the soul is frequently absorbed, or, to speak more
correctly, our Lord absorbs it in Himself; and when He has held it
thus for a moment, the will alone remains in union with Him.  The
movements of the two other faculties seem to me to be like those of
the needle of sun-dials, which is never at rest; yet when the Sun of
Justice will have it so, He can hold it still.</p>
<p><a name="l20.26">26</a>. This I speak of lasts but a moment; yet,
as the impulse and the upraising of the spirit were vehement, and
though the other faculties bestir themselves again, the will continues
absorbed, and causes this operation in the body, as if it were the
absolute mistress; for now that the two other faculties are restless,
and attempt to disturb it, it takes care--for if it is to have
enemies, the fewer the better--that the senses also shall not trouble
it: and thus it comes to pass that the senses are suspended; for so
our Lord wills it.  And for the most part the eyes are closed, though
we may not wish to close them; and if occasionally they remain open,
as I said just now, the soul neither discerns nor considers what
it sees.</p>
<p><a name="l20.27">27</a>. What the body then can do here is still
less in order that, when the faculties come together again, there may
not be so much to do.  Let him, therefore, to whom our Lord has
granted this grace, be not discouraged when he finds himself in this
state--the body under constraint for many hours, the understanding and
the memory occasionally astray.  The truth is that, in general, they
are inebriated with the praises of God, or with searching to
comprehend or understand that which has passed over them.  And yet
even for this they are not thoroughly awake, but are rather like one
who has slept long, and dreamed, and is hardly yet awake.</p>
<p><a name="l20.28">28</a>. I dwell so long on this point because I
know that there are persons now, even in this
place, [<a href="#l20note24">24</a>] to whom our Lord is granting
these graces; and if their directors have had no experience in the
matter, they will think, perhaps, that they must be as dead persons
during the trance--and they will think so the more if they have no
learning.  It is piteous to see what those confessors who do not
understand this make people suffer.  I shall speak of it by and
by. [<a href="#l20note25">25</a>]  Perhaps I do not know what I am
saying. You, my father, will understand it, if I am at all correct;
for our Lord has admitted you to the experience of it: yet, because
that experience is not very great, it may be, perhaps, that you have
not considered the matter so much as I have done.</p>
<p><a name="l20.29">29</a>. So then, though I do all I can, my body
has no strength to move for some time; the soul took it all away.
Very often, too, he who was before sickly and full of pain remains
healthy, and even stronger; for it is something great that is given to
the soul in rapture; and sometimes, as I have said
already, [<a href="#l20note26">26</a>] our Lord will have the body
rejoice, because it is obedient in that which the soul requires of it.
When we recover our consciousness, the faculties may remain, if the
rapture has been deep, for a day or two, and even for three days, so
absorbed, or as if stunned,--so much so, as to be in appearance no
longer themselves.</p>
<p><a name="l20.30">30</a>. Here comes the pain of returning to this
life; here it is the wings of the soul grew, to enable it to fly so
high: the weak feathers are fallen off.  Now the standard of Christ is
raised up aloft, which seems to be nothing else but the going up, or
the carrying up, of the Captain of the fort to the highest tower of
it, there to raise up the standard of God. The soul, as in a place of
safety, looks down on those below; it fears no dangers now--yea,
rather, it courts them, as one assured beforehand of victory.  It sees
most clearly how lightly are the things of this world to be esteemed,
and the nothingness thereof. The soul now seeks not, and possesses
not, any other will but that of doing our Lord's
will, [<a href="#l20note27">27</a>] and so it prays Him to let it be
so; it gives to Him the keys of its own will.  Lo, the gardener is now
become the commander of a fortress!  The soul will do nothing but the
will of our Lord; it will not act as the owner even of itself, nor of
anything, not even of a single apple in the orchard; only, if there be
any good thing in the garden, it is at His Majesty's disposal; for
from henceforth the soul will have nothing of its own,--all it seeks
is to do everything for His glory, and according to His will.</p>
<p><a name="l20.31">31</a>. This is really the way in which these
things come to pass; if the raptures be true raptures, the fruits and
advantages spoken of abide in the soul; but if they did not, I should
have great doubts about their being from God--yea, rather, I should be
afraid they were those frenzies of which <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Vincent speaks. [<a href="#l20note28">28</a>]
I have seen it myself, and I know it by experience, that the soul in
rapture is mistress of everything, and acquires such freedom in one
hour, and even in less, as to be unable to recognize itself.  It sees
distinctly that all this does not belong to it, neither knows it
how it came to possess so great a good; but it clearly perceives the
very great blessing which every one of these raptures always brings.
No one will believe this who has not had experience of it, and so they
do not believe the poor soul: they saw it lately so wicked, and now
they see it pretend to things of so high an order; for it is not
satisfied with serving our Lord in the common way,--it must do so
forthwith in the highest way it can. They consider this a temptation
and a folly; yet they would not be astonished, if they knew that it
comes not from the soul, but from our Lord, to whom it has given up
the keys of its will.</p>
<p><a name="l20.32">32</a>. For my part, I believe that a soul which
has reached this state neither speaks nor acts of itself, but rather
that the supreme King takes care of all it has to do.  O my God, how
clear is the meaning of those words, and what good reason the Psalmist
had, and all the world will ever have, to pray for the wings of a
dove! [<a href="#l20note29">29</a>]  It is plain that this is the
flight of the spirit rising upwards above all created things, and
chiefly above itself: but it is a sweet flight, a delicious flight--a
flight without noise.</p>
<p><a name="l20.33">33</a>. Oh, what power that soul possesses which
our Lord raises to this state! how it looks down upon everything,
entangled by nothing! how ashamed it is of the time when it was
entangled! how it is amazed at its own blindness! how it pities those
who are still in darkness, especially if they are men of prayer, and
have received consolations from God!  It would like to cry out to
them, that they might be made to see the delusions they are in: and,
indeed, it does so now and then; and then a thousand persecutions fall
upon it as a shower.  People consider it wanting in humility, and
think it means to teach those from whom it should learn, particularly
if it be a woman.  Hence its condemnation; and not without reason;
because they know not how strong the influence is that moves it.  The
soul at times cannot help itself; nor can it refrain from undeceiving
those it loves, and whom it longs to see delivered out of the prison
of this life; for that state in which the soul itself had been before
neither is, nor seems to be, anything else but a prison.</p>
<p><a name="l20.34">34</a>. The soul is weary of the days during which
it respected points of honour, and the delusion which led it to
believe that to be honour which the world calls by that name; now it
sees it to be the greatest lie, and that we are all walking therein.
It understands that true honour is not delusive, but real, esteeming
that which is worthy of esteem, and despising that which is
despicable; for everything is nothing, and less than nothing, whatever
passeth away, and is not pleasing unto God.  The soul laughs at itself
when it thinks of the time in which it regarded money, and desired to
possess it,--though, as to this, I verily believe that I never had to
confess such a fault; it was fault enough to have regarded money at
all.  If I could purchase with money the blessings which I possess, I
should make much of it; but it is plain that these blessings are
gained by abandoning all things.</p>
<p><a name="l20.35">35</a>. What is there that is procurable by this
money which we desire?  Is it anything of worth, and anything lasting?
Why, then, do we desire it?  A dismal resting place it provides, which
costs so dear!  Very often it obtains for us hell itself, fire
everlasting, and torments without end.  Oh, if all men would but
regard it as profitless dross, how peaceful the world would be! how
free from bargaining!  How friendly all men would be one with another,
if no regard were paid to honour and money!  I believe it would be a
remedy for everything.</p>
<p><a name="l20.36">36</a>. The soul sees how blind men are to the
nature of pleasure--how by means of it they provide for themselves
trouble and disquietude even in this life.  What restlessness! how
little satisfaction! what labour in vain!  It sees, too, not only the
cobwebs that cover it, and its great faults, but also the specks of
dirt, however slight they may be; for the sun shines most clearly; and
thus, however much the soul may have laboured at its own perfection,
it sees itself to be very unclean, if the rays of the sun fall really
upon it. The soul is like water in a vessel, which appears pellucid
when the sun does not shine through it; but if it does, the water then
is found to be full of motes.</p>
<p><a name="l20.37">37</a>. This comparison is literally correct.
Before the soul fell into the trance, it thought itself to be careful
about not offending God, and that it did what it could in proportion
to its strength; but now that it has attained to this state, in which
the Sun of Justice shines upon it, and makes it open its eyes, it
beholds so many motes, that it would gladly close them again.  It is
not so truly the child of the noble eagle, that it can gaze upon the
sun; but, for the few instants it can keep them open, it beholds
itself wholly unclean.  It remembers the words: &#34;Who shall be just
in Thy presence?&#34; [<a href="#l20note30">30</a>]  When it looks on
this Divine Sun, the brightness thereof dazzles it,--when it looks on
itself, its eyes are blinded by the dust: the little dove is blind.
So it happens very often: the soul is utterly blinded, absorbed,
amazed, dizzy at the vision of so much grandeur.</p>
<p><a name="l20.38">38</a>. It is in rapture that true humility is
acquired--humility that will never say any good of self, nor suffer
others to do so.  The Lord of the garden, not the soul, distributes
the fruit thereof, and so none remains in its hands; all the good it
has, it refers to God; if it says anything about itself, it is for His
glory.  It knows that it possesses nothing here; and even if it
wished, it cannot continue ignorant of that.  It sees this, as it
were, with the naked eye; for, whether it will or not, its eyes are
shut against the things of this world, and open to see the truth.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l20note1">1</a>. See <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>,
vi. ch. v.; Philippus a SS. Trinitate, <cite>Theolog. Mystic.</cite>
par. iii. tr. i, disp. iii., art. 3; <span lang="la">&#34;Hæc oratio
raptus superior est præcedentibus orationis gradibus, etiam oratione
unionis ordinariæ, et habet effectus multoexcellentiores et multas
alias operationes.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note2">2</a>. &#34;She says that rapture is more
excellent than union; that is, that the soul in a rapture has a
greater fruition of God, and that God takes it then more into His own
hands.  That is evidently so; because in a rapture the soul loses the
use of its exterior and interior faculties.  When she says that union
is the beginning, middle, and end, she means that pure union is almost
always uniform; but that there are degrees in rapture, of which some
are, as it were, the beginning, some the middle, others the end.  That
is the reason why it is called by different names; some of which
denote the least, others the most, perfect form of it, as it will
appear hereafter.&#34;--Note in the Spanish edition of Lopez (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note3">3</a>. <abbr
title="Antonius">Anton.</abbr> a <abbr title="Spiritu">Spirit.</abbr>
Sancto, <cite><abbr lang="la" title="Directorium Mysticum">Direct.
Mystic.</abbr></cite> tr. 4, d. i. n. 95: <span lang="la">&#34;Licet
oratio raptus idem sit apud mysticos ac oratio volatus, seu
elevationis spiritus seu extasis; reipsa tamen raptus aliquid addit
super extasim; nam extasis importat simplicem excessum mentis in
seipso secundum quem aliquis extra suam cognitionem ponitur.  Raptus
vero super hoc addit violentiam quandam ab
aliquo extrinseco.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note4">4</a>. The words between the dashes are
in the handwriting of the Saint--not however, in the text, but on the
margin (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note5">5</a>. See <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>,
vi. ch. v. <span lang="la">&#34;Primus effectus orationis ecstaticæ
est in corpore, quod ita remanet, ac si per animam non informaretur,
infrigidatur enim calore naturali deficiente, clauduntur suaviter
oculi, et alii sensus amittuntur: contingit tamen quod corpus infirmum
in hac oratione sanitatem recuperat.&#34;</span>  <abbr
title="Antonius">Anton.</abbr> a <abbr title="Spiritu">Spirit.</abbr>
Sancto, <cite><abbr lang="la" title="Directorium Mysticum">Direct.
Mystic.</abbr></cite> tr. iv. d. 2, § 4, n. 150.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note6">6</a>. This passage could not have been
in the first Life; for that was written before she had ever
been Prioress.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note7">7</a>. Job. iv. 15: <span
lang="la">&#34;Inhorruerunt pili carnis meæ.&#34;</span>  (See <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> John of the Cross.  <cite>Spiritual
Canticle</cite>, <abbr title="stanzas">sts.</abbr> 14, 15, vol. ii
p. 83, Engl. trans.)</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note8">8</a>. See <a href="#l29.0">ch.
xxix</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note9">9</a>. See <a href="#l20.21">ch. xx.
§ 21</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note10">10</a>. <a href="#l20.9">§ 9</a>, <i
lang="la">supra</i>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note11">11</a>. <a
href="#l20.10">§ 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note12">12</a>. Psalm ci. 8: &#34;I have
watched, and become as a sparrow alone on
the house-top.&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note13">13</a>. Psalm xli. 4: <span
lang="la">&#34;Ubi est Deus tuus?&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note14">14</a>. Galat. vi. 14: <span
lang="la">&#34;In cruce Jesu Christi: per quem mihi mundus crucifixus
est, et ego mundo.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note15">15</a>. <a href="#l20.9">§§ 9</a> and <a
href="#l20.12">12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note16">16</a>. Daniel x. 16: <span
lang="la">&#34;In visione tua dissolutæ sunt compages meæ.&#34;</span>
See <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> John of the Cross, <cite>Spiritual
Canticle</cite>, <abbr title="stanza">st.</abbr> 14, vol. ii. p.
84, Engl. trans.; and also <a
href="#r8.13"><cite>Relation</cite>, viii. § 13</a>, where
this is repeated.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note17">17</a>. <a href="#l5.18">Ch. v.
§ 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note18">18</a>. <a
href="#l20.12">§ 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note19">19</a>. The words from &#34;I have just
said&#34; to &#34;our Lord&#34; are in the margin of the text, but in
the handwriting of the Saint (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note20">20</a>. See <a
href="#l20.11">§ 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note21">21</a>. See <a
href="#r8.8"><cite>Relation</cite>, viii.
§ 8</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note22">22</a>. <a href="#l18.16">Ch.
xviii. § 16</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note23">23</a>. <a href="#l18.17">Ch.
xviii. § 17</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note24">24</a>. Avila.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note25">25</a>. <a href="#l25.18">Ch.
xxv. § 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note26">26</a>. <a
href="#l20.9">§ 9</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note27">27</a>. &#34;Other will . . . Lord's
will.&#34;  These words--in Spanish, <span lang="es">&#34;Otra
voluntad, sino hacer la de nuestro Seņor&#34;</span>--are not in the
handwriting of the Saint; perhaps it was Father Baņes who wrote them.
The <abbr title="manuscript">MS.</abbr> is blurred, and the original
text seems to have been, <span lang="es">&#34;libre alvedrio ni
guerra&#34;</span> (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note28">28</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Vincent. Ferrer, <cite><abbr lang="la"
title="Instructio de vita spirituali">Instruct. de Vit.
Spirit.</abbr></cite> c. xiv. p. 14: <span lang="la">&#34;Si dicerent
tibi aliquid quod sit contra fidem, et contra Scripturam Sacram, aut
contra bonos mores, ahhorreas earum visionem et judicia, tanquam
stultas dementias, et earum raptus, sicut
rabiamenta&#34;</span>--which word the Saint translates
by &#34;rabiamientos.&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note29">29</a>. Psalm liv. 7: <span
lang="la">&#34;Quis dabit mihi pennas
sicut columbæ?&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l20note30">30</a>. Job iv. 17: <span
lang="la">&#34;Numquid homo Dei
comparatione justificabitur?&#34;</span></small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l21.0">Chapter XXI.</a></h3>
<p><big>Conclusion of the Subject.  Pain of the Awakening.  Light
Against Delusions.</big></p>
<p><a name="l21.1">1</a>. To bring this matter to an end, I say that
it is not necessary for the soul to give its consent here; it is
already given: the soul knows that it has given up its will into His
hands, [<a href="#l21note1">1</a>] and that it cannot deceive Him,
because He knoweth all things.  It is not here as it is in the world,
where all life is full of deceit and double-dealing.  When you think
you have gained one man's good will, because of the outward show he
makes, you afterwards learn that all was a lie.  No one can live in
the midst of so much scheming, particularly if there be any interests
at stake.</p>
<p><a name="l21.2">2</a>. Blessed, then, is that soul which our Lord
draws on to the understanding of the truth!  Oh, what a state for
kings!  How much better it would be for them if they strove for this,
rather than for great dominions!  How justice would prevail under
their rule!  What evils would be prevented, and might have been
prevented already!  Here no man fears to lose life or honour for the
love of God.  What a grand thing this would be to him who is more
bound than those beneath him to regard the honour of our Lord!--for it
is kings whom the crowd must follow.  To make one step in the
propagation of the faith, and to give one ray of light to heretics, I
would forfeit a thousand kingdoms.  And with good reason: for it is
another thing altogether to gain a kingdom that shall never end,
because one drop of the water of that kingdom, if the soul but tastes
it, renders the things of this world utterly loathsome.</p>
<p><a name="l21.3">3</a>. If, then, the soul should be wholly
engulfed, what then?  O Lord, if Thou wert to give me the right to
publish this abroad, people would not believe me--as they do not
believe many who are able to speak of it in a way very different from
mine; but I should satisfy myself, at least. I believe I should count
my life as nothing, if I might make others understand but one of these
truths.  I know not what I shall do afterwards, for I cannot trust
myself; though I am what I am, I have a violent desire, which is
wasting me, to say this to those who are in authority.  And now that I
can do no more, I betake myself to Thee, O my Lord, to implore a
remedy for all. Thou knowest well that I would gladly divest myself of
all the graces which Thou hast given me,--provided I remained in a
condition never to offend Thee,--and give them up to those who are
kings; for I know it would then be impossible for them to allow what
they allow now, or fail to receive the very greatest blessings.</p>
<p><a name="l21.4">4</a>. O my God, make kings to understand how far
their obligations reach!  Thou hast been pleased to distinguish them
on earth in such a way that--so I have heard--Thou showest signs in
the heavens when Thou takest any of them away.  Certainly, when I
think of this, my devotion is stirred, because Thou wilt have them
learn, O my King, even from this, that they must imitate Thee in their
lives, seeing that, when they die, signs are visible in the heavens,
as it was when Thou wert dying Thyself.</p>
<p><a name="l21.5">5</a>. I am very bold; if it be wrong, you, my
father, will tear this out: only believe that I should speak much more
to the purpose in the presence of kings,--if I might, or thought they
would listen to me,--for I recommend them greatly to God, and I wish I
might be of service to them.  All this makes one risk life; for I long
frequently to lose mine,--and that would be to lose a little for the
chance of gaining much; for surely it is not possible to live, when we
see with our eyes the great delusion wherein we are walking, and the
blindness in which we are living.</p>
<p><a name="l21.6">6</a>. A soul that has attained to this is not
limited to the desires it has to serve God; for His Majesty gives it
strength to bring those desires to good effect.  Nothing can be put
before it into which it will not throw itself, if only it thinks that
God may be served thereby: and yet it is doing nothing, because, as I
said before, [<a href="#l21note2">2</a>] it sees clearly that all is
nothing, except pleasing God.  The trial is, that those who are so
worthless as I am, have no trial of the kind.  May it be Thy good
pleasure, O my God, that the time may come in which I may be able to
pay one farthing at least, of the heavy debt I owe Thee!  Do Thou, O
Lord, so dispose matters according to Thy will, that this Thy servant
may do Thee some service.  Other women there have been who did heroic
deeds for Thee; I am good only to talk; and so it has not been Thy
pleasure, O my God, that I should do any thing: all ends in talk and
desires--that is all my service.  And yet even in this I am not free,
because it is possible I might fail altogether.</p>
<p><a name="l21.7">7</a>. Strengthen Thou my soul, and prepare it, O
Good of all good; and, my Jesus, then ordain Thou the means whereby I
may do something for Thee, so that there may be not even one who can
bear to receive so much, and make no payment in return.  Cost what it
may, O Lord, let me not come before Thee with hands so
empty, [<a href="#l21note3">3</a>] seeing that the reward of every one
will be according to his works. [<a href="#l21note4">4</a>]  Behold my
life, behold my good name and my will; I have given them all to Thee;
I am Thine: dispose of me according to Thy will.  I see well enough, O
Lord, how little I can do; but now, having drawn near to Thee,--having
ascended to this watchtower, from which the truth may be seen,--and
while Thou departest not from me, I can do all things; but if Thou
departest from me, were it but for a moment, I shall go thither where
I was once--that is, to hell. [<a href="#l21note5">5</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l21.8">8</a>. Oh, what it is for a soul in this state to
have to return to the commerce of the world, to see and look on the
farce of this life, [<a href="#l21note6">6</a>] so ill-ordered; to
waste its time in attending to the body by sleeping and
eating! [<a href="#l21note7">7</a>]  All is wearisome; it cannot run
away,--it sees itself chained and imprisoned; it feels then most
keenly the captivity into which the body has brought us, and the
wretchedness of this life.  It understands the reason why <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul prayed to God to deliver him from
it. [<a href="#l21note8">8</a>]  The soul cries with the Apostle, and
calls upon God to deliver it, as I said on another
occasion. [<a href="#l21note9">9</a>]  But here it often cries with so
much violence, that it seems as if it would go out of the body in
search of its freedom, now that they do not take it away.  It is as a
slave sold into a strange land; and what distresses it most is, that
it cannot find many who make the same complaint and the same prayer:
the desire of life is more common.</p>
<p><a name="l21.9">9</a>. Oh, if we were utterly detached,--if we
never placed our happiness in anything of this world,--how the pain,
caused by living always away from God, would temper the fear of death
with the desire of enjoying the true life!  Sometimes I consider, if a
person like myself--because our Lord has given this light to me, whose
love is so cold, and whose true rest is so uncertain, for I have not
deserved it by my works--frequently feels her banishment so much, what
the feelings of the Saints must have been.  What must <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul and the Magdalene, and others like them,
have suffered, in whom the fire of the love of God has grown so
strong?  Their life must have been a continual martyrdom.  It seems to
me that they who bring me any comfort, and whose conversation is any
relief, are those persons in whom I find these desires--I mean,
desires with acts.  I say with acts, for there are people who think
themselves detached, and who say so of themselves,--and it must be so,
for their vocation demands it, as well as the many years that are
passed since some of them began to walk in the way of perfection,--but
my soul distinguishes clearly, and afar off, between those who are
detached in words, and those who make good those words by deeds.  The
little progress of the former, and the great progress of the latter,
make it plain.  This is a matter which a person of any experience can
see into most clearly.</p>
<p><a name="l21.10">10</a>. So far, then, of the effects of those
raptures which come from the Spirit of God.  The truth is, that these
are greater or less.  I say less, because in the beginning, though the
effects are wrought, they are not tested by works, and so it cannot be
clear that a person has them; and perfection, too, is a thing of
growth, and of labouring after freedom from the cobwebs of memory; and
this requires some time.  Meanwhile, the greater the growth of love
and humility in the soul, the stronger the perfume of the flowers of
virtues is for itself and for others.  The truth is, that our Lord can
so work in the soul in an instant during these raptures, that but
little remains for the soul to do in order to attain to perfection.
No one, who has not had experience of it, will ever be able to believe
what our Lord now bestows on the soul.  No effort of ours--so I
think--can ever reach so far.</p>
<p><a name="l21.11">11</a>. However, I do not mean to say that those
persons who during many years make use of the method prescribed by
writers on prayer,--who discuss the principles thereof, and the means
whereby it may be acquired,--will not, by the help of our Lord, attain
to perfection and great detachment with much labour; but they will not
attain to it so rapidly as by the way of raptures, in which our Lord
works independently of us, draws the soul utterly away from earth, and
gives it dominion over all things here below, though the merits of
that soul may not be greater than mine were: I cannot use stronger
language, for my merits are as nothing. Why His Majesty doeth this is,
because it is His pleasure, and He doeth it according to His pleasure;
even if the soul be without the fitting disposition, He disposes it
for the reception of that blessing which He is giving to it.  Although
it be most certain that He never fails to comfort those who do well,
and strive to be detached, still He does not always give these effects
because they have deserved them at His hands by cultivating the
garden, but because it is His will to show His greatness at times in a
soil which is most worthless, as I have just said, and to prepare it
for all good: and all this in such a way that it seems as if the soul
was now, in a manner, unable to go back and live in sin against God,
as it did before.</p>
<p><a name="l21.12">12</a>. The mind is now so inured to the
comprehension of that which is truth indeed, that everything else
seems to it to be but child's play.  It laughs to itself, at times,
when it sees grave men--men given to prayer, men of religion--make
much of points of honour, which itself is trampling beneath its feet.
They say that discretion, and the dignity of their callings, require
it of them as a means to do more good; but that soul knows perfectly
well that they would do more good in one day by preferring the love of
God to this their dignity, than they will do in ten years by
considering it.</p>
<p><a name="l21.13">13</a>. The life of this soul is a life of
trouble: the cross is always there, but the progress it makes is
great.  When those who have to do with it think it has arrived at the
summit of perfection, within a little while they see it much more
advanced; for God is ever giving it grace upon grace.  God is the soul
of that soul now; it is He who has the charge of it; and so He
enlightens it; for He seems to be watching over it, always attentive
to it, that it may not offend Him,--giving it grace, and stirring it
up in His service.  When my soul reached this state, in which God
showed me mercy so great, my wretchedness came to an end, and
our Lord gave me strength to rise above it.  The former occasions of
sin, as well as the persons with whom I was accustomed to distract
myself, did me no more harm than if they had never existed; on the
contrary, that which ordinarily did me harm, helped me on. Everything
contributed to make me know God more, and to love Him; to make me see
how much I owed Him, as well as to be sorry for being what I
had been.</p>
<p><a name="l21.14">14</a>. I saw clearly that this did not come from
myself, that I had not brought it about by any efforts of my own, and
that there was not time enough for it.  His Majesty, of His mere
goodness, had given me strength for it.  From the time our Lord began
to give me the grace of raptures, until now, this strength has gone on
increasing.  He, of His goodness, hath held me by the hand, that I
might not go back.  I do not think that I am doing anything
myself--certainly I do not; for I see distinctly that all this is the
work of our Lord.  For this reason, it seems to me that the soul in
which our Lord worketh these graces,--if it walks in humility and
fear, always acknowledging the work of our Lord, and that we ourselves
can do, as it were, nothing,--may be thrown among any companions, and,
however distracted and wicked these may be, will neither be hurt nor
disturbed in any way; on the contrary, as I have just said, that will
help it on, and be a means unto it whereby it may derive much
greater profit.</p>
<p><a name="l21.15">15</a>. Those souls are strong which are chosen by
our Lord to do good to others; still, this their strength is not their
own.  When our Lord brings a soul on to this state, He communicates to
it of His greatest secrets by degrees.  True revelations--the great
gifts and visions--come by ecstasies, all tending to make the soul
humble and strong, to make it despise the things of this world, and
have a clearer knowledge of the greatness of the reward which our Lord
has prepared for those who
serve Him. [<a href="#l21note10">10</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l21.16">16</a>. May it please His Majesty that the great
munificence with which He hath dealt with me, miserable sinner that I
am, may have some weight with those who shall read this, so that they
may be strong and courageous enough to give up everything utterly for
God.  If His Majesty repays us so abundantly, that even in this life
the reward and gain of those who serve Him become visible, what will
it be in the next?</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l21note1">1</a>. <a href="#l20.30">Ch.
xx. § 30</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l21note2">2</a>. <a href="#l20.34">Ch.
xx. § 34</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l21note3">3</a>. Exod. xxiii. 15: <span
lang="la">&#34;Non apparebis in conspectu
meo vacuus.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l21note4">4</a>. Apoc. ii. 23: <span
lang="la">&#34;Dabo unicuique vestrum secundum
opera sua.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l21note5">5</a>. See <a
href="#l33.1">ch. xxxii. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l21note6">6</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;Farsa de esta
vida tan mal concertada.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l21note7">7</a>. <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>, iv.
ch. i. § 11.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l21note8">8</a>. Rom. vii. 24: <span
lang="la">&#34;Quis me liberabit de corpore
mortis hujus?&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l21note9">9</a>. <a href="#l16.7">Ch.
xvi. § 7</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l21note10">10</a>. 1 Cor. ii. 9: <span
lang="la">&#34;Quæ præparavit Deus his qui
diligunt Illum.&#34;</span></small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l22.0">Chapter XXII.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Security of Contemplatives Lies in Their Not Ascending to
High Things if Our Lord Does Not Raise Them.  The Sacred Humanity Must
Be the Road to the Highest Contemplation.  A Delusion in Which the
Saint Was Once Entangled.</big></p>
<p><a name="l22.1">1</a>. There is one thing I should like to say--I
think it important: and if you, my father, approve, it will serve for
a lesson that possibly may be necessary; for in some books on prayer
the writers say that the soul, though it cannot in its own strength
attain to this state,--because it is altogether a supernatural work
wrought in it by our Lord,--may nevertheless succeed, by lifting up
the spirit above all created things, and raising it upwards in
humility, after some years spent in a purgative life, and advancing in
the illuminative.  I do not very well know what they mean by
illuminative: I understand it to mean the life of those who are making
progress.  And they advise us much to withdraw from all bodily
imagination, and draw near to the contemplation of the Divinity; for
they say that those who have advanced so far would be embarrassed or
hindered in their way to the highest contemplation, if they regarded
even the Sacred Humanity itself. [<a href="#l22note1">1</a>]  They
defend their opinion [<a href="#l22note2">2</a>] by bringing forward
the words [<a href="#l22note3">3</a>] of our Lord to the Apostles,
concerning the coming of the Holy Ghost; I mean that Coming which was
after the Ascension.  If the Apostles had believed, as they believed
after the Coming of the Holy Ghost, that He is both God and Man, His
bodily Presence would, in my opinion, have been no hindrance; for
those words were not said to the Mother of God, though she loved Him
more than all. [<a href="#l22note4">4</a>] They think that, as this
work of contemplation is wholly spiritual, any bodily object whatever
can disturb or hinder it. They say that the contemplative should
regard himself as being within a definite space, God everywhere
around, and himself absorbed in Him.  This is what we should
aim at.</p>
<p><a name="l22.2">2</a>. This seems to me right enough now and then;
but to withdraw altogether from Christ, and to compare His divine Body
with our miseries or with any created thing whatever, is what I cannot
endure.  May God help me to explain myself!  I am not contradicting
them on this point, for they are learned and spiritual persons,
understanding what they say: God, too, is guiding souls by many ways
and methods, as He has guided mine.  It is of my own soul that I wish
to speak now,--I do not intermeddle with others,--and of the danger I
was in because I would comply with the directions I was reading.  I
can well believe that he who has attained to union, and advances no
further,--that is, to raptures, visions, and other graces of God given
to souls,--will consider that opinion to be best, as I did myself: and
if I had continued in it, I believe I should never have reached the
state I am in now.  I hold it to be a delusion: still, it may be that
it is I who am deluded.  But I will tell you what happened to me.</p>
<p><a name="l22.3">3</a>. As I had no director, I used to read these
books, where, by little and little, I thought I might understand
something.  I found out afterwards that, if our Lord had not shown me
the way, I should have learned but little from books; for I understood
really nothing till His Majesty made me learn by experience: neither
did I know what I was doing.  So, in the beginning, when I attained to
some degree of supernatural prayer,--I speak of the prayer of
quiet,--I laboured to remove from myself every thought of bodily
objects; but I did not dare to lift up my soul, for that I saw would
be presumption in me, who was always so wicked. I thought, however,
that I had a sense of the presence of God: this was true, and I
contrived to be in a state of recollection before Him.  This method of
prayer is full of sweetness, if God helps us in it, and the joy of it
is great.  And so, because I was conscious of the profit and delight
which this way furnished me, no one could have brought me back to the
contemplation of the Sacred Humanity; for that seemed to me to be a
real hindrance to prayer.</p>
<p><a name="l22.4">4</a>. O Lord of my soul, and my Good!  Jesus
Christ crucified!  I never think of this opinion, which I then held,
without pain; I believe it was an act of high treason, though done in
ignorance.  Hitherto, I had been all my life long so devout to the
Sacred Humanity--for this happened but lately; I mean by lately, that
it was before our Lord gave me the grace of raptures and visions.  I
did not continue long of this opinion, [<a href="#l22note5">5</a>] and
so I returned to my habit of delighting in our Lord, particularly at
Communion.  I wish I could have His picture and image always before my
eyes, since I cannot have Him graven in my soul as deeply as
I wish.</p>
<p><a name="l22.5">5</a>. Is it possible, O my Lord, that I could have
had the thought, if only for an hour, that Thou couldst be a hindrance
to my greatest good?  Whence are all my blessings? are they not from
Thee?  I will not think that I was blamable, for I was very sorry for
it, and it was certainly done in ignorance.  And so it pleased Thee,
in Thy goodness, to succour me, by sending me one who has delivered me
from this delusion; and afterwards by showing Thyself to me so many
times, as I shall relate hereafter, [<a href="#l22note6">6</a>] that I
might clearly perceive how great my delusion was, and also tell it to
many persons; which I have done, as well as describe it as I am doing
now.  I believe myself that this is the reason why so many souls,
after advancing to the prayer of union, make no further progress, and
do not attain to very great liberty of spirit.</p>
<p><a name="l22.6">6</a>. It seems to me, that there are two
considerations on which I may ground this opinion.  Perhaps I am
saying nothing to the purpose, yet what I say is the result of
experience; for my soul was in a very evil plight, till our Lord
enlightened it: all its joys were but sips; and when it had come forth
therefrom, it never found itself in that company which afterwards it
had in trials and temptations.</p>
<p><a name="l22.7">7</a>. The first consideration is this: there is a
little absence of humility--so secret and so hidden, that we do not
observe it.  Who is there so proud and wretched as I, that, even after
labouring all his life in penances and prayers and persecutions, can
possibly imagine himself not to be exceedingly rich, most abundantly
rewarded, when our Lord permits him to stand with <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> John at the foot of the cross?  I know not
into whose head it could have entered to be not satisfied with this,
unless it be mine, which has gone wrong in every way where it should
have gone right onwards.</p>
<p><a name="l22.8">8</a>. Then, if our constitution--or perhaps
sickness--will not permit us always to think of His Passion, because
it is so painful, who is to hinder us from thinking of Him risen from
the grave, seeing that we have Him so near us in the Sacrament, where
he is glorified, and where we shall not see Him in His great
weariness--scourged, streaming with blood, faint by the way,
persecuted by those to whom He had done good, and not believed in by
the Apostles?  Certainly it is not always that one can bear to
meditate on sufferings so great as were those He underwent.  Behold
Him here, before His ascension into heaven, without pain,
all-glorious, giving strength to some and courage to others.  In the
most Holy Sacrament, He is our companion, as if it was not in His
power to withdraw Himself for a moment from us.  And yet it was in my
power to withdraw from Thee, O my Lord, that I might serve Thee
better!  It may be that I knew Thee not when I sinned against Thee;
but how could I, having once known Thee, ever think I should gain more
in this way?  O Lord, what an evil way I took! and I was going out of
the way, if Thou hadst not brought me back to it.  When I see Thee
near me, I see all good things together.  No trial befalls me that is
not easy to bear, when I think of Thee standing before those who
judged Thee.</p>
<p><a name="l22.9">9</a>. With so good a Friend and Captain ever
present, Himself the first to suffer, everything can be borne.  He
helps, He strengthens, He never fails, He is the true Friend.  I see
clearly, and since then have always seen, that if we are to please
God, and if He is to give us His great graces, everything must pass
through the hands of His most Sacred Humanity, in whom His Majesty
said that He is well pleased. [<a href="#l22note7">7</a>]  I know this
by repeated experience: our Lord has told it me.  I have seen clearly
that this is the door [<a href="#l22note8">8</a>] by which we are to
enter, if we would have His supreme Majesty reveal to us His
great secrets.</p>
<p><a name="l22.10">10</a>. So, then, I would have your reverence seek
no other way, even if you were arrived at the highest contemplation.
This way is safe.  Our Lord is He by whom all good things come to us;
He will teach you.  Consider His life; that is the best example.  What
more can we want than so good a Friend at our side, who will not
forsake us when we are in trouble and distress, as they do who belong
to this world!  Blessed is he who truly loves Him, and who always has
Him near him!  Let us consider the glorious <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul, who seems as if Jesus was never absent
from his lips, as if he had Him deep down in his heart.  After I had
heard this of some great Saints given to contemplation, I considered
the matter carefully; and I see that they walked in no other way.
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis with the stigmata proves it,
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Antony of Padua with the Infant Jesus;
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Bernard rejoiced in the Sacred
Humanity; so did <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Catherine of Siena,
and many others, as your reverence knows better than I do.</p>
<p><a name="l22.11">11</a>. This withdrawing from bodily objects must
no doubt be good, seeing that it is recommended by persons who are so
spiritual; but, in my opinion, it ought to be done only when the soul
has made very great progress; for until then it is clear that the
Creator must be sought for through His creatures.  All this depends on
the grace which our Lord distributes to every soul.  I do not
intermeddle here.  What I would say is, that the most Sacred Humanity
of Christ is not to be counted among the objects from which we have to
withdraw.  Let this be clearly understood.  I wish I knew how to
explain it. [<a href="#l22note9">9</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l22.12">12</a>. When God suspends all the powers of the
soul,--as we see He does in the states of prayer already
described,--it is clear that, whether we wish it or not, this presence
is withdrawn.  Be it so, then.  The loss is a blessed one, because it
takes place in order that we may have a deeper fruition of what we
seem to have lost; for at that moment the whole soul is occupied in
loving Him whom the understanding has toiled to know; and it loves
what it has not comprehended, and rejoices in what it could not have
rejoiced in so well, if it had not lost itself, in order, as I am
saying, to gain itself the more.  But that we should carefully and
laboriously accustom ourselves not to strive with all our might to
have always--and please God it be always!--the most Sacred Humanity
before our eyes,--this, I say, is what seems to me not to be right: it
is making the soul, as they say, to walk in the air; for it has
nothing to rest on, how full soever of God it may think itself
to be.</p>
<p><a name="l22.13">13</a>. It is a great matter for us to have our
Lord before us as Man while we are living and in the flesh.  This is
that other inconvenience which I say must be met with.  The first--I
have already begun to describe it--is a little failure in humility, in
that the soul desires to rise of itself before our Lord raises it, and
is not satisfied with meditation on so excellent a subject,--seeking
to be Mary before it has laboured with Martha.  If our Lord will have
a soul to be Mary, even on the first day, there is nothing to be
afraid of; but we must not be self-invited guests, as I think I said
on another occasion. [<a href="#l22note10">10</a>]  This little mote of
want of humility, though in appearance a mere nothing, does a great
deal of harm to those who wish to advance in contemplation.</p>
<p><a name="l22.14">14</a>. I now come back to the second
consideration.  We are not angels, for we have a body; to seek to make
ourselves angels while we are on the earth, and so much on the earth
as I was, is an act of folly.  In general, our thoughts must have
something to rest on, though the soul may go forth out of itself now
and then, or it may be very often so full of God as to be in need of
no created thing by the help of which it may recollect itself.  But
this is not so common a case; for when we have many things to do, when
we are persecuted and in trouble, when we cannot have much rest, and
when we have our seasons of dryness, Christ is our best Friend; for we
regard Him as Man, and behold Him faint and in trouble, and He is our
Companion; and when we shall have accustomed ourselves in this way, it
is very easy to find Him near us, although there will be occasions
from time to time when we can do neither the one nor the other.</p>
<p><a name="l22.15">15</a>. For this end, that is useful which I spoke
of before: [<a href="#l22note11">11</a>] we must not show ourselves as
labouring after spiritual consolations; come what may, to embrace the
cross is the great thing.  The Lord of all consolation was Himself
forsaken: they left Him alone in His sorrows.  Do not let us forsake
Him; for His hand will help us to rise more than any efforts we can
make; and He will withdraw Himself when He sees it be expedient for
us, and when He pleaseth will also draw the soul forth out of itself,
as I said before. [<a href="#l22note12">12</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l22.16">16</a>. God is greatly pleased when He beholds a
soul in its humility making His Son a Mediator between itself and Him,
and yet loving Him so much as to confess its own unworthiness, even
when He would raise it up to the highest contemplation, and saying
with <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter: [<a href="#l22note13">13</a>] &#34;Go
Thou away from me, O Lord, for I am a sinful man.&#34;  I know this by
experience: it was thus that God directed my soul.  Others may walk,
as I said before, [<a href="#l22note14">14</a>] by another and a
shorter road.  What I have understood of the matter is this: that the
whole foundation of prayer must be laid in humility, and that the more
a soul humbles itself in prayer, the more God lifts it up.  I do not
remember that He ever showed me any of those marvellous mercies, of
which I shall speak hereafter, [<a href="#l22note15">15</a>] at any
other time than when I was as one brought to
nothing, [<a href="#l22note16">16</a>] by seeing how wicked I was.
Moreover, His Majesty contrived to make me understand matters that
helped me to know myself, but which I could never have even imagined
of myself.</p>
<p><a name="l22.17">17</a>. I believe myself that if a soul makes any
efforts of its own to further itself in the way of the prayer of
union, and though it may seem to make immediate progress, it will
quickly fall back, because the foundations were not duly laid.  I
fear, too, that such a soul will never attain to true poverty of
spirit, which consists in seeking consolation or sweetness, not in
prayer,--the consolations of the earth are already abandoned,--but
rather in sorrows, for the love of Him who always lived in sorrows
Himself; [<a href="#l22note17">17</a>] and in being calm in the midst
of sorrows and aridities.  Though the soul may feel it in some
measure, there is no disquiet, nor any of that pain which some persons
suffer, who, if they are not always labouring with the understanding
and with a sense of devotion, think everything lost,--as if their
efforts merited so great a blessing!</p>
<p><a name="l22.18">18</a>. I am not saying that men should not seek
to be devout, nor that they should not stand with great reverence in
the presence of God, but only that they are not to vex themselves if
they cannot find even one good thought, as I said in another
place; [<a href="#l22note18">18</a>] for we are unprofitable
servants. [<a href="#l22note19">19</a>]  What do we think we can do?
Our Lord grant that we understand this, and that we may be those
little asses who drive the windlass I spoke
of: [<a href="#l22note20">20</a>] these, though their eyes are
bandaged, and they do not understand what they are doing, yet draw up
more water than the gardener can draw with all his efforts.  We must
walk in liberty on this road, committing ourselves into the hands of
God.  If it be His Majesty's good pleasure to raise us and
place us among His chamberlains and secret councillors, we must go
willingly; if not, we must serve Him in the lower offices of His
house, and not sit down on the upper
seats. [<a href="#l22note21">21</a>]  As I have sometimes
said, [<a href="#l22note22">22</a>] God is more careful of us than we
are ourselves, and knows what each one of us is fit for.</p>
<p><a name="l22.19">19</a>. What use is there in governing oneself by
oneself, when the whole will has been given up to God? I think this
less endurable now than in the first state of prayer, and it does much
greater harm; for these blessings are supernatural.  If a man has a
bad voice, let him force himself ever so much to sing, he will never
improve it; but if God gives him a good voice, he has no need to try
it twice.  Let us, then, pray Him always to show His mercy upon us,
with a submissive spirit, yet trusting in the goodness of God.  And
now that the soul is permitted to sit at the feet of Christ, let it
contrive not to quit its place, but keep it anyhow.  Let it follow the
example of the Magdalene; and when it shall be strong enough, God will
lead it into the wilderness. [<a href="#l22note23">23</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l22.20">20</a>. You, then, my father, must be content with
this until you meet with some one of more experience and better
knowledge than I am.  If you see people who are beginning to taste of
God, do not trust them if they think that they advance more, and have
a deeper fruition of God, when they make efforts of their own.  Oh,
when God wills it, how He discovers Himself without these little
efforts of ours!  We may do what we like, but He throws the spirit
into a trance as easily as a giant takes up a straw; no resistance is
possible.  What a thing to believe, that God will wait till the toad
shall fly of itself, when He has already willed it should do so!
Well, it seems to me still more difficult and hard for our spirit to
rise upwards, if God does not raise it, seeing that it is burdened
with earth, and hindered in a thousand ways.  Its willingness to rise
is of no service to it; for, though an aptness for flying be more
natural to it than to a toad, yet is it so sunk in the mire as to have
lost it by its own fault.</p>
<p><a name="l22.21">21</a>. I come, then, to this conclusion: whenever
we think of Christ, we should remind ourselves of the love that made
Him bestow so many graces upon us, and also how great that love is
which our Lord God has shown us, in giving us such a pledge of the
love He bears us; for love draws forth love.  And though we are only
at the very beginning, and exceedingly wicked, yet let us always
labour to keep this in view, and stir ourselves up to love; for if
once our Lord grants us this grace, of having this love imprinted in
our hearts, everything will be easy, and we shall do great things in a
very short time, and with very little labour.  May His Majesty give us
that love,--He knows the great need we have of it,--for the sake of
that love which He bore us, and of His glorious Son, to whom it cost
so much to make it known to us! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l22.22">22</a>. There is one thing I should like to ask
you, my father.  How is it that, when our Lord begins to bestow upon a
soul a grace so great as this of perfect contemplation, it is not, as
it ought to be, perfect at once?  Certainly, it seems it should be so;
for he who receives a grace so great ought never more to seek
consolations on earth.  How is it, I ask, that a soul which has
ecstasies and so far is more accustomed to receive graces, should yet
seem to bring forth fruits still higher and higher,--and the more so,
the more it is detached,--when our Lord might have sanctified it at
once, the moment He came near it?  How is it, I ask again, that the
same Lord brings it to the perfection of virtue only in the course of
time?  I should be glad to learn the reason, for I know it not.  I do
know, however, that in the beginning, when a trance lasts only the
twinkling of an eye, and is almost imperceptible but for
the effects it produces, the degree of strength which God then gives
is very different from that which He gives when this grace is a trance
of longer duration.</p>
<p><a name="l22.23">23</a>. Very often, when thinking of this, have I
imagined the reason might be, that the soul does not despise itself
all at once, till our Lord instructs it by degrees, and makes it
resolute, and gives it the strength of manhood, so that it may trample
utterly upon everything.  He gave this strength to the Magdalene in a
moment.  He gives the same grace to others, according to the measure
of their abandonment of themselves into the hands of His Majesty, that
He may do with them as He will.  We never thoroughly believe that God
rewards a hundredfold even in
this life. [<a href="#l22note24">24</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l22.24">24</a>. I also thought of this comparison:
supposing grace given to those who are far advanced to be the same
with that given to those who are but beginners, we may then liken it
to a certain food of which many persons partake: they who eat a little
retain the savour of it for a moment, they who eat more are nourished
by it, but those who eat much receive life and strength.  Now, the
soul may eat so frequently and so abundantly of this food of life as
to have no pleasure in eating any other food, because it sees how much
good it derives from it.  Its taste is now so formed upon it, that it
would rather not live than have to eat any other food; for all food
but this has no other effect than to take away the sweet savour which
this good food leaves behind.</p>
<p><a name="l22.25">25</a>. Further, the conversation of good people
does not profit us in one day as much as it does in many; and we may
converse with them long enough to become like them, by the grace of
God.  In short, the whole matter is as His Majesty wills.  He gives
His grace to whom He pleases; but much depends on this: he who begins
to receive this grace must make a firm resolution to detach himself
from all things, and esteem this grace according to reason.</p>
<p><a name="l22.26">26</a>. It seems also to me as if His Majesty were
going about to try those who love Him,--now one, now
another,--revealing Himself in supreme joy, so as to quicken our
belief, if it should be dead, in what He will give us, saying, Behold!
this is but a drop of the immense sea of blessings; for He leaves
nothing undone for those He loves; and as He sees them receive it, so
He gives, and He gives Himself.  He loves those who love Him.  Oh, how
dear He is!--how good a Friend!  O my soul's Lord, who can find words
to describe what Thou givest to those who trust in Thee, and what they
lose who come to this state, and yet dwell in themselves!  Oh, let not
this be so, O my Lord! for Thou doest more than this when Thou comest
to a lodging so mean as mine.  Blessed be Thou for ever and ever!</p>
<p><a name="l22.27">27</a>. I now humbly ask you, my father, if you
mean to discuss what I have written on prayer with spiritual persons,
to see that they are so really; for if they be persons who know only
one way, or who have stood still midway, they will not be able to
understand the matter.  There are also some whom God leads at once by
the highest way; these think that others might advance in the same
manner--quiet the understanding, and make bodily objects none of their
means; but these people will remain dry as a stick.  Others, also,
there are who, having for a moment attained to the prayer of quiet,
think forthwith that, as they have had the one, so they may have the
other.  These instead of advancing, go back, as I said
before. [<a href="#l22note25">25</a>]  So, throughout, experience and
discretion are necessary.  May our Lord, of His goodness, bestow them
on us!</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l22note1">1</a>. See <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>,
vi. 7, § 4.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note2">2</a>. This opinion is supposed to be
justified by the words of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Thomas, 3
Sent. dist. 22, qu. 3, art. 1, <i lang="la">ad quintum</i>. <span
lang="la">&#34;Corporalis præsentia Christi in duobus poterat esse
nociva. Primo, quantum ad fidem, quia videntes Eum in forma in qua
erat minor Patre, non ita de facili crederent Eum æqualem Patri, ut
dicit glossa super Joannem.  Secundo, quantum ad dilectionem, quia Eum
non solum spiritualiter, sed etiam carnaliter diligeremus,
conversantes cum Ipso corporaliter, et hoc est de
imperfectione dilectionis.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note3">3</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John xvi. 7: <span lang="la">&#34;Expedit vobis ut Ego vadam; si enim
non abiero, Paracletus non veniet ad vos.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note4">4</a>. This sentence is in the margin of
the original <abbr title="manuscript">MS.</abbr>, not in the text, but
in the handwriting of the Saint (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note5">5</a>. &#34;I mean by lately . . . and
visions&#34; is in the margin of the <abbr
title="manuscript">MS.</abbr>, but in the handwriting of the Saint
(<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note6">6</a>. <a href="#l28.4">Ch.
xxviii. § 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note7">7</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. iii. 17: <span lang="la">&#34;Hic est Filius Meus dilectus, in
quo Mihi complacui.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note8">8</a>. <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> John x. 7, 9: <span lang="la">&#34;Ego
sum ostium.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note9">9</a>. See <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John of the Cross, <cite>Mount Carmel</cite>,
bk. iii. ch. i. p. 212.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note10">10</a>. <a href="#l12.5">Ch.
xii. §§ 5</a>, <a href="#l12.7">7</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note11">11</a>. <a href="#l15.21">Ch.
xv. § 21</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note12">12</a>. <a href="#l20.2">Ch.
xx. § 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note13">13</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Luke v. 8: <span lang="la">&#34;Exi a me, quia homo peccator
sum, Domine.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note14">14</a>. <a href="#l12.6">Ch.
xii. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note15">15</a>. <a href="#l28.0">Ch.
xxviii</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note16">16</a>. Psalm lxxii. 22: <span
lang="la">&#34;Et ego ad nihilum redactus sum,
et nescivi.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note17">17</a>. Isaias liii. 3: <span
lang="la">&#34;Virum dolorum, et
scientem infirmitatem.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note18">18</a>. <a href="#l11.15">Ch.
xi. § 15</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note19">19</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Luke xvii. 10: <span lang="la">&#34;Servi
inutiles sumus.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note20">20</a>. <a href="#l11.11">Ch.
xi. § 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note21">21</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Luke xiv. 8: <span lang="la">&#34;Non discumbas in primo
loco.&#34;</span>  See <cite>Way of Perfection</cite>, ch. xxvi. § 1;
but ch. xvii. of the old editions.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note22">22</a>. <a href="#l11.23">Ch.
xi. § 23</a>, <a href="#l18.6">ch. xviii.
§ 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note23">23</a>. Os. ii. 14: <span
lang="la">&#34;Ducam eam in solitudinem.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note24">24</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. xix. 29: <span lang="la">&#34;Qui reliquerit domum, . . .
centuplum accipiet.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l22note25">25</a>. <a href="#l12.5">Ch.
xii. § 5</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l23.0">Chapter XXIII.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Saint Resumes the History of Her Life.  Aiming at
Perfection.  Means Whereby It May Be Gained.  Instructions
for Confessors.</big></p>
<p><a name="l23.1">1</a>. I shall now return to that point in my life
where I broke off, [<a href="#l23note1">1</a>] having made, I believe,
a longer digression than I need have made, in order that what is still
to come may be more clearly understood.  Henceforth, it is another and
a new book,--I mean, another and a new life.  Hitherto, my life was my
own; my life, since I began to explain these methods of prayer, is the
life which God lived in me,--so it seems to me; for I feel it to be
impossible that I should have escaped in so short a time from ways and
works that were so wicked.  May our Lord be praised, who has delivered
me from myself!</p>
<p><a name="l23.2">2</a>. When, then, I began to avoid the occasions
of sin, and to give myself more unto prayer, our Lord also began to
bestow His graces upon me, as one who desired, so it seemed, that I
too should be willing to receive them.  His Majesty began to give me
most frequently the grace of the prayer of quiet, and very often that
of union, which lasted some time.  But as, in these days, women have
fallen into great delusions and deceits of
Satan, [<a href="#l23note2">2</a>] I began to be afraid, because the
joy and sweetness which I felt were so great, and very often beyond my
power to avoid.  On the other hand, I felt in myself a very deep
conviction that God was with me, especially when I was in prayer.  I
saw, too, that I grew better and stronger thereby.</p>
<p><a name="l23.3">3</a>. But if I was a little distracted, I began to
be afraid, and to imagine that perhaps it was Satan that suspended my
understanding, making me think it to be good, in order to withdraw me
from mental prayer, hinder my meditation on the Passion, and debar me
the use of my understanding: this seemed to me, who did not comprehend
the matter, to be a grievous loss but, as His Majesty was pleased to
give me light to offend Him no more, and to understand how much I owed
Him, this fear so grew upon me, that it made me seek diligently for
spiritual persons with whom I might treat of my state.  I had already
heard of some; for the Fathers of the Society of Jesus had come
hither; [<a href="#l23note3">3</a>] and I, though I knew none of them,
was greatly attracted by them, merely because I had heard of their way
of life and of prayer; but I did not think myself fit to speak to
them, or strong enough to obey them; and this made me still more
afraid; for to converse with them, and remain what I was, seemed to me
somewhat rude.</p>
<p><a name="l23.4">4</a>. I spent some time in this state, till, after
much inward contention and fear, I determined to confer with some
spiritual person, to ask him to tell me what that method of prayer was
which I was using, and to show me whether I was in error.  I was also
resolved to do everything I could not to offend God; for the want of
courage of which I was conscious, as I said
before, [<a href="#l23note4">4</a>] made me so timid.  Was there ever
delusion so great as mine, O my God, when I withdrew from good in
order to become good!  The devil must lay much stress on this in the
beginning of a course of virtue; for I could not overcome my
repugnance.  He knows that the whole relief of the soul consists in
conferring with the friends of God.  Hence it was that no time was
fixed in which I should resolve to do this.  I waited to grow better
first, as I did before when I ceased to
pray, [<a href="#l23note5">5</a>]--and perhaps I never should have
become better; for I had now sunk so deeply into the petty ways of an
evil habit,--I could not convince myself that they were wrong,--that I
needed the help of others, who should hold out a hand to raise me up.
Blessed be Thou, O Lord!--for the first hand outstretched to me
was Thine.</p>
<p><a name="l23.5">5</a>. When I saw that my fear was going so far, it
struck me--because I was making progress in prayer--that this must be
a great blessing, or a very great evil; for I understood perfectly
that what had happened was something supernatural, because at times I
was unable to withstand it; to have it when I would was also
impossible.  I thought to myself that there was no help for it, but in
keeping my conscience pure, avoiding every occasion even of venial
sins; for if it was the work of the Spirit of God, the gain was clear;
and if the work of Satan, so long as I strove to please, and did not
offend, our Lord, Satan could do me little harm; on the contrary, he
must lose in the struggle.  Determined on this course, and always
praying God to help me, striving also after purity of conscience for
some days, I saw that my soul had not strength to go forth alone to a
perfection so great.  I had certain attachments to trifles, which,
though not very wrong in themselves, were yet enough to ruin all.</p>
<p><a name="l23.6">6</a>. I was told of a learned
ecclesiastic, [<a href="#l23note6">6</a>] dwelling in this city, whose
goodness and pious life our Lord was beginning to make known to the
world.  I contrived to make his acquaintance through a saintly
nobleman [<a href="#l23note7">7</a>] living in the same place.  This
latter is a married man; but his life is so edifying and virtuous, so
given to prayer, and so full of charity, that the goodness and
perfection of it shine forth in all he does: and most justly so; for
many souls have been greatly blessed through him, because of his great
gifts, which, though his condition of a layman be a hindrance to him,
never lie idle.  He is a man of great sense, and very gentle with all
people; his conversation is never wearisome, but so sweet and
gracious, as well as upright and holy, that he pleases everybody very
much with whom he has any relations.  He directs it all to the great
good of those souls with whom he converses and he seems to have no
other end in view but to do all he may be permitted to do for all men,
and make them content.</p>
<p><a name="l23.7">7</a>. This blessed and holy man, then, seems to
me, by the pains he took, to have been the beginning of salvation to
my soul.  His humility in his relations with me makes me wonder; for
he had spent, I believe, nearly forty years in prayer,--it may be two
or three years less,--and all his life was ordered with that
perfection which his state admitted.  His wife is so great a servant
of God, and so full of charity, that nothing is lost to him on her
account, [<a href="#l23note8">8</a>]--in short, she was the chosen wife
of one who God knew would serve Him so well.  Some of their kindred
are married to some of mine.  Besides, I had also much communication
with another great servant of God, married to one of my
first cousins.</p>
<p><a name="l23.8">8</a>. It was thus I contrived that the
ecclesiastic I speak of, who was so great a servant of God, and his
great friend, should come to speak to me, intending to confess to him,
and to take him for my director.  When he had brought him to speak to
me, I, in the greatest confusion at finding myself in the presence of
so holy a man, revealed to him the state of my soul, and my way of
prayer.  He would not be my confessor; he said that he was very much
occupied: and so, indeed, he was.  He began with a holy resolution to
direct me as if I was strong,--I ought to have been strong, according
to the method of prayer which he saw I used,--so that I should in
nothing offend God. When I saw that he was resolved to make me break
off at once with the petty ways I spoke of
before, [<a href="#l23note9">9</a>] and that I had not the courage to
go forth at once in the perfection he required of me, I was
distressed; and when I perceived that he ordered the affairs of my
soul as if I ought to be perfect at once, I saw that much more care
was necessary in my case. In a word, I felt that the means he would
have employed were not those by which my soul could be helped onwards;
for they were fitted for a soul more perfect than mine; and though the
graces I had received from God were very many, I was still at the very
beginning in the matter of virtue and of mortification.</p>
<p><a name="l23.9">9</a>. I believe certainly, if I had only had this
ecclesiastic to confer with, that my soul would have made no progress;
for the pain it gave me to see that I was not doing--and, as I
thought, could not do--what he told me, was enough to destroy all
hope, and make me abandon the matter altogether.  I wonder at times
how it was that he, being one who had a particular grace for the
direction of beginners in the way of God, was not permitted to
understand my case, or to undertake the care of my soul.  I see it was
all for my greater good, in order that I might know and converse with
persons so holy as the members of the Society of Jesus.</p>
<p><a name="l23.10">10</a>. After this, I arranged with that saintly
nobleman that he should come and see me now and then.  It shows how
deep his humility was; for he consented to converse with a person so
wicked as I was.  He began his visits, he encouraged me, and told me
that I ought not to suppose I could give up everything in one day; God
would bring it about by degrees: he himself had for some years been
unable to free himself from some very slight imperfections.  O
humility! what great blessings thou bringest to those in whom thou
dwellest, and to them who draw near to those who possess thee!  This
holy man--for I think I may justly call him so--told me of weaknesses
of his own, in order to help me.  He, in his humility, thought them
weaknesses; but, if we consider his state, they were neither faults
nor imperfections; yet, in my state, it was a very great fault to be
subject to them.</p>
<p><a name="l23.11">11</a>. I am not saying this without a meaning,
though I seem to be enlarging on trifles; but these trifles contribute
so much towards the beginning of the soul's progress and its flight
upwards, though it has no wings, as they say; and yet no one will
believe it who has not had experience of it; but, as I hope in God
that your reverence will help many a soul, I speak of it here.  My
whole salvation depended on his knowing how to treat me, on his
humility, on the charity with which he conversed with me, and on his
patient endurance of me when he saw that I did not mend my ways at
once.  He went on discreetly, by degrees showing me how to overcome
Satan.  My affection for him so grew upon me, that I never was more at
ease than on the day I used to see him. I saw him, however, very
rarely.  When he was long in coming, I used to be very much
distressed, thinking that he would not see me because I was
so wicked.</p>
<p><a name="l23.12">12</a>. When he found out my great imperfections,
they might well have been sins, though since I conversed with him I am
somewhat improved,--and when I recounted to him, in order to obtain
light from him, the great graces which God had bestowed upon me, he
told me that these things were inconsistent one with another; that
these consolations were given to people who had made great progress,
and led mortified lives; that he could not help being very much
afraid--he thought that the evil spirit might have something to do in
my case; he would not decide that question, however, but he would have
me carefully consider my whole method of prayer, and then tell him of
it.  That was the difficulty: I did not understand it myself, and so I
could tell him nothing of my prayer; for the grace to understand
it--and, understanding it, to describe it--has only lately been given
me of God.  This saying of his, together with the fear I was in,
distressed me exceedingly, and I cried; for certainly I was anxious to
please God, and I could not persuade myself that Satan had anything to
do with it.  But I was afraid, on account of my great sins, that God
might leave me blind, so that I should understand nothing.</p>
<p><a name="l23.13">13</a>. Looking into books to see if I could find
anything there by which I might recognise the prayer I practised, I
found in one of them, called the <cite>Ascent of the
Mount</cite>, [<a href="#l23note10">10</a>] and in that part of it
which relates to the union of the soul with God, all those marks which
I had in myself, in that I could not think of anything.  This is what
I most dwelt on--that I could think of nothing when I was in prayer.
I marked that passage, and gave him the book, that he, and the
ecclesiastic mentioned before, [<a href="#l23note11">11</a>] saint and
servant of God, might consider it, and tell me what I should do.  If
they thought it right, I would give up that method of prayer
altogether; for why should I expose myself to danger, when, at the end
of nearly twenty years, during which I had used it, I had gained
nothing, but had fallen into a delusion of the devil?  It was better
for me to give it up.  And yet this seemed to me hard; for I had
already discovered what my soul would become without prayer.
Everything seemed full of trouble.  I was like a person in the middle
of a river, who, in whatever direction he may turn, fears a still
greater danger, and is well-nigh drowned.  This is a very great trial,
and I have gone through many like it, as I shall show
hereafter; [<a href="#l23note12">12</a>] and though it does not seem
to be of any importance, it will perhaps be advantageous to understand
how the spirit is to be tried.</p>
<p><a name="l23.14">14</a>. And certainly the affliction to be borne
is great, and caution is necessary, particularly in the case of
women,--for our weakness is great,--and much evil may be the result of
telling them very distinctly that the devil is busy with them; yea,
rather, the matter should be very carefully considered, and they
should be removed out of reach of the dangers that may arise. They
should be advised to keep things secret; and it is necessary, also,
that their secret should be kept.  I am speaking of this as one to
whom it has been a sore trouble; for some of those with whom I spoke
of my prayer did not keep my secret, but, making inquiries one of
another, for a good purpose, did me much harm; for they made things
known which might well have remained secret, because not intended for
every one and it seemed as if I had made them
public myself. [<a href="#l23note13">13</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l23.15">15</a>. I believe that our Lord
permitted [<a href="#l23note14">14</a>] this to be done without sin on
their part, in order that I might suffer.  I do not say that they
revealed anything I discussed with them in confession; still, as they
were persons to whom, in my fears, I gave a full account of myself, in
order that they might give me light, I thought they ought to have been
silent.  Nevertheless, I never dared to conceal anything from such
persons.  My meaning, then, is, that women should be directed with
much discretion; their directors should encourage them, and bide the
time when our Lord will help them, as He has helped me.  If He had
not, the greatest harm would have befallen me, for I was in great fear
and dread; and as I suffered from disease of the
heart, [<a href="#l23note15">15</a>] I am astonished that all this did
not do me a great deal of harm.</p> <p><a name="l23.16">16</a>.  Then,
when I had given him the book, and told the story of my life and of my
sins, the best way I could in general,--for I was not in confession,
because he was a layman; yet I gave him clearly to understand how
wicked I was,--those two servants of God, with great charity and
affection, considered what was best for me.  When they had made up
their minds what to say,--I was waiting for it in great dread, having
begged many persons to pray to God for me, and I too had prayed much
during those days,--the nobleman came to me in great distress, and
said that, in the opinion of both, I was deluded by an evil spirit;
that the best thing for me to do was to apply to a certain father of
the Society of Jesus, who would come to me if I sent for him, saying I
had need of him; that I ought, in a general confession, to give him an
account of my whole life, and of the state I was in,--and all with
great clearness: God would, in virtue of the Sacrament of Confession,
give him more light concerning me; for those fathers were very
experienced men in matters of spirituality.  Further, I was not to
swerve in a single point from the counsels of that father; for I was
in great danger, if I had no one to direct me.</p>
<p><a name="l23.17">17</a>. This answer so alarmed and distressed me,
that I knew not what to do--I did nothing but cry.  Being in an
oratory in great affliction, not knowing what would become of me, I
read in a book--it seemed as if our Lord had put it into my
hands--that <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul said, God is
faithful; [<a href="#l23note16">16</a>] that He will never permit Satan
to deceive those who love Him.  This gave me great consolation.  I
began to prepare for my general confession, and to write out all the
evil and all the good: a history of my life, as clearly as I
understood it, and knew how to make it, omitting nothing whatever.  I
remember, when I saw I had written so much evil, and scarcely anything
that was good, that I was exceedingly distressed and sorrowful.  It
pained me, also, that the nuns of the community should see me
converse with such holy persons as those of the Society of Jesus; for
I was afraid of my own wickedness, and I thought I should be obliged
to cease from it, and give up my amusements; and that if I did not do
so, I should grow worse: so I persuaded the sacristan and the portress
to tell no one of it.  This was of little use, after all; for when I
was called down there was one at the door, as it happened, who told it
to the whole convent.  But what difficulties and what terrors Satan
troubles them with who would draw near unto God!</p>
<p><a name="l23.18">18</a>. I communicated the whole state of my soul
to that servant of God [<a href="#l23note17">17</a>] and he was a great
servant of His, and very prudent.  He understood all I told him,
explained it to me, and encouraged me greatly.  He said that all was
very evidently the work of the Spirit of God; only it was necessary
for me to go back again to my prayer, because I was not well grounded,
and had not begun to understand what mortification meant,--that was
true, for I do not think I knew it even by name,--that I was by no
means to give up prayer; on the contrary, I was to do violence to
myself in order to practise it, because God had bestowed on me such
special graces as made it impossible to say whether it was, or was
not, the will of our Lord to do good to many through me.  He went
further, for he seems to have prophesied of that which our Lord
afterwards did with me, and said that I should be very much to blame
if I did not correspond with the graces which God bestowed upon me.
It seems to me that the Holy Ghost was speaking by his mouth in order
to heal my soul, so deep was the impression he made.  He made me very
much ashamed of myself, and directed me by a way which seemed to
change me altogether.  What a grand thing it is to understand a soul!
He told me to make my prayer every day on some mystery of
the Passion, and that I should profit by it, and to fix my thoughts on
the Sacred Humanity only, resisting to the utmost of my power those
recollections and delights, to which I was not to yield in any way
till he gave me further directions in the matter.</p>
<p><a name="l23.19">19</a>. He left me consoled and fortified: our
Lord came to my succour and to his, so that he might understand the
state I was in, and how he was to direct me.  I made a firm resolution
not to swerve from anything he might command me, and to this day I
have kept it.  Our Lord be praised, who has given me grace to be
obedient to my confessors, [<a href="#l23note18">18</a>] however
imperfectly!--and they have almost always been those blessed men of
the Society of Jesus; though, as I said, I have but imperfectly obeyed
them.  My soul began to improve visibly, as I am now going to say.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l23note1">1</a>. At the end of <a
href="#l9.11">ch. ix</a>.  The thirteen chapters interposed
between that and this--the twenty-third--are a treatise on
mystical theology.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note2">2</a>. She refers to Magdalene of the
Cross (<cite lang="es">Reforma de los Descalįos</cite>, vol. i. lib.
i. c. xix. § 2).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note3">3</a>. The college of the Society at
Avila was founded in 1555; but some of the Fathers had come thither in
1553 (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note4">4</a>. <a href="#l7.37">Ch.
vii. § 37</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note5">5</a>. <a href="#l19.7">Ch.
xix. §§ 7, 8</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note6">6</a>. Gaspar Daza had formed a society
of priests in Avila, and was a very laborious and holy man.  It was he
who said the first Mass in the monastery of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, founded by 5t. Teresa, whom he
survived, dying Nov. 24, 1592.  He committed the direction of his
priests to F. Baltasar Alvarez (<cite>Bouix</cite>).  Juan of Avila
acted much in the same way when the Jesuits settled in Avila (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note7">7</a>. Don Francisco de Salcedo.  After
the death of his wife, he became a priest, and was chaplain and
confessor of the Carmelite nuns of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.  For twenty years of his married life
he attended regularly the theological lectures of the Dominicans, in
the house of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Thomas.  His death took
place Sept. 12, 1580, when he had been a priest for ten years
(<cite><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa's Letters</cite>, vol.
iv. letter 43, note 13: letter 368, ed. of De la Fuente).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note8">8</a>. Doņa Mencia del Aguila (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>, in a note on letter 10, vol. ii. p. 9, where he
corrects himself,--having previously called her Mencia
de Avila).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note9">9</a>. <a
href="#l23.4">§ 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note10">10</a>. <cite lang="es">Subida del Monte
Sion</cite>, by a Franciscan friar, Bernardino de Laredo (<cite
lang="es">Reforma</cite>, vol. i. lib. i. c. xix. § 7).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note11">11</a>. <a
href="#l23.6">§ 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note12">12</a>. See <a
href="#l25.18">ch. xxv. § 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note13">13</a>. See <a
href="#l28.18">ch. xxviii. § 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note14">14</a>. See <a
href="#r7.17"><cite>Relation</cite>, vii.
§ 17</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note15">15</a>. See <a
href="#l4.6">ch. iv. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note16">16</a>. 1 Cor. x. 13: <span
lang="la">&#34;Fidelis autem Deus est, qui non patietur vos tentari
supra id quod potestis.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note17">17</a>. <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr>
Juan de Padranos, whom <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis de Borja
had sent in 1555, with <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Fernando Alvarez
del Aguila, to found the house of the Society in Avila (<cite>De la
Fuente</cite>).  Ribera, i. 5, says he heard that <abbr
title="Father">F.</abbr> Juan de Padranos gave in part the Exercises
of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Ignatius to the Saint.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l23note18">18</a>. See <a
href="#r1.9"><cite>Relation</cite>, i. § 9</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l24.0">Chapter XXIV.</a></h3>
<p><big>Progress Under Obedience.  Her Inability to Resist the Graces
of God.  God Multiplies His Graces.</big></p>
<p><a name="l24.1">1</a>. After this my confession, my soul was so
docile that, as it seems to me, there was nothing in the world I was
not prepared to undertake.  I began at once to make a change in many
things, though my confessor never pressed me--on the contrary, he
seemed to make light of it all.  I was the more influenced by this,
because he led me on by the way of the love of God; he left me free,
and did not press me, unless I did so myself, out of love.  I
continued thus nearly two months, doing all I could to resist the
sweetness and graces that God sent.  As to my outward life, the change
was visible; for our Lord gave me courage to go through with certain
things, of which those who knew me--and even those in the
community--said that they seemed to them extreme; and, indeed,
compared with what I had been accustomed to do, they were extreme:
people, therefore, had reason to say so.  Yet, in those things which
were of obligation, considering the habit I wore, and the profession I
had made, I was still deficient.  By resisting the sweetness and joys
which God sent me, I gained this, that His Majesty taught me Himself;
for, previously, I used to think that, in order to obtain sweetness in
prayer, it was necessary for me to hide myself in secret places, and
so I scarcely dared to stir.  Afterwards, I saw how little that was to
the purpose; for the more I tried to distract myself, the more our
Lord poured over me that sweetness and joy which seemed to me to be
flowing around me, so that I could not in any way escape from it: and
so it was.  I was so careful about this resistance, that it was a pain
to me.  But our Lord was more careful to show His mercies, and during
those two months to reveal Himself more than before, so that I might
the better comprehend that it was no longer in my power to
resist Him.</p>
<p><a name="l24.2">2</a>. I began with a renewed love of the most
Sacred Humanity; my prayer began to be solid, like a house, the
foundations of which are strong; and I was inclined to practise
greater penance, having been negligent in this matter hitherto because
of my great infirmities.  The holy man who heard my confession told me
that certain penances would not hurt me, and that God perhaps sent me
so much sickness because I did no penance; His Majesty would therefore
impose it Himself.  He ordered me to practise certain acts of
mortification not very pleasant for me. [<a href="#l24note1">1</a>] I
did so, because I felt that our Lord was enjoining it all, and giving
him grace to command me in such a way as to make me obedient
unto him.</p>
<p><a name="l24.3">3</a>. My soul was now sensitive to every offence I
committed against God, however slight it might be; so much so, that if
I had any superfluity about me, I could not recollect myself in prayer
till I had got rid of it.  I prayed earnestly that our Lord would hold
me by the hand, and not suffer me to fall again, now that I was under
the direction of His servants.  I thought that would be a great evil,
and that they would lose their credit through me.</p>
<p><a name="l24.4">4</a>. At this time, Father Francis, who was Duke
of Gandia, [<a href="#l24note2">2</a>] came here; he had left all he
possessed some years before, and had entered the Society of Jesus.  My
confessor, and the nobleman of whom I spoke
before, [<a href="#l24note3">3</a>] contrived that he should visit me,
in order that I might speak to him, and give him an account of my way
of prayer; for they knew him to be greatly favoured and comforted of
God: he had given up much, and was rewarded for it even in this life.
When he had heard me, he said to me that it was the work of the Spirit
of God, [<a href="#l24note4">4</a>] and that he thought it was not
right now to prolong that resistance; that hitherto it had been safe
enough,--only, I should always begin my prayer by meditating on some
part of the Passion and that if our Lord should then raise up my
spirit, I should make no resistance, but suffer His Majesty to raise
it upwards, I myself not seeking it.  He gave both medicine and
advice, as one who had made great progress himself; for experience is
very important in these matters.  He said that further resistance
would be a mistake.  I was exceedingly consoled; so, too, was the
nobleman, who rejoiced greatly when he was told that it was the work
of God.  He always helped me and gave me advice according to his
power,--and that power was great.</p>
<p><a name="l24.5">5</a>. At this time, they changed my confessor's
residence.  I felt it very much, for I thought I should go back to my
wickedness, and that it was not possible to find another such as he.
My soul was, as it were, in a desert, most sorrowful and afraid.  I
knew not what to do with myself.  One of my kinswomen contrived to get
me into her house, and I contrived at once to find another
confessor, [<a href="#l24note5">5</a>] in the Society of Jesus.  It
pleased our Lord that I should commence a friendship with a noble
lady, [<a href="#l24note6">6</a>] a widow, much given to prayer, who
had much to do with the fathers.  She made her own
confessor [<a href="#l24note7">7</a>] hear me, and I remained in her
house some days.  She lived near, and I delighted in the many
conferences I had with the fathers; for merely by observing the
holiness of their way of life, I felt that my soul
profited exceedingly.</p>
<p><a name="l24.6">6</a>. This father began by putting me in the way
of greater perfection.  He used to say to me, that I ought to leave
nothing undone that I might be wholly pleasing unto God.  He was,
however, very prudent and very gentle at the same time; for my soul
was not at all strong, but rather very weak, especially as to giving
up certain friendships, though I did not offend God by them: there was
much natural affection in them, and I thought it would be an act of
ingratitude if I broke them off.  And so, as I did not offend God, I
asked him if I must be ungrateful.  He told me to lay the matter
before God for a few days, and recite the hymn, <span
lang="la">&#34;Veni, Creator,&#34;</span> that God might enlighten me
as to the better course. One day, having prayed for some time, and
implored our Lord to help me to please Him in all things, I began the
hymn; and as I was saying it, I fell into a trance--so suddenly, that
I was, as it were, carried out of myself.  I could have no doubt about
it, for it was most plain.</p>
<p><a name="l24.7">7</a>. This was the first time that our Lord
bestowed on me the grace of ecstasy.  I heard these words: &#34;I will
not have thee converse with men, but with angels.&#34;  This made me
wonder very much; for the commotion of my spirit was great, and these
words were uttered in the very depth of my soul.  They made me
afraid,--though, on the other hand, they gave me great comfort, which,
when I had lost the fear,--caused, I believe, by the strangeness of
the visitation,--remained with me.</p>
<p><a name="l24.8">8</a>. Those words have been fulfilled; for I have
never been able to form friendship with, nor have any comfort in, nor
any particular love for, any persons whatever except those who, as I
believe, love God, and who strive to serve Him.  It has not been in my
power to do it.  It is nothing to me that they are my kindred, or my
friends, if I do not know them to be lovers of God, or persons given
to prayer.  It is to me a painful cross to converse with any one.
This is the truth, so far as I can judge. [<a href="#l24note8">8</a>]
From that day forth, I have had courage so great as to leave all
things for God, who in one moment--and it seems to me but a
moment--was pleased to change His servant into another person.
Accordingly, there was no necessity for laying further commands upon
me in this matter.  When my confessor saw how much I clung to these
friendships, he did not venture to bid me distinctly to give them up.
He must have waited till our Lord did the work--as He did Himself.
Nor did I think myself that I could succeed; for I had tried before,
and the pain it gave me was so great that I abandoned the attempt, on
the ground that there was nothing unseemly in those attachments.  Now
our Lord set me at liberty, and gave me strength also to use it.</p>
<p><a name="l24.9">9</a>. So I told my confessor of it, and gave up
everything, according to his advice.  It did a great deal of good to
those with whom I used to converse, to see my determination.  God be
blessed for ever! Who in one moment set me free, while I had been for
many years making many efforts, and had never succeeded, very often
also doing such violence to myself as injured my health; but, as it
was done by Him Who is almighty, and the true Lord of all, it gave me
no pain whatever.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l24note1">1</a>. The Saint now treated her body
with extreme severity, disciplining herself even unto blood
(<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, vol. i. lib. i. c. xx.
§ 4).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l24note2">2</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Francis de Borja came to Avila, where <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa lived, in 1557 (<cite>De la
Fuente</cite>).  This passage must have been written after the
foundation of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, for it was not in
the first Life, as the Saint says, <a href="#l10.11">ch. x.
§ 11</a>, that he kept secret the names of herself and
all others.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l24note3">3</a>. <a href="#l23.6">Ch.
xxiii. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l24note4">4</a>. See <a
href="#r8.6"><cite>Relation</cite>, viii.
§ 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l24note5">5</a>. Who he was is not certainly known.
The Bollandists decline to give an opinion: but <abbr
title="Father">F.</abbr> Bouix thinks it was <abbr
title="Father">F.</abbr> Ferdinand Alvarez, who became her confessor
on the removal of <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Juan de Padranos, and
that it was to him she confessed till she placed herself under the
direction of F. Baltasar Alvarez, the confessor of Doņa Guiomar, as it
is stated in the next paragraph,--unless the confessor there mentioned
was <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Ferdinand.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l24note6">6</a>. Doņa Guiomar de Ulloa.  See below,
<a href="#l33.13">ch. xxxii. § 13</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l24note7">7</a>. If this confessor was F. Baltasar
Alvarez, the Saint, <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Bouix observes,
passes rapidly over the history of the year 1557, and the greater
part, perhaps, of 1558; for <abbr>F.</abbr> Baltasar was ordained
priest only in the latter year.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l24note8">8</a>. See <a
href="#r1.6"><cite>Relation</cite>, i. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l25.0">Chapter XXV.</a></h3>
<p><big>Divine Locutions.  Discussions on That Subject.</big></p>
<p><a name="l25.1">1</a>. It will be as well, I think, to explain
these locutions of God, and to describe what the soul feels when it
receives them, in order that you, my father, may understand the
matter; for ever since that time of which I am speaking, when our Lord
granted me that grace, it has been an ordinary occurrence until now,
as will appear by what I have yet
to say. [<a href="#l25note1">1</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l25.2">2</a>. The words are very distinctly formed; but by
the bodily ear they are not heard.  They are, however, much more
clearly understood than they would be if they were heard by the ear.
It is impossible not to understand them, whatever resistance we
may offer.  When we wish not to hear anything in this world, we can
stop our ears, or give attention to something else: so that, even if
we do hear, at least we can refuse to understand.  In this locution of
God addressed to the soul there is no escape, for in spite of
ourselves we must listen; and the understanding must apply itself so
thoroughly to the comprehension of that which God wills we should
hear, that it is nothing to the purpose whether we will it or not; for
it is His will, Who can do all things.  We should understand that His
will must be done; and He reveals Himself as our true Lord, having
dominion over us.  I know this by much experience; for my resistance
lasted nearly two years, [<a href="#l25note2">2</a>] because of the
great fear I was in: and even now I resist occasionally; but it is of
no use.</p>
<p><a name="l25.3">3</a>. I should like to explain the delusions which
may happen here, though he who has had much experience will run little
or no risk, I think; but the experience must be great.  I should like
to explain also how those locutions which come from the Good Spirit
differ from those which come from an evil spirit; and, further, how
they may be but an apprehension of the understanding,--for that is
possible,--or even words which the mind addressed to itself.  I do not
know if it be so but even this very day I thought it possible.  I know
by experience in many ways, when these locutions come from God.  I
have been told things two or three years beforehand, which have all
come to pass; and in none of them have I been hitherto deceived.
There are also other things in which the Spirit of God may be clearly
traced, as I shall relate by and by. [<a href="#l25note3">3</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l25.4">4</a>. It seems to me that a person commending a
matter to God with great love and earnestness may think that he hears
in some way or other whether his prayer will be granted or not, and
this is quite possible; but he who has heard the divine locution will
see clearly enough what this is, because there is a great difference
between the two.  If it be anything which the understanding has
fashioned, however cunningly it may have done so, he sees that it is
the understanding which has arranged that locution, and that it is
speaking of itself.  This is nothing else but a word uttered by one,
and listened to by another: in that case, the understanding will see
that it has not been listening only, but also forming the words; and
the words it forms are something indistinct, fantastic, and not clear
like the divine locutions.  It is in our power to turn away our
attention from these locutions of our own, just as we can be silent
when we are speaking; but, with respect to the former, that cannot
be done.</p>
<p><a name="l25.5">5</a>. There is another test more decisive still.
The words formed by the understanding effect nothing; but, when our
Lord speaks, it is at once word and work; and though the words may not
be meant to stir up our devotion, but are rather words of reproof,
they dispose a soul at once, strengthen it, make it tender, give it
light, console and calm it; and if it should be in dryness, or in
trouble and uneasiness, all is removed, as if by the action of a hand,
and even better; for it seems as if our Lord would have the soul
understand that He is all-powerful, and that His words are deeds.</p>
<p><a name="l25.6">6</a>. It seems to me that there is as much
difference between these two locutions as there is between speaking
and listening, neither more nor less; for when I speak, as I have just
said, [<a href="#l25note4">4</a>] I go on with my understanding
arranging what I am saying; but if I am spoken to by others, I do
nothing else but listen, without any labour.  The human locution is as
something which we cannot well make out, as if we were half asleep;
but the divine locution is a voice so clear that not a syllable of its
utterance is lost.  It may occur, too, when the understanding and the
soul are so troubled and distracted that they cannot form one sentence
correctly; and yet grand sentences, perfectly arranged, such as the
soul in its most recollected state never could have formed, are
uttered, and at the first word, as I said, [<a href="#l25note5">5</a>]
change it utterly.  Still less could it have formed them if they are
uttered in an ecstasy, when the faculties of the soul are suspended;
for how should the soul then comprehend anything, when it remembers
nothing?--yea, rather, how can it remember them then, when the memory
can hardly do anything at all, and the imagination is, as it
were, suspended?</p>
<p><a name="l25.7">7</a>. But it is to be observed, that if we see
visions and hear words it never is as at the time when the soul is in
union in the very rapture itself,--so it seems to me.  At that moment,
as I have shown,--I think it was when I was speaking of the second
water, [<a href="#l25note6">6</a>]--all the faculties of the soul are
suspended; and, as I think, neither vision, nor understanding, nor
hearing, is possible at that time.  The soul is then wholly in the
power of another; and in that instant--a very brief one, in my
opinion--our Lord leaves it free for nothing whatever; but when this
instant is passed, the soul continuing still entranced, then is the
time of which I am speaking; for the faculties, though not completely
suspended, are so disposed that they are scarcely active, being, as it
were, absorbed, and incapable of making any reflections.</p>
<p><a name="l25.8">8</a>. There are so many ways of ascertaining the
nature of these locutions, that if a person be once deceived, he will
not be deceived often.  I mean, that a soul accustomed to them, and on
its guard, will most clearly see what they are; for, setting other
considerations aside which prove what I have said, the human locution
produces no effect, neither does the soul accept it,--though it must
admit the other, whether we like it or not,--nor does it believe it;
on the contrary, it is known to be a delusion of the understanding,
and is therefore put away as we would put away the ravings of
a lunatic.</p>
<p><a name="l25.9">9</a>. But as to the divine locution, we listen to
that as we do to a person of great holiness, learning, or authority,
whom we know to be incapable of uttering a falsehood.  And yet this is
an inadequate illustration; for these locutions proceed occasionally
in such great majesty that, without our recollecting who it is that
utters them, they make us tremble if they be words of reproof, and die
of love if words of love.  They are also, as I have
said, [<a href="#l25note7">7</a>] matters of which the memory has not
the least recollection; and expressions so full are uttered so
rapidly, that much time must have been spent in arranging them, if we
formed them ourselves; and so it seems to me that we cannot possibly
be ignorant at the time that we have never formed them ourselves
at all.</p>
<p><a name="l25.10">10</a>. There is no reason, therefore, why I
should dwell longer on this matter.  It is a wonder to me that any
experienced person, unless he deliberately chooses to do so, can fall
into delusions.  It has often happened to me, when I had doubts, to
distrust what I had heard, and to think that it was all
imagination,--but this I did afterwards: for at the moment that is
impossible,--and at a later time to see the whole fulfilled; for our
Lord makes the words dwell in the memory so that they cannot be
forgotten.  Now, that which comes forth from our understanding is, as
it were, the first movement of thought, which passes away and is
forgotten; but the divine locution is a work done; and though some of
it may be forgotten, and time have lapsed, yet is not so wholly
forgotten that the memory loses all traces of what was once
spoken,--unless, indeed, after very long time, or unless the locution
were words of grace or of instruction.  But as to prophetic words,
they are never forgotten, in my opinion; at least, I have never
forgotten any,--and yet my memory is weak.</p>
<p><a name="l25.11">11</a>. I repeat it, unless a soul be so wicked as
to pretend that it has these locutions, which would be a great sin,
and say that it hears divine words when it hears nothing of the kind,
it cannot possibly fail to see clearly that itself arranges the words,
and utters them to itself.  That seems to me altogether impossible for
any soul that has ever known the Spirit of God.  If it has not, it may
continue all its life long in this delusion, and imagine that it hears
and understands, though I know not how that can be.  A soul desires to
hear these locutions, or it does not; if it does not, it is distressed
because it hears them, and is unwilling to listen to them, because of
a thousand fears which they occasion, and for many other reasons it
has for being quiet in prayer without these interruptions.  How is it
that the understanding has time enough to arrange these locutions?
They require time.</p>
<p><a name="l25.12">12</a>. But, on the other side, the divine
locutions instruct us without loss of time, and we understand matters
which seem to require a month on our part to arrange.  The
understanding itself, and the soul, stand amazed at some of the things
we understand.  So it is; and he who has any experience of it will see
that what I am saying is literally true.  I give God thanks that I
have been able thus to explain it.  I end by saying that, in my
opinion, we may hear the locutions that proceed from the understanding
whenever we like, and think that we hear them whenever we pray.  But
it is not so with the divine locutions: for many days I may desire to
hear them, and I cannot; and at other times, even when I would not, as
I said before, [<a href="#l25note8">8</a>] hear them, I must.  It seems
to me that any one disposed to deceive people by saying that he heard
from God that which he has invented himself, might as easily say that
he heard it with his bodily ears.  It is most certainly true that I
never imagined there was any other way of hearing or understanding
till I had proof of it in myself; and so, as I have said
before, [<a href="#l25note9">9</a>] it gave me trouble enough.</p>
<p><a name="l25.13">13</a>. Locutions that come from Satan not only do
not leave any good effects behind, but do leave evil effects.  This
has happened to me; but not more than two or three times.  Our Lord
warned me at once that they came from Satan.  Over and above the great
aridity which remains in the soul after these evil locutions, there is
also a certain disquiet, such as I have had on many other occasions,
when, by our Lord's permission, I fell into great temptations and
travail of soul in diverse ways; and though I am in trouble often
enough, as I shall show hereafter, [<a href="#l25note10">10</a>] yet
this disquiet is such that I know not whence it comes; only the soul
seems to resist, is troubled and distressed, without knowing why; for
the words of Satan are good, and not evil.  I am thinking whether this
may not be so because one spirit is conscious of the presence
of another.</p>
<p><a name="l25.14">14</a>. The sweetness and joy which Satan gives
are, in my opinion, of a very different kind.  By means of these
sweetnesses he may deceive any one who does not, or who never did,
taste of the sweetness of God,--by which I mean a certain sweet,
strong, impressive, delightsome, and calm refreshing.  Those little,
fervid bursts of tears, and other slight emotions,--for at the first
breath of persecution these flowers wither,--I do not call devotion,
though they are a good beginning, and are holy impressions; but they
are not a test to determine whether these locutions come from a good
or an evil spirit.  It is therefore best for us to proceed always with
great caution; for those persons who have advanced in prayer only so
far as this may most easily fall into delusions, if they have visions
or revelations.  For myself, I never had a single vision or
revelation till God had led me on to the prayer of union,--unless it
be on that occasion, of which I have spoken
before, [<a href="#l25note11">11</a>] now many years ago, when I saw
our Lord. Oh, that His Majesty had been pleased to let me then
understand that it was a true vision, as I have since understood it
was! it would have been no slight blessing to me.</p>
<p><a name="l25.15">15</a>. After these locutions of the evil one, the
soul is never gentle, but is, as it were, terrified, and
greatly disgusted.</p>
<p><a name="l25.16">16</a>. I look upon it as a most certain truth,
that the devil will never deceive, and that God will not suffer him to
deceive, the soul which has no confidence whatever in itself; which is
strong in faith, and resolved to undergo a thousand deaths for any one
article of the creed; which in its love of the faith, infused of God
once for all,--a faith living and strong,--always labours, seeking for
further light on this side and on that, to mould itself on the
teaching of the Church, as one already deeply grounded in the truth.
No imaginable revelations, not even if it saw the heavens open, could
make that soul swerve in any degree from the doctrine of the Church.
If, however, it should at any time find itself wavering even in
thought on this point, or stopping to say to itself, If God says this
to me, it may be true, as well as what He said to the Saints--the soul
must not be sure of it.  I do not mean that it so believes, only that
Satan has taken the first step towards tempting it; and the giving way
to the first movements of a thought like this is evidently most wrong.
I believe, however, that these first movements will not take place if
the soul is so strong in the matter--as that soul is to whom our Lord
sends these graces--that it seems as if it could crush the evil
spirits in defence of the very least of the truths which the
Church holds.</p>
<p><a name="l25.17">17</a>. If the soul does not discern this great
strength in itself, and if the particular devotion or vision
help it not onwards, then it must not look upon it as safe.  For
though at first the soul is conscious of no harm, great harm may by
degrees ensue; because, so far as I can see, and by experience
understand, that which purports to come from God is received only in
so far as it corresponds with the sacred writings; but if it varies
therefrom ever so little, I am incomparably more convinced that it
comes from Satan than I am now convinced it comes from God, however
deep that conviction may be.  In this case, there is no need to ask
for signs, nor from what spirit it proceeds, because this varying is
so clear a sign of the devil's presence, that if all the world were to
assure me that it came from God, I would not believe it.  The fact is,
that all good seems to be lost out of sight, and to have fled from the
soul, when the devil has spoken to it; the soul is thrown into a state
of disgust, and is troubled, able to do no good thing whatever--for if
it conceives good desires, they are not strong; its humility is
fictitious, disturbed, and without sweetness.  Any one who has ever
tasted of the Spirit of God will, I think, understand it.</p>
<p><a name="l25.18">18</a>. Nevertheless, Satan has many devices; and
so there is nothing more certain than that it is safer to be afraid,
and always on our guard, under a learned director, from whom nothing
is concealed.  If we do this, no harm can befall us, though much has
befallen me through the excessive fears which possessed some people.
For instance, it happened so once to me, when many persons in whom I
had great confidence, and with good reason, had assembled
together,--five or six in number, I think,--and all very great
servants of God. It is true, my relations were with one of them only;
but by his orders made my state known to the others.  They had many
conferences together about my necessities; for they had great
affection for me, and were afraid I was under a delusion.  I, too, was
very much afraid whenever I was not occupied in prayer; but when I
prayed, and our Lord bestowed His graces upon me, I was instantly
reassured.  My confessor told me they were all of opinion that I was
deceived by Satan; that I must communicate less frequently, and
contrive to distract myself in such a way as to be less alone.</p>
<p><a name="l25.19">19</a>. I was in great fear myself, as I have just
said, and my disease of the heart [<a href="#l25note12">12</a>]
contributed thereto, so that very often I did not dare to remain alone
in my cell during the day.  When I found so many maintain this, and
myself unable to believe them, I had at once a most grievous scruple;
for it seemed to me that I had very little humility, especially as
they all led lives incomparably better than mine: they were also
learned men.  Why should I not believe them?  I did all I could to
believe them.  I reflected on my wicked life, and therefore what they
said to me must be true.</p>
<p><a name="l25.20">20</a>. In this distress, I quitted the
church, [<a href="#l25note13">13</a>] and entered an oratory.  I had
not been to Communion for many days, nor had I been alone, which was
all my comfort.  I had no one to speak to, for every one was against
me.  Some, I thought, made a mock of me when I spoke to them of my
prayer, as if I were a person under delusions of the imagination;
others warned my confessor to be on his guard against me; and some
said it was clear the whole was an operation of Satan.  My confessor,
though he agreed with them for the sake of trying me, as I understood
afterwards, always comforted me: and he alone did so.  He told me
that, if I did not offend God, my prayer, even if it was the work of
Satan, could do me no harm; that I should be delivered from it.  He
bade me pray much to God: he himself, and all his penitents, and many
others did so earnestly; I, too, with all my might, and as many as I
knew to be servants of God, prayed that His Majesty would be pleased
to lead me by another way.  This lasted, I think, about two years; and
this was the subject of my continual prayer to our Lord.</p>
<p><a name="l25.21">21</a>. But there was no comfort for me when I
thought of the possibility that Satan could speak to me so often.  Now
that I was never alone for prayer, our Lord made me recollected even
during conversation: He spoke what He pleased,--I could not avoid it;
and, though it distressed me, I was forced to listen.  I was by
myself, having no one in whom I could find any comfort; unable to pray
or read, like a person stunned by heavy trials, and by the dread that
the evil one had deluded me; utterly disquieted and wearied, not
knowing what would become of me.  I have been occasionally--yea, very
often--in distress, but never before in distress so great.  I was in
this state for four or five hours; there was no comfort for me, either
from heaven or on earth--only our Lord left me to suffer, afraid of a
thousand dangers.</p>
<p><a name="l25.22">22</a>. O my Lord, how true a friend art Thou! how
powerful!  Thou showest Thy power when Thou wilt; and Thou dost will
it always, if only we will it also.  Let the whole creation praise
Thee, O Thou Lord of the world!  Oh, that a voice might go forth over
all the earth, proclaiming Thy faithfulness to those who love Thee!
All things fail; but Thou, Lord of all, never failest!  They who love
Thee, oh, how little they have to suffer! oh, how gently, how
tenderly, how sweetly Thou, O my Lord, dealest with them!  Oh, that no
one had ever been occupied with any other love than Thine!  It seems
as if Thou didst subject those who love Thee to a severe trial: but it
is in order that they may learn, in the depths of that trial, the
depths of Thy love.  O my God, oh, that I had understanding and
learning, and a new language, in order to magnify Thy works, according
to the knowledge of them which my soul possesses!  Everything fails
me, O my Lord; but if Thou wilt not abandon me, I will never fail
Thee.  Let all the learned rise up against me,--let the whole creation
persecute me,--let the evil spirits torment me,--but do Thou, O Lord,
fail me not; for I know by experience now the blessedness of that
deliverance which Thou dost effect for those who trust only in Thee.
In this distress,--for then I had never had a single vision,--these
Thy words alone were enough to remove it, and give me perfect peace:
&#34;Be not afraid, my daughter: it is I; and I will not abandon thee.
Fear not.&#34; [<a href="#l25note14">14</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l25.23">23</a>. It seems to me that, in the state I was in
then, many hours would have been necessary to calm me, and that no one
could have done it.  Yet I found myself, through these words alone,
tranquil and strong, courageous and confident, at rest and
enlightened; in a moment, my soul seemed changed, and I felt I could
maintain against all the world that my prayer was the work of God.
Oh, how good is God! how good is our Lord, and how powerful!  He gives
not counsel only, but relief as well.  His words are deeds.  O my God!
as He strengthens our faith, love grows.  So it is, in truth; for I
used frequently to recollect how our Lord, when the tempest arose,
commanded the winds to be still over the
sea. [<a href="#l25note15">15</a>]  So I said to myself: Who is He,
that all my faculties should thus obey Him?  Who is He, that gives
light in such darkness in a moment; who softens a heart that seemed to
be made of stone; who gives the waters of sweet tears, where for a
long time great dryness seems to have prevailed; who inspires these
desires; who bestows this courage?  What have I been thinking of? what
am I afraid of? what is it?  I desire to serve this my Lord; I aim at
nothing else but His pleasure; I seek no joy, no rest, no other good
than that of doing His will.  I was so confident that I had no other
desire, that I could safely assert it.</p>
<p><a name="l25.24">24</a>. Seeing, then, that our Lord is so
powerful,--as I see and know He is,--and that the evil spirits are His
slaves, of which there can be no doubt, because it is of faith,--and I
a servant of this our Lord and King,--what harm can Satan do unto me?
Why have I not strength enough to fight against all hell?  I took up
the cross in my hand,--I was changed in a moment into another person,
and it seemed as if God had really given me courage enough not to be
afraid of encountering all the evil spirits.  It seemed to me that I
could, with the cross, easily defeat them altogether.  So I cried out,
Come on, all of you; I am the servant of our Lord: I should like to
see what you can do against me.</p>
<p><a name="l25.25">25</a>. And certainly they seemed to be afraid of
me, for I was left in peace: I feared them so little, that the
terrors, which until now oppressed me, quitted me altogether; and
though I saw them occasionally,--I shall speak of this by and
by, [<a href="#l25note16">16</a>]--I was never again afraid of them--on
the contrary, they seemed to be afraid of
me. [<a href="#l25note17">17</a>] I found myself endowed with a certain
authority over them, given me by the Lord of all, so that I cared no
more for them than for flies. They seem to be such cowards; for their
strength fails them at the sight of any one who despises them.  These
enemies have not the courage to assail any but those whom they see
ready to give in to them, or when God permits them to do so, for the
greater good of His servants, whom they may try and torment.</p>
<p><a name="l25.26">26</a>. May it please His Majesty that we fear Him
whom we ought to fear, [<a href="#l25note18">18</a>] and understand
that one venial sin can do us more harm than all hell together; for
that is the truth.  The evil spirits keep us in terror, because we
expose ourselves to the assaults of terror by our attachments to
honours, possessions, and pleasures.  For then the evil spirits,
uniting themselves with us,--we become our own enemies when we love
and seek what we ought to hate,--do us great harm.  We ourselves put
weapons into their hands, that they may assail us; those very weapons
with which we should defend ourselves.  It is a great pity.  But if,
for the love of God, we hated all this, and embraced the cross, and
set about His service in earnest, Satan would fly away before such
realities, as from the plague.  He is the friend of lies, and a lie
himself. [<a href="#l25note19">19</a>]  He will have nothing to do
with those who walk in the truth.  When he sees the understanding of
any one obscured, he simply helps to pluck out his eyes; if he sees
any one already blind, seeking peace in vanities,--for all the things
of this world are so utterly vanity, that they seem to be but the
playthings of a child,--he sees at once that such a one is a child; he
treats him as a child, and ventures to wrestle with him--not once,
but often.</p>
<p><a name="l25.27">27</a>. May it please our Lord that I be not one
of these; and may His Majesty give me grace to take that for peace
which is really peace, that for honour which is really honour, and
that for delight which is really a delight.  Let me never mistake one
thing for another--and then I snap my fingers at all the devils, for
they shall be afraid of me.  I do not understand those terrors which
make us cry out, Satan, Satan! when we may say, God, God! and make
Satan tremble.  Do we not know that he cannot stir without the
permission of God?  What does it mean?  I am really much more afraid
of those people who have so great a fear of the devil, than I am of
the devil himself.  Satan can do me no harm whatever, but they can
trouble me very much, particularly if they be confessors.  I have
spent some years of such great anxiety, that even now I am amazed that
I was able to bear it.  Blessed be our Lord, who has so effectually
helped me!</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l25note1">1</a>. <abbr
title="Philippus">Philip.</abbr> a SS. Trinitate, <cite>Theolog.
Mystic.</cite> par. 2, tr. iii. disc. iv. art. v.: <span
lang="la">&#34;Tres sunt modi divinæ locutionis; completur enim divina
locutio vel verbis successivis, vel verbis formalibus, vel verbis
substantialibus.  Completur verbis successivis cum anima in semetipsa
multum collecta quosdam discursus internos de Deo vel de aliis divina
format directione; hujusmodi quippe discursus, quamvis ab ipsa sibi
formati, a Deo tamen dirigente procedunt.  Completur verbis formalibus
cum anima vel in se collecta, vel aliis occupata, percipit quædam
verba formaliter ac distincte divinitus expressa, ad quorum
formationem anima passive penitus se habet.  Completur verbis
substantialibus cum anima vel in se collecta, vel etiam distracta,
percipit quædam verba viva et efficacia, divinitus ad se directa, quæ
virtutem aut substantialem effectum per ipsa significatum fortiter ac
infallibiliter causant.&#34;</span>  See also <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> John of the Cross, <cite>Ascent of Mount
Carmel</cite>, b. ii. ch. xxviii. and the following,
p. 188.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note2">2</a>. From 1555 to 1557, when the Saint
was advised by <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis de Borja to make
no further resistance (<cite>Bouix</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note3">3</a>. See <a
href="#l27.4">ch. xxvii. § 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note4">4</a>. <a
href="#l25.4">§ 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note5">5</a>. <a
href="#l25.5">§ 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note6">6</a>. The doctrine here laid down is not
that of the second water,--<a href="#l14.0">chs. xiv.</a> and <a
href="#l15.0">xv.</a>,--but that of the third, <a
href="#l16.0">ch. xvi</a>.  The Saint herself speaks doubtfully;
and as she had but little time for writing, she could not correct nor
read again what she had written (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note7">7</a>. <a
href="#l25.6">§ 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note8">8</a>. <a
href="#l25.2">§ 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note9">9</a>. <a href="#l7.12">Ch.
vii. § 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note10">10</a>. <a href="#l28.6">Ch.
xxviii. § 6</a>, <a href="#l30.10">ch. xxx.
§ 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note11">11</a>. <a href="#l7.11">Ch.
vii. § 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note12">12</a>. <a href="#l4.6">Ch.
iv. § 6</a>, <a href="#l5.14">ch. v. § 14</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note13">13</a>. It was the church of the
Jesuits (<cite>Bouix</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note14">14</a>. See <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>,
vi. 3, § 5.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note15">15</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. viii. 26; <span lang="la">&#34;Imperavit ventis et mari, et facta
est tranquillitas magna.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note16">16</a>. <a href="#l31.2">Ch.
xxxi. § 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note17">17</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John of the Cross, <cite>Spiritual Canticle</cite>, <abbr
title="stanza">st.</abbr> 24, p. 128, Eng. trans.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note18">18</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. x. 26, 28; <span lang="la">&#34;Ne ergo timueritis eos, . . .
sed potius timete Eum.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l25note19">19</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John viii. 44: <span lang="la">&#34;Mendax est, et
pater ejus.&#34;</span></small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l26.0">Chapter XXVI.</a></h3>
<p><big>How the Fears of the Saint Vanished.  How She Was Assured That
Her Prayer Was the Work of the Holy Spirit.</big></p>
<p><a name="l26.1">1</a>. I look upon the courage which our Lord has
implanted in me against evil spirits as one of the greatest mercies
which He has bestowed upon me; for a cowardly soul, afraid of anything
but sin against God, is a very unseemly thing, when we have on our
side the King omnipotent, our Lord most high, who can do all things,
and subjects all things to Himself.  There is nothing to be afraid of
if we walk, as I said before, [<a href="#l26note1">1</a>] in the truth,
in the sight of His Majesty, with a pure conscience.  And for this
end, as I said in the same place, I would have myself all fears, that
I may not for one instant offend Him who in that instant is able to
destroy us.  If His Majesty is pleased with us, whoever resists us--be
he who he may--will be utterly disappointed.</p>
<p><a name="l26.2">2</a>. It may be so, you will say; but, then, where
is that soul so just as to please Him in everything?--and that is the
reason why we are afraid.  Certainly it is not my soul, which is most
wretched, unprofitable, and full of misery.  God is not like man in
His ways; He knows our weakness.  But the soul perceives, by the help
of certain great signs, whether it loves God of a truth; for the love
of those souls who have come to this state is not hidden as it was at
first, but is full of high impulses, and of longings for the vision of
God, as I shall show hereafter--or rather, as I have shown
already. [<a href="#l26note2">2</a>]  Everything wearies, everything
distresses, everything torments the soul, unless it be suffered with
God, or for God.  There is no rest which is not a weariness, because
the soul knows itself to be away from its true rest; and so love is
made most manifest, and, as I have just said, impossible to hide.</p>
<p><a name="l26.3">3</a>. It happened to me, on another occasion to be
grievously tried, and much spoken against on account of a certain
affair,--of which I will speak
hereafter, [<a href="#l26note3">3</a>]--by almost everybody in the
place where I am living, and by the members of my Order.  When I was
in this distress, and afflicted by many occasions of disquiet wherein
I was placed, our Lord spoke to me, saying: &#34;What art thou afraid
of? knowest thou not that I am almighty?  I will do what I have
promised thee.&#34;  And so, afterwards, was it done.  I found myself
at once so strong, that I could have undertaken anything, so it
seemed, immediately, even if I had to endure greater trials for His
service, and had to enter on a new state of suffering.  These
locutions are so frequent, that I cannot count them; many of them are
reproaches, and He sends them when I fall into imperfections.  They
are enough to destroy a soul.  They correct me, however; for His
Majesty--as I said before [<a href="#l26note4">4</a>]--gives both
counsel and relief.  There are others which bring my former sins into
remembrance,--particularly when He is about to bestow upon me some
special grace,--in such a way that the soul beholds itself as being
really judged; for those reproaches of God put the truth before it so
distinctly, that it knows not what to do with itself.  Some are
warnings against certain dangers to myself or others; many of them are
prophecies of future things, three or four years beforehand; and all
of them have been fulfilled: some of them I could mention.  Here,
then, are so many reasons for believing that they come from God, as
make it impossible, I believe, for anybody to mistake them.</p>
<p><a name="l26.4">4</a>. The safest course in these things is to
declare, without fail, the whole state of the soul, together with the
graces our Lord gives me, to a confessor who is learned, and obey him.
I do so; and if I did not, I should have no peace. Nor is it right
that we women, who are unlearned, should have any: there can be no
danger in this, but rather great profit.  This is what our Lord has
often commanded me to do, and it is what I have often done.  I had a
confessor [<a href="#l26note5">5</a>] who mortified me greatly, and
now and then distressed me: he tried me heavily, for he disquieted me
exceedingly; and yet he was the one who, I believe, did me the most
good.  Though I had a great affection for him, I was occasionally
tempted to leave him; I thought that the pain he inflicted on me
disturbed my prayer.  Whenever I was resolved on leaving him, I used
to feel instantly that I ought not to do so; and one reproach of our
Lord would press more heavily upon me than all that my confessor did.
Now and then, I was worn out--torture on the one hand, reproaches on
the other.  I required it all, for my will was but little subdued.
Our Lord said to me once, that there was no obedience where there was
no resolution to suffer; that I was to think of His sufferings, and
then everything would be easy.</p>
<p><a name="l26.5">5</a>. One of my confessors, to whom I went in the
beginning, advised me once, now that my spiritual state was known to
be the work of God, to keep silence, and not speak of these things to
any one, on the ground that it was safer to keep these graces secret.
To me, the advice seemed good, because I felt it so much whenever I
had to speak of them to my confessor; [<a href="#l26note6">6</a>] I was
also so ashamed of myself, that I felt it more keenly at times to
speak of them than I should have done in confessing grave sins,
particularly when the graces I had to reveal were great.  I thought
they did not believe me, and that they were laughing at me.  I felt it
so much,--for I look on this as an irreverent treatment of the marvels
of God,--that I was glad to be silent.  I learned then that I had been
ill-advised by that confessor, because I ought never to hide anything
from my confessor; for I should find great security if I told
everything; and if I did otherwise, I might at any time fall
into delusions. [<a href="#l26note7">7</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l26.6">6</a>. Whenever our Lord commanded me to do one
thing in prayer, and if my confessor forbade it, our Lord Himself told
me to obey my confessor.  His Majesty afterwards would change the mind
of that confessor, so that he would have me do what he had forbidden
before.  When we were deprived of many books written in Spanish, and
forbidden to read them,--I felt it deeply, for some of these books
were a great comfort to me, and I could not read them in Latin,--our
Lord said to me, &#34;Be not troubled; I will give thee a living
book.&#34;  I could not understand why this was said to me, for at
that time I had never had a vision. [<a href="#l26note8">8</a>]  But, a
very few days afterwards, I understood it well enough; for I had so
much to think of, and such reasons for self-recollection in what I saw
before me and our Lord dealt so lovingly with me, in teaching me in so
many ways, that I had little or no need whatever of books.  His
Majesty has been to me a veritable Book, in which I saw all truth.
Blessed be such a Book, which leaves behind an impression of what is
read therein, and in such a way that it cannotbe forgotten!</p>
<p><a name="l26.7">7</a>. Who can look upon our Lord, covered with
wounds, and bowed down under persecutions, without accepting, loving,
and longing for them?  Who can behold but a part of that glory which
He will give to those who serve Him without confessing that all he may
do, and all he may suffer, are altogether as nothing, when we may hope
for such a reward?  Who can look at the torments of lost souls without
acknowledging the torments of this life to be joyous delights in
comparison, and confessing how much they owe to our Lord in having
saved them so often from the place of
torments? [<a href="#l26note9">9</a>]  But as, by the help of God, I
shall speak more at large of certain things, I wish now to go on with
the story of my life.  Our Lord grant that I have been clear enough in
what I have hitherto said!  I feel assured that he will understand me
who has had experience herein, and that he will see I have partially
succeeded; but as to him who has had no such experience, I should not
be surprised if he regarded it all as folly.  It is enough for him
that it is I who say it, in order to be free from blame; neither will
I blame any one who shall so speak of it.  Our Lord grant that I may
never fail to do His will! Amen.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l26note1">1</a>. <a href="#l25.26">Ch.
xxv. § 26</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l26note2">2</a>. <a href="#l15.6">Ch.
xv. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l26note3">3</a>. <a href="#l33.0">Ch.
xxxiii.</a>; the foundation of the house of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l26note4">4</a>. <a href="#l25.23">Ch.
xxv. § 23</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l26note5">5</a>. The Bollandists, n. 185, attribute
some of the severity with which her confessor treated the Saint to the
spirit of desolation with which he was then tried himself; and, in
proof of it, refer to the account which F. Baltasar Alvarez gave of
his own prayer to the General of the Society.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l26note6">6</a>. See <a
href="#r7.7"><cite>Relation</cite>, vii.
§ 7</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l26note7">7</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John of the Cross, <cite>Mount Carmel</cite>, bk. ii. ch. 22,
§ 14.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l26note8">8</a>. The visions of the Saint began in
1558 (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>) or, according to Father Bouix,
in 1559.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l26note9">9</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Luke xvi. 28: <span lang="la">&#34;Ne et ipsi veniant in hunc
locum tormentorum.&#34;</span></small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l27.0">Chapter XXVII.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Saint Prays to Be Directed by a Different Way.
Intellectual Visions.</big></p>
<p><a name="l27.1">1</a>. I now resume the story of my life.  I was in
great pain and distress; and many prayers, as I
said, [<a href="#l27note1">1</a>] were made on my behalf, that our Lord
would lead me by another and a safer way; for this, they told me, was
so suspicious.  The truth is, that though I was praying to God for
this, and wished I had a desire for another way, yet, when I saw the
progress I was making, I was unable really to desire a change,--though
I always prayed for it,--excepting on those occasions when I was
extremely cast down by what people said to me, and by the fears with
which they filled me.</p>
<p><a name="l27.2">2</a>. I felt that I was wholly changed; I could do
nothing but put myself in the hands of God: He knew what was expedient
for me; let Him do with me according to His will in all things.  I saw
that by this way I was directed heavenwards, and that formerly I was
going down to hell.  I could not force myself to desire a change, nor
believe that I was under the influence of Satan.  Though I was doing
all I could to believe the one and to desire the other, it was not in
my power to do so.  I offered up all my actions, if there should be
any good in them, for this end; I had recourse to the Saints for whom
I had a devotion, that they might deliver me from the evil one; I made
novenas; I commended myself to <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Hilarion, to the Angel <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Michael, to whom I had recently become
devout, for this purpose; and many other Saints I importuned, that our
Lord might show me the way,--I mean, that they might obtain this for
me from His Majesty.</p>
<p><a name="l27.3">3</a>. At the end of two years spent in prayer by
myself and others for this end, namely, that our Lord would either
lead me by another way, or show the truth of this,--for now the
locutions of our Lord were extremely frequent,--this happened to me.
I was in prayer one day,--it was the feast of the glorious <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter, [<a href="#l27note2">2</a>]--when I saw
Christ close by me, or, to speak more correctly, felt Him; for I saw
nothing with the eyes of the body, nothing with the eyes of the soul.
He seemed to me to be close beside me; and I saw, too, as I believe,
that it was He who was speaking to me.  As I was utterly ignorant that
such a vision was possible, [<a href="#l27note3">3</a>] I was extremely
afraid at first, and did nothing but weep; however, when He spoke to
me but one word to reassure me, I recovered myself, and was, as usual,
calm and comforted, without any fear whatever.  Jesus Christ seemed to
be by my side continually, and, as the vision was not imaginary, I saw
no form; but I had a most distinct feeling that He was always on my
right hand, a witness of all I did; and never at any time, if I was
but slightly recollected, or not too much distracted, could I be
ignorant of His near presence. [<a href="#l27note4">4</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l27.4">4</a>. I went at once to my
confessor, [<a href="#l27note5">5</a>] in great distress, to tell him
of it.  He asked in what form I saw our Lord.  I told him I saw no
form.  He then said: &#34;How did you know that it was Christ?&#34;  I
replied, that I did not know how I knew it; but I could not help
knowing that He was close beside me,--that I saw Him distinctly, and
felt His presence,--that the recollectedness of my soul was deeper in
the prayer of quiet, and more continuous,--that the effects thereof
were very different from what I had hitherto experienced,--and that it
was most certain. I could only make comparisons in order to explain
myself; and certainly there are no comparisons, in my opinion, by
which visions of this kind can be described.  Afterwards I learnt from
Friar Peter of Alcantara, a holy man of great spirituality,--of whom I
shall speak by and by, [<a href="#l27note6">6</a>]--and from others of
great learning, that this vision was of the highest order, and one
with which Satan can least interfere; and therefore there are no words
whereby to explain,--at least, none for us women, who know so little:
learned men can explain it better.</p>
<p><a name="l27.5">5</a>. For if I say that I see Him neither with the
eyes of the body, nor with those of the soul,--because it was not an
imaginary vision,--how is it that I can understand and maintain that
He stands beside me, and be more certain of it than if I saw Him?  If
it be supposed that it is as if a person were blind, or in the dark,
and therefore unable to see another who is close to him, the
comparison is not exact.  There is a certain likelihood about it,
however, but not much, because the other senses tell him who is blind
of that presence: he hears the other speak or move, or he touches him;
but in these visions there is nothing like this.  The darkness is not
felt; only He renders Himself present to the soul by a certain
knowledge of Himself which is more clear than the
sun. [<a href="#l27note7">7</a>]  I do not mean that we now see either
a sun or any brightness, only that there is a light not seen, which
illumines the understanding so that the soul may have the fruition of
so great a good.  This vision brings with it great blessings.</p>
<p><a name="l27.6">6</a>. It is not like that presence of God which is
frequently felt, particularly by those who have attained to the prayer
of union and of quiet, when we seem, at the very commencement of our
prayer, to find Him with whom we would converse, and when we seem to
feel that He hears us by the effects and the spiritual impressions of
great love and faith of which we are then conscious, as well as by the
good resolutions, accompanied by sweetness, which we then make.  This
is a great grace from God; and let him to whom He has given it esteem
it much, because it is a very high degree of prayer; but it is not
vision.  God is understood to be present there by the effects He works
in the soul: that is the way His Majesty makes His presence felt; but
here, in this vision, it is seen clearly that Jesus Christ is present,
the Son of the Virgin.  In the prayer of union and of quiet, certain
inflowings of the Godhead are present; but in the vision, the Sacred
Humanity also, together with them, is pleased to be our visible
companion, and to do us good.</p>
<p><a name="l27.7">7</a>. My confessor next asked me, who told me it
was Jesus Christ. [<a href="#l27note8">8</a>]  I replied that He often
told me so Himself; but, even before He told me so, there was an
impression on my understanding that it was He; and before this He used
to tell me so, and I saw Him not.  If a person whom I had never seen,
but of whom I had heard, came to speak to me, and I were blind or
in the dark, and told me who he was, I should believe him; but I could
not so confidently affirm that he was that person, as I might do if I
had seen him.  But in this vision I could do so, because so clear a
knowledge is impressed on the soul that all doubt seems impossible,
though He is not seen.  Our Lord wills that this knowledge be so
graven on the understanding, that we can no more question His presence
than we can question that which we see with our eyes: not so much
even; for very often there arises a suspicion that we have imagined
things we think we see; but here, though there may be a suspicion in
the first instant, there remains a certainty so great, that the doubt
has no force whatever.  So also is it when God teaches the soul in
another way, and speaks to it without speaking, in the way I
have described.</p>
<p><a name="l27.8">8</a>. There is so much of heaven in this language,
that it cannot well be understood on earth, though we may desire ever
so much to explain it, if our Lord will not teach it experimentally.
Our Lord impresses in the innermost soul that which He wills that soul
to understand; and He manifests it there without images or formal
words, after the manner of the vision I am speaking of.  Consider well
this way in which God works, in order that the soul may understand
what He means--His great truths and mysteries; for very often what I
understand, when our Lord explains to me the vision, which it is His
Majesty's pleasure to set before me, is after this manner; and it
seems to me that this is a state with which the devil can least
interfere, for these reasons; but if these reasons are not good, I
must be under a delusion.  The vision and the language are matters of
such pure spirituality, that there is no toil of the faculties, or of
the senses, out of which--so seems to me--the devil can derive
any advantage.</p>
<p><a name="l27.9">9</a>. It is only at intervals, and for an instant, that this
occurs; for generally--so I think--the senses are not taken away, and
the faculties are not suspended: they preserve their ordinary state.
It is not always so in contemplation; on the contrary, it is very
rarely so; but when it is so, I say that we do nothing whatever
ourselves: no work of ours is then possible; all that is done is
apparently the work of our Lord.  It is as if food had been received
into the stomach which had not first been eaten, and without our
knowing how it entered; but we do know well that it is there, though
we know not its nature, nor who it was that placed it there.  In this
vision, I know who placed it; but I do not know how He did it.  I
neither saw it, nor felt it; I never had any inclination to desire
it, and I never knew before that such a thing was possible.</p>
<p><a name="l27.10">10</a>. In the locutions of which I spoke
before, [<a href="#l27note9">9</a>] God makes the understanding
attentive, though it may be painful to understand what is said; then
the soul seems to have other ears wherewith it hears; and He forces it
to listen, and will not let it be distracted.  The soul is like a
person whose hearing was good, and who is not suffered to stop his
ears, while people standing close beside him speak to him with a loud
voice.  He may be unwilling to hear, yet hear he must.  Such a person
contributes something of his own; for he attends to what is said to
him; but here there is nothing of the kind: even that little, which is
nothing more than the bare act of listening, which is granted to it in
the other case, is now out of its power.  It finds its food prepared
and eaten; it has nothing more to do but to enjoy it.  It is as if one
without ever learning, without taking the pains even to learn to read,
and without studying any subject whatever, should find himself in
possession of all knowledge, not knowing how or whence it came to him,
seeing that he had never taken the trouble even to learn the alphabet.
This last comparison seems to me to throw some light on this heavenly
gift; for the soul finds itself learned in a moment, and
the mystery of the most Holy Trinity so clearly revealed to it,
together with other most deep doctrines, that there is no theologian
in the world with whom it would hesitate to dispute for the truth of
these matters.</p>
<p><a name="l27.11">11</a>. It is impossible to describe the surprise
of the soul when it finds that one of these graces is enough to change
it utterly, and make it love nothing but Him who, without waiting for
anything itself might do, renders it fit for blessings so high,
communicates to it His secrets, and treats it with so much affection
and love.  Some of the graces He bestows are liable to suspicion
because they are so marvellous, and given to one who has deserved them
so little--incredible, too, without a most lively faith.  I intend,
therefore, to mention very few of those graces which our Lord has
wrought in me, if I should not be ordered otherwise; but there are
certain visions of which I shall speak, an account of which may be of
some service.  In doing so, I shall either dispel his fears to whom
our Lord sends them, and who, as I used to do, thinks them impossible,
or I shall explain the way or the road by which our Lord has led me;
and that is what I have been commanded to describe.</p>
<p><a name="l27.12">12</a>. Now, going back to speak of this way of
understanding, what it is seems to me to be this: it is our Lord's
will in every way that the soul should have some knowledge of what
passes in heaven; and I think that, as the blessed there without
speech understand one another,--I never knew this for certain till our
Lord of His goodness made me see it; He showed it to me in a
trance,--so is it here: God and the soul understand one another,
merely because His Majesty so wills it, without the help of other
means, to express the love there is between them both.  In the same
way on earth, two persons of sound sense, if they love each other
much, can even, without any signs, understand one another only by
their looks.  It must be so here, though we do not see how, as these
two lovers earnestly regard each the other: the bridegroom says so to
the bride in the Canticle, so I believe, and I have heard that it is
spoken of there. [<a href="#l27note10">10</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l27.13">13</a>. Oh, marvellous goodness of God, in that
Thou permittest eyes which have looked upon so much evil as those of
my soul to look upon Thee!  May they never accustom themselves, after
looking on Thee, to look upon vile things again! and may they have
pleasure in nothing but in Thee, O Lord!  Oh, ingratitude of men, how
far will it go!  I know by experience that what I am saying is true,
and that all we can say is exceedingly little, when we consider what
Thou doest to the soul which Thou hast led to such a state as this.  O
souls, you who have begun to pray, and you who possess the true faith,
what can you be in search of even in this life, let alone that which
is for ever, that is comparable to the least of these graces?
Consider, and it is true, that God gives Himself to those who give up
everything for Him.  God is not an accepter of
persons. [<a href="#l27note11">11</a>]  He loves all; there is no
excuse for any one, however wicked he may be, seeing that He hath thus
dealt with me, raising me to the state I am in.  Consider, that what I
am saying is not even an iota of what may be said; I say only that
which is necessary to show the kind of the vision and of the grace
which God bestows on the soul; for that cannot be told which it feels
when our Lord admits it to the understanding of His secrets and of His
mighty works.  The joy of this is so far above all conceivable joys,
that it may well make us loathe all the joys of earth; for they are
all but dross; and it is an odious thing to make them enter into the
comparison, even if we might have them for ever.  Those which our Lord
gives, what are they?  One drop only of the waters of the overflowing
river which He is reserving for us.</p>
<p><a name="l27.14">14</a>. It is a shame!  And, in truth, I am
ashamed of myself; if shame could have a place in heaven, I should
certainly be the most ashamed there.  Why do we seek blessings and
joys so great, bliss without end, and all at the cost of our good
Jesus? Shall we not at least weep with the daughters of
Jerusalem, [<a href="#l27note12">12</a>] if we do not help to carry
his cross with the Cyrenean? [<a href="#l27note13">13</a>]  Is it by
pleasure and idle amusements that we can attain to the fruition of
what He purchased with so much blood?  It is impossible.  Can we think
that we can, by preserving our honour, which is vanity, recompense Him
for the sufferings He endured, that we might reign with Him for ever?
This is not the way; we are going by the wrong road utterly, and we
shall never arrive there.  You, my father, must lift up your voice,
and utter these truths aloud, seeing that God has taken from me the
power of doing it.  I should like to utter them to myself for ever.  I
listened to them myself, and came to the knowledge of God so late, as
will appear by what I have written, that I am ashamed of myself when I
speak of this; and so I should like to be silent.</p>
<p><a name="l27.15">15</a>. Of one thing, however, I will speak, and I
think of it now and then,--may it be the good pleasure of our Lord to
bring me on, so that I may have the fruition of it!--what will be the
accidental glory and the joy of the blessed who have entered on it,
when they see that, though they were late, yet they left nothing
undone which it was possible for them to do for God, who kept nothing
back they could give Him, and who gave what they gave in every way
they could, according to their strength and their measure,--they who
had more gave more.  How rich will he be who gave up all his riches
for Christ!  How honourable will he be who, for His sake, sought no
honours whatever, but rather took pleasure in seeing himself abased!
How wise he will be who rejoiced when men accounted him as mad!--they
did so of Wisdom Itself! [<a href="#l27note14">14</a>]  How few there
are of this kind now, because of our sins!  Now, indeed, they are all
gone whom people regarded as mad, [<a href="#l27note15">15</a>]
because they saw them perform heroic acts, as true lovers
of Christ.</p>
<p><a name="l27.16">16</a>. O world, world! how thou art gaining
credit because they are few who know thee!  But do we suppose that God
is better pleased when men account us wise and discreet persons?  We
think forthwith that there is but little edification given when people
do not go about, every one in his degree, with great gravity, in a
dignified way.  Even in the friar, the ecclesiastic, and the nun, if
they wear old and patched garments, we think it a novelty, and a
scandal to the weak; and even if they are very recollected and given
to prayer.  Such is the state of the world, and so forgotten are
matters of perfection, and those grand impetuosities of the Saints.
More mischief, I think, is done in this way, than by any scandal that
might arise if the religious showed in their actions, as they proclaim
it in words, that the world is to be held in contempt.  Out of
scandals such as this, our Lord obtains great fruit.  If some people
took scandal, others are filled with remorse: anyhow, we should have
before us some likeness of that which our Lord and His Apostles
endured; for we have need of it now more than ever.</p>
<p><a name="l27.17">17</a>. And what an excellent likeness in the
person of that blessed friar, Peter of Alcantara, God has just taken
from us! [<a href="#l27note16">16</a>]  The world cannot bear such
perfection now; it is said that men's health is grown feebler, and
that we are not now in those former times.  But this holy man lived in
our day; he had a spirit strong as those of another age, and so he
trampled on the world.  If men do not go about barefooted,
nor undergo sharp penances, as he did, there are many ways, as I have
said before, [<a href="#l27note17">17</a>] of trampling on the world;
and our Lord teaches them when He finds the necessary courage. How
great was the courage with which His Majesty filled the Saint I am
speaking of!  He did penance--oh, how sharp it was!--for
seven-and-forty years, as all men know.  I should like to speak of it,
for I know it to be all true.</p>
<p><a name="l27.18">18</a>. He spoke of it to me and to another
person, from whom he kept few or no secrets.  As for me, it was the
affection he bore me that led him to speak; for it was our Lord's will
that he should undertake my defence, and encourage me, at a time when
I was in great straits, as I said before, and shall speak of
again. [<a href="#l27note18">18</a>]  He told me, I think, that for
forty years he slept but an hour and a half out of the twenty-four,
and that the most laborious penance he underwent, when he began, was
this of overcoming sleep.  For that purpose, he was always either
kneeling or standing.  When he slept, he sat down, his head resting
against a piece of wood driven into the wall.  Lie down he could not,
if he wished it; for his cell, as every one knows, was only four feet
and a half in length.  In all these years, he never covered his head
with his hood, even when the sun was hottest, or the rain heaviest.
He never covered his feet: the only garment he wore was made of
sackcloth, and that was as tight as it could be, with nothing between
it and his flesh; over this, he wore a cloak of the same stuff.  He
told me that, in the severe cold, he used to take off his cloak, and
open the door and the window of his cell, in order that when he put
his cloak on again, after shutting the door and the window, he might
give some satisfaction to his body in the pleasure it might have in
the increased warmth.  His ordinary practice was to eat but once in
three days.  He said to me, &#34;Why are you astonished at it? it is
very possible for any one who is used to it.&#34;  One of his
companions told me that he would be occasionally eight days without
eating: that must have been when he was in prayer; for he was subject
to trances, and to the impetuosities of the love of God, of which I
was once a witness myself.</p>
<p><a name="l27.19">19</a>. His poverty was extreme; and his
mortification, from his youth, was such,--so he told me,--that he was
three years in one of the houses of his Order without knowing how to
distinguish one friar from another, otherwise than by the voice; for
he never raised his eyes: and so, when he was obliged to go from one
part of the house to the other, he never knew the way, unless he
followed the friars.  His journeys, also, were made in the same way.
For many years, he never saw a woman's face.  He told me that it was
nothing to him then whether he saw it or not: but he was an aged man
when I made his acquaintance; and his weakness was so great, that he
seemed like nothing else but the roots of trees.  With all his
sanctity, he was very agreeable; though his words were few, unless
when he was asked questions; he was very pleasant to speak to, for he
had a most clear understanding.</p>
<p><a name="l27.20">20</a>. Many other things I should like to say of
him, if I were not afraid, my father, that you will say, Why does she
meddle here? and it is in that fear I have written this.  So I leave
the subject, only saying that his last end was like his
life--preaching to, and exhorting, his brethren.  When he saw that the
end was comes he repeated the Psalm, [<a href="#l27note19">19</a>]
<span lang="la">&#34;Lætatus sum in his quæ dicta sunt
mihi;&#34;</span> and then, kneeling down, he died.</p>
<p><a name="l27.21">21</a>. Since then, it has pleased our Lord that I
should find more help from him than during his life.  He advises me in
many matters.  I have often seen him in great glory.  The first time
he appeared to me, he said: &#34;O blessed penance, which has merited
so great a reward!&#34; with other things.  A year before his death,
he appeared to me being then far away.  I knew he was about to die,
and so I sent him word to that effect, when he was some leagues from
here.  When he died, he appeared to me, and said that he was going to
his rest.  I did not believe it.  I spoke of it to some persons, and
within eight days came the news that he was dead--or, to speak more
correctly, he had begun to live
for evermore. [<a href="#l27note20">20</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l27.22">22</a>. Behold here, then, how that life of sharp
penance is perfected in such great glory: and now he is a greater
comfort to me, I do believe, than he was on earth.  Our Lord said to
me on one occasion, that persons could not ask Him anything in his
name, and He not hear them.  I have recommended many things to him
that he was to ask of our Lord, and I have seen my petitions granted.
God be blessed for ever! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l27.23">23</a>. But how I have been talking in order to
stir you up never to esteem anything in this life!--as if you did not
know this, or as if you were not resolved to leave everything, and had
already done it!  I see so much going wrong in the world, that though
my speaking of it is of no other use than to weary me by writing of
it, it is some relief to me that all I am saying makes against myself.
Our Lord forgive me all that I do amiss herein; and you too, my
father, for wearying you to no purpose.  It seems as if I would make
you do penance for my sins herein.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l27note1">1</a>. <a href="#l25.20">Ch.
xxv. § 20</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note2">2</a>. See <a
href="#l28.5">ch. xxviii. § 5</a>, and <a
href="#l29.1">ch. xxix. § 1</a>.  The vision took place, it
seems, on the 29th June.  See <a href="#l29.6">ch. xxix.
§ 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note3">3</a>. See <a href="#l7.12">ch.
vii. § 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note4">4</a>. See <abbr
title="Antonius">Anton.</abbr> a Spiritu Sancto,
<cite><abbr lang="la" title="Directorium Mysticum">Direct.
Mystic.</abbr></cite> tr. iii. disp. v. § 3.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note5">5</a>. See <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>,
vi. 8, § 3.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note6">6</a>. <a href="#l27.17">§ 17</a>, <i
lang="la">infra</i>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note7">7</a>. See <a
href="#r7.26"><cite>Relation</cite>, vii.
§ 26</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note8">8</a>. <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>, vi.
8, § 3.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note9">9</a>. <a href="#l25.1">Ch.
xxv. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note10">10</a>. Cant. vi. 4: <span
lang="la">&#34;Averte oculos tuos a me, quia ipsi me avolare
fecerunt.&#34;</span>  <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> John of the
Cross, <cite>Mount Carmel</cite>, bk. ii. ch. xxix. n. 6,
Engl. trans.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note11">11</a>. Acts x. 34: <span
lang="la">&#34;Non est personarum
acceptor Deus.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note12">12</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Luke xxiii. 28: <span lang="la">&#34;Filiæ Jerusalem, nolite flere
super Me, sed super vos ipsas flete.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note13">13</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. xxvii. 32: <span lang="la">&#34;Hunc angariaverunt ut tolleret
crucem Ejus.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note14">14</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John x. 20: <span lang="la">&#34;Dæmonium habet et insanit: quid
Eum auditis?&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note15">15</a>. Sap. v. 4: <span
lang="la">&#34;Nos insensati vitam illorum
æstimabamus insaniam.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note16">16</a>. 18th Oct. 1562.  As the Saint
finished the first relation of her life in June, 1562, this is one of
the additions subsequently made.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note17">17</a>. <a href="#l14.7">Ch.
xiv. § 7</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note18">18</a>. <a href="#l26.3">Ch.
xxvi. § 3</a>, <a href="#l32.16">ch. xxxii.
§ 16</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note19">19</a>. Psalm cxxi.  The words in the
MS. are: &#34;Letatun sun yn is que dita sun miqui&#34; (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l27note20">20</a>. See <a
href="#l30.2">ch. xxx. § 2</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l28.0">Chapter XXVIII.</a></h3>
<p><big>Visions of the Sacred Humanity, and of the Glorified Bodies.
Imaginary Visions.  Great Fruits Thereof When They Come
from God.</big></p>
<p><a name="l28.1">1</a>. I now resume our subject.  I spent some
days, not many, with that vision [<a href="#l28note1">1</a>]
continually before me.  It did me so much good, that I never ceased to
pray.  Even when I did cease, I contrived that it should be in such a
way as that I should not displease Him whom I saw so clearly present,
an eye-witness of my acts.  And though I was occasionally afraid,
because so much was said to me about delusions, that fear lasted not
long, because our Lord reassured me.</p>
<p><a name="l28.2">2</a>. It pleased our Lord, one day that I was in
prayer, to show me His Hands, and His Hands only.  The beauty of them
was so great, that no language can describe it.  This put me in great
fear; for everything that is strange, in the beginning of any new
grace from God, makes me very much afraid.  A few days later, I saw
His divine Face, and I was utterly entranced.  I could not understand
why our Lord showed Himself in this way, seeing that, afterwards, He
granted me the grace of seeing His whole Person.  Later on, I
understood that His Majesty was dealing with me according to the
weakness of my nature.  May He be blessed for ever!  A glory so great
was more than one so base and wicked could bear; and our merciful
Lord, knowing this, ordered it in this way.</p>
<p><a name="l28.3">3</a>. You will think, my father, that it required
no great courage to look upon Hands and Face so beautiful.  But so
beautiful are glorified bodies, that the glory which surrounds them
renders those who see that which is so supernatural and beautiful
beside themselves.  It was so with me: I was in such great fear,
trouble, and perplexity at the sight.  Afterwards there ensued a sense
of safety and certainty, together with other results, so that all fear
passed immediately away. [<a href="#l28note2">2</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l28.4">4</a>. On one of the feasts of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul, [<a href="#l28note3">3</a>] when I was
at Mass, there stood before me the most Sacred
Humanity, [<a href="#l28note4">4</a>] as painters represent Him after
the resurrection, in great beauty and majesty, as I particularly
described it to you, my father, when you had insisted on it.  It was
painful enough to have to write about it, for I could not describe it
without doing great violence to myself.  But I described it as well as
I could, and there is no reason why I should now recur to it.  One
thing, however, I have to say: if in heaven itself there were nothing
else to delight our eyes but the great beauty of glorified bodies,
that would be an excessive bliss, particularly the vision of the
Humanity of Jesus Christ our Lord.  If here below, where His Majesty
shows Himself to us according to the measure which our wretchedness
can bear, it is so great, what must it be there, where the fruition of
it is complete!</p>
<p><a name="l28.5">5</a>. This vision, though imaginary, I never saw
with my bodily eyes, nor, indeed, any other, but only with the eyes of
the soul.  Those who understand these things better than I do, say
that the intellectual vision is more perfect than this; and this, the
imaginary vision, much more perfect than those visions which are seen
by the bodily eyes.  The latter kind of visions, they say, is the
lowest; and it is by these that the devil can most delude
us. [<a href="#l28note5">5</a>]  I did not know it then; for I wished,
when this grace had been granted me, that it had been so in such a way
that I could see it with my bodily eyes, in order that my confessor
might not say to me that I indulged in fancies.</p>
<p><a name="l28.6">6</a>. After the vision was over, it happened that
I too imagined--the thought came at once--I had fancied these things;
so I was distressed, because I had spoken of them to my confessor,
thinking that I might have been deceiving him.  There was another
lamentation: I went to my confessor, and told him of my doubts.  He
would ask me whether I told him the truth so far as I knew it; or, if
not, had I intended to deceive him?  I would reply, that I told the
truth; for, to the best of my belief, I did not lie, nor did I mean
anything of the kind; neither would I tell a lie for the whole
world. [<a href="#l28note6">6</a>]  This he knew well enough; and,
accordingly, he contrived to quiet me; and I felt so much the going to
him with these doubts, that I cannot tell how Satan could have put it
into my head that I invented those things for the purpose of
tormenting myself.</p>
<p><a name="l28.7">7</a>. But our Lord made such haste to bestow this
grace upon me, and to declare the reality of it, that all doubts of
the vision being a fancy on my part were quickly taken away, and ever
since I see most clearly how silly I was.  For if I were to spend many
years in devising how to picture to myself anything so beautiful, I
should never be able, nor even know how, to do it for it is beyond the
reach of any possible imagination here below: the whiteness and
brilliancy alone are inconceivable.  It is not a brilliancy
which dazzles, but a delicate whiteness and a brilliancy infused,
furnishing the most excessive delight to the eyes, never wearied
thereby, nor by the visible brightness which enables us to see a
beauty so divine.  It is a light so different from any light here
below, that the very brightness of the sun we see, in comparison with
the brightness and light before our eyes, seems to be something so
obscure, that no one would ever wish to open his eyes again.</p>
<p><a name="l28.8">8</a>. It is like most pellucid water running in a
bed of crystal, reflecting the rays of the sun, compared with most
muddy water on a cloudy day, flowing on the surface of the earth.  Not
that there is anything like the sun present here, nor is the light
like that of the sun: this light seems to be natural; and, in
comparison with it, every other light is something artificial.  It is
a light which knows no night; but rather, as it is always light,
nothing ever disturbs it.  In short, it is such that no man, however
gifted he may be, can ever, in the whole course of his life, arrive at
any imagination of what it is.  God puts it before us so
instantaneously, that we could not open our eyes in time to see it, if
it were necessary for us to open them at all.  But whether our eyes be
open or shut, it makes no difference whatever; for when our Lord
wills, we must see it, whether we will or not.  No distraction can
shut it out, no power can resist it, nor can we attain to it by any
diligence or efforts of our own.  I know this by experience well, as I
shall show you.</p>
<p><a name="l28.9">9</a>. That which I wish now to speak of is the
manner in which our Lord manifests Himself in these visions.  I do not
mean that I am going to explain how it is that a light so strong can
enter the interior sense, or so distinct an image the understanding,
so as to seem to be really there; for this must be work for learned
men.  Our Lord has not been pleased to let me understand how it is.  I
am so ignorant myself, and so dull of understanding, that, although
people have very much wished to explain it to me, I have never been
able to understand how it can be.</p>
<p><a name="l28.10">10</a>. This is the truth: though you, my father,
may think that I have a quick understanding, it is not so; for I have
found out, in many ways, that my understanding can take in only, as
they say, what is given to it to eat.  Sometimes my confessor used to
be amazed at my ignorance: and he never explained to me--nor, indeed,
did I desire to understand--how God did this, nor how it could be.
Nor did I ever ask; though, as I have said, [<a href="#l28note7">7</a>]
I had converse for many years with men of great learning.  But I did
ask them if this or that were a sin or not: as for everything else,
the thought that God did it all was enough for me.  I saw there was no
reason to be afraid, but great reason to praise Him.  On the other
hand, difficulties increase my devotion; and the greater the
difficulty the greater the increase.</p>
<p><a name="l28.11">11</a>. I will therefore relate what my experience
has shown me; but how our Lord brought it about, you, my father, will
explain better than I can, and make clear all that is obscure, and
beyond my skill to explain.  Now and then it seemed to me that what I
saw was an image; but most frequently it was not so.  I thought it was
Christ Himself, judging by the brightness in which He was pleased to
show Himself.  Sometimes the vision was so indistinct, that I thought
it was an image; but still not like a picture, however well
painted--and I have seen many good pictures.  It would be absurd to
suppose that the one bears any resemblance whatever to the other, for
they differ as a living person differs from his portrait, which,
however well drawn, cannot be lifelike, for it is plain that it is a
dead thing.  But let this pass, though to the purpose, and
literally true.</p>
<p><a name="l28.12">12</a>. I do not say this by way of comparison,
for comparisons are never exact, but because it is the truth itself,
as there is the same difference here that there is between a living
subject and the portrait thereof, neither more nor less: for if what I
saw was an image, it was a living image,--not a dead man, but the
living Christ: and He makes me see that He is God and man,--not as He
was in the sepulchre, but as He was when He had gone forth from it,
risen from the dead. He comes at times in majesty so great, that no
one can have any doubt that it is our Lord Himself, especially after
Communion: we know that He is then present, for faith says so.  He
shows Himself so clearly to be the Lord of that little dwelling-place,
that the soul seems to be dissolved and lost in Christ.  O my Jesus,
who can describe the majesty wherein Thou showest Thyself!  How
utterly Thou art the Lord of the whole world, and of heaven, and of a
thousand other and innumerable worlds and heavens, the creation of
which is possible to Thee!  The soul understands by that majesty
wherein Thou showest Thyself that it is nothing for Thee to be Lord of
all this.</p>
<p><a name="l28.13">13</a>. Here it is plain, O my Jesus, how slight
is the power of all the devils in comparison with Thine, and how he
who is pleasing unto Thee is able to tread all hell under his feet.
Here we see why the devils trembled when Thou didst go down to Limbus,
and why they might have longed for a thousand hells still lower, that
they might escape from Thy terrible Majesty.  I see that it is Thy
will the soul should feel the greatness of Thy Majesty, and the power
of Thy most Sacred Humanity, united with Thy Divinity.  Here, too, we
see what the day of judgment will be, when we shall behold the King in
His Majesty, and in the rigour of His justice against the wicked.
Here we learn true humility, imprinted in the soul by the sight of its
own wretchedness, of which now it cannot be ignorant.  Here, also, is
confusion of face, and true repentance for sins; for though the soul
sees that our Lord shows how He loves it, yet it knows not where to
go, and so is utterly dissolved.</p>
<p><a name="l28.14">14</a>. My meaning is, that so exceedingly great
is the power of this vision, when our Lord shows the soul much of His
grandeur and majesty, that it is impossible, in my opinion, for any
soul to endure it, if our Lord did not succour it in a most
supernatural way, by throwing it into a trance or ecstasy, whereby the
vision of the divine presence is lost in the fruition thereof.  It is
true that afterwards the vision is forgotten; but there remains so
deep an impression of the majesty and beauty of God, that it is
impossible to forget it, except when our Lord is pleased that the soul
should suffer from aridity and desolation, of which I shall speak
hereafter; [<a href="#l28note8">8</a>] for then it seems to forget God
Himself.  The soul is itself no longer, it is always inebriated; it
seems as if a living love of God, of the highest kind, made a new
beginning within it; for though the former vision, which I said
represented God without any likeness of
Him, [<a href="#l28note9">9</a>] is of a higher kind, yet because of
our weakness, in order that the remembrance of the vision may last,
and that our thoughts may be well occupied, it is a great matter that
a presence so divine should remain and abide in our imagination.
These two kinds of visions come almost always together, and they do so
come; for we behold the excellency and beauty and glory of the most
Holy Humanity with the eyes of the soul.  And in the other way I have
spoken of,--that of intellectual vision,--we learn how He is God, is
mighty, can do all things, commands all things, governs all things,
and fills all things with His love.</p>
<p><a name="l28.15">15</a>. This vision is to be esteemed very highly;
nor is there, in my opinion, any risk in it, because the fruits of it
show that the devil has no power here.  I think he tried three or four
times to represent our Lord to me, in this way, by a false image of
Him.  He takes the appearance of flesh, but he cannot counterfeit the
glory which it has when the vision is from God.  Satan makes his
representations in order to undo the true vision which the soul has
had: but the soul resists instinctively; is troubled, disgusted, and
restless; it loses that devotion and joy it previously had, and cannot
pray at all.  In the beginning, it so happened to me three or four
times.  These satanic visions are very different things; and even he
who shall have attained to the prayer of quiet only will, I believe,
detect them by those results of them which I described when I was
speaking of locutions. [<a href="#l28note10">10</a>]  They are most
easily recognised; and if a soul consents not to its own delusion, I
do not think that Satan will be able to deceive it, provided it walks
in humility and singleness of heart.  He who shall have had the true
vision, coming from God, detects the false visions at once; for,
though they begin with a certain sweetness and joy, the soul rejects
them of itself; and the joy which Satan ministers must be, I think,
very different--it shows no traces of pure and holy love: Satan very
quickly betrays himself.</p>
<p><a name="l28.16">16</a>. Thus, then, as I believe, Satan can do no
harm to anyone who has had experience of these things; for it is the
most impossible of all impossible things that all this may be the work
of the imagination.  There is no ground whatever for the supposition;
for the very beauty and whiteness of one of our Lord's
Hands [<a href="#l28note11">11</a>] are beyond our imagination
altogether.  How is it that we see present before us, in a moment,
what we do not remember, what we have never thought of, and, moreover,
what, in a long space of time, the imagination could not compass,
because, as I have just said, [<a href="#l28note12">12</a>] it far
transcends anything we can comprehend in this life?  This, then, is
not possible. Whether we have any power in the matter or not will
appear by what I am now going to say.</p>
<p><a name="l28.17">17</a>. If the vision were the work of a man's own
understanding,--setting aside that such a vision would not accomplish
the great results of the true one, nor, indeed, any at all,--it would
be as the act of one who tries to go to sleep, and yet continues
awake, because sleep has not come.  He longs for it, because of some
necessity or weakness in his head: and so he lulls himself to sleep,
and makes efforts to procure it, and now and then thinks he has
succeeded; but, if the sleep be not real, it will not support him, nor
supply strength to his head: on the contrary, his head will very often
be the worse for it.  So will it be here, in a measure; the soul will
be dissipated, neither sustained nor strengthened; on the contrary, it
will be wearied and disgusted.  But, in the true vision, the riches
which abide in the soul cannot be described; even the body receives
health and comfort.</p>
<p><a name="l28.18">18</a>. I urged this argument, among others, when
they told me that my visions came from the evil one, and that I
imagined them myself,--and it was very often,--and made use of certain
illustrations, as well as I could, and as our Lord suggested to me.
But all was to little purpose; for as there were most holy persons in
the place,--in comparison with whom I was a mass of perdition,--whom
God did not lead by this way, they were at once filled with fear; they
thought it all came through my sins.  And so my state was talked
about, and came to the knowledge of many; though I had spoken of it to
no one, except my confessor, or to those to whom he
commanded [<a href="#l28note13">13</a>] me to speak of it.</p>
<p><a name="l28.19">19</a>. I said to them once, If they who thus
speak of my state were to tell me that a person with whom I had just
conversed, and whom I knew well, was not that person, but that I was
deluding myself, and that they knew it, I should certainly trust them
rather than my own eyes.  But if that person left with me certain
jewels,--and if, possessing none previously, I held the jewels in my
hand as pledges of a great love,--and if I were now rich, instead of
poor as before,--I should not be able to believe this that they said,
though I might wish it.  These jewels I could now show them, for all
who knew me saw clearly that my soul was changed,--and so my confessor
said; for the difference was very great in every way--not a pretence,
but such as all might most clearly observe.  As I was formerly so
wicked, I said, I could not believe that Satan, if he wished to
deceive me and take me down to hell, would have recourse to means so
adverse to his purpose as this, of rooting out my faults, implanting
virtues and spiritual strength; for I saw clearly that I had become at
once another person through the instrumentality of these visions.</p>
<p><a name="l28.20">20</a>. My confessor, who was, as I said
before, [<a href="#l28note14">14</a>] one of the fathers of the Society
of Jesus, and a really holy man, answered them in the same way,--so I
learnt afterwards.  He was a most discreet man, and of great humility;
but this great humility of his brought me into serious trouble: for,
though he was a man much given to prayer, and learned, he never
trusted his own judgment, because our Lord was not leading him by this
way.  He had, therefore, much to suffer on my account, in many ways.
I knew they used to say to him that he must be on his guard against
me, lest Satan should delude him through a belief in anything I might
say to him.  They gave instances of others who were
deluded. [<a href="#l28note15">15</a>]  All this distressed me.  I
began to be afraid I should find no one to hear my
confession, [<a href="#l28note16">16</a>] and that all would avoid me.
I did nothing but weep.</p>
<p><a name="l28.21">21</a>. It was a providence of God that he was
willing to stand by me and hear my confession.  But he was so great a
servant of God, that he would have exposed himself to anything for His
sake.  So he told me that if I did not offend God, nor swerve from the
instructions he gave me, there was no fear I should be deserted by
him.  He encouraged me always, and quieted me.  He bade me never to
conceal anything from him; and I never
did. [<a href="#l28note17">17</a>]  He used to say that, so long as I
did this, the devil, if it were the devil, could not hurt me; on the
contrary, out of that evil which Satan wished to do me, our Lord would
bring forth good.  He laboured with all his might to make me perfect.
As I was very much afraid myself, I obeyed him in everything, though
imperfectly.  He had much to suffer on my account during three years
of trouble and more, because he heard my confession all that time; for
in the great persecutions that fell upon me, and the many harsh
judgments of me which our Lord permitted,--many of which I did not
deserve,--everything was carried to him, and he was found fault with
because of me,--he being all the while utterly blameless.</p>
<p><a name="l28.22">22</a>. If he had not been so holy a man, and if
our Lord had not been with him, it would have, been impossible for him
to bear so much; for he had to answer those who regarded me as one
going to destruction; and they would not believe what he said to them.
On the other hand, he had to quiet me, and relieve me of my fears;
when my fears increased, he had again to reassure me; for, after every
vision which was strange to me, our Lord permitted me to remain in
great fear.  All this was the result of my being then, and of having
been, a sinner.  He used to console me out of his great compassion;
and, if he had trusted to his own convictions, I should not have had
so much to suffer; for God revealed the whole truth to him.  I believe
that he received this light from the Blessed Sacrament.</p>
<p><a name="l28.23">23</a>. Those servants of God who were not
satisfied had many conversations with me. [<a href="#l28note18">18</a>]
As I spoke to them carelessly, so they misunderstood my meaning in
many things. I had a great regard for one of them; for my soul owed
him more than I can tell.  He was a most holy man, and I felt it most
acutely when I saw that he did not understand me.  He had a great
desire for my improvement, and hoped our Lord would enlighten me.  So,
then, because I spoke, as I was saying, without careful consideration,
they looked upon me as deficient in humility; and when they detected
any of my faults--they might have detected many--they condemned me at
once.  They used to put certain questions to me, which I answered
simply and carelessly.  Then they concluded forthwith that I wished to
teach them, and that I considered myself to be a learned woman.  All
this was carried to my confessor,--for certainly they desired my
amendment--and so he would reprimand me.  This lasted some time, and I
was distressed on many sides; but, with the graces which our Lord gave
me, I bore it all.</p>
<p><a name="l28.24">24</a>. I relate this in order that people may see
what a great trial it is not to find any one who knows this way of the
spirit by experience.  If our Lord had not dealt so favourably with
me, I know not what would have become of me.  There were some things
that were enough to take away my reason; and now and then I was
reduced to such straits that I could do nothing but lift up my eyes to
our Lord. [<a href="#l28note19">19</a>]  The contradiction of good
people, which a wretched woman, weak, wicked, and timid as I am, must
bear with, seems to be nothing when thus described; but I, who in the
course of my life passed through very great trials, found this one of
the heaviest. [<a href="#l28note20">20</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l28.25">25</a>. May our Lord grant that I may have pleased
His Majesty a little herein; for I am sure that they pleased Him who
condemned and rebuked me, and that it was all for my great good.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l28note1">1</a>. <a href="#l27.3">Ch.
xxvii. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note2">2</a>. <abbr
title="Philippus">Philipp.</abbr> a SS. Trinitate, <cite>Theolog.
Mystic.</cite> par. 2, tr. 3, disc. iv., art. 8: <span lang="la">&#34;Quamvis in principio
visiones a dæmone fictæ aliquam habeant pacem ac dulcedinem, in fine
tamen confusionum et amaritudinem in anima relinquunt; cujus
contrarium est in divinis visionibus, quæ sæpe turbant in principio,
sed semper in fine pacem animæ relinquunt.&#34;</span>  <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> John of the Cross, <cite>Spiritual
Canticle</cite>, <abbr title="stanza">st.</abbr> 14, p. 84:
&#34;In the spiritual passage from the sleep of natural ignorance to
the wakefulness of the supernatural understanding, which is the
beginning of trance or ecstasy, the spiritual vision then revealed
makes the soul fear and tremble.&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note3">3</a>. See <a
href="#l29.4">ch. xxix. § 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note4">4</a>. &#34;The holy Mother, Teresa of
Jesus, had these imaginary visions for many years, seeing our Lord
continually present before her in great beauty, risen from the dead,
with His wounds and the crown of thorns.  She had a picture made of
Him, which she gave to me, and which I gave to Don Fernando de Toledo,
Duke of Alva&#34; (Jerome Gratian, <cite lang="es">Union del
Alma</cite>, <abbr lang="es" title="capítulo">cap.</abbr> 5.
Madrid, 1616).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note5">5</a>. <abbr
title="Antonius">Anton.</abbr> a <abbr title="Spiritu">Sp.</abbr>
Sancto, <cite><abbr lang="la" title="Directorium Mysticum">Direct.
Mystic.</abbr></cite> tr. iii. disp. 5, § I, n. 315: <span
lang="la">&#34;Visio corporea est infima, visio imaginaria est media,
visio intellectualis est suprema.&#34;  N. 322: &#34;Apparitio
visibilis, cum sit omnium infima, est magis exposita illusioni
diaboli, nisi forte huic visioni corporali visio intellectualis
adjungatur, ut in apparitione S. Gabrielis archangeli facta
Beatæ Virgini.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note6">6</a>. See <a
href="#l30.18">ch. xxx. § 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note7">7</a>. <a href="#l25.18">Ch.
xxv. § 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note8">8</a>. <a href="#l30.9">Ch.
xxx. §§ 9, 10</a>.  See <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> John of the
Cross, <cite>Obscure Night</cite>, bk. ii. ch. 7.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note9">9</a>. <a href="#l27.3">Ch.
xxvii. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note10">10</a>. <a href="#l25.8">Ch.
xxv. § 8</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note11">11</a>. See <a
href="#l28.2">§ 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note12">12</a>. <a href="#l28.7">§ 7</a>, <i
lang="la">supra</i>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note13">13</a>. See <a
href="#l23.14">ch. xxiii. § 14</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note14">14</a>. <a href="#l24.5">Ch.
xxiv. § 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note15">15</a>. There were in Spain, and
elsewhere, many women who were hypocrites, or deluded.  Among others
was the prioress of Lisbon, afterwards notorious, who deceived Luis of
Granada (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note16">16</a>. <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>, vi.
1, § 4.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note17">17</a>. <a href="#l26.5">Ch.
xxvi. § 5</a>; <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>, vi. 9, § 7.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note18">18</a>. See <a
href="#l25.18">ch. xxv. § 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note19">19</a>. 2 Paralip. xx. 12: <span
lang="la">&#34;Sed cum ignoremus quid agere debeamus, hoc solum
habemus residui, ut oculos nostros dirigamus
ad Te.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l28note20">20</a>. See <a
href="#l30.6">ch. xxx. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l29.0">Chapter XXIX.</a></h3>
<p><big>Of Visions.  The Graces Our Lord Bestowed on the Saint.  The
Answers Our Lord Gave Her for Those Who Tried Her.</big></p>
<p><a name="l29.1">1</a>. I have wandered far from the subject; for I
undertook to give reasons why the vision was no work of the
imagination.  For how can we, by any efforts of ours, picture to
ourselves the Humanity of Christ, and imagine His great beauty?  No
little time is necessary, if our conception is in any way to resemble
it.  Certainly, the imagination may be able to picture it, and a
person may for a time contemplate that picture,--the form and the
brightness of it,--and gradually make it more perfect, and so lay up
that image in his memory.  Who can hinder this, seeing that it could
be fashioned by the understanding?  But as to the vision of which I am
speaking, there are no means of bringing it about; only we must behold
it when our Lord is pleased to present it before us, as He wills and
what He wills; and there is no possibility of taking anything away
from it, or of adding anything to it; nor is there any way of
effecting it, whatever we may do, nor of seeing it when we like, nor
of abstaining from seeing; if we try to gaze upon it--part of the
vision in particular--the vision of Christ is lost at once.</p>
<p><a name="l29.2">2</a>. For two years and a half God granted me this
grace very frequently; but it is now more than three years since He
has taken away from me its continual presence, through another of a
higher nature, as I shall perhaps explain
hereafter. [<a href="#l29note1">1</a>]  And though I saw Him speaking
to me, and though I was contemplating His great beauty, and the
sweetness with which those words of His came forth from His divine
mouth,--they were sometimes uttered with severity,--and though I was
extremely desirous to behold the colour of His eyes, or the form of
them, so that I might be able to describe them, yet I never attained
to the sight of them, and I could do nothing for that end; on the
contrary, I lost the vision altogether.  And though I see that He
looks upon me at times with great tenderness, yet so strong is His
gaze, that my soul cannot endure it; I fall into a trance so deep,
that I lose the beautiful vision, in order to have a greater fruition
of it all.</p>
<p><a name="l29.3">3</a>. Accordingly, willing or not willing, the
vision has nothing to do with it.  Our Lord clearly regards nothing
but humility and confusion of face, the acceptance of what He wishes
to give, and the praise of Himself, the Giver.  This is true of all
visions without exception: we can contribute nothing towards them--we
cannot add to them, nor can we take from them; our own efforts can
neither make nor unmake them.  Our Lord would have us see most clearly
that it is no work of ours, but of His Divine Majesty; we are
therefore the less able to be proud of it: on the contrary, it makes
us humble and afraid; for we see that, as our Lord can take from us
the power of seeing what we would see, so also can He take from us
these mercies and His grace, and we may be lost for ever.  We must
therefore walk in His fear while we are living in this our exile.</p>
<p><a name="l29.4">4</a>. Our Lord showed Himself to me almost always
as He is after His resurrection.  It was the same in the Host; only at
those times when I was in trouble, and when it was His will to
strengthen me, did He show His wounds.  Sometimes I saw Him on the
cross, in the Garden, crowned with thorns,--but that was rarely;
sometimes also carrying His cross because of my necessities,--I may
say so,--or those of others; but always in His glorified body.  Many
reproaches and many vexations have I borne while telling this--many
suspicions and much persecution also.  So certain were they to whom I
spoke that I had an evil spirit, that some would have me exorcised.  I
did not care much for this; but I felt it bitterly when I saw that my
confessors were afraid to hear me, or when I knew that they were told
of anything about me.</p>
<p><a name="l29.5">5</a>. Notwithstanding all this, I never could be
sorry that I had had these heavenly visions; nor would I exchange even
one of them for all the wealth and all the pleasures of the world.  I
always regarded them as a great mercy from our Lord; and to me they
were the very greatest treasure,--of this our Lord assured me often.
I used to go to Him to complain of all these hardships; and I came
away from prayer consoled, and with renewed strength.  I did not dare
to contradict those who were trying me; for I saw that it made matters
worse, because they looked on my doing so as a failure in humility.  I
spoke of it to my confessor; he always consoled me greatly when he saw
me in distress.</p>
<p><a name="l29.6">6</a>. As my visions grew in frequency, one of
those who used to help me before--it was to him I confessed when the
father-minister [<a href="#l29note2">2</a>] could not hear me--began to
say that I was certainly under the influence of Satan.  He bade me,
now that I had no power of resisting, always to make the sign of the
cross when I had a vision, to point my finger at it by way of
scorn, [<a href="#l29note3">3</a>] and be firmly persuaded of its
diabolic nature.  If I did this, the vision would not recur.  I was to
be without fear on the point; God would watch over me, and take the
vision away. [<a href="#l29note4">4</a>]  This was a great hardship for
me; for, as I could not believe that the vision did not come from God,
it was a fearful thing for me to do; and I could not wish, as I said
before, that the visions should be withheld. However, I did at last as
I was bidden.  I prayed much to our Lord, that He would deliver me
from delusions. I was always praying to that effect, and with many
tears.  I had recourse also to <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter
and <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul; for our Lord had said to
me--it was on their feast that He had appeared to me the first
time [<a href="#l29note5">5</a>]--that they would preserve me from
delusion.  I used to see them frequently most distinctly on my left
hand; but that vision was not imaginary.  These glorious Saints were
my very good lords.</p>
<p><a name="l29.7">7</a>. It was to me a most painful thing to make a
show of contempt whenever I saw our Lord in a vision; for when I saw
Him before me, if I were to be cut in pieces, I could not believe it
was Satan.  This was to me, therefore, a heavy kind of penance; and
accordingly, that I might not be so continually crossing myself, I
used to hold a crucifix in my hand.  This I did almost always; but I
did not always make signs of contempt, because I felt that too much.
It reminded me of the insults which the Jews heaped upon Him; and so I
prayed Him to forgive me, seeing that I did so in obedience to him who
stood in His stead, and not to lay the blame on me, seeing that he was
one of those whom He had placed as His ministers in His Church.  He
said to me that I was not to distress myself--that I did well to obey;
but He would make them see the truth of the matter.  He seemed to me
to be angry when they made me give up my
prayer. [<a href="#l29note6">6</a>]  He told me to say to them that
this was tyranny.  He gave me reasons for believing that the vision
was not satanic; some of them I mean to repeat by and by.</p>
<p><a name="l29.8">8</a>. On one occasion,when I was holding in my
hand the cross of my rosary, He took it from me into His own hand.  He
returned it; but it was then four large stones incomparably more
precious than diamonds; for nothing can be compared with what is
supernatural.  Diamonds seem counterfeits and imperfect when compared
with these precious stones.  The five wounds were delineated on them
with most admirable art.  He said to me, that for the future that
cross would appear so to me always; and so it did.  I never saw the
wood of which it was made, but only the precious stones.  They were
seen, however, by no one else,--only
by myself. [<a href="#l29note7">7</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l29.9">9</a>. When they had begun to insist on my putting
my visions to a test like this, and resisting them, the graces I
received were multiplied more and more.  I tried to distract myself; I
never ceased to be in prayer: even during sleep my prayer seemed to be
continual; for now my love grew, I made piteous complaints to our
Lord, and told Him I could not bear it.  Neither was it in my
power--though I desired, and, more than that, even strove--to give up
thinking of Him.  Nevertheless, I obeyed to the utmost of my power;
but my power was little or nothing in the matter; and our Lord never
released me from that obedience; but though He bade me obey my
confessor, He reassured me in another way, and taught me what I was to
say.  He has continued to do so until now; and He gave me reasons so
sufficient, that I felt myself perfectly safe.</p>
<p><a name="l29.10">10</a>. Not long afterwards His Majesty began,
according to His promise, to make it clear that it was He Himself who
appeared, by the growth in me of the love of God so strong, that I
knew not who could have infused it; for it was most supernatural, and
I had not attained to it by any efforts of my own.  I saw myself dying
with a desire to see God, and I knew not how to seek that life
otherwise than by dying.  Certain great
impetuosities [<a href="#l29note8">8</a>] of love, though not so
intolerable as those of which I have spoken
before, [<a href="#l29note9">9</a>] nor yet of so great worth,
overwhelmed me.  I knew not what to do; for nothing gave me pleasure,
and I had no control over myself.  It seemed as if my soul were really
torn away from myself.  Oh, supreme artifice of our Lord! how tenderly
didst Thou deal with Thy miserable slave! Thou didst hide Thyself from
me, and didst yet constrain me with Thy love, with a death so sweet,
that my soul would never wish it over.</p>
<p><a name="l29.11">11</a>. It is not possible for any one to
understand these impetuosities if he has not experienced them himself.
They are not an upheaving of the breast, nor those devotional
sensations, not uncommon, which seem on the point of causing
suffocation, and are beyond control.  That prayer is of a much lower
order; and those agitations should be avoided by gently endeavouring
to be recollected; and the soul should be kept in quiet.  This prayer
is like the sobbing of little children, who seem on the point of
choking, and whose disordered senses are soothed by giving them to
drink.  So here reason should draw in the reins, because nature itself
may be contributing to it and we should consider with fear that all
this may not be perfect, and that much sensuality may be involved in
it.  The infant soul should be soothed by the caresses of love, which
shall draw forth its love in a gentle way, and not, as they say, by
force of blows.  This love should be inwardly under control, and not
as a caldron, fiercely boiling because too much fuel has been applied
to it, and out of which everything is lost.  The source of the fire
must be kept under control, and the flame must be quenched in sweet
tears, and not with those painful tears which come out of these
emotions, and which do so much harm.</p>
<p><a name="l29.12">12</a>. In the beginning, I had tears of this
kind.  They left me with a disordered head and a wearied spirit, and
for a day or two afterwards unable to resume my prayer.  Great
discretion, therefore, is necessary at first, in order that everything
may proceed gently, and that the operations of the spirit may be
within; all outward manifestations should be carefully avoided.</p>
<p><a name="l29.13">13</a>. These other impetuosities are very
different.  It is not we who apply the fuel; the fire is already
kindled, and we are thrown into it in a moment to be consumed.  It is
by no efforts of the soul that it sorrows over the wound which the
absence of our Lord has inflicted on it; it is far otherwise; for an
arrow is driven into the entrails to the very
quick, [<a href="#l29note10">10</a>] and into the heart at times, so
that the soul knows not what is the matter with it, nor what it wishes
for.  It understands clearly enough that it wishes for God, and that
the arrow seems tempered with some herb which makes the soul hate
itself for the love of our Lord, and willingly lose its life for Him.
It is impossible to describe or explain the way in which God wounds
the soul, nor the very grievous pain inflicted, which deprives it of
all self-consciousness; yet this pain is so sweet, that there is no
joy in the world which gives greater delight.  As I have just
said, [<a href="#l29note11">11</a>] the soul would wish to be always
dying of this wound.</p>
<p><a name="l29.14">14</a>. This pain and bliss together carried me
out of myself, and I never could understand how it was.  Oh, what a
sight a wounded soul is!--a soul, I mean, so conscious of it, as to be
able to say of itself that it is wounded for so good a cause; and
seeing distinctly that it never did anything whereby this love should
come to it, and that it does come from that exceeding love which our
Lord bears it.  A spark seems to have fallen suddenly upon it, that
has set it all on fire.  Oh, how often do I remember, when in this
state, those words of David: <span lang="la">&#34;Quemadmodum
desiderat cervus ad fontes
aquarum&#34;</span>! [<a href="#l29note12">12</a>]  They seem to me to
be literally true of myself.</p>
<p><a name="l29.15">15</a>. When these impetuosities are not very
violent they seem to admit of a little mitigation--at least, the soul
seeks some relief, because it knows not what to do--through certain
penances; the painfulness of which, and even the shedding of its
blood, are no more felt than if the body were dead.  The soul seeks
for ways and means to do something that may be felt, for the love of
God; but the first pain is so great, that no bodily torture I know of
can take it away.  As relief is not to be had here, these medicines
are too mean for so high a disease.  Some slight mitigation may be
had, and the pain may pass away a little, by praying God to relieve
its sufferings: but the soul sees no relief except in death, by which
it thinks to attain completely to the fruition of its good.  At other
times, these impetuosities are so violent, that the soul can do
neither this nor anything else; the whole body is contracted, and
neither hand nor foot can be moved: if the body be upright at the
time, it falls down, as a thing that has no control over itself.  It
cannot even breathe; all it does is to moan--not loudly, because it
cannot: its moaning, however, comes from a keen sense of pain.</p>
<p><a name="l29.16">16</a>. Our Lord was pleased that I should have at
times a vision of this kind: I saw an angel close by me, on my left
side, in bodily form.  This I am not accustomed to see, unless very
rarely.  Though I have visions of angels frequently, yet I see them
only by an intellectual vision, such as I have spoken of
before. [<a href="#l29note13">13</a>]  It was our Lord's will that in
this vision I should see the angel in this wise.  He was not large,
but small of stature, and most beautiful--his face burning, as if he
were one of the highest angels, who seem to be all of fire: they must
be those whom we call cherubim. [<a href="#l29note14">14</a>]  Their
names they never tell me; but I see very well that there is in heaven
so great a difference between one angel and another, and between these
and the others, that I cannot explain it.</p>
<p><a name="l29.17">17</a>. I saw in his hand a long spear of gold,
and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire.  He appeared
to me to be thrusting it at times into my
heart, [<a href="#l29note15">15</a>] and to pierce my very entrails;
when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me
all on fire with a great love of God.  The pain was so great, that it
made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this
excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it.  The soul is
satisfied now with nothing less than God.  The pain is not bodily, but
spiritual; though the body has its share in it, even a large one.  It
is a caressing of love so sweet which now takes place between the soul
and God, that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who
may think that I am lying. [<a href="#l29note16">16</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l29.18">18</a>. During the days that this lasted, I went
about as if beside myself.  I wished to see, or speak with, no one,
but only to cherish my pain, which was to me a greater bliss than all
created things could give me. [<a href="#l29note17">17</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l29.19">19</a>. I was in this state from time to time,
whenever it was our Lord's pleasure to throw me into those deep
trances, which I could not prevent even when I was in the company of
others, and which, to my deep vexation, came to be publicly known.
Since then, I do not feel that pain so much, but only that which I
spoke of before,--I do not remember the
chapter, [<a href="#l29note18">18</a>]--which is in many ways very
different from it, and of greater worth.  On the other hand, when this
pain, of which I am now speaking, begins, our Lord seems to lay hold
of the soul, and to throw it into a trance, so that there is no time
for me to have any sense of pain or suffering, because fruition ensues
at once.  May He be blessed for ever, who hath bestowed such great
graces on one who has responded so ill to blessings so great!</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l29note1">1</a>. <a href="#l40.0">Ch.
xl</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note2">2</a>. Baltasar Alvarez was
father-minister of the house of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Giles,
Avila, in whose absence she had recourse to another father of that
house (<cite>Ribera</cite>, i. ch. 6).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note3">3</a>. <span lang="es">Y diese
higas.</span>  <span lang="es">&#34;Higa es una manera de menosprecio
que hacemos cerrando el puņo, y mostrando el dedo pulgar por entre el
dedo indice, y el medio&#34;</span> (<cite>Cobarruvias</cite>, <i
lang="la">in voce</i>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note4">4</a>. See <cite>Book of the
Foundations</cite>, ch. viii. § 3, where the Saint refers to this
advice, and to the better advice given her later by F. Dominic Baņes,
one of her confessors.  See also <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>, vi. 9,
§ 7.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note5">5</a>. See <a
href="#l27.3">ch. xxvii. § 3</a>, and <a
href="#l28.4">ch. xxviii. § 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note6">6</a>. <a href="#l25.18">Ch.
xxv. § 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note7">7</a>. The cross was made of ebony
(<cite>Ribera</cite>).  It is not known where that cross is now.  The
Saint gave it to her sister, Doņa Juana de Ahumada, who begged it of
her.  Some say that the Carmelites of Madrid possess it; and others,
those of Valladolid (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note8">8</a>. See <a
href="#r1.3"><cite>Relation</cite>, i. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note9">9</a>. <a href="#l20.11">Ch.
xx. § 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note10">10</a>. <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>, vi.
11, § 2; <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> John of the Cross,
<cite>Spiritual Canticle</cite>, <abbr title="stanza">st.</abbr> 1,
p. 22, Engl. trans.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note11">11</a>. <a
href="#l29.10">§ 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note12">12</a>. Psalm xli. 2: &#34;As the
longing of the hart for the fountains of waters, so is the longing of
my soul for Thee, O my God.&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note13">13</a>. <a href="#l27.3">Ch.
xxvii. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note14">14</a>. In the <abbr
title="manuscript">MS.</abbr> of the Saint preserved in the Escurial,
the word is &#34;cherubines;&#34; but all the editors before Don
Vicente de la Fuente have adopted the suggestion, in the margin, of
Baņes, who preferred &#34;seraphim.&#34;  <abbr
title="Father">F.</abbr> Bouix, in his translation, corrected the
mistake; but, with his usual modesty, did not call the reader's
attention to it.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note15">15</a>. See <a
href="#r8.16"><cite>Relation</cite>, viii.
§ 16</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note16">16</a>. &#34;The most probable opinion
is, that the piercing of the heart of the Saint took place in 1559.
The hymn which she composed on that occasion was discovered in Seville
in 1700 (<span lang="es">&#34;En las internas entraņas&#34;</span>).
On the high altar of the Carmelite church in Alba de Tormes, the heart
of the Saint thus pierced is to be seen; and I have seen it myself
more than once&#34; (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note17">17</a>. <cite
lang="la"><abbr title="Breviarium Romanum">Brev. Rom.</abbr></cite>
<span lang="la">in <abbr title="festo">fest.</abbr> <abbr
title="Sanctae">S.</abbr> Teresiæ</span>, Oct. 15, Lect. v.: <span
lang="la">&#34;Tanto autem divini amoris incendio cor ejus
conflagravit, ut merito viderit Angelum ignito jaculo sibi præcordia
transverberantem.&#34;</span>  The Carmelites keep the feast of this
piercing of the Saint's heart on the 27th of August.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l29note18">18</a>. <a href="#l20.11">Ch.
xx. § 11</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l30.0">Chapter XXX.</a></h3>
<p><big><abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter of Alcantara Comforts the
Saint.  Great Temptations and Interior Trials.</big></p>
<p><a name="l30.1">1</a>. When I saw that I was able to do little or
nothing towards avoiding these great impetuosities, I began also to be
afraid of them, because I could not understand how this pain and joy
could subsist together.  I knew it was possible enough for bodily pain
and spiritual joy to dwell together; but the coexistence of a
spiritual pain so excessive as this, and of joy so deep, troubled my
understanding.  Still, I tried to continue my resistance; but I was so
little able, that I was now and then wearied.  I used to take up the
cross for protection, and try to defend myself against Him who, by the
cross, is the Protector of us all.  I saw that no one understood me.
I saw it very clearly myself, but I did not dare to say so to any one
except my confessor; for that would have been a real admission that I
had no humility.</p>
<p><a name="l30.2">2</a>. Our Lord was pleased to succour me in a
great measure,--and, for the moment, altogether,--by bringing to the
place where I was that blessed friar, Peter of Alcantara.  Of him I
spoke before, and said something of his
penance. [<a href="#l30note1">1</a>]  Among other things, I have been
assured that he wore continually, for twenty years, a girdle made of
iron. [<a href="#l30note2">2</a>]  He is the author of certain little
books, in Spanish, on prayer, which are now in common use; for, as he
was much exercised therein, his writings are very profitable to those
who are given to prayer.  He kept the first rule of the blessed <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis in all its rigour, and did those
things besides of which I spoke before.</p>
<p><a name="l30.3">3</a>. When that widow, the servant of God and my
friend, of whom I have already spoken, [<a href="#l30note3">3</a>] knew
that so great a man had come, she took her measures.  She knew the
straits I was in, for she was an eye-witness of my afflictions, and
was a great comfort to me.  Her faith was so strong, that she could
not help believing that what others said was the work of the devil was
really the work of the Spirit of God; and as she is a person of great
sense and great caution, and one to whom our Lord is very bountiful in
prayer, it pleased His Majesty to let her see what learned men failed
to discern.  My confessors gave me leave to accept relief in some
things from her, because in many ways she was able to afford it.  Some
of those graces which our Lord bestowed on me fell to her lot
occasionally, together with instructions most profitable for her soul.
So, then, when she knew that the blessed man was come, without saying
a word to me, she obtained leave from the Provincial for me to stay
eight days in her house, in order that I might the more easily confer
with him.  In that house, and in one church or another, I had many
conversations with him the first time he came here; for, afterwards, I
had many communications with him at diverse times.</p>
<p><a name="l30.4">4</a>. I gave him an account, as briefly as I
could, of my life, and of my way of prayer, with the utmost clearness
in my power.  I have always held to this, to be perfectly frank and
exact with those to whom I make known the state of my
soul. [<a href="#l30note4">4</a>]  Even my first impulses I wish them
to know; and as for doubtful and suspicious matters, I used to make
the most of them by arguing against myself.  Thus, then, without
equivocation or concealment, I laid before him the state of my soul.
I saw almost at once that he understood me, by reason of his own
experience.  That was all I required; for at that time I did not know
myself as I do now,so as to give an account of my state.  It was at a
later time that God enabled me to understand myself, and describe the
graces which His Majesty bestows upon me.  It was necessary, then,
that he who would clearly understand and explain my state should have
had experience of it himself.</p>
<p><a name="l30.5">5</a>. The light he threw on the matter was of the
clearest; for as to these visions, at least, which were not imaginary,
I could not understand how they could be.  And it seemed that I could
not understand, too, how those could be which I saw with the eyes of
the soul; for, as I said before, [<a href="#l30note5">5</a>] those
visions only seemed to me to be of consequence which were seen with
the bodily eyes: and of these I had none.  The holy man enlightened me
on the whole question, explained it to me, and bade me not to be
distressed, but to praise God, and to abide in the full conviction
that this was the work of the Spirit of God; for, saving the faith,
nothing could be more true, and there was nothing on which I could
more firmly rely.  He was greatly comforted in me, was most kind and
serviceable, and ever afterwards took great care of me, and told me of
his own affairs and labours; and when he saw that I had those very
desires which in himself were fulfilled already,--for our Lord had
given me very strong desires,--and also how great my resolution was,
he delighted in conversing with me.</p>
<p><a name="l30.6">6</a>. To a person whom our Lord has raised to this
state, there is no pleasure or comfort equal to that of meeting with
another whom our Lord has begun to raise in the same way.  At that
time, however, it must have been only a beginning with me, as I
believe; and God grant I may not have gone back now.  He was extremely
sorry for me.  He told me that one of the greatest trials in this
world was that which I had borne,--namely, the contradiction of good
people, [<a href="#l30note6">6</a>]--and that more was in reserve for
me: I had need, therefore, of some one--and there was no one in this
city--who understood me; but he would speak to my confessor, and to
that married nobleman, already spoken of, [<a href="#l30note7">7</a>]
who was one of those who tormented me most, and who, because of his
great affection for me, was the cause of all these attacks.  He was a
holy but timid man, and could not feel safe about me, because he had
seen how wicked I was, and that not long before.  The holy man did so;
he spoke to them both, explained the matter, and gave them reasons why
they should reassure themselves, and disturb me no more.  My confessor
was easily satisfied,--not so the nobleman; for though they were not
enough to keep him quiet, yet they kept him in some measure from
frightening me so much as he used to do.</p>
<p><a name="l30.7">7</a>. We made an agreement that I should write to
him and tell him how it fared with me, for the future, and that we
should pray much for each other.  Such was his humility, that he held
to the prayers of a wretch like me.  It made me very much ashamed of
myself.  He left me in the greatest consolation and joy, bidding me
continue my prayer with confidence, and without any doubt that it was
the work of God.  If I should have any doubts, for my greater
security, I was to make them known to my confessor, and, having done
so, be in peace. Nevertheless, I was not able at all to feel that
confidence, for our Lord was leading me by the way of fear; and so,
when they told me that the devil had power over me, I believed them.
Thus, then, not one of them was able to inspire me with confidence on
the one hand, or fear on the other, in such a way as to make me
believe either of them, otherwise than as our Lord allowed me.
Accordingly, though the holy friar consoled and calmed me, I did not
rely so much on him as to be altogether without fear, particularly
when our Lord forsook me in the afflictions of my soul, of which I
will now speak.  Nevertheless, as I have said, I was very
much consoled.</p>
<p><a name="l30.8">8</a>. I could not give thanks enough to God, and
to my glorious father <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, who
seemed to me to have brought him here.  He was the commissary-general
of the custody [<a href="#l30note8">8</a>] of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, to whom, and to our Lady, I used to
pray much.</p>
<p><a name="l30.9">9</a>. I suffered at times--and even still, though
not so often--the most grievous trials, together with bodily pains and
afflictions arising from violent sicknesses; so much so, that I could
scarcely control myself.  At other times, my bodily sickness was more
grievous; and as I had no spiritual pain, I bore it with great joy:
but, when both pains came upon me together, my distress was so heavy,
that I was reduced to sore straits.</p>
<p><a name="l30.10">10</a>. I forgot all the mercies our Lord had
shown me, and remembered them only as a dream, to my great distress;
for my understanding was so dull, that I had a thousand doubts and
suspicions whether I had ever understood matters aright, thinking that
perhaps all was fancy, and that it was enough for me to have deceived
myself, without also deceiving good men.  I looked upon myself as so
wicked as to have been the cause, by my sins, of all the evils and all
the heresies that had sprung up. This is but a false humility, and
Satan invented it for the purpose of disquieting me, and trying
whether he could thereby drive my soul to despair.  I have now had so
much experience, that I know this was his work; so he, seeing that I
understand him, does not torment me in the same way as much as he used
to do.  That it is his work is clear from the restlessness and
discomfort with which it begins, and the trouble it causes in the soul
while it lasts; from the obscurity and distress, the aridity and
indisposition for prayer and for every good work, which it produces.
It seems to stifle the soul and trammel the body, so as to make them
good for nothing.</p>
<p><a name="l30.11">11</a>. Now, though the soul acknowledges itself
to be miserable, and though it is painful to us to see ourselves as we
are, and though we have most deep convictions of our own
wickedness,--deep as those spoken of just
now, [<a href="#l30note9">9</a>] and really felt,--yet true humility
is not attended with trouble; it does not disturb the soul; it causes
neither obscurity nor aridity: on the contrary, it consoles.  It is
altogether different, bringing with it calm, sweetness, and light.  It
is no doubt painful; but, on the other hand, it is consoling, because
we see how great is the mercy of our Lord in allowing the soul to have
that pain, and how well the soul is occupied.  On the one hand, the
soul grieves over its offences against God; on the other, His
compassion makes it glad.  It has light, which makes it ashamed of
itself; and it gives thanks to His Majesty, who has borne with it so
long.  That other humility, which is the work of Satan, furnishes no
light for any good work; it pictures God as bringing upon everything
fire and sword; it dwells upon His justice; and the soul's faith in
the mercy of God--for the power of the devil does not reach so far as
to destroy faith--is of such a nature as to give me no consolation: on
the contrary, the consideration of mercies so great helps to increase
the pain, because I look upon myself as bound to render
greater service.</p>
<p><a name="l30.12">12</a>. This invention of Satan is one of the most
painful, subtle, and crafty that I have known him to possess; I should
therefore like to warn you, my father, of it, in order that, if Satan
should tempt you herein, you may have some light, and be aware of his
devices, if your understanding should be left at liberty: because you
must not suppose that learning and knowledge are of any use here; for
though I have none of them myself, yet now that I have escaped out of
his hands I see clearly that this is folly.  What I understood by it
is this: that it is our Lord's pleasure to give him leave and license,
as He gave him of old to tempt Job; [<a href="#l30note10">10</a>]
though in my case, because of my wretchedness, the temptation is not
so sharp.</p>
<p><a name="l30.13">13</a>. It happened to me to be tempted once in
this way; and I remember it was on the day before the vigil of Corpus
Christi,--a feast to which I have great devotion, though not so great
as I ought to have.  The trial then lasted only till the day of the
feast itself.  But, on other occasions, it continued one, two, and
even three weeks and--I know not--perhaps longer.  But I was specially
liable to it during the Holy Weeks, when it was my habit to make
prayer my joy.  Then the devil seizes on my understanding in a moment;
and occasionally, by means of things so trivial that I should laugh at
them at any other time, he makes it stumble over anything he likes.
The soul, laid in fetters, loses all control over itself, and all
power of thinking of anything but the absurdities he puts before it,
which, being more or less unsubstantial, inconsistent, and
disconnected, serve only to stifle the soul, so that it has no power
over itself; and accordingly--so it seems to me--the devils make a
football of it, and the soul is unable to escape out of their hands.
It is impossible to describe the sufferings of the soul in this state.
It goes about in quest of relief, and God suffers it to find none.
The light of reason, in the freedom of its will, remains, but it is
not clear; it seems to me as if its eyes were covered with a veil.  As
a person who, having travelled often by a particular road, knows,
though it be night and dark, by his past experience of it, where he
may stumble, and where he ought to be on his guard against that risk,
because he has seen the place by day, so the soul avoids offending
God: it seems to go on by habit--that is, if we put out of sight the
fact that our Lord holds it by the hand, which is the true explanation
of the matter.</p>
<p><a name="l30.14">14</a>. Faith is then as dead, and asleep, like
all the other virtues; not lost, however,--for the soul truly believes
all that the church holds; but its profession of the faith is hardly
more than an outward profession of the mouth.  And, on the other hand,
temptations seem to press it down, and make it dull, so that its
knowledge of God becomes to it as that of something which it hears of
far away.  So tepid is its love that, when it hears God spoken of, it
listens and believes that He is what He is, because the Church so
teaches; but it recollects nothing of its own former experience.
Vocal prayer or solitude is only a greater affliction, because the
interior suffering--whence it comes, it knows not--is unendurable,
and, as it seems to me, in some measure a counterpart of hell.  So it
is, as our Lord showed me in a vision; [<a href="#l30note11">11</a>]
for the soul itself is then burning in the fire, knowing not who has
kindled it, nor whence it comes, nor how to escape it, nor how to put
it out: if it seeks relief from the fire by spiritual reading, it
cannot find any, just as if it could not read at all.  On one
occasion, it occurred to me to read a life of a Saint, that I might
forget myself, and be refreshed with the recital of what he had
suffered.  Four or five times, I read as many lines; and, though they
were written in Spanish, I understood them less at the end than I did
when I began: so I gave it up.  It so happened to me on more occasions
than one, but I have a more distinct recollection of this.</p>
<p><a name="l30.15">15</a>. To converse with any one is worse, for the
devil then sends so offensive a spirit of bad temper, that I think I
could eat people up; nor can I help myself.  I feel that I do
something when I keep myself under control; or rather our Lord does
so, when He holds back with His hand any one in this state from saying
or doing something that may be hurtful to his neighbours and offensive
to God.  Then, as to going to our confessor, that is of no use; for
the certain result is--and very often has it happened to me--what I
shall now describe.  Though my confessors, with whom I had to do then,
and have to do still, are so holy, they spoke to me and reproved me
with such harshness, that they were astonished at it afterwards when I
told them of it.  They said that they could not help themselves; for,
though they had resolved not to use such language, and though they
pitied me also very much,--yea, even had scruples on the subject,
because of my grievous trials of soul and body,--and were, moreover,
determined to console me, they could not refrain.  They did not use
unbecoming words--I mean, words offensive to God; yet their words were
the most offensive that could be borne with in confession. They must
have aimed at mortifying me.  At other times, I used to delight in
this, and was prepared to bear it; but it was then a torment
altogether.  I used to think, too, that I deceived them; so I went to
them, and cautioned them very earnestly to be on their guard against
me, for it might be that I deceived them.  I saw well enough that I
would not do so advisedly, nor tell them an
untruth; [<a href="#l30note12">12</a>] but everything made me afraid.
One of them, on one occasion, when he had heard me speak of this
temptation, told me not to distress myself; for, even if I wished to
deceive him, he had sense enough not to be deceived.  This gave me
great comfort.</p>
<p><a name="l30.16">16</a>. Sometimes, almost always,--at least, very
frequently,--I used to find rest after Communion; now and then, even,
as I drew near to the most Holy Sacrament, all at once my soul and
body would be so well, that I was amazed. [<a href="#l30note13">13</a>]
It seemed to be nothing else but an instantaneous dispersion of the
darkness that covered my soul: when the sun rose, I saw how silly I
had been.</p>
<p><a name="l30.17">17</a>. On other occasions, if our Lord spoke to
me but one word, saying only, &#34;Be not distressed, have no
fear,&#34;--as I said before, [<a href="#l30note14">14</a>]--I was made
whole at once; or, if I saw a vision, I was as if I had never been
amiss.  I rejoiced in God, and made my complaint to Him, because He
permitted me to undergo such afflictions; yet the recompense was
great; for almost always, afterwards, His mercies descended upon me in
great abundance.  The soul seemed to come forth as gold out of the
crucible, most refined, and made glorious to behold, our Lord dwelling
within it.  These trials afterwards are light, though they once seemed
to be unendurable; and the soul longs to undergo them again, if that
be more pleasing to our Lord.  And though trials and persecutions
increase, yet, if we bear them without offending our Lord, rejoicing
in suffering for His sake, it will be all the greater gain: I,
however, do not bear them as they ought to be borne, but rather in a
most imperfect way.  At other times, my trials came upon me--they come
still--in another form; and then it seems to me as if the very
possibility of thinking a good thought, or desiring the accomplishment
of it, were utterly taken from me: both soul and body are altogether
useless and a heavy burden. However, when I am in this state, I do not
suffer from the other temptations and disquietudes, but only from a
certain loathing of I know not what, and my soul finds pleasure
in nothing.</p>
<p><a name="l30.18">18</a>. I used to try exterior good works, in
order to occupy myself partly by violence; and I know well how weak a
soul is when grace is hiding itself.  It did not distress me much,
because the sight of my own meanness gave me some satisfaction.  On
other occasions, I find myself unable to pray or to fix my thoughts
with any distinctness upon God, or anything that is good, though I may
be alone; but I have a sense that I know Him.  It is the understanding
and the imagination, I believe, which hurt me here; for it seems to me
that I have a good will, disposed for all good; but the understanding
is so lost, that it seems to be nothing else but a raving lunatic,
which nobody can restrain, and of which I am not mistress enough to
keep it quiet for a minute. [<a href="#l30note15">15</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l30.19">19</a>. Sometimes I laugh at myself, and recognise
my wretchedness: I watch my understanding, and leave it alone to see
what it will do.  Glory be to God, for a wonder, it never runs on what
is wrong, but only on indifferent things, considering what is going on
here, or there, or elsewhere.  I see then, more and more, the
exceeding great mercy of our Lord to me, when He keeps this lunatic
bound in the chains of perfect contemplation.  I wonder what would
happen if those people who think I am good knew of my extravagance.  I
am very sorry when I see my soul in such bad company; I long to see it
delivered therefrom, and so I say to our Lord: When, O my God, shall I
see my whole soul praising Thee, that it may have the fruition of Thee
in all its faculties? Let me be no longer, O Lord, thus torn to
pieces, and every one of them, as it were, running in a different
direction.  This has been often the case with me, but I think that my
scanty bodily health was now and then enough to bring it about.</p>
<p><a name="l30.20">20</a>. I dwell much on the harm which original
sin has done us; that is, I believe, what has rendered us incapable of
the fruition of so great a good.  My sins, too, must be in fault; for,
if I had not committed so many, I should have been more perfect in
goodness.  Another great affliction which I suffered was this: all the
books which I read on the subject of prayer, I thought I understood
thoroughly, and that I required them no longer, because our Lord had
given me the gift of prayer.  I therefore ceased to read those books,
and applied myself to lives of Saints, thinking that this would
improve me and give me courage; for I found myself very defective in
every kind of service which the Saints rendered unto God.  Then it
struck me that I had very little humility, when I could think that I
had attained to this degree of prayer; and so, when I could not come
to any other conclusion, I was greatly distressed, until certain
learned persons, and the blessed friar, Peter of Alcantara, told me
not to trouble myself about the matter.</p>
<p><a name="l30.21">21</a>. I see clearly enough that I have not yet
begun to serve God, though He showers down upon me those very graces
which He gives to many good people.  I am a mass of imperfection,
except in desire and in love; for herein I see well that our Lord has
been gracious to me, in order that I may please Him in some measure.
I really think that I love Him; but my conduct, and the many
imperfections I discern in myself, make me sad.</p>
<p><a name="l30.22">22</a>. My soul, also, is subject occasionally to
a certain foolishness,--that is the right name to give it,--when I
seem to be doing neither good nor evil, but following in the wake of
others, as they say, without pain or pleasure, indifferent to life and
death, pleasure and pain.  I seem to have no feeling.  The soul
seems to me like a little ass, which feeds and thrives, because it
accepts the food which is given it, and eats it without reflection.
The soul in this state must be feeding on some great mercies of God,
seeing that its miserable life is no burden to it, and that it bears
it patiently but it is conscious of no sensible movements or results,
whereby it may ascertain the state it is in.</p>
<p><a name="l30.23">23</a>. It seems to me now like sailing with a
very gentle wind, when one makes much way without knowing how; for in
the other states, so great are the effects, that the soul sees almost
at once an improvement in itself, because the desires instantly are on
fire, and the soul is never satisfied.  This comes from those great
impetuosities of love, spoken of before, [<a href="#l30note16">16</a>]
in those to whom God grants them.  It is like those little wells I
have seen flowing, wherein the upheaving of the sand never ceases.
This illustration and comparison seem to me to be a true description
of those souls who attain to this state; their love is ever active,
thinking what it may do; it cannot contain itself, as the water
remains not in the earth, but is continually welling upwards.  So is
the soul, in general; it is not at rest, nor can it contain itself,
because of the love it has: it is so saturated therewith, that it
would have others drink of it, because there is more than enough for
itself, in order that they might help it to praise God.</p>
<p><a name="l30.24">24</a>. I call to remembrance--oh, how
often!--that living water of which our Lord spoke to the Samaritan
woman. That Gospel [<a href="#l30note17">17</a>] has a great attraction
for me; and, indeed, so it had even when I was a little child, though
I did not understand it then as I do now.  I used to pray much to our
Lord for that living water; and I had always a picture of it,
representing our Lord at the well, with this inscription, <span
lang="la">&#34;Domine, da
mihi aquam.&#34;</span> [<a href="#l30note18">18</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l30.25">25</a>. This love is also like a great fire, which
requires fuel continually, in order that it may not burn out.  So
those souls I am speaking of, however much it may cost them, will
always bring fuel, in order that the fire may not be quenched.  As for
me, I should be glad, considering what I am, if I had but straw even
to throw upon it.  And so it is with me occasionally--and, indeed,
very often.  At one time, I laugh at myself; and at another, I am very
much distressed.  The inward stirring of my love urges me to do
something for the service of God; and I am not able to do more than
adorn images with boughs and flowers, clean or arrange an oratory, or
some such trifling acts, so that I am ashamed of myself.  If I
undertook any penitential practice, the whole was so slight, and was
done in such a way, that if our Lord did not accept my good will, I
saw it was all worthless, and so I laughed at myself.  The failure of
bodily strength, sufficient to do something for God, is no light
affliction for those souls to whom He, in His goodness, has
communicated this fire of His love in its fulness.  It is a very good
penance; for when souls are not strong enough to heap fuel on this
fire, and die of fear that the fire may go out, it seems to me that
they become fuel themselves, are reduced to ashes, or dissolved in
tears, and burn away: and this is suffering enough, though it
be sweet.</p>
<p><a name="l30.26">26</a>. Let him, then, praise our Lord
exceedingly, who has attained to this state; who has received the
bodily strength requisite for penance; who has learning, ability, and
power to preach, to hear confessions, and to draw souls unto God.
Such a one neither knows nor comprehends the blessing he possesses,
unless he knows by experience what it is to be powerless to serve God
in anything, and at the same time to be receiving much from Him.  May
He be blessed for ever, and may the angels glorify Him! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l30.27">27</a>. I know not if I do well to write so
much in detail.  But as you, my father, bade me again not to be
troubled by the minuteness of my account, nor to omit anything, I go
on recounting clearly and truly all I can call to mind.  But I must
omit much; for if I did not, I should have to spend more time--and, as
I said before, [<a href="#l30note19">19</a>] I have so little to
spend, and perhaps, after all, nothing will be gained.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l30note1">1</a>. <a href="#l27.17">Ch.
xxvii. §§ 17, 18, 19</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note2">2</a>. <span lang="es">Hoja de
lata</span>, <span lang="es">&#34;cierta hoja de
hierro muy delgada&#34;</span> (Cobarruvias, <cite
lang="es">Tesoro</cite>, <span lang="la">in voce</span>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note3">3</a>. <a href="#l24.5">Ch.
xxiv. § 5</a>. Doņa Guiomar de Ulloa.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note4">4</a>. <a href="#l26.5">Ch.
xxvi. § 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note5">5</a>. <a href="#l7.12">Ch.
vii. § 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note6">6</a>. See <a
href="#l28.24">ch. xxviii. § 24</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note7">7</a>. <a href="#l23.7">Ch.
xxiii. § 7</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note8">8</a>. A &#34;custody&#34; is a division
of the province, in the Order of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis, comprising a certain number of 
convents.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note9">9</a>. <a
href="#l30.10">§ 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note10">10</a>. Job i.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note11">11</a>. See <a
href="#l32.1">ch. xxxii. § 1</a>, &#38;c.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note12">12</a>. See <a
href="#l28.6">ch. xxviii. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note13">13</a>. See <cite>Way of
Perfection</cite>, ch. lxi. § 2; but ch. xxxiv. § 8 of the
earlier editions.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note14">14</a>. <a href="#l20.21">Ch.
xx. § 21</a>, <a href="#l25.22">ch. xxv. § 22</a>, <a
href="#l26.3">ch. xxvi. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note15">15</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;Un
Credo.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note16">16</a>. <a href="#l29.11">Ch.
xxix. § 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note17">17</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John iv. 5-42: the Gospel of Friday after the Third
Sunday in Lent, where the words are, <span
lang="la">&#34;hanc aquam.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note18">18</a>. &#34;Lord, give me this
water&#34; (<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> John iv. 15).  See <a
href="#l1.6">ch. i. § 6</a>; and <cite>Way of
Perfection</cite>, ch. xxix. § 5; ch. xix. § 5 of the
earlier editions.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l30note19">19</a>. <a href="#l14.12">Ch.
xiv. § 12</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l31.0">Chapter XXXI.</a></h3>
<p><big>Of Certain Outward Temptations and Appearances of Satan.  Of
the Sufferings Thereby Occasioned.  Counsels for Those Who Go on
Unto Perfection.</big></p>
<p><a name="l31.1">1</a>. Now that I have described certain
temptations and troubles, interior and secret, of which Satan was the
cause, I will speak of others which he wrought almost in public, and
in which his presence could not
be ignored. [<a href="#l31note1">1</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l31.2">2</a>. I was once in an oratory, when Satan, in an
abominable shape, appeared on my left hand.  I looked at his mouth in
particular, because he spoke, and it was horrible.  A huge flame
seemed to issue out of his body, perfectly bright, without any shadow.
He spoke in a fearful way, and said to me that, though I had escaped
out of his hands, he would yet lay hold of me again.  I was in great
terror, made the sign of the cross as well as I could, and then the
form vanished--but it reappeared instantly.  This occurred twice; I
did not know what to do; there was some holy water at hand; I took
some, and threw it in the direction of the figure, and then Satan
never returned.</p>
<p><a name="l31.3">3</a>. On another occasion, I was tortured
for five hours with such terrible pains, such inward and outward
sufferings, that it seemed to me as if I could not bear them.  Those
who were with me were frightened; they knew not what to do, and I
could not help myself.  I am in the habit, when these pains and my
bodily suffering are most unendurable, to make interior acts as well
as I can, imploring our Lord, if it be His will, to give me patience,
and then to let me suffer on, even to the end of the world.  So, when
I found myself suffering so cruelly, I relieved myself by making those
acts and resolutions, in order that I might be able to endure the
pain.  It pleased our Lord to let me understand that it was the work
of Satan; for I saw close beside me a most frightful little negro,
gnashing his teeth in despair at losing what he attempted to seize.
When I saw him, I laughed, and had no fear; for there were some then
present who were helpless, and knew of no means whereby so great a
pain could be relieved.  My body, head, and arms were violently
shaken; I could not help myself: but the worst of all was the interior
pain, for I could find no ease in any way.  Nor did I dare to ask for
holy water, lest those who were with me should be afraid, and find out
what the matter really was.</p>
<p><a name="l31.4">4</a>. I know by frequent experience that there is
nothing which puts the devils to flight like holy water.  They run
away before the sign of the cross also, but they return immediately:
great, then, must be the power of holy water.  As for me, my soul is
conscious of a special and most distinct consolation whenever I take
it.  Indeed, I feel almost always a certain refreshing, which I cannot
describe, together with an inward joy, which comforts my whole soul.
This is no fancy, nor a thing which has occurred once only; for it has
happened very often, and I have watched it very carefully.  I may
compare what I feel with that which happens to a person in great heat,
and very thirsty, drinking a cup of cold water--his whole being is
refreshed.  I consider that everything ordained by the Church is very
important; and I have a joy in reflecting that the words of the Church
are so mighty, that they endow water with power, so that there shall
be so great a difference between holy water and water that has never
been blessed.  Then, as my pains did not cease, I told them, if they
would not laugh, I would ask for some holy water.  They brought me
some, and sprinkled me with it; but I was no better.  I then threw
some myself in the direction of the negro, when he fled in a moment.
All my sufferings ceased, just as if some one had taken them from me
with his hand; only I was wearied, as if I had been beaten with many
blows.  It was of great service to me to learn that if, by our Lord's
permission, Satan can do so much evil to a soul and body not in his
power, he can do much more when he has them in his possession.  It
gave me a renewed desire to be delivered from a fellowship
so dangerous.</p>
<p><a name="l31.5">5</a>. Another time, and not long ago, the same
thing happened to me, though it did not last so long, and I was alone
at the moment.  I asked for holy water; and they who came in after the
devil had gone away,--they were two nuns, worthy of all credit, and
would not tell a lie for anything,--perceived a most offensive smell,
like that of brimstone.  I smelt nothing myself; but the odour lasted
long enough to become sensible to them.</p>
<p><a name="l31.6">6</a>. On another occasion, I was in choir, when,
in a moment, I became profoundly recollected.  I went out in order
that the sisters might know nothing of it; yet those who were near
heard the sound of heavy blows where I was, and I heard voices myself,
as of persons in consultation, but I did not hear what they said: I
was so absorbed in prayer that I understood nothing, neither was I at
all afraid.  This took place almost always when our Lord was pleased
that some soul or other, persuaded by me, advanced in the spiritual
life.  Certainly, what I am now about to describe happened to me once;
there are witnesses to testify to it, particularly my present
confessor, for he saw the account in a letter.  I did not tell him
from whom the letter came, but he knew perfectly who the
person was.</p>
<p><a name="l31.7">7</a>. There came to me a person who, for two years
and a half, had been living in mortal sin of the most abominable
nature I ever heard.  During the whole of that time, he neither
confessed it nor ceased from it; and yet he said Mass.  He confessed
his other sins but of this one he used to say, How can I confess so
foul a sin?  He wished to give it up, but he could not prevail on
himself to do so.  I was very sorry for him, and it was a great grief
to me to see God offended in such a way.  I promised him that I would
pray to God for his amendment, and get others who were better than I
to do the same.  I wrote to one person, and the priest undertook to
get the letter delivered.  It came to pass that he made a full
confession at the first opportunity; for our Lord God was pleased, on
account of the prayers of those most holy persons to whom I had
recommended him, to have pity on this soul.  I, too, wretched as I am,
did all I could for the same end.</p>
<p><a name="l31.8">8</a>. He wrote to me, and said that he was so far
improved, that he had not for some days repeated his sin; but he was
so tormented by the temptation, that it seemed to him as if he were in
hell already, so great were his sufferings.  He asked me to pray to
God for him.  I recommended him to my sisters, through whose prayers I
must have obtained this mercy from our Lord; for they took the matter
greatly to heart; and he was a person whom no one could find out.  I
implored His Majesty to put an end to these torments and temptations,
and to let the evil spirits torment me instead, provided I did not
offend our Lord.  Thus it was that for one month I was most
grievously tormented; and then it was that these two assaults of
Satan, of which I have just spoken, took place.</p>
<p><a name="l31.9">9</a>. Our Lord was pleased to deliver him out of
this temptation, so I was informed; for I told him what happened to
myself that month.  His soul gained strength, and he continued free;
he could never give thanks enough to our Lord and to me as if I had
been of any service--unless it be that the belief he had that our Lord
granted me such graces was of some advantage to him.  He said that,
when he saw himself in great straits, he would read my letters, and
then the temptation left him.  He was very much astonished at my
sufferings, and at the manner of his own deliverance: even I myself am
astonished, and I would suffer as much for many years for the
deliverance of that soul.  May our Lord be praised for ever! for the
prayers of those who serve Him can do great things; and I believe the
sisters of this house do serve Him.  The devils must have been more
angry with me only because I asked them to pray, and because our Lord
permitted it on account of my sins.  At that time, too, I thought the
evil spirits would have suffocated me one night, and when the sisters
threw much holy water about I saw a great troop of them rush away as
if tumbling over a precipice.  These cursed spirits have tormented me
so often, and I am now so little afraid of them,--because I see they
cannot stir without our Lord's permission,--that I should weary both
you, my father, and myself, if I were to speak of these things
in detail.</p>
<p><a name="l31.10">10</a>. May this I have written be of use to the
true servant of God, who ought to despise these terrors, which Satan
sends only to make him afraid!  Let him understand that each time we
despise those terrors, their force is lessened, and the soul gains
power over them.  There is always some great good obtained; but I will
not speak of it, that I may not be too diffuse.  I will speak,
however, of what happened to me once on the night of All Souls.  I was
in an oratory, and, having said one Nocturn, was saying some very
devotional prayers at the end of our Breviary, when Satan put himself
on the book before me, to prevent my finishing my prayer.  I made the
sign of the cross, and he went away. I then returned to my prayer, and
he, too, came back; he did so, I believe, three times, and I was not
able to finish the prayer without throwing holy water at him.  I saw
certain souls at that moment come forth out of purgatory--they must
have been near their deliverance, and I thought that Satan might in
this way have been trying to hinder their release.  It is very rarely
that I saw Satan assume a bodily form; I know of his presence through
the vision I have spoken of before, [<a href="#l31note2">2</a>] the
vision wherein no form is seen.</p>
<p><a name="l31.11">11</a>. I wish also to relate what follows, for I
was greatly alarmed at it: on Trinity Sunday, in the choir of a
certain monastery, and in a trance, I saw a great fight between evil
spirits and the angels.  I could not make out what the vision meant.
In less than a fortnight, it was explained clearly enough by the
dispute that took place between persons given to prayer and many who
were not, which did great harm to that house; for it was a dispute
that lasted long and caused much trouble.  On another occasion, I saw
a great multitude of evil spirits round about me, and, at the same
time, a great light, in which I was enveloped, which kept them from
coming near me.  I understood it to mean that God was watching over
me, that they might not approach me so as to make me offend Him.  I
knew the vision was real by what I saw occasionally in myself.  The
fact is, I know now how little power the evil spirits have, provided I
am not out of the grace of God; I have scarcely any fear of them at
all, for their strength is as nothing, if they do not find the souls
they assail give up the contest, and become cowards; it is in this
case that they show their power.</p>
<p><a name="l31.12">12</a>. Now and then, during the temptations I am
speaking of, it seemed to me as if all my vanity and weakness in times
past had become alive again within me; so I had reason enough to
commit myself into the hands of God.  Then I was tormented by the
thought that, as these things came back to my memory, I must be
utterly in the power of Satan, until my confessor consoled me; for I
imagined that even the first movement towards an evil thought ought
not to have come near one who had received from our Lord such great
graces as I had.</p>
<p><a name="l31.13">13</a>. At other times, I was much tormented--and
even now I am tormented--when I saw people make much of me,
particularly great people, and when they spake well of me.  I have
suffered, and still suffer, much in this way.  I think at once of the
life of Christ and of the Saints, and then my life seems the reverse
of theirs, for they received nothing but contempt and ill-treatment.
All this makes me afraid; I dare not lift up my head, and I wish
nobody saw me at all.  It is not thus with me when I am persecuted;
then my soul is so conscious of strength, though the body suffers, and
though I am in other ways afflicted, that I do not know how this can
be; but so it is,--and my soul seems then to be a queen in its
kingdom, having everything under its feet.</p>
<p><a name="l31.14">14</a>. I had such a thought now and then--and,
indeed, for many days together.  I regarded it as a sign of virtue and
of humility; but I see clearly now it was nothing else but a
temptation.  A Dominican friar, of great learning, showed it to me
very plainly.  When I considered that the graces which our Lord had
bestowed upon me might come to the knowledge of the public, my
sufferings became so excessive as greatly to disturb my soul.  They
went so far, that I made up my mind, while thinking of it, that I
would rather be buried alive than have these things known.  And so,
when I began to be profoundly recollected, or to fall into a trance,
which I could not resist even in public, I was so ashamed of myself,
that I would not appear where people might see me.</p>
<p><a name="l31.15">15</a>. Once, when I was much distressed at this,
our Lord said to me, What was I afraid of? one of two things must
happen--people would either speak ill of me, or give glory to Him.  He
made me understand by this, that those who believed in the truth of
what was going on in me would glorify Him; and that those who did not
would condemn me without cause: in both ways I should be the gainer,
and I was therefore not to distress myself. [<a href="#l31note3">3</a>]
This made me quite calm, and it comforts me whenever I think
of it.</p>
<p><a name="l31.16">16</a>. This temptation became so excessive, that
I wished to leave the house, and take my dower to another monastery,
where enclosure was more strictly observed than in that wherein I was
at this time.  I had heard great things of that other house, which was
of the same Order as mine; it was also at a great distance, and it
would have been a great consolation to me to live where I was not
known; but my confessor would never let me go.  These fears deprived
me in a great measure of all liberty of spirit; and I understood
afterwards that this was not true humility, because it disturbed me so
much.  And our Lord taught me this truth; if I was convinced, and
certainly persuaded, that all that was good in me came wholly and only
from God, and if it did not distress me to hear the praises of
others,--yea, rather, if I was pleased and comforted when I saw that
God was working in them,--then neither should I be distressed if He
showed forth His works in me.</p>
<p><a name="l31.17">17</a>. I fell, too, into another extreme.  I
begged of God, and made it a particular subject of prayer, that it
might please His Majesty, whenever any one saw any good in me, that
such a one might also become acquainted with my sins, in order that he
might see that His graces were bestowed on me without any merit on my
part: and I always greatly desire this.  My confessor told me not to
do it. But almost to this day, if I saw that any one thought well of
me, I used in a roundabout way, or any how, as I could, to contrive he
should know of my sins: [<a href="#l31note4">4</a>] that seemed to
relieve me.  But they have made me very scrupulous on this point.
This, it appears to me, was not an effect of humility, but oftentimes
the result of temptation.  It seemed to me that I was deceiving
everybody--though, in truth, they deceived themselves, by thinking
that there was any good in me. [<a href="#l31note5">5</a>]  I did not
wish to deceive them, nor did I ever attempt it, only our Lord
permitted it for some end; and so, even with my confessors, I never
discussed any of these matters if I did not see the necessity of it,
for that would have occasioned very considerable scruples.</p>
<p><a name="l31.18">18</a>. All these little fears and distresses, and
semblance of humility, I now see clearly were mere imperfections, and
the result of my unmortified life; for a soul left in the hands of God
cares nothing about evil or good report, if it clearly comprehends,
when our Lord is pleased to bestow upon it His grace, that it has
nothing of its own.  Let it trust the Giver; it will know hereafter
why He reveals His gifts, and prepare itself for persecution, which in
these times is sure to come, when it is our Lord's will it should be
known of any one that He bestows upon him graces such as these; for a
thousand eyes are watching that soul, while a thousand souls of
another order are observed of none.  In truth, there was no little
ground for fear, and that fear should have been mine: I was therefore
not humble, but a coward; for a soul which God permits to be thus seen
of men may well prepare itself to be the world's martyr--because, if
it will not die to the world voluntarily, that very world will
kill it.</p>
<p><a name="l31.19">19</a>. Certainly, I see nothing in the world that
seems to me good except this, that it tolerates no faults in good
people, and helps them to perfection by dint of complaints against
them.  I mean, that it requires greater courage in one not yet perfect
to walk in the way of perfection than to undergo an instant martyrdom;
for perfection is not attained to at once, unless our Lord grant that
grace by a special privilege: yet the world, when it sees any one
beginning to travel on that road, insists on his becoming perfect at
once, and a thousand leagues off detects in him a fault, which after
all may be a virtue.  He who finds fault is doing the very same
thing,--but, in his own case, viciously,--and he pronounces it to be
so wrong in the other.  He who aims at perfection, then, must neither
eat nor sleep,--nor, as they say, even breathe; and the more men
respect such a one, the more do they forget that he is still in the
body; and, though they may consider him perfect, he is living on the
earth, subject to its miseries, however much he may tread them under
his feet. And so, as I have just said, great courage is necessary here
for, though the poor soul have not yet begun to walk, the world will
have it fly; and, though its passions be not wholly overcome, men will
have it that they must be under restraint, even upon trying occasions,
as those of the Saints are, of whom they read, after they are
confirmed in grace.</p>
<p><a name="l31.20">20</a>. All this is a reason for praising God, and
also for great sorrow of heart, because very many go backwards who,
poor souls, know not how to help themselves; and I too, I believe,
would have gone back also, if our Lord had not so mercifully on His
part done everything for me.  And until He, of His goodness, had done
all, nothing was done by me, as you, my father, may have seen already,
beyond falling and rising again.  I wish I knew how to explain it,
because many souls, I believe, delude themselves in this matter; they
would fly before God gives them wings.</p>
<p><a name="l31.21">21</a>. I believe I have made this comparison on
another occasion, [<a href="#l31note6">6</a>] but it is to the purpose
here, for I see certain souls are very greatly afflicted on that
ground.  When these souls begin, with great fervour, courage, and
desire, to advance in virtue,--some of them, at least outwardly,
giving up all for God,--when they see in others, more advanced than
themselves, greater fruits of virtue given them by our Lord,--for we
cannot acquire these of ourselves,--when they see in all the books
written on prayer and on contemplation an account of what we have to
do in order to attain thereto, but which they cannot accomplish
themselves,--they lose heart.  For instance, they read that we must
not be troubled when men speak ill of us, that we are to be then more
pleased than when they speak well of us; that we must despise our own
good name, be detached from our kindred; avoid their company, which
should be wearisome to us, unless they be given to prayer; with many
other things of the same kind.  The disposition to practise this must
be, in my opinion, the gift of God; for it seems to me a supernatural
good, contrary to our natural inclinations.  Let them not distress
themselves; let them trust in our Lord: what they now desire, His
Majesty will enable them to attain to by prayer, and by doing what
they can themselves; for it is very necessary for our weak nature that
we should have great confidence, that we should not be fainthearted,
nor suppose that, if we do our best, we shall fail to obtain the
victory at last.  And as my experience here is large, I will say, by
way of caution to you, my father, do not think--though it may seem
so--that a virtue is acquired when we have not tested it by its
opposing vice: we must always be suspicious of ourselves, and never
negligent while we live; for much evil clings to us if, as I said
before, [<a href="#l31note7">7</a>] grace be not given to us fully to
understand what everything is: and in this life there is nothing
without great risks.</p>
<p><a name="l31.22">22</a>. I thought a few years ago, not only that I
was detached from my kindred, but that they were a burden to me; and
certainly it was so, for I could not endure their conversation.  An
affair of some importance had to be settled, and I had to remain with
a sister of mine, for whom I had always before had a great affection.
The conversation we had together, though she is better than I am, did
not please me; for it could not always be on subjects I preferred,
owing to the difference of our conditions--she being married.  I was
therefore as much alone as I could; yet I felt that her troubles gave
me more trouble than did those of my neighbours, and even some
anxiety.  In short, I found out that I was not so detached as I
thought, and that it was necessary for me to flee from dangerous
occasions, in order that the virtue which our Lord had begun to
implant in me might grow; and so, by His help, I have striven to do
from that time till now.</p>
<p><a name="l31.23">23</a>. If our Lord bestows any virtue upon us, we
must make much of it, and by no means run the risk of losing it; so it
is in those things which concern our good name, and many other
matters.  You, my father, must believe that we are not all of us
detached, though we think we are; it is necessary for us never to be
careless on this point.  If any one detects in himself any tenderness
about his good name, and yet wishes to advance in the spiritual life,
let him believe me and throw this embarrassment behind his back, for
it is a chain which no file can sever; only the help of God, obtained
by prayer and much striving on his part, can do it.  It seems to me to
be a hindrance on the road, and I am astonished at the harm it does.
I see some persons so holy in their works, and they are so great as to
fill people with wonder.  O my God, why is their soul still on the
earth?  Why has it not arrived at the summit of perfection?  What does
it mean?  What keeps him back who does so much for God?  Oh, there it
is!--self-respect! and the worst of it is, that these persons will not
admit that they have it, merely because Satan now and then convinces
them that they are under an obligation to observe it.</p>
<p><a name="l31.24">24</a>. Well, then, let them believe me: for the
love of our Lord, let them give heed to the little ant, who speaks
because it is His pleasure.  If they take not this caterpillar away,
though it does not hurt the whole tree, because some virtues remain,
the worm will eat into every one of them.  Not only is the tree not
beautiful, but it also never thrives, neither does it suffer the
others near it to thrive; for the fruit of good example which it bears
is not sound, and endures but a short time.  I say it again and again,
let our self-respect be ever so slight, it will have the same result
as the missing of a note on the organ when it is played,--the whole
music is out of tune.  It is a thing which hurts the soul exceedingly
in every way, but it is a pestilence in the way of prayer.</p>
<p><a name="l31.25">25</a>. Are we striving after union with God? and
do we wish to follow the counsels of Christ,--who was loaded with
reproaches and falsely accused,--and, at the same time, to keep our
own reputation and credit untouched?  We cannot succeed, for these
things are inconsistent one with another.  Our Lord comes to the soul
when we do violence to ourselves, and strive to give up our rights in
many things.  Some will say, I have nothing that I can give up, nor
have I any opportunity of doing so.  I believe that our Lord will
never suffer any one who has made so good a resolution as this to miss
so great a blessing.  His Majesty will make so many arrangements for
him, whereby he may acquire this virtue,--more frequently, perhaps,
than he will like.  Let him put his hand to the work.  I speak of the
little nothings and trifles which I gave up when I began--or, at
least, of some of them: the straws which I
said [<a href="#l31note8">8</a>] I threw into the fire; for I am not
able to do more.  All this our Lord accepted: may He be blessed
for evermore!</p>
<p><a name="l31.26">26</a>. One of my faults was this: I had a very
imperfect knowledge of my Breviary and of my duties in choir, simply
because I was careless and given to vanities; and I knew the other
novices could have taught me.  But I never asked them, that they might
not know how little I knew.  It suggested itself to me at once, that I
ought to set a good example: this is very common.  Now, however, that
God has opened my eyes a little, even when I know a thing, but yet am
very slightly in doubt about it, I ask the children.  I have lost
neither honour nor credit by it--on the contrary, I believe our Lord
has been pleased to strengthen my memory.  My singing of the Office
was bad, and I felt it much if I had not learned the part intrusted to
me,--not because I made mistakes before our Lord, which would have
been a virtue, but because I made them before the many nuns who heard
me.  I was so full of my own reputation, that I was disturbed, and
therefore did not sing what I had to sing even so well as I might have
done.  Afterwards, I ventured, when I did not know it very well, to
say so.  At first, I felt it very much; but afterwards I found
pleasure in doing it.  So, when I began to be indifferent about its
being known that I could not sing well, it gave me no pain at all, and
I sang much better.  This miserable self-esteem took from me the power
of doing that which I regarded as an honour, for every one regards as
honourable that which he likes.</p>
<p><a name="l31.27">27</a>. By trifles such as these, which are
nothing,--and I am altogether nothing myself, seeing that this gave me
pain,--by little and little, doing such actions, and by such slight
performances,--they become of worth because done for God,--His Majesty
helps us on towards greater things; and so it happened to me in the
matter of humility.  When I saw that all the nuns except myself were
making great progress,--I was always myself good for nothing,--I used
to fold up their mantles when they left the choir.  I looked on myself
as doing service to angels who had been there praising God.  I did so
till they--I know not how--found it out; and then I was not a little
ashamed, because my virtue was not strong enough to bear that they
should know of it.  But the shame arose, not because I was humble, but
because I was afraid they would laugh at me, the matter being
so trifling.</p>
<p><a name="l31.28">28</a>. O Lord, what a shame for me to lay bare so
much wickedness, and to number these grains of sand, which yet I did
not raise up from the ground in Thy service without mixing them with a
thousand meannesses!  The waters of Thy grace were not as yet flowing
beneath them, so as to make them ascend upwards.  O my Creator, oh,
that I had anything worth recounting amid so many evil things, when I
am recounting the great mercies I received at Thy hands!  So it is, O
my Lord.  I know not how my heart could have borne it, nor how any one
who shall read this can help having me in abhorrence when he sees that
mercies so great had been so ill-requited, and that I have not been
ashamed to speak of these services.  Ah! they are only mine, O my
Lord; but I am ashamed I have nothing else to say of myself; and that
it is that makes me speak of these wretched beginnings, in order that
he who has begun more nobly may have hope that our Lord, who has made
much of mine, will make more of his.  May it please His Majesty to
give me this grace, that I may not remain for ever at the
beginning! Amen. [<a href="#l31note9">9</a>]</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l31note1">1</a>. 2 Cor. ii. 11: <span
lang="la">&#34;Non enim ignoramus
cogitationes ejus.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l31note2">2</a>. <a href="#l27.4">Ch.
xxvii. § 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l31note3">3</a>. See <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>,
vi. ch. iv. § 12.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l31note4">4</a>. <cite>Way of Perfection</cite>,
ch. lxv. § 2; but ch. xxxvi. of the previous editions.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l31note5">5</a>. See <a
href="#l10.10">ch. x. § 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l31note6">6</a>. <a href="#l13.3">Ch.
xiii. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l31note7">7</a>. <a href="#l20.38">Ch.
xx. § 38</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l31note8">8</a>. <a href="#l30.25">Ch.
xxx. § 25</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l31note9">9</a>. Don Vicente de la Fuente thinks
the first &#34;Life&#34; ended here; that which follows was written
under obedience to her confessor, F. Garcia of Toledo, and after the
foundation of the monastery of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, Avila.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l32.0">Chapter XXXII.</a></h3>
<p><big>Our Lord Shows <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa the Place
Which She Had by Her Sins Deserved in Hell.  The Torments There.  How
the Monastery of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph
Was Founded.</big></p>
<p><a name="l32.1">1</a>. Some considerable time after our Lord had
bestowed upon me the graces I have been describing, and others also of
a higher nature, I was one day in prayer when I found myself in a
moment, without knowing how, plunged apparently into hell.  I
understood that it was our Lord's will I should see the place which
the devils kept in readiness for me, and which I had deserved by my
sins.  It was but a moment, but it seems to me impossible I should
ever forget it even if I were to live many years.</p>
<p><a name="l32.2">2</a>. The entrance seemed to be by a long narrow
pass, like a furnace, very low, dark, and close.  The ground seemed to
be saturated with water, mere mud, exceedingly foul, sending forth
pestilential odours, and covered with loathsome vermin.  At the end
was a hollow place in the wall, like a closet, and in that I saw
myself confined.  All this was even pleasant to behold in comparison
with what I felt there.  There is no exaggeration in what I
am saying.</p>
<p><a name="l32.3">3</a>. But as to what I then felt, I do not know
where to begin, if I were to describe it; it is utterly inexplicable.
I felt a fire in my soul.  I cannot see how it is possible to describe
it.  My bodily sufferings were unendurable.  I have undergone most
painful sufferings in this life, and, as the physicians say, the
greatest that can be borne, such as the contraction of my sinews when
I was paralysed, [<a href="#l32note1">1</a>] without speaking of others
of different kinds, yea, even those of which I have also
spoken, [<a href="#l32note2">2</a>] inflicted on me by Satan;
yet all these were as nothing in comparison with what I felt then,
especially when I saw that there would be no intermission, nor any end
to them.</p>
<p><a name="l32.4">4</a>. These sufferings were nothing in comparison
with the anguish of my soul, a sense of oppression, of stifling, and
of pain so keen, accompanied by so hopeless and cruel an infliction,
that I know not how to speak of it.  If I said that the soul is
continually being torn from the body, it would be nothing, for that
implies the destruction of life by the hands of another but here it is
the soul itself that is tearing itself in pieces.  I cannot describe
that inward fire or that despair, surpassing all torments and all
pain.  I did not see who it was that tormented me, but I felt myself
on fire, and torn to pieces, as it seemed to me; and, I repeat it,
this inward fire and despair are the greatest torments of all.</p>
<p><a name="l32.5">5</a>. Left in that pestilential place, and utterly
without the power to hope for comfort, I could neither sit nor lie
down: there was no room.  I was placed as it were in a hole in the
wall; and those walls, terrible to look on of themselves, hemmed me in
on every side.  I could not breathe.  There was no light, but all was
thick darkness.  I do not understand how it is; though there was no
light, yet everything that can give pain by being seen
was visible.</p>
<p><a name="l32.6">6</a>. Our Lord at that time would not let me see
more of hell.  Afterwards, I had another most fearful vision, in which
I saw the punishment of certain sins.  They were most horrible to look
at; but, because I felt none of the pain, my terror was not so great.
In the former vision, our Lord made me really feel those torments, and
that anguish of spirit, just as if I had been suffering them in the
body there.  I know not how it was, but I understood distinctly that
it was a great mercy that our Lord would have me see with mine own
eyes the very place from which His compassion saved me.  I have
listened to people speaking of these things, and I have at other times
dwelt on the various torments of hell, though not often, because my
soul made no progress by the way of fear; and I have read of the
diverse tortures, and how the devils tear the flesh with red-hot
pincers.  But all is as nothing before this; it is a wholly different
matter.  In short, the one is a reality, the other a picture; and all
burning here in this life is as nothing in comparison with the fire
that is there.</p>
<p><a name="l32.7">7</a>. I was so terrified by that vision,--and that
terror is on me even now while I am writing,--that, though it took
place nearly six years ago, [<a href="#l32note3">3</a>] the natural
warmth of my body is chilled by fear even now when I think of it.  And
so, amid all the pain and suffering which I may have had to bear, I
remember no time in which I do not think that all we have to suffer in
this world is as nothing.  It seems to me that we complain without
reason.  I repeat it, this vision was one of the grandest mercies of
our Lord.  It has been to me of the greatest service, because it has
destroyed my fear of trouble and of the contradiction of the world,
and because it has made me strong enough to bear up against them, and
to give thanks to our Lord, who has been my Deliverer, as it now seems
to me, from such fearful and everlasting pains.</p>
<p><a name="l32.8">8</a>. Ever since that time, as I was saying,
everything seems endurable in comparison with one instant of suffering
such as those I had then to bear in hell.  I am filled with fear when
I see that, after frequently reading books which describe in some
manner the pains of hell, I was not afraid of them, nor made any
account of them.  Where was I?  How could I possibly take any pleasure
in those things which led me directly to so dreadful a place?  Blessed
for ever be Thou, O my God! and, oh, how manifest is it that Thou
didst love me much more than I did love Thee!  How often, O Lord,
didst Thou save me from that fearful prison! and how I used to get
back to it contrary to Thy will.</p>
<p><a name="l32.9">9</a>. It was that vision that filled me with the
very great distress which I feel at the sight of so many lost
souls,--especially of the Lutherans,--for they were once members of
the Church by baptism,--and also gave me the most vehement desires for
the salvation of souls; for certainly I believe that, to save even one
from those overwhelming torments, I would most willingly endure many
deaths.  If here on earth we see one whom we specially love in great
trouble or pain, our very nature seems to bid us compassionate him;
and if those pains be great, we are troubled ourselves.  What, then,
must it be to see a soul in danger of pain, the most grievous of all
pains, for ever?  Who can endure it?  It is a thought no heart can
bear without great anguish.  Here we know that pain ends with life at
last, and that there are limits to it; yet the sight of it moves our
compassion so greatly.  That other pain has no ending; and I know not
how we can be calm, when we see Satan carry so many souls
daily away.</p>
<p><a name="l32.10">10</a>. This also makes me wish that, in a matter
which concerns us so much, we did not rest satisfied with doing less
than we can do on our part,--that we left nothing undone.  May our
Lord vouchsafe to give us His grace for that end!  When I consider
that, notwithstanding my very great wickedness, I took some pains to
please God, and abstained from certain things which I know the world
makes light of,--that, in short, I suffered grievous infirmities, and
with great patience, which our Lord gave me; that I was not inclined
to murmur or to speak ill of anybody; that I could not--I believe
so--wish harm to any one; that I was not, to the best of my
recollection, either avaricious or envious, so as to be grievously
offensive in the sight of God; and that I was free from many other
faults,--for, though so wicked, I had lived constantly in the fear of
God,--I had to look at the very place which the devils kept ready for
me.  It is true that, considering my faults, I had deserved a
still heavier chastisement; but for all that, I repeat it, the torment
was fearful, and we run a great risk whenever we please ourselves.  No
soul should take either rest or pleasure that is liable to fall every
moment into mortal sin.  Let us, then, for the love of God, avoid all
occasions of sin, and our Lord will help us, as He has helped me.  May
it please His Majesty never to let me out of His hands, lest I should
turn back and fall, now that I have seen the place where I must dwell
if I do.  I entreat our Lord, for His Majesty's sake, never to permit
it. Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l32.11">11</a>. When I had seen this vision, and had
learned other great and hidden things which our Lord, of His goodness,
was pleased to show me,--namely, the joy of the blessed and the
torment of the wicked,--I longed for the way and the means of doing
penance for the great evil I had done, and of meriting in some degree,
so that I might gain so great a good; and therefore I wished to avoid
all society, and to withdraw myself utterly from the world. I was in
spirit restless, yet my restlessness was not harassing, but rather
pleasant.  I saw clearly that it was the work of God, and that His
Majesty had furnished my soul with fervour, so that I might be able to
digest other and stronger food than I had been accustomed to eat.  I
tried to think what I could do for God, and thought that the first
thing was to follow my vocation to a religious life, which His Majesty
had given me, by keeping my rule in the greatest
perfection possible.</p>
<p><a name="l32.12">12</a>. Though in that house in which I then lived
there were many servants of God, and God was greatly served therein,
yet, because it was very poor, the nuns left it very often and went to
other places, where, however, we could serve God in all honour and
observances of religion.  The rule also was kept, not in its original
exactness, but according to the custom of the whole Order, authorised
by the Bull of Mitigation.  There were other inconveniences also: we
had too many comforts, as it seemed to me; for the house was large and
pleasant.  But this inconvenience of going out, though it was I that
took most advantage of it, was a very grievous one for me; for many
persons, to whom my superiors could not say no, were glad to have me
with them. My superiors, thus importuned, commanded me to visit these
persons; and thus it was so arranged that I could not be long together
in the monastery.  Satan, too, must have had a share in this, in order
that I might not be in the house, where I was of great service to
those of my sisters to whom I continually communicated the
instructions which I received from my confessors.</p>
<p><a name="l32.13">13</a>. It occurred once to a person with whom I
was speaking to say to me and the others that it was possible to find
means for the foundation of a monastery, if we were prepared to become
nuns like those of the Barefooted Orders. [<a href="#l32note4">4</a>]
I, having this desire, began to discuss the matter with that widowed
lady who was my companion,--I have spoken of her
before, [<a href="#l32note5">5</a>]--and she had the same wish that I
had.  She began to consider how to provide a revenue for the home.  I
see now that this was not the way,--only the wish we had to do so made
us think it was; but I, on the other hand, seeing that I took the
greatest delight in the house in which I was then living, because it
was very pleasant to me, and, in my own cell, most convenient for my
purpose, still held back.  Nevertheless, we agreed to commit the
matter with all earnestness to God.</p>
<p><a name="l32.14">14</a>. One day, after Communion, our Lord
commanded me to labour with all my might for this end.  He made me
great promises,--that the monastery would be certainly built; that He
would take great delight therein; that it should be called <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's; that <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph would keep guard at one door, and our
Lady at the other; that Christ would be in the midst of us; that the
monastery would be a star shining in great splendour; that, though the
religious Orders were then relaxed, I was not to suppose that He was
scantily served in them,--for what would become of the world, if there
were no religious in it?--I was to tell my confessor what He commanded
me, and that He asked him not to oppose nor thwart me in
the matter.</p>
<p><a name="l32.15">15</a>. So efficacious was the vision, and such
was the nature of the words our Lord spoke to me, that I could not
possibly doubt that they came from Him.  I suffered most keenly,
because I saw in part the great anxieties and troubles that the work
would cost me, and I was also very happy in the house I was in then;
and though I used to speak of this matter in past times, yet it was
not with resolution nor with any confidence that the thing could ever
be done.  I saw that I was now in a great strait; and when I saw that
I was entering on a work of great anxiety, I hesitated; but our Lord
spoke of it so often to me, and set before me so many reasons and
motives, which I saw could not be gainsaid,--I saw, too, that such was
His will; so I did not dare do otherwise than put the whole matter
before my confessor, and give him an account in writing of all that
took place.</p>
<p><a name="l32.16">16</a>. My confessor did not venture definitely to
bid me abandon my purpose; but he saw that naturally there was no way
of carrying it out; because my friend, who was to do it, had very
little or no means available for that end.  He told me to lay the
matter before my superior, [<a href="#l32note6">6</a>] and do what he
might bid me do.  I never spoke of my visions to my superior, but that
lady who desired to found the monastery communicated with him.  The
Provincial was very much pleased, for he loves the whole Order, gave
her every help that was necessary, and promised to acknowledge the
house.  Then there was a discussion about the revenues of the
monastery, and for many reasons we never would allow more than
thirteen sisters together. Before we began our arrangements, we wrote
to the holy friar, Peter of Alcantara, telling him all that was taking
place; and he advised us not to abandon our work, and gave us his
sanction on all points.</p>
<p><a name="l32.17">17</a>. As soon as the affair began to be known
here, there fell upon us a violent persecution, which cannot be very
easily described--sharp sayings and keen jests.  People said it was
folly in me, who was so well off in my monastery; as to my friend, the
persecution was so continuous, that it wearied her.  I did not know
what to do, and I thought that people were partly in the right.  When
I was thus heavily afflicted, I commended myself to God, and His
Majesty began to console and encourage me.  He told me that I could
then see what the Saints had to go through who founded the religious
Orders: that I had much heavier persecutions to endure than I could
imagine, but I was not to mind them.  He told me also what I was to
say to my friend; and what surprised me most was, that we were
consoled at once as to the past, and resolved to withstand everybody
courageously.  And so it came to pass; for among people of prayer, and
indeed in the whole neighbourhood, there was hardly one who was not
against us, and who did not think our work the greatest folly.</p>
<p><a name="l32.18">18</a>. There was so much talking and confusion in
the very monastery wherein I was, that the Provincial began to think
it hard for him to set himself against everybody; so he changed his
mind, and would not acknowledge the new house.  He said that the
revenue was not certain, and too little, while the opposition was
great.  On the whole, it seemed that he was right; he gave it up at
last, and would have nothing to do with it.  It was a very great pain
to us,--for we seemed now to have received the first blow,--and in
particular to me, to find the Provincial against us; for when he
approved of the plan, I considered myself blameless before all.  They
would not give absolution to my friend, if she did not abandon the
project; for they said she was bound to remove the scandal.</p>
<p><a name="l32.19">19</a>. She went to a very learned man, and a very
great servant of God, of the Order of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic, [<a href="#l32note7">7</a>] to whom
she gave an account of all this matter.  This was even before the
Provincial had withdrawn his consent; for in this place we had no one
who would give us advice; and so they said that it all proceeded
solely from our obstinacy.  That lady gave an account of everything,
and told the holy man how much she received from the property of her
husband.  Having, a great desire that he would help us,--for he was
the most learned man here, and there are few in his Order more learned
than he,--I told him myself all we intended to do, and some of my
motives.  I never said a word of any revelation whatever, speaking
only of the natural reasons which influenced me; for I would not have
him give an opinion otherwise than on those grounds.  He asked us to
give him eight days before he answered, and also if we had made up our
minds to abide by what he might say.  I said we had; but though I said
so, and though I thought so, I never lost a certain confidence that
the monastery would be founded.  My friend had more faith than I;
nothing they could say could make her give it up.  As for myself,
though, as I said, it seemed to me impossible that the work should be
finally abandoned, yet my belief in the truth of the revelation went
no further than in so far as it was not against what is contained in
the sacred writings, nor against the laws of the Church, which we are
bound to keep. Though the revelation seemed to me to have come
really from God, yet, if that learned man had told me that we could
not go on without offending God and going against our conscience, I
believe I should have given it up, and looked out for some other way;
but our Lord showed me no other way than this.</p>
<p><a name="l32.20">20</a>. The servant of God told me afterwards that
he had made up his mind to insist on the abandonment of our project,
for he had already heard the popular cry: moreover, he, as everybody
did, thought it folly; and a certain nobleman also, as soon as he knew
that we had gone to him, had sent him word to consider well what he
was doing, and to give us no help; that when he began to consider the
answer he should make us, and to ponder on the matter, the object we
had in view, our manner of life, and the Order, he became convinced
that it was greatly for the service of God, and that we must not give
it up.  Accordingly, his answer was that we should make haste to
settle the matter.  He told us how and in what way it was to be done;
and if our means were scanty, we must trust somewhat in God.  If
anyone made any objections, they were to go to him--he would answer
them; and in this way he always helped us, as I shall show by
and by. [<a href="#l32note8">8</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l32.21">21</a>. This answer was a great comfort to us; so
also was the conduct of certain holy persons who were usually against
us: they were now pacified, and some of them even helped us.  One of
them was the saintly nobleman [<a href="#l32note9">9</a>] of whom I
spoke before; [<a href="#l32note10">10</a>] he looked on it--so,
indeed, it was--as a means of great perfection, because the whole
foundation was laid in prayer.  He saw also very many difficulties
before us, and no way out of them,--yet he gave up his own opinion,
and admitted that the work might be of God.  Our Lord Himself must
have touched his heart, as He also did that of the doctor, the priest
and servant of God, to whom, as I said
before, [<a href="#l32note11">11</a>] I first spoke, who is an example
to the whole city,--being one whom God maintains there for the relief
and progress of many souls: he, too, came now to give us
his assistance.</p>
<p><a name="l32.22">22</a>. When matters had come to this state, and
always with the help of many prayers, we purchased a house in a
convenient spot; and though it was small, I cared not at all for that,
for our Lord had told me to go into it as well as I could,--that I
should see afterwards what He would do; and how well I have seen it!
I saw, too, how scanty were our means; and yet I believed our Lord
would order these things by other ways, and be gracious unto us.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l32note1">1</a>. See <a
href="#l5.14">ch. v. § 14</a>, <a href="#l6.1">ch.
vi. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l32note2">2</a>. <a href="#l31.3">Ch.
xxxi. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l32note3">3</a>. In 1558 (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l32note4">4</a>. This was said by Maria de Ocampo,
niece of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, then living in the
monastery of the Incarnation, but not a religious; afterwards Maria
Bautista, Prioress of the Carmelites at Valladolid
(<cite>Ribera</cite>, i. 7).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l32note5">5</a>. <a href="#l24.5">Ch.
xxiv. § 5</a>.  Doņa Guiomar de Ulloa.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l32note6">6</a>. The Provincial of the Carmelites:
F. Angel de Salasar (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l32note7">7</a>. F. Pedro Ibaņez (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l32note8">8</a>. <a href="#l33.8">Ch.
xxxiii. § 8</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l32note9">9</a>. Francis de Salcedo.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l32note10">10</a>. <a href="#l23.6">Ch.
xxiii. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l32note11">11</a>. Gaspar Daza.  See <a
href="#l23.6">ch. xxiii. § 6.</a></small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l33.0">Chapter XXXIII.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Foundation of the Monastery Hindered.  Our Lord Consoles
the Saint.</big></p>
<p><a name="l33.1">1</a>. When the matter was in this state--so near
its conclusion, that on the very next day the papers were to be
signed--then it was that the Father Provincial changed his mind.  I
believe that the change was divinely ordered--so it appeared
afterwards; for while so many prayers were made, our Lord was
perfecting His work and arranging its execution in another way.  When
the Provincial refused us, my confessor bade me forthwith to think no
more of it, notwithstanding the great trouble and distress which our
Lord knows it cost me to bring it to this state.  When the work was
given up and abandoned, people were the more convinced that it was
altogether the foolishness of women; and the complaints against me
were multiplied, although I had until then this commandment of my
Provincial to justify me.</p>
<p><a name="l33.2">2</a>. I was now very much disliked throughout the
whole monastery, because I wished to found another with stricter
enclosure.  It was said I insulted my sisters; that I could serve God
among them as well as elsewhere, for there were many among them much
better than I; that I did not love the house, and that it would have
been better if I had procured greater resources for it than for
another.  Some said I ought to be put in prison; others--but they were
not many--defended me in some degree.  I saw well enough that they
were for the most part right, and now and then I made excuses for
myself; though, as I could not tell them the chief reason, which was
the commandment of our Lord, I knew not what to do, and so
was silent.</p>
<p><a name="l33.3">3</a>. In other respects God was most merciful unto
me, for all this caused me no uneasiness; and I gave up our design
with much readiness and joy, as if it cost me nothing.  No one could
believe it, not even those men of prayer with whom I conversed; for
they thought I was exceedingly pained and sorry: even my confessor
himself could hardly believe it.  I had done, as it seemed to me, all
that was in my power.  I thought myself obliged to do no more than I
had done to fulfil our Lord's commandment, and so I remained in the
house where I was, exceedingly happy and joyful; though, at the same
time, I was never able to give up my conviction that the work would be
done.  I had now no means of doing it, nor did I know how or when it
would be done; but I firmly believed in its accomplishment.</p>
<p><a name="l33.4">4</a>. I was much distressed at one time by a
letter which my confessor wrote to me, as if I had done anything in
the matter contrary to his will.  Our Lord also must have meant that
suffering should not fail me there where I should feel it most; and
so, amid the multitude of my persecutions, when, as it seemed to me,
consolations should have come from my confessor, he told me that I
ought to recognise in the result that all was a dream; that I ought to
lead a new life by ceasing to have anything to do for the future with
it, or even to speak of it any more, seeing the scandal it had
occasioned.  He made some further remarks, all of them very painful.
This was a greater affliction to me than all the others together.  I
considered whether I had done anything myself, and whether I was to
blame for anything that was an offence unto God; whether all my
visions were illusions, all my prayers a delusion, and I, therefore,
deeply deluded and lost.  This pressed so heavily upon me, that I was
altogether disturbed and most grievously distressed.  But our Lord,
who never failed me in all the trials I speak of, so frequently
consoled and strengthened me, that I need not speak of it here.  He
told me then not to distress myself; that I had pleased God greatly,
and had not sinned against Him throughout the whole affair; that I was
to do what my confessors required of me, and be silent on the subject
till the time came to resume it. I was so comforted and so happy, that
the persecution which had befallen me seemed to be as nothing
at all.</p>
<p><a name="l33.5">5</a>. Our Lord now showed me what an exceedingly
great blessing it is to be tried and persecuted for His sake; for the
growth of the love of God in my soul, which I now discerned, as well
as of many other virtues, was such as to fill me with wonder.  It made
me unable to abstain from desiring trials, and yet those about me
thought I was exceedingly disheartened; and I must have been so, if
our Lord in that extremity had not succoured me with His great
compassion.  Now was the beginning of those more violent impetuosities
of the love of God of which I have spoken
before, [<a href="#l33note1">1</a>] as well as of those profounder
trances.  I kept silence, however, and never spoke of those graces to
any one.  The saintly Dominican [<a href="#l33note2">2</a>] was as
confident as I was that the work would be done; and as I would not
speak of it, in order that nothing might take place contrary to the
obedience I owed my confessor, he communicated with my companion, and
they wrote letters to Rome and made their preparations.</p>
<p><a name="l33.6">6</a>. Satan also contrived now that persons should
hear one from another that I had had a revelation in the matter; and
people came to me in great terror, saying that the times were
dangerous, that something might be laid to my charge, and that I might
be taken before the Inquisitors.  I heard this with pleasure, and it
made me laugh, because I never was afraid of them; for I knew well
enough that in matters of faith I would not break the least ceremony
of the Church, that I would expose myself to die a thousand times
rather than that any one should see me go against it or against any
truth of Holy Writ.  So I told them I was not afraid of that, for my
soul must be in a very bad state if there was anything the matter with
it of such a nature as to make me fear the Inquisition; I would go
myself and give myself up, if I thought there was anything amiss; and
if I should be denounced, our Lord would deliver me, and I should
gain much.</p>
<p><a name="l33.7">7</a>. I had recourse to my Dominican father; for I
could rely upon him, because he was a learned man.  I told him all
about my visions, my way of prayer, the great graces our Lord had
given me, as clearly as I could, and I begged him to consider the
matter well, and tell me if there was anything therein at variance
with the Holy Writings, and give me his opinion on the whole matter.
He reassured me much, and, I think, profited himself; for though he
was exceedingly good, yet, from this time forth, he gave himself more
and more to prayer, and retired to a monastery of his Order which was
very lonely, that he might apply himself more effectually to prayer,
where he remained more than two years.  He was dragged out of his
solitude by obedience, to his great sorrow: his superiors required his
services; for he was a man of great ability.  I, too, on my part, felt
his retirement very much, because it was a great loss to me, though I
did not disturb him.  But I knew it was a gain to him; for when I was
so much distressed at his departure, our Lord bade me be comforted,
not to take it to heart, for he was gone under good guidance.</p>
<p><a name="l33.8">8</a>. So, when he came back, his soul had made
such great progress, and he was so advanced in the ways of the spirit,
that he told me on his return he would not have missed that journey
for anything in the world.  And I, too, could say the same thing; for
where he reassured and consoled me formerly by his mere learning, he
did so now through that spiritual experience he had gained of
supernatural things.  And God, too, brought him here in time; for He
saw that his help would be required in the foundation of the
monastery, which His Majesty willed should be laid.</p>
<p><a name="l33.9">9</a>. I remained quiet after this for five or six
months, neither thinking nor speaking of the matter; nor did our Lord
once speak to me about it.  I know not why, but I could never rid
myself of the thought that the monastery would be founded.  At the end
of that time, the then Rector [<a href="#l33note3">3</a>] of the
Society of Jesus having gone away, His Majesty brought into his place
another, [<a href="#l33note4">4</a>] of great spirituality, high
courage, strong understanding, and profound learning, at the very time
when I was in great straits.  As he who then heard my confession had a
superior over him--the fathers of the Society are extremely strict
about the virtue of obedience and never stir but in conformity with
the will of their superiors,--so he would not dare, though he
perfectly understood my spirit, and desired the accomplishment of my
purpose, to come to any resolution; and he had many reasons to justify
his conduct.  I was at the same time subject to such great
impetuosities of spirit, that I felt my chains extremely heavy;
nevertheless, I never swerved from the commandment he gave me.</p>
<p><a name="l33.10">10</a>. One day, when in great distress, because I
thought my confessor did not trust me, our Lord said to me, Be not
troubled; this suffering will soon be over.  I was very much
delighted, thinking I should die shortly; and I was very happy
whenever I recalled those words to remembrance.  Afterwards I saw
clearly that they referred to the coming of the rector of whom I am
speaking, for never again had I any reason to be distressed.  The
rector that came never interfered with the father-minister who was my
confessor.  On the contrary, he told him to console me,--that there
was nothing to be afraid of,--and not to direct me along a road so
narrow, but to leave the operations of the Spirit of God alone; for
now and then it seemed as if these great impetuosities of the spirit
took away the very breath of the soul.</p>
<p><a name="l33.11">11</a>. The rector came to see me, and my
confessor bade me speak to him in all freedom and openness.  I used to
feel the very greatest repugnance to speak of this matter; but so it
was, when I went into the confessional, I felt in my soul something, I
know not what.  I do not remember to have felt so either before or
after towards any one.  I cannot tell what it was, nor do I know of
anything with which I could compare it.  It was a spiritual joy, and a
conviction in my soul that his soul must understand mine, that it was
in unison with it, and yet, as I have said, I knew not how.  If I had
ever spoken to him, or had heard great things of him, it would have
been nothing out of the way that I should rejoice in the conviction
that he would understand me; but he had never spoken to me before, nor
I to him, and, indeed, he was a person of whom I had no previous
knowledge whatever.</p>
<p><a name="l33.12">12</a>. Afterwards, I saw clearly that my spirit
was not deceived; for my relations with him were in every way of the
utmost service to me and my soul, because his method of direction is
proper for those persons whom our Lord seems to have led far on the
way, seeing that He makes them run, and not to crawl step by step.
His plan is to render them thoroughly detached and mortified, and our
Lord has endowed him with the highest gifts herein as well as in many
other things beside.  As soon as I began to have to do with him, I
knew his method at once, and saw that he had a pure and holy soul,
with a special grace of our Lord for the discernment of spirits.  He
gave me great consolation.  Shortly after I had begun to speak to him,
our Lord began to constrain me to return to the affair of the
monastery, and to lay before my confessor and the father-rector many
reasons and considerations why they should not stand in my way.  Some
of these reasons made them afraid, for the father-rector never had a
doubt of its being the work of the Spirit of God, because he regarded
the fruits of it with great care and attention.  At last, after much
consideration, they did not dare to
hinder me. [<a href="#l33note5">5</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l33.13">13</a>. My confessor gave me leave to prosecute
the work with all my might.  I saw well enough the trouble I exposed
myself to, for I was utterly alone, and able to do so very little.  We
agreed that it should be carried on with the utmost secrecy; and so I
contrived that one of my sisters, [<a href="#l33note6">6</a>] who lived
out of the town, should buy a house, and prepare it as if for herself,
with money which our Lord provided for us. [<a href="#l33note7">7</a>]
I made it a great point to do nothing against obedience; but I knew
that if I spoke of it to my superiors all was lost, as on the former
occasion, and worse even might happen.  In holding the money, in
finding the house, in treating for it, in putting it in order, I had
so much to suffer; and, for the most part, I had to suffer alone,
though my friend did what she could: she could do but little, and that
was almost nothing.  Beyond giving her name and her countenance, the
whole of the trouble was mine; and that fell upon me in so many ways,
that I am astonished now how I could have borne
it. [<a href="#l33note8">8</a>]  Sometimes, in my affliction, I used
to say: O my Lord, how is it that Thou commandest me to do that which
seems impossible?--for, though I am a woman, yet, if I were free, it
might be done; but when I am tied in so many ways, without money, or
the means of procuring it, either for the purpose of the Brief or for
any other,--what, O Lord, can I do?</p>
<p><a name="l33.14">14</a>. Once when I was in one of my difficulties,
not knowing what to do, unable to pay the workmen, <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, my true father and lord, appeared to
me, and gave me to understand that money would not be wanting, and I
must hire the workmen.  So I did, though I was penniless; and our
Lord, in a way that filled those who heard of it with wonder, provided
for me.  The house offered me was too small,--so much so, that it
seemed as if it could never be made into a monastery,--and I wished to
buy another, but had not the means, and there was neither way nor
means to do so.  I knew not what to do.  There was another little
house close to the one we had, which might have formed a small church.
One day, after Communion, our Lord said to me, I have already bidden
thee to go in anyhow.  And then, as if exclaiming, said: Oh,
covetousness of the human race, thinking that even the whole earth is
too little for it! how often have I slept in the open air, because I
had no place to shelter Me! [<a href="#l33note9">9</a>]  I was
alarmed, and saw that He had good reasons to complain.  I went to the
little house, arranged the divisions of it, and found that it would
make a sufficient, though small, monastery.  I did not care now to add
to the site by purchase, and so I did nothing but contrive to have it
prepared in such a way that it could be lived in.  Everything was
coarse, and nothing more was done to it than to render it not hurtful
to health--and that must be done everywhere.</p>
<p><a name="l33.15">15</a>. As I was going to Communion on her feast,
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Clare appeared to me in great beauty,
and bade me take courage, and go on with what I had begun; she would
help me.  I began to have a great devotion to <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Clare; and she has so truly kept her word,
that a monastery of nuns of her Order in our neighbourhood helped us
to live; and, what is of more importance, by little and little she so
perfectly fulfilled my desire, that the poverty which the blessed
Saint observes in her own house is observed in this, and we are living
on alms.  It cost me no small labour to have this matter settled by
the plenary sanction and authority of the Holy
Father, [<a href="#l33note10">10</a>] so that it shall never be
otherwise, and we possess no revenues.  Our Lord is doing more for
us--perhaps we owe it to the prayers of this blessed Saint; for,
without our asking anybody, His Majesty supplies most abundantly all
our wants.  May He be blessed for ever! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l33.16">16</a>. On one of these days--it was the Feast of
the Assumption of our Lady--I was in the church of the monastery of
the Order of the glorious <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic,
thinking of the events of my wretched life, and of the many sins which
in times past I had confessed in that house.  I fell into so profound
a trance, that I was as it were beside myself.  I sat down, and it
seemed as if I could neither see the Elevation nor hear Mass.  This
afterwards became a scruple to me.  I thought then, when I was in that
state, that I saw myself clothed with a garment of excessive whiteness
and splendour.  At first I did not see who was putting it on me.
Afterwards I saw our Lady on my right hand, and my father <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph on my left, clothing me with that
garment.  I was given to understand that I was then cleansed from my
sins.  When I had been thus clad--I was filled with the utmost delight
and joy--our Lady seemed at once to take me by both hands.  She said
that I pleased her very much by being devout to the glorious <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph; that I might rely on it my desires
about the monastery were accomplished, and that our Lord and they too
would be greatly honoured in it; that I was to be afraid of no failure
whatever, though the obedience under which it would be placed might
not be according to my mind, because they would watch over us, and
because her Son had promised to be with
us [<a href="#l33note11">11</a>]--and, as a proof of this, she would
give me that jewel.  She then seemed to throw around my neck a most
splendid necklace of gold, from which hung a cross of great value.
The stones and gold were so different from any in this world, that
there is nothing wherewith to compare them.  The beauty of them is
such as can be conceived by no imagination,--and no understanding can
find out the materials of the robe, nor picture to itself the
splendours which our Lord revealed, in comparison with which all the
splendours of earth, so to say, are a daubing of soot.  This beauty,
which I saw in our Lady, was exceedingly grand, though I did not trace
it in any particular feature, but rather in the whole form of her
face. She was clothed in white and her garments shone with excessive
lustre that was not dazzling, but soft.  I did not see <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph so distinctly, though I saw clearly
that he was there, as in the visions of which I spoke
before, [<a href="#l33note12">12</a>] in which nothing is seen.  Our
Lady seemed to be very young.</p>
<p><a name="l33.17">17</a>. When they had been with me for a
while,--I, too, in the greatest delight and joy, greater than I had
ever had before, as I think, and with which I wished never to part,--I
saw them, so it seemed, ascend up to heaven, attended by a great
multitude of angels.  I was left in great loneliness, though so
comforted and raised up, so recollected in prayer and softened, that I
was for some time unable to move or speak--being, as it were, beside
myself.  I was now possessed by a strong desire to be consumed for the
love of God, and by other affections of the same kind. Everything took
place in such a way that I could never have a doubt--though I often
tried--that the vision came from God. [<a href="#l33note13">13</a>]  It
left me in the greatest consolation and peace.</p>
<p><a name="l33.18">18</a>. As to that which the Queen of the Angels
spoke about obedience, it is this: it was painful to me not to subject
the monastery to the Order, and our Lord had told me that it was
inexpedient to do so.  He told me the reasons why it was in no wise
convenient that I should do it but I must send to Rome in a certain
way, which He also explained; He would take care that I found help
there: and so I did.  I sent to Rome, as our Lord directed me,--for we
should never have succeeded otherwise,--and most favourable was
the result.</p>
<p><a name="l33.19">19</a>. And as to subsequent events, it was very
convenient to be under the Bishop, [<a href="#l33note14">14</a>] but at
that time I did not know him, nor did I know what kind of a superior
he might be.  It pleased our Lord that he should be as good and
favourable to this house as it was necessary he should be on account
of the great opposition it met with at the beginning, as I shall show
hereafter, [<a href="#l33note15">15</a>] and also for the sake of
bringing it to the condition it is now in.  Blessed be He who has done
it all! Amen.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l33note1">1</a>. <a href="#l21.6">Ch.
xxi. § 6</a>, <a href="#l29.10">ch. xxix. §§
10, 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note2">2</a>. Pedro Ibaņez.  See <a
href="#l38.15">ch. xxxviii. § 15</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note3">3</a>. Dionisio Vasquez.  Of him the
Bollandists say that he was very austere and harsh to his subjects,
notwithstanding his great learning: <span lang="la">&#34;homini
egregie docto ac rebus gestis claro, sed in subditos, ut ex historia
Societatis Jesu liquet, valde immiti&#34;</span> (n. 309).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note4">4</a>. Gaspar de Salazar was made rector
of the house in Avila in 1561, therein succeeding Vasquez
(<cite>Bollandists</cite>, <i lang="la">ibid.</i>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note5">5</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Teresa was commanded by our Lord to ask Father Baltasar Alvarez to
make a meditation on Psalm xci. 6: <span lang="la">&#34;Quam
magnificata sunt opera Tua.&#34;</span>  The Saint obeyed, and the
meditation was made.  From that moment, as <abbr
title="Father">F.</abbr> Alvarez afterwards told Father de Ribera
(<cite>Life of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa</cite>, i. ch.
vii.), there was no further hesitation on the part of the
Saint's confessor.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note6">6</a>. Juana de Ahumada, wife of Juan
de Ovalle.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note7">7</a>. The money was a present from her
brother, Don Lorenzo de Cepeda; and the Saint acknowledges the receipt
of it, and confesses the use made of it, in a letter to her brother,
written in Avila, Dec. 31, 1561 (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note8">8</a>. One day, she went with her
sister--she was staying in her house--to hear a sermon in the church
of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Thomas.  The zealous preacher
denounced visions and revelations; and his observations were so much
to the point, that there was no need of his saying that they were
directed against <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, who was
present.  Her sister was greatly hurt, and persuaded the Saint to
return to the monastery at once (<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, i.
ch. xlii. § 1).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note9">9</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Luke ix. 58: <span lang="la">&#34;Filius autem hominis non habet ubi
caput reclinet.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note10">10</a>. Pius IV., on Dec. 5, 1562,
(<cite>Bouix</cite>).  See <a href="#l39.19">ch. xxxix.
§ 19</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note11">11</a>. <a href="#l32.14">Ch.
xxxii. § 14</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note12">12</a>. See <a
href="#l27.7">ch. xxvii. § 7</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note13">13</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;Nuestro
Seņor,&#34;</span> &#34;our Lord,&#34; though inserted in the printed
editions after the word &#34;God,&#34; is not in the <abbr
title="manuscript">MS.</abbr>, according to Don <abbr lang="es"
title="Vicente">V.</abbr> de la Fuente.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note14">14</a>. Don Alvaro de Mendoza, Bishop of Avila, afterwards
of Palencia.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l33note15">15</a>. See <a
href="#l36.15">ch. xxxvi. § 15</a>; <cite>Way of
Perfection</cite>, ch. v. § 10; <cite>Foundations</cite>, ch. xxxi.
§ 1.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l34.0">Chapter XXXIV.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Saint Leaves Her Monastery of the Incarnation for a Time,
at the Command of Her Superior.  Consoles an
Afflicted Widow.</big></p>
<p><a name="l34.1">1</a>. Now, though I was very careful that no one
should know what we were doing, all this work could not be carried on
so secretly as not to come to the knowledge of divers persons; some
believed, in it, others did not, I was in great fear lest the
Provincial should be spoken to about it when he came, and find himself
compelled to order me to give it up; and if he did so, it would have
been abandoned at once.  Our Lord provided against it in this way.  In
a large city, more than twenty leagues distant, was a lady in great
distress on account of her husband's
death. [<a href="#l34note1">1</a>] She was in such extreme affliction,
that fears were entertained about her life.  She had heard of me, a
poor sinner,--for our Lord had provided that,--and men spoke well to
her of me, for the sake of other good works which resulted from it.
This lady knew the Provincial well; and as she was a person of some
consideration, and knew that I lived in a monastery the nuns of which
were permitted to go out, our Lord made her desire much to see me.
She thought that my presence would be a consolation to her, and that
she could not be comforted otherwise.  She therefore strove by all the
means in her power to get me into her house, sending messages to the
Provincial, who was at a distance far away.</p>
<p><a name="l34.2">2</a>. The Provincial sent me an order, charging me
in virtue of my obedience to go immediately, with one companion.  I
knew of it on Christmas night.  It caused me some trouble and much
suffering to see that they sent for me because they thought there was
some good in me; I, knowing myself to be so wicked, could not bear it.
I commended myself earnestly to God, and during Matins, or the greater
part of them, was lost in a profound trance.  Our Lord told me I must
go without fail, and give no heed to the opinions of people, for they
were few who would not be rash in their counsel; and though I should
have troubles, yet God would be served greatly: as to the monastery,
it was expedient I should be absent till the Brief came, because Satan
had contrived a great plot against the coming of the Provincial; that
I was to have no fear,--He would help me.  I repeated this to the
rector, and he told me that I must go by all means, though others were
saying I ought not to go, that it was a trick of Satan to bring some
evil upon me there, and that I ought to send word to
the Provincial.</p>
<p><a name="l34.3">3</a>. I obeyed the rector, and went without fear,
because of what I had understood in prayer, though in the greatest
confusion when I thought of the reasons why they sent for me, and how
very much they were deceived.  It made me more and more importunate
with our Lord that He would not abandon me.  It was a great comfort
that there was a house of the Society of Jesus there whither I was
going, and so I thought I should be in some degree safe under the
direction of those fathers, as I had been here.</p>
<p><a name="l34.4">4</a>. It was the good pleasure of our Lord that
the lady who sent for me should be so much consoled that a visible
improvement was the immediate result she was comforted every day more
and more.  This was very remarkable, because, as I said before,
her suffering had reduced her to great straits.  Our Lord must have
done this in answer to the many prayers which the good people of my
acquaintance made for me, that I might prosper in my work.  She had a
profound fear of God, and was so good, that her great devotion
supplied my deficiencies.  She conceived a great affection for me--I,
too, for her, because of her goodness; but all was as it were a cross
for me; for the comforts of her house were a great torment, and her
making so much of me made me afraid.  I kept my soul continually
recollected--I did not dare to be careless: nor was our Lord careless
of me; for while I was there, He bestowed the greatest graces upon me,
and those graces made me so free, and filled me with such contempt for
all I saw,--and the more I saw, the greater my contempt,--that I never
failed to treat those ladies, whom to serve would have been a great
honour for me, with as much freedom as if I had been their equal.</p>
<p><a name="l34.5">5</a>. I derived very great advantages from this,
and I said so.  I saw that she was a woman, and as much liable to
passion and weakness as I was; that rank is of little worth, and the
higher it is, the greater the anxiety and trouble it brings.  People
must be careful of the dignity of their state, which will not suffer
them to live at ease; they must eat at fixed hours and by rule, for
everything must be according to their state, and not according to
their constitutions; and they have frequently to take food fitted more
for their state than for their liking.</p>
<p><a name="l34.6">6</a>. So it was that I came to hate the very wish
to be a great lady.  God deliver me from this wicked, artificial
life!--though I believe that this lady, notwithstanding that she was
one of the chief personages of the realm, was a woman of great
simplicity, and that few were more humble than she was.  I was very
sorry for her, for I saw how often she had to submit to much that was
disagreeable to her, because of the requirements of her rank.  Then,
as to servants, though this lady had very good servants, how slight is
that little trust that may be put in them!  One must not be conversed
with more than another; otherwise, he who is so favoured is envied by
the rest. This of itself is a slavery, and one of the lies of the
world is that it calls such persons masters, who, in my eyes, are
nothing else but slaves in a thousand ways.</p>
<p><a name="l34.7">7</a>. It was our Lord's pleasure that the
household of that lady improved in the service of His Majesty during
my stay there, though I was not exempted from some trials and some
jealousies on the part of some of its members, because of the great
affection their mistress had for me.  They perhaps must have thought I
had some personal interest to serve.  Our Lord must have permitted
such matters, and others of the same kind, to give me trouble, in
order that I might not be absorbed in the comforts which otherwise I
had there; and He was pleased to deliver me out of it all with great
profit to my soul.</p>
<p><a name="l34.8">8</a>. When I was there, a religious person of
great consideration, and with whom I had conversed occasionally some
years ago, [<a href="#l34note2">2</a>] happened to arrive.  When I was
at Mass, in a monastery of his Order, near the house in which I was
staying, I felt a longing to know the state of his soul,--for I wished
him to be a great servant of God,--and I rose up in order to go and
speak to him.  But as I was then recollected in prayer, it seemed to
me a waste of time--for what had I to do in that matter?--and so I
returned to my place.  Three times, I think I did this, and at last my
good angel prevailed over the evil one, and I went and asked for him;
and he came to speak to me in one of the confessionals.  We began by
asking one another of our past lives, for we had not seen one another
for many years.  I told him that my life had been one in which my soul
had had many trials.  He insisted much on my telling him what those
trials were.  I said that they were not to be told, and that I was not
to tell them.  He replied that the Dominican
father, [<a href="#l34note3">3</a>] of whom I have spoken, knew them,
and that, as they were great friends, he could learn them from him,
and so I had better tell them without hesitation.</p>
<p><a name="l34.9">9</a>. The fact is, that it was not in his power
not to insist, nor in mine, I believe, to refuse to speak; for
notwithstanding all the trouble and shame I used to feel formerly, I
spoke of my state, to him, and to the rector whom I have referred to
before, [<a href="#l34note4">4</a>] without any difficulty whatever; on
the contrary, it was a great consolation to me; and so I told him all
in confession.  He seemed to me then more prudent than ever; though I
had always looked upon him as a man of great understanding.  I
considered what high gifts and endowments for great services he had,
if he gave himself wholly unto God.  I had this feeling now for many
years, so that I never saw any one who pleased me much without wishing
at once he were given wholly unto God; and sometimes I feel this so
keenly, that I can hardly contain myself.  Though I long to see
everybody serve God, yet my desire about those who please me is very
vehement, and so I importune our Lord on their behalf.</p>
<p><a name="l34.10">10</a>. So it happened with respect to this
religious.  He asked me to pray much for him to God.  There was no
necessity for his doing so, because I could not do anything else, and
so I went back to my place where I was in the habit of praying alone,
and began to pray to our Lord, being extremely recollected, in that my
simple, silly way, when I speak without knowing very often what I am
saying.  It is love that speaks, and my soul is so beside itself, that
I do not regard the distance between it and God.  That love which I
know His Majesty has for it makes it forget itself, and think itself
to be one with Him; and so, as being one with Him, and not divided
from Him, the soul speaks foolishly.  When I had prayed with many
tears that the soul of this religious might serve Him truly,--for,
though I considered it good, it was not enough for me; I would have it
much better,--I remember I said, &#34;O Lord, Thou must not refuse me
this grace; behold him,--he is a fit person to be our friend.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="l34.11">11</a>. Oh, the great goodness and compassion of
God!  How He regards not the words, but the desire and the will with
which they are spoken!  How He suffered such a one as I am to speak so
boldly before His Majesty!  May He be blessed for evermore!</p>
<p><a name="l34.12">12</a>. I remember that during those hours of
prayer on that very night I was extremely distressed by the thought
whether I was in the grace of God, and that I could never know whether
I was so or not,--not that I wished to know it; I wished, however, to
die, in order that I might not live a life in which I was not sure
that I was not dead in sin, for there could be no death more dreadful
for me than to think that I had sinned against God.  I was in great
straits at this thought.  I implored Him not to suffer me to fall into
sin, with great sweetness, dissolved in tears.  Then I heard that I
might console myself, and trust [<a href="#l34note5">5</a>] that I was
in a state of grace, because a love of God like mine, together with
the graces and feelings with which His Majesty filled my soul, was of
such a nature as to be inconsistent with a state of mortal sin.</p>
<p><a name="l34.13">13</a>. I was now confident that our Lord would
grant my prayer as to that religious.  He bade me repeat certain words
to him.  This I felt much, because I knew not how to speak to him; for
this carrying messages to a third person, as I have
said, [<a href="#l34note6">6</a>] is what I have always felt the most,
especially when I did not know how that person would take them, nor
whether he would not laugh at me.  This placed me in great
difficulties, but at last I was so convinced I ought to do it, that I
believe I made a promise to God I would not neglect that message; and
because of the great shame I felt, I wrote it out, and gave it in that
way.  The result showed clearly enough that it was a message from God,
for that religious resolved with great earnestness to give himself to
prayer, though he did not do so at once.  Our Lord would have him for
Himself, so He sent me to tell him certain truths which, without my
understanding them, were so much to the purpose that he was
astonished.  Our Lord must have prepared him to receive them as from
His Majesty; and though I am but a miserable sinner myself, yet I made
many supplications to our Lord to convert him thoroughly, and to make
him hate the pleasures and the things of this life.  And so he
did--blessed be God!--for every time that he spoke to me I was in a
manner beside myself; and if I had not seen it, I should never have
believed that our Lord would have given him in so short a time graces
so matured, and filled him so full of God, that he seemed to be alive
to nothing on earth.</p>
<p><a name="l34.14">14</a>. May His Majesty hold him in His hand!  If
he will go on--and I trust in our Lord he will do so, now that he is
so well grounded in the knowledge of himself--he will be one of the
most distinguished servants of God, to the great profit of many souls,
because he has in a short time had great experience in spiritual
things: that is a gift of God, which He gives when He will and as He
will, and it depends not on length of time nor extent of service.  I
do not mean that time and service, are not great helps, but very often
our Lord will not give to some in twenty years the grace of
contemplation, while He gives it to others in one,--His Majesty
knoweth why.  We are under a delusion when we think that in the course
of years we shall come to the knowledge of that which we can in no way
attain to but by experience; and thus many are in error, as I have
said [<a href="#l34note7">7</a>] when they would understand
spirituality without being spiritual themselves.  I do not mean that a
man who is not spiritual, if he is learned, may not direct one that is
spiritual; but it must be understood that in outward and inward
things, in the order of nature, the direction must be an act of
reason; and in supernatural things, according to the teaching of the
sacred writings. In other matters, let him not distress himself, nor
think that he can understand that which he understandeth not; neither
let him quench the Spirit; [<a href="#l34note8">8</a>] for now another
Master, greater than he, is directing these souls, so that they are
not left without authority over them.</p>
<p><a name="l34.15">15</a>. He must not be astonished at this, nor
think it impossible: all things are possible to our
Lord; [<a href="#l34note9">9</a>] he must strive rather to strengthen
his faith, and humble himself, because in this matter our Lord imparts
perhaps a deeper knowledge to some old woman than to him, though he
may be a very learned man.  Being thus humble, he will profit souls
and himself more than if he affected to be a contemplative without
being so; for, I repeat it, if he have no experience, if he have not a
most profound humility, whereby he may see that he does not
understand, and that the thing is not for that reason impossible, he
will do himself but little good, and still less to his penitent.  But
if he is humble, let him have no fear that our Lord will allow either
the one or the other to fall into delusion.</p>
<p><a name="l34.16">16</a>. Now as to this father I am speaking of, as
our Lord has given him light in many things, so has he laboured to
find out by study that which in this matter can be by study
ascertained; for he is a very learned man, and that of which he has no
experience himself he seeks to find out from those who have it,--and
our Lord helps him by increasing his faith, and so he has greatly
benefited himself and some other souls, of whom mine is one.  As our
Lord knew the trials I had to undergo, His Majesty seems to have
provided that, when He took away unto Himself some of those who
directed me, others might remain, who helped me in my great
afflictions, and rendered me great services.</p>
<p><a name="l34.17">17</a>. Our Lord wrought a complete change in this
father, so much so that he scarcely knew himself, so to speak.  He has
given him bodily health, so that he may do penance, such as he never
had before; for he was sickly.  He has given him courage to undertake
good works, with other gifts, so that he seems to have received a most
special vocation from our Lord.  May He be blessed for ever!</p>
<p><a name="l34.18">18</a>. All these blessings, I believe, came to
him through the graces our Lord bestowed upon him in prayer; for they
are real.  It has been our Lord's pleasure already to try him in
certain difficulties, out of which he has come forth like one who
knows the true worth of that merit which is gained by suffering
persecutions.  I trust in the munificence of our Lord that great good
will, by his means, accrue to some of his Order and to the Order
itself.  This is beginning to be understood.  I have had great visions
on the subject, and our Lord has told me wonderful things of him and
of the Rector of the Society of Jesus, whom I am speaking
of, [<a href="#l34note10">10</a>] and also of two other religious of
the Order of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic, particularly of
one who, to his own profit, has actually learned of our Lord certain
things which I had formerly understood of him.  But there were greater
things made known of him to whom I am now referring: one of them I
will now relate.</p>
<p><a name="l34.19">19</a>. I was with him once in the parlour, when
in my soul and spirit I felt what great love burned within him, and
became as it were lost in ecstasy by considering the greatness of God,
who had raised that soul in so short a time to a state so high.  It
made me ashamed of myself when I saw him listen with so much humility
to what I was saying about certain matters of prayer, when I had so
little myself that I could speak on the subject to one like him.  Our
Lord must have borne with me in this on account of the great desire I
had to see that religious making great progress.  My interview with
him did me great good,--it seems as if it left a new fire in my soul,
burning with desire to serve our Lord as in the beginning.  O my
Jesus! what is a soul on fire with Thy love!  How we ought to prize
it, and implore our Lord to let it live long upon earth!  He who has
this love should follow after such souls, if it be possible.</p>
<p><a name="l34.20">20</a>. It is a great thing for a person ill of
this disease to find another struck down by it,--it comforts him much
to see that he is not alone; they help one another greatly to suffer
and to merit.  They are strong with a double strength who are resolved
to risk a thousand lives for God, and who long for an opportunity of
losing them.  They are like soldiers who, to acquire booty, and
therewith enrich themselves, wish for war, knowing well that they
cannot become rich without it.  This is their work--to suffer.  Oh,
what a blessing it is when our Lord gives light to understand how
great is the gain of suffering for Him!  This is never understood till
we have left all things; for if anybody is attached to any one thing,
that is a proof that he sets some value upon it; and if he sets any
value upon it, it is painful to be compelled to give it up.  In that
case, everything is imperfect and lost.  The saying is to the purpose
here,--he who follows what is lost, is lost himself; and what greater
loss, what greater blindness, what greater calamity, can there be than
making much of that which is nothing!</p>
<p><a name="l34.21">21</a>. I now return to that which I had begun to
speak of.  I was in the greatest joy, beholding that soul.  It seemed
as if our Lord would have me see clearly the treasures He had laid up
in it; and so, when I considered the favour our Lord had shown me, in
that I should be the means of so great a good, I recognised my own
unworthiness for such an end.  I thought much of the graces our Lord
had given him, and held myself as indebted for them more than if they
had been given to myself.  So I gave thanks to our Lord, when I saw
that His Majesty had fulfilled my desires and heard my petition that
He would raise up persons like him.  And now my soul, no longer able
to bear the joy that filled it, went forth out of itself, losing
itself that it might gain the more.  It lost sight of the reflections
it was making; and the hearing of that divine language which the Holy
Ghost seemed to speak threw me into a deep trance, which almost
deprived me of all sense, though it did not last long.  I saw Christ,
in exceeding great majesty and glory, manifesting His joy at what was
then passing.  He told me as much, and it was His pleasure that I
should clearly see that He was always present at similar interviews,
and how much He was pleased when people thus found their delight in
speaking of Him.</p>
<p><a name="l34.22">22</a>. On another occasion, when far away from
this place, I saw him carried by angels in great glory.  I understood
by that vision that his soul was making great progress: so it was; for
an evil report was spread abroad against him by one to whom he had
rendered a great service, and whose reputation and whose soul he had
saved.  He bore it with much joy.  He did also other things greatly to
the honour of God, and underwent more persecutions.  I do not think it
expedient now to speak further on this point; if, however, you, my
father, who know all, should hereafter think otherwise, more might be
said to the glory of our Lord.</p>
<p><a name="l34.23">23</a>. All the prophecies spoken of
before, [<a href="#l34note11">11</a>] relating to this house, as well
as others, of which I shall speak hereafter, relating to it and to
other matters, have been accomplished.  Some of them our Lord revealed
to me three years before they became known, others earlier and others
later.  But I always made them known to my confessor, and to the widow
my friend; for I had leave to communicate with her, as I said
before. [<a href="#l34note12">12</a>]  She, I know, repeated them to
others, and these know that I lie not.  May God never permit me, in
any matter whatever,--much more in things of this importance,--to say
anything but the whole truth!</p>
<p><a name="l34.24">24</a>. One of my
brothers-in-law [<a href="#l34note13">13</a>] died suddenly; and as I
was in great distress at this, because he had no opportunity of making
his confession, our Lord said to me in prayer that my sister also was
to die in the same way; that I must go to her, and make her prepare
herself for such an end.  I told this to my confessor; but as he would
not let me go, I heard the same warning again; and now, when he saw
this, he told me I might go, and that I should lose nothing by going.
My sister was living in the country; and as I did not tell her why I
came, I gave her what light I could in all things.  I made her go
frequently to confession, and look to her soul in everything.  She was
very good, and did as I asked her.  Four or five years after she had
begun this practice, and keeping a strict watch over her conscience,
she died, with nobody near her, and without being able to go to
confession.  This was a blessing to her, for it was little more than a
week since she had been to her accustomed confession.  It was a great
joy to me when I heard of her death.  She was but a short time
in purgatory.</p>
<p><a name="l34.25">25</a>. I do not think it was quite eight days
afterwards when, after Communion, our Lord appeared to me, and was
pleased that I should see Him receive my sister into glory.  During
all those years, after our Lord had spoken to me, until her death,
what I then learnt with respect to her was never forgotten either by
myself or by my friend, who, when my sister was thus dead, came to me
in great amazement at the fulfilment of the prophecy.  God be praised
for ever, who takes such care of souls that they may not be lost!</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l34note1">1</a>. Doņa Luisa de la Cerda, sister of
the Duke of Medina-Coeli, was now the widow of Arias Pardo, Marshal of
Castille, Lord of Malagon and Paracuellos.  Don Arias was nephew
of Cardinal Tabera, Archbishop of Toledo (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note2">2</a>. F. Vicente Barron, Dominican (see
<a href="#l5.8">ch. v. § 8</a>), according to <abbr
title="Father">F.</abbr> Bouix, on the authority of Ribera and Yepez;
but the Carmelite Father, Fr. Antonio of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, in his note on the first Fragment
(<cite>Letters</cite>, vol. iv. p. 408), says that it was Fr. Garcia
of Toledo, brother of Don Fernando, Duke of Alva; and Don Vicente de
la Fuente thinks the opinion of Fr. Antonio the
more probable.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note3">3</a>. Pedro Ibaņez
(<cite>Bouix</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note4">4</a>. <a href="#l33.11">Ch.
xxxiii. § 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note5">5</a>. Father Bouix says that here the
word <span lang="es">&#34;confiar,&#34;</span> &#34;trust,&#34; in the
printed text, has been substituted by some one for the words <span
lang="es">&#34;estar cierta,&#34;</span> &#34;be certain,&#34; which
he found in the <abbr title="manuscript">MS</abbr>.  But Don Vicente
de la Fuente retains the old reading <span
lang="es">&#34;confiar,&#34;</span> and makes no observation on the
alleged discrepancy between the <abbr
title="manuscript">MS.</abbr> and the printed text.  The observation
of <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Bouix, however, is more important,
and deserves credit,--for Don Vicente may have failed, through mere
inadvertence, to see what <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Bouix saw;
and it is also to be remembered that Don Vicente does not say that the
<abbr title="manuscript">MS.</abbr> on this point has been so closely
inspected as to throw any doubt on the positive testimony of <abbr
title="Father">F.</abbr> Bouix.  Six years after this note was written
Don Vicente published a facsimile by photography of the original text
in the handwriting of the Saint, preserved in the Escurial.  The words
are not <span lang="es">&#34;confiar,&#34;</span> but <span
lang="es">&#34;estar cierta.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note6">6</a>. <a href="#l33.12">Ch.
xxxiii. § 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note7">7</a>. <a href="#l14.10">Ch.
xiv. § 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note8">8</a>. 1 Thess. v. 19: <span
lang="la">&#34;Spiritum nolite extinguere.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note9">9</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. xix. 26: <span lang="la">&#34;Apud Deum autem omnia
possibilia sunt.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note10">10</a>. F. Gaspar
de Salazar.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note11">11</a>. <a href="#l26.3">Ch.
xxvi. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note12">12</a>. <a href="#l30.3">Ch.
xxx. § 3</a>.  Doņa Guiomar de Ulloa.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l34note13">13</a>. Don Martin de Guzman y
Barrientos, husband of Maria de Cepeda, the
Saint's sister.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l35.0">Chapter XXXV.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Foundation of the House of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.  The Observation of Holy Poverty
Therein.  How the Saint Left Toledo.</big></p>
<p><a name="l35.1">1</a>. When I was staying with this
lady, [<a href="#l35note1">1</a>] already spoken of, in whose house I
remained more than six months, our Lord ordained that a holy
woman [<a href="#l35note2">2</a>] of our Order should hear of me, who
was more than seventy leagues away from the place.  She happened to
travel this way, and went some leagues out of her road that she might
see me.  Our Lord had moved her in the same year, and in the same
month of the year, that He had moved me, to found another monastery of
the Order; and as He had given her this desire, she sold all she
possessed, and went to Rome to obtain the necessary faculties.  She
went on foot, and barefooted.  She is a woman of great penance and
prayer, and one to whom our Lord gave many graces; and our Lady
appeared to her, and commanded her to undertake this work.  Her
progress in the service of our Lord was so much greater than mine,
that I was ashamed to stand in her presence.  She showed me Briefs she
brought from Rome, and during the fortnight she remained with me we
laid our plan for the founding of these monasteries.</p>
<p><a name="l35.2">2</a>. Until I spoke to her, I never knew that our
rule, before it was mitigated, required of us that we should possess
nothing; [<a href="#l35note3">3</a>] nor was I going to found a
monastery without revenue, [<a href="#l35note4">4</a>] for my intention
was that we should be without anxiety about all that was necessary for
us, and I did not think of the many anxieties which the possession of
property brings in its train.  This holy woman, taught of our Lord,
perfectly understood--though she could not read--what I was ignorant
of, notwithstanding my having read the
Constitutions [<a href="#l35note5">5</a>] so often; and when she told
me of it, I thought it right, though I feared they would never consent
to this, but would tell me I was committing follies, and that I ought
not to do anything whereby I might bring suffering upon others.  If
this concerned only myself, nothing should have kept me back,--on the
contrary, it would have been my great joy to think that I was
observing the counsels of Christ our Lord; for His Majesty had already
given me great longings for poverty. [<a href="#l35note6">6</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l35.3">3</a>. As for myself, I never doubted that this was
the better part; for I had now for some time wished it were possible
in my state to go about begging, for the love of God--to have no house
of my own, nor anything else.  But I was afraid that others--if our
Lord did not give them the same desire--might live in discontent.
Moreover, I feared that it might be the cause of some distraction: for
I knew some poor monasteries not very recollected, and I did not
consider that their not being recollected was the cause of their
poverty, and that their poverty was not the cause of their
distraction: distraction never makes people richer, and God never
fails those who serve Him.  In short, I was weak in faith; but not so
this servant of God.</p>
<p><a name="l35.4">4</a>. As I took the advice of many in everything,
I found scarcely any one of this opinion--neither my confessor, nor
the learned men to whom I spoke of it.  They gave me so many reasons
the other way, that I did not know what to do.  But when I saw what
the rule required, and that poverty was the more perfect way, I could
not persuade myself to allow an endowment.  And though they did
persuade me now and then that they were right, yet, when I returned to
my prayer, and saw Christ on the cross, so poor and destitute, I could
not bear to be rich, and I implored Him with tears so to order matters
that I might be poor as He was.</p>
<p><a name="l35.5">5</a>. I found that so many inconveniences resulted
from an endowment, and saw that it was the cause of so much trouble,
and even distraction, that I did nothing but dispute with the learned.
I wrote to that Dominican friar [<a href="#l35note7">7</a>] who was
helping us, and he sent back two sheets by way of reply, full of
objections and theology against my plan, telling me that he had
thought much on the subject.  I answered that, in order to escape from
my vocation, the vow of poverty I had made, and the perfect observance
of the counsels of Christ, I did not want any theology to help me, and
in this case I should not thank him for his learning.  If I found any
one who would help me, it pleased me much.  The lady in whose house I
was staying was a great help to me in this matter.  Some at first told
me that they agreed with me; afterwards, when they had considered the
matter longer, they found in it so many inconveniences that they
insisted on my giving it up.  I told them that, though they changed
their opinion so quickly, I would abide by the first.</p>
<p><a name="l35.6">6</a>. At this time, because of my entreaties,--for
the lady had never seen the holy friar, Peter of Alcantara,--it
pleased our Lord to bring him to her house.  As he was a great lover
of poverty, and had lived in it for so many years, he knew well the
treasures it contains, and so he was a great help to me; he charged me
on no account whatever to give up my purpose.  Now, having this
opinion and sanction,--no one was better able to give it, because he
knew what it was by long experience,--I  made up my mind to seek no
further advice.</p>
<p><a name="l35.7">7</a>. One day, when I was very earnestly
commending the matter to God, our Lord told me that I must by no means
give up my purpose of founding the monastery in poverty; it was His
will, and the will of His Father: He would help me.  I was in a
trance; and the effects were such, that I could have no doubt it came
from God.  On another occasion, He said to me that endowments bred
confusion, with other things in praise of poverty; and assured me that
whosoever served Him would never be in want of the necessary means of
living: and this want, as I have said, [<a href="#l35note8">8</a>] I
never feared myself.  Our Lord changed the dispositions also of the
licentiate,--I am speaking of the Dominican
friar, [<a href="#l35note9">9</a>]--who, as I said, wrote to me that I
should not found the monastery without an endowment.  Now, I was in
the greatest joy at hearing this; and having these opinions in my
favour, it seemed to me nothing less than the possession of all the
wealth of the world, when I had resolved to live in poverty for the
love of God.</p>
<p><a name="l35.8">8</a>. At this time, my Provincial withdrew the
order and the obedience, in virtue of which I was staying in that
house. [<a href="#l35note10">10</a>]  He left it to me to do as I
liked: if I wished to return I might do so; if I wished to remain I
might also do so for a certain time.  But during that time the
elections in my monastery [<a href="#l35note11">11</a>] would take
place and I was told that many of the nuns wished to lay on me the
burden of superiorship.  The very thought of this alone was a great
torment to me; for though I was resolved to undergo readily any kind
of martyrdom for God, I could not persuade myself at all to accept
this; for, putting aside the great trouble it involved,--because the
nuns were so many,--and other reasons, such as that I never wished for
it, nor for any other office,--on the contrary, had always refused
them,--it seemed to me that my conscience would be in great danger;
and so I praised God that I was not then in my convent.  I wrote to my
friends and asked them not to vote for me.</p>
<p><a name="l35.9">9</a>. When I was rejoicing that I was not in that
trouble, our Lord said to me that I was on no account to keep away;
that as I longed for a cross, there was one ready for me, and that a
heavy one: that I was not to throw it away, but go on with resolution;
He would help me, and I must go at once.  I was very much distressed,
and did nothing but weep, because I thought that my cross was to be
the office of prioress; and, as I have just said, I could not persuade
myself that it would be at all good for my soul--nor could I see any
means by which it would be.  I told my confessor of it, and he
commanded me to return at once: that to do so was clearly the most
perfect way; and that, because the heat was very great,--it would be
enough if I arrived before the election,--I might wait a few days, in
order that my journey might do me no harm.</p>
<p><a name="l35.10">10</a>. But our Lord had ordered it otherwise.  I
had to go at once, because the uneasiness I felt was very great; and I
was unable to pray, and thought I was failing in obedience to the
commandments of our Lord, and that as I was happy and contented where
I was, I would not go to meet trouble.  All my service of God there
was lip-service: why did I, having the opportunity of living in
greater perfection, neglect it?  If I died on the road, let me die.
Besides, my soul was in great straits, and our Lord had taken from me
all sweetness in prayer.  In short, I was in such a state of torment,
that I begged the lady to let me go; for my confessor, when he saw the
plight I was in, had already told me to go, God having moved him as He
had moved me.  The lady felt my departure very much, and that was
another pain to bear; for it had cost her much trouble, and diverse
importunities of the Provincial, to have me in her house.</p>
<p><a name="l35.11">11</a>. I considered it a very great thing for her
to have given her consent, when she felt it so much; but, as she was a
person who feared God exceedingly,--and as I told her, among many
other reasons, that my going away tended greatly to His service, and
held out the hope that I might possibly return,--she gave way, but
with much sorrow.  I was now not sorry myself at coming away, for I
knew that it was an act of greater perfection, and for the service of
God.  So the pleasure I had in pleasing God took away the pain of
quitting that lady,--whom I saw suffering so keenly,--and others to
whom I owed much, particularly my confessor of the Society of Jesus,
in whom I found all I needed.  But the greater the consolations I lost
for our Lord's sake, the greater was my joy in losing them.  I could
not understand it, for I had a clear consciousness of these two
contrary feelings--pleasure, consolation, and joy in that which
weighed down my soul with sadness.  I was joyful and tranquil, and had
opportunities of spending many hours in prayer; and I saw that I was
going to throw myself into a fire; for our Lord had already told me
that I was going to carry a heavy cross,--though I never thought it
would be so heavy as I afterwards found it to be,--yet I went forth
rejoicing.  I was distressed because I had not already begun the
fight, since it was our Lord's will that I should be in it.  Thus His
Majesty gave me strength, and established it in
my weakness. [<a href="#l35note12">12</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l35.12">12</a>. As I have just said, I could not
understand how this could be.  I thought of this illustration: if I
were possessed of a jewel, or any other thing which gave me great
pleasure, and it came to my knowledge that a person whom I loved more
than myself, and whose satisfaction I preferred to my own, wished to
have it, it would give me great pleasure to deprive myself of it,
because I would give all I possessed to please that person.  Now, as
the pleasure of giving pleasure to that person surpasses any pleasure
I have in that jewel myself, I should not be distressed in giving away
that or anything else I loved, nor at the loss of that pleasure which
the possession of it gave me.  So now, though I wished to feel some
distress when I saw that those whom I was leaving felt my going so
much, yet, notwithstanding my naturally grateful disposition,--which,
under other circumstances, would have been enough to have caused me
great pain,--at this time, though I wished to feel it, I could
feel none.</p>
<p><a name="l35.13">13</a>. The delay of another day was so serious a
matter in the affairs of this holy house, that I know not how they
would have been settled if I had waited.  Oh, God is great!  I am
often lost in wonder when I consider and see the special help which
His Majesty gave me towards the establishment of this little cell of
God,--for such I believe it to be,--the lodging wherein His Majesty
delights; for once, when I was in prayer, He told me that this house
was the paradise of his delight. [<a href="#l35note13">13</a>]  It
seems, then, that His Majesty has chosen these whom he has drawn
hither, among whom I am living very much ashamed of
myself. [<a href="#l35note14">14</a>] I could not have even wished for
souls such as they are for the purpose of this house, where enclosure,
poverty, and prayer are so strictly observed; they submit with so much
joy and contentment, that every one of them thinks herself unworthy of
the grace of being received into it,--some of them particularly; for
our Lord has called them out of the vanity and dissipation of the
world, in which, according to its laws, they might have lived
contented.  Our Lord has multiplied their joy, so that they see
clearly how He had given them a hundredfold for the one thing they
have left, [<a href="#l35note15">15</a>] and for which they cannot
thank His Majesty enough.  Others He has advanced from well to better.
To the young He gives courage and knowledge, so that they may desire
nothing else, and also to understand that to live away from all things
in this life is to live in greater peace even here below.  To those
who are no longer young, and whose health is weak, He gives--and has
given--the strength to undergo the same austerities and penance with
all the others.</p>
<p><a name="l35.14">14</a>. O my Lord! how Thou dost show Thy power!
There is no need to seek reasons for Thy will; for with Thee, against
all natural reason, all things are possible: so that thou teachest
clearly there is no need of anything but of loving Thee 
[<a href="#l35note16">16</a>] in earnest, and really giving up
everything for Thee, in order that Thou, O my Lord, might make
everything easy. It is well said that Thou feignest to make Thy law
difficult: [<a href="#l35note17">17</a>] I do not see it, nor do I
feel that the way that leadeth unto Thee is narrow.  I see it as a
royal road, and not a pathway; a road upon which whosoever really
enters, travels most securely.  No mountain passes and no cliffs are
near it: these are the occasions of sin.  I call that a pass,--a
dangerous pass,--and a narrow road, which has on one side a deep
hollow, into which one stumbles, and on the other a precipice, over
which they who are careless fall, and are dashed to pieces.  He who
loves Thee, O my God, travels safely by the open and royal road, far
away from the precipice: he has scarcely stumbled at all, when Thou
stretchest forth Thy hand to save him.  One fall--yea, many falls--if
he does but love Thee, and not the things of the world, are not enough
to make him perish; he travels in the valley of humility.  I cannot
understand what it is that makes men afraid of the way
of perfection.</p>
<p><a name="l35.15">15</a>. May our Lord of His mercy make us see what
a poor security we have in the midst of dangers so manifest, when we
live like the rest of the world; and that true security consists in
striving to advance in the way of God!  Let us fix our eyes upon Him,
and have no fear that the Sun of justice will ever set, or suffer us
to travel to our ruin by night, unless we first look away from Him.
People are not afraid of living in the midst of lions, every one of
whom seems eager to tear them: I am speaking of honours, pleasures,
and the like joys, as the world calls them: and herein the devil seems
to make us afraid of ghosts.  I am astonished a thousand times, and
ten thousand times would I relieve myself by weeping, and proclaim
aloud my own great blindness and wickedness, if, perchance, it might
help in some measure to open their eyes.  May He, who is almighty, of
His goodness open their eyes, and never suffer mine to be
blind again!</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l35note1">1</a>. Doņa Luisa de
la Cerda.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note2">2</a>. Maria of Jesus was the daughter of
a Reporter of Causes in the Chancery of Granada; but his name and that
of his wife are not known.  Maria married, but became a widow soon
afterwards.  She then became a novice in the Carmelite monastery in
Granada, and during her noviciate had revelations, like those of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, about a reform of the Order.  Her
confessor made light of her revelations, and she then referred them to
F. Gaspar de Salazar, a confessor of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, who was then in Granada.  He approved
of them, and Maria left the noviciate, and went to Rome with two holy
women of the Order of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis.  The
three made the journey on foot, and, moreover, barefooted.  Pope Pius
IV. heard her prayer, and, looking at her torn and bleeding feet, said
to her, &#34;Woman of strong courage, let it be as thou wilt.&#34;
She returned to Granada, but both the Carmelites and the city refused
her permission to found her house there, and some went so far as to
threaten to have her publicly whipped.  Doņa Leonor de Mascareņas gave
her a house in Alcala de Henares, of which she took possession Sept.
11, 1562; but the house was formally constituted July 23, 1563, and
subjected to the Bishop ten days after
(<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, i. c. 59; and <cite lang="es">Don
Vicente</cite>, vol. i. p. 255). The latter says that the Chronicler
is in error when he asserts that this monastery of Maria of Jesus
was endowed.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note3">3</a>. The sixth chapter of the rule is:
<span lang="la">&#34;Nullus fratrum sibi aliquid proprium, esse dicat,
sed sint vobis omnia communia.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note4">4</a>. See <a
href="#l32.13">ch. xxxii. § 13</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note5">5</a>. The Constitutions which the Saint
read in the Monastery of the Incarnation must have been the
Constitutions grounded on the Mitigated Rule which was sanctioned by
Eugenius IV. (<cite lang="la">Romani Pontificis</cite>,
A.D. 1432).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note6">6</a>. See <a
href="#r1.10"><cite>Relation</cite>, i.
§ 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note7">7</a>. F. Pedro Ibaņez.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note8">8</a>. <a href="#l11.3">Ch.
xi. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note9">9</a>. F. Pedro Ibaņez.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note10">10</a>. The house of Doņa Luisa,
in Toledo.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note11">11</a>. The monastery of the
Incarnation, Avila.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note12">12</a>. 2 Cor. xii. 9: <span
lang="la">&#34;Virtus in
infirmitate perficitur.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note13">13</a>. See <cite>Way of
Perfection</cite>, ch. xxii.; but ch. xiii. ed. Doblado.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note14">14</a>. See <cite>Foundations</cite>,
ch. I, § 1.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note15">15</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. xix. 29: <span lang="la">&#34;Et omnis qui reliquerit
domum . . . propter nomen Meum, centuplum accipiet, et vitam
æternam possidebit.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note16">16</a>. When the workmen were busy with
the building, a nephew of the Saint, the child of her sister and Don
Juan de Ovalle, was struck by some falling stones and killed.  The
workmen took the child to his mother: and the Saint, then in the house
of Doņa Guiomar de Ulloa, was sent for.  Doņa Guiomar took the dead
boy into her arms, gave him to the Saint, saying that it was a
grievous blow to the father and mother, and that she must obtain his
life from God.  The Saint took the body, and, laying it in her lap,
ordered those around her to cease their lamentations, of whom her
sister was naturally the loudest, and be silent.  Then, covering her
face and her body with her veil, she prayed to God, and God gave the
child his life again.  The little boy soon after ran up to his aunt
and thanked her for what she had done. In after years the child used
to say to the Saint that, as she had deprived him of the bliss of
heaven by bringing him back to life, she was bound to see that he did
not suffer loss.  Don Gonzalo died three years after <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, when he was twenty-eight years of age
(<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, i. c. 42, § 2).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l35note17">17</a>. Psalm xciii. 20: <span
lang="la">&#34;Qui fingis laborem in præcepto.&#34;</span></small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l36.0">Chapter XXXVI.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Foundation of the Monastery of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.  Persecution and Temptations.  Great
Interior Trial of the Saint, and Her Deliverance.</big></p>
<p><a name="l36.1">1</a>. Having now left that
city, [<a href="#l36note1">1</a>] I travelled in great joy, resolved
to suffer most willingly whatever our Lord might be pleased to lay
upon me.  On the night of my arrival here, [<a href="#l36note2">2</a>]
came also from Rome the commission and the Brief for the erection of
the monastery. [<a href="#l36note3">3</a>]  I was astonished myself,
and so were those who knew how our Lord hastened my coming, when they
saw how necessary it was, and in what a moment our Lord had brought me
back. [<a href="#l36note4">4</a>]  I found here the Bishop and the
holy friar, [<a href="#l36note5">5</a>] Peter of Alcantara, and that
nobleman, [<a href="#l36note6">6</a>] the great servant of God, in
whose house the holy man was staying; for he was a man who was in the
habit of receiving the servants of God in his house.  These two
prevailed on the Bishop to accept the monastery, which was no small
thing, because it was founded in poverty; but he was so great a lover
of those whom he saw determined to serve our Lord, that he was
immediately drawn to give them His protection.  It was the approbation
of the holy old man, [<a href="#l36note7">7</a>] and the great trouble
he took to make now this one, now that one, help us, that did the
whole work.  If I had not come at the moment, as I have just said, I
do not see how it could have been done; for the holy man was here but
a short time,--I think not quite eight days,--during which he was also
ill; and almost immediately afterwards our Lord took him to
Himself. [<a href="#l36note8">8</a>]  It seems as if His Majesty
reserved him till this affair was ended, because now for some time--I
think for more than two years--he had been very ill.</p>
<p><a name="l36.2">2</a>. Everything was done in the utmost secrecy;
and if it had not been so, I do not see how anything could have been
done at all; for the people of the city were against us, as it
appeared afterwards.  Our Lord ordained that one of my
brothers-in-law [<a href="#l36note9">9</a>] should be ill, and his wife
away, and himself in such straits that my superiors gave me leave to
remain with him.  Nothing, therefore, was found out, though some
persons had their suspicions;--still, they did not believe.  It was
very wonderful, for his illness lasted only no longer than was
necessary for our affair; and when it was necessary he should recover
his health, that I might be disengaged, and he leave the house empty,
our Lord restored him; and he was astonished at
it himself. [<a href="#l36note10">10</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l36.3">3</a>. I had much trouble in persuading this person
and that to allow the foundation; I had to nurse the sick man, and
obtain from the workmen the hasty preparation of the house, so that it
might have the form of a monastery; but much remained still to be
done.  My friend was not here, [<a href="#l36note11">11</a>] for we
thought it best she should be away, in order the better to hide our
purpose.  I saw that everything depended on haste, for many, reasons,
one of which was that I was afraid I might be ordered back to my
monastery at any moment.  I was troubled by so many things, that I
suspected my cross had been sent me, though it seemed but a light one
in comparison with that which I understood our Lord meant me
to carry.</p>
<p><a name="l36.4">4</a>. When everything was settled, our Lord was
pleased that some of us should take the habit on <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Bartholomew's Day.  The most Holy Sacrament
began to dwell in the house at the same
time. [<a href="#l36note12">12</a>]  With full sanction and authority,
then, our monastery of our most glorious father <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph was founded in the year
1562. [<a href="#l36note13">13</a>]  I was there myself to give the
habit, with two nuns [<a href="#l36note14">14</a>] of the house to
which we belonged, who happened then to be absent from it.  As the
house which thus became a monastery was that of my brother-in-law--I
said before [<a href="#l36note15">15</a>] that he had bought it, for
the purpose of concealing our plan--I was there myself with the
permission of my superiors; and I did nothing without the advice of
learned men, in order that I might not break, in a single point, my
vow of obedience.  As these persons considered what I was doing to be
most advantageous for the whole Order, on many accounts, they told
me--though I was acting secretly, and taking care my superiors should
know nothing--that I might go on.  If they had told me that there was
the slightest imperfection in the whole matter, I would have given up
the founding of a thousand monasteries,--how much more, then, this
one!  I am certain of this; for though I longed to withdraw from
everything more and more, and to follow my rule and vocation in the
greatest perfection and seclusion, yet I wished to do so only
conditionally: for if I should have learnt that it would be for the
greater honour of our Lord to abandon it, I would have done so, as I
did before on one occasion, [<a href="#l36note16">16</a>] in all peace
and contentment.</p>
<p><a name="l36.5">5</a>. I felt as if I were in bliss, when I saw the
most Holy Sacrament reserved, with four poor
orphans, [<a href="#l36note17">17</a>]--for they were received without
a dowry,--and great servants of God, established in the house.  It was
our aim from the beginning to receive only those who, by their
example, might be the foundation on which we could build up what we
had in view--great perfection and prayer--and effect a work which I
believed to be for the service of our Lord, and to the honour of the
habit of His glorious Mother. This was my anxiety.  It was also a
great consolation to me that I had done that which our Lord had so
often commanded me to do, and that there was one church more in this
city dedicated to my glorious father <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.  Not that I thought I had done
anything myself, for I have never thought so, and do not think so even
now; I always looked upon it as the work of our Lord.  My part in it
was so full of imperfections, that I look upon myself rather as a
person in fault than as one to whom any thanks are due.  But it was a
great joy to me when I saw His Majesty make use of me, who am so
worthless, as His instrument in so grand a work.  I was therefore in
great joy,--so much so, that I was, as it were, beside myself, lost
in prayer.</p>
<p><a name="l36.6">6</a>. When all was done--it might have been about
three or four hours afterwards--Satan returned to the spiritual fight
against me, as I shall now relate.  He suggested to me that perhaps I
had been wrong in what I had done; perhaps I had failed in my
obedience, in having brought it about without the commandment of the
Provincial.  I did certainly think that the Provincial would be
displeased because I had placed the monastery under the jurisdiction
of the Bishop [<a href="#l36note18">18</a>] without telling him of it
beforehand; though, as he would not acknowledge the monastery himself,
and as I had not changed mine, it seemed to me that perhaps he would
not care much about the matter.  Satan also suggested whether the nuns
would be contented to live in so strict a house, whether they could
always find food, whether I had not done a silly thing, and what had I
to do with it, when I was already in a monastery?  All our Lord had
said to me, all the opinions I had heard, and all the prayers which
had been almost uninterrupted for more than two years, were completely
blotted out of my memory, just as if they had never been.  The only
thing I remembered was my own opinion; and every virtue, with faith
itself, was then suspended within me, so that I was without strength
to practise any one of them, or to defend myself against so
many blows.</p>
<p><a name="l36.7">7</a>. The devil also would have me ask myself how
I could think of shutting myself up in so strict a house, when I was
subject to so many infirmities; how could I bear so penitential a
life, and leave a house large and pleasant, where I had been always so
happy, and where I had so many friends?--perhaps I might not like
those of the new monastery; I had taken on myself a heavy obligation,
and might possibly end in despair.  He also suggested that perhaps it
was he himself who had contrived it, in order to rob me of my peace
and rest, so that, being unable to pray, I might be disquieted, and so
lose my soul.  Thoughts of this kind he put before me; and they were
so many, that I could think of nothing else; and with them came such
distress, obscurity, and darkness of soul as I can never describe.
When I found myself in this state, I went and placed myself before the
most Holy Sacrament, though I could not pray to Him; so great was my
anguish, that I was like one in the agony of death.  I could not make
the matter known to any one, because no confessor had as yet
been appointed.</p>
<p><a name="l36.8">8</a>. O my God, how wretched is this life!  No joy
is lasting; everything is liable to change.  Only a moment ago, I do
not think I would have exchanged my joy with any man upon earth; and
the very grounds of that joy so tormented me now, that I knew not what
to do with myself.  Oh, if we did but consider carefully the events of
our life, every one of us would learn from experience how little we
ought to make either of its pleasures or of its pains!  Certainly this
was, I believe, one of the most distressing moments I ever passed in
all my life; my spirit seemed to forecast the great sufferings in
store for me, though they never were so heavy as this was, if it had
continued.  But our Lord would not let His poor servant suffer, for in
all my troubles He never failed to succour me; so it was now.  He gave
me a little light, so that I might see it was the work of the devil,
and might understand the truth,--namely, that it was nothing else but
an attempt on his part to frighten me with his lies.  So I began to
call to mind my great resolutions to serve our Lord, and my desire to
suffer for His sake; and I thought that if I carried them out, I must
not seek to be at rest; that if I had my trials, they would be
meritorious; and that if I had troubles, and endured them in order to
please God, it would serve me for purgatory.  What was I, then, afraid
of?  If I longed for tribulations, I had them now; and my gain lay in
the greatest opposition.  Why, then, did I fail in courage to serve
One to whom I owed so much?</p>
<p><a name="l36.9">9</a>. After making these and other reflections,
and doing great violence to myself, I promised before the most Holy
Sacrament to do all in my power to obtain permission to enter this
house, and, if I could do it with a good conscience, to make a vow of
enclosure.  When I had done this, the devil fled in a moment, and left
me calm and peaceful, and I have continued so ever since; and the
enclosure, penances, and other rules of this house are to me, in their
observance, so singularly sweet and light, the joy I have is so
exceedingly great, that I am now and then thinking what on earth I
could have chosen which should be more delightful.  I know not whether
this may not be the cause of my being in better health than I was ever
before, or whether it be that our Lord, because it is needful and
reasonable that I should do as all the others do, gives me this
comfort of keeping the whole rule, though with some difficulty.
However, all who know my infirmities, are astonished at my strength.
Blessed be He who giveth it all, and in whose strength I
am strong!</p>
<p><a name="l36.10">10</a>. Such a contest left me greatly fatigued,
and laughing at Satan; for I saw clearly it was he.  As I have never
known what it is to be discontented because I am a nun--no, not for an
instant--during more than twenty-eight years of religion, I believe
that our Lord suffered me to be thus tempted, that I might understand
how great a mercy He had shown me herein, and from what torment He had
delivered me, and that if I saw any one in like trouble I might not be
alarmed at it, but have pity on her, and be able to console her.</p>
<p><a name="l36.11">11</a>. Then, when this was over, I wished to rest
myself a little after our dinner; for during the whole of that night I
had scarcely rested at all, and for some nights previously I had had
much trouble and anxiety, while every day was full of toil; for the
news of what we had done had reached my monastery, and was spread
through the city.  There arose a great outcry, for the reasons I
mentioned before, [<a href="#l36note19">19</a>] and there was some
apparent ground for it.  The prioress [<a href="#l36note20">20</a>]
sent for me to come to her immediately.  When I received the order, I
went at once, leaving the nuns in great distress.  I saw clearly
enough that there were troubles before me; but as the work was really
done, I did not care much for that.  I prayed and implored our Lord to
help me, and my father <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph to bring
me back to his house.  I offered up to him all I was to suffer,
rejoicing greatly that I had the opportunity of suffering for his
honour and of doing him service.  I went persuaded that I should be
put in prison at once but this would have been a great comfort,
because I should have nobody to speak to, and might have some rest and
solitude, of which I was in great need; for so much intercourse with
people had worn me out.</p>
<p><a name="l36.12">12</a>. When I came and told the prioress what I
had done, she was softened a little.  They all sent for the
Provincial, and the matter was reserved for him.  When he came, I was
summoned to judgment, rejoicing greatly at seeing that I had something
to suffer for our Lord.  I did not think I had offended against His
Majesty, or against my Order, in anything I had done; on the contrary,
I was striving with all my might to exalt my Order, for which I would
willingly have died,--for my whole desire was that its rule might be
observed in all perfection.  I thought of Christ receiving sentence,
and I saw how this of mine would be less than nothing.  I confessed my
fault, as if I had been very much to blame; and so I seemed to every
one who did not know all the reasons.  After the Provincial had
rebuked me sharply--though not with the severity which my fault
deserved, nor according to the representations made to him--I would
not defend myself, for I was determined to bear it all; on the
contrary, I prayed him to forgive and punish, and be no longer angry
with me.</p>
<p><a name="l36.13">13</a>. I saw well enough that they condemned me
on some charges of which I was innocent, for they said I had founded
the monastery that I might be thought much of, and to make myself a
name, and for other reasons of that kind.  But on other points I
understood clearly that they were speaking the truth, as when they
said that I was more wicked than the other nuns.  They asked, how
could I, who had not kept the rule in that house, think of keeping it
in another of stricter observance?  They said I was giving scandal in
the city, and setting up novelties.  All this neither troubled nor
distressed me in the least, though I did seem to feel it, lest I
should appear to make light of what they were saying.</p>
<p><a name="l36.14">14</a>. At last the Provincial commanded me to
explain my conduct before the nuns, and I had to do it.  As I was
perfectly calm, and our Lord helped me, I explained everything in such
a way that neither the Provincial nor those who were present found any
reason to condemn me.  Afterwards I spoke more plainly to the
Provincial alone; he was very much satisfied, and promised, if the new
monastery prospered, and the city became quiet, to give me leave to
live in it.  Now the outcry in the city was very great, as I <a
name="page337">am</a> going to tell.  Two or three days after this,
the governor, certain members of the council of the city and of the
Chapter, came together, and resolved that the new monastery should not
be allowed to exist, that it was a visible wrong to the state, that
the most Holy Sacrament should be removed, and that they would not
suffer us to go on with our work.</p>
<p><a name="l36.15">15</a>. They assembled all the Orders--that is,
two learned men from each--to give their opinion.  Some were silent,
others condemned; in the end, they resolved that the monastery should
be broken up.  Only one [<a href="#l36note21">21</a>]--he was of the
Order of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic, and objected, not to
the monastery itself, but to the foundation of it in poverty--said
that there was no reason why it should be thus dissolved, that the
matter ought to be well considered, that there was time enough, that
it was the affair of the bishop, with other things of that kind.  This
was of great service to us, for they were angry enough to proceed to
its destruction at once, and it was fortunate they did not.  In short,
the monastery must exist; our Lord was pleased to have it, and all of
them could do nothing against His will.  They gave their reasons, and
showed their zeal for good, and thus, without offending God, made me
suffer together with all those who were in favour of the monastery;
there were not many, but they suffered much persecution.  The
inhabitants were so excited, that they talked of nothing else; every
one condemned me, and hurried to the Provincial and to
my monastery.</p>
<p><a name="l36.16">16</a>. I was no more distressed by what they said
of me than if they had said nothing; but I was afraid the monastery
would be destroyed: that was painful; so also was it to see those
persons who helped me lose their credit and suffer so much annoyance.
But as to what was said of myself I was rather glad, and if I had had
any faith I should not have been troubled at all.  But a slight
failing in one virtue is enough to put all the others to sleep.  I was
therefore extremely distressed during the two days on which those
assemblies of which I have spoken were held.  In the extremity of my
trouble, our Lord said to me: &#34;Knowest thou not that I am the
Almighty? what art thou afraid of?&#34;  He made me feel assured that
the monastery would not be broken up, and I was exceedingly comforted.
The informations taken were sent up to the king's council, and an
order came back for a report on the whole matter.</p>
<p><a name="l36.17">17</a>. Here was the beginning of a grand lawsuit:
the city sent delegates to the court, and some must be sent also to
defend the monastery: but I had no money, nor did I know what to do.
Our Lord provided for us for the Father Provincial never ordered me
not to meddle in the matter.  He is so great a lover of all that is
good, that, though he did not help us, he would not be against our
work.  Neither did he authorise me to enter the house till he saw how
it would end.  Those servants of God who were in it were left alone,
and did more by their prayers than I did with all my negotiations,
though the affair needed the utmost attention.  Now and then
everything seemed to fail; particularly one day, before the Provincial
came, when the prioress ordered me to meddle no more with it, and to
give it up altogether.  I betook myself to God, and said, &#34;O Lord,
this house is not mine; it was founded for Thee; and now that there is
no one to take up the cause, do Thou protect it.&#34;  I now felt
myself in peace, and as free from anxiety as if the whole world were
on my side in the matter; and at once I looked upon it
as safe. [<a href="#l36note22">22</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l36.18">18</a>. A very great servant of God, and a lover
of all perfection, a priest [<a href="#l36note23">23</a>] who had
helped me always, went to the court on this business, and took great
pains.  That holy nobleman [<a href="#l36note24">24</a>] of whom I have
often spoken laboured much on our behalf, and helped us in every way.
He had much trouble and persecution to endure, and I always found a
father in him, and do so still.  All those who helped us, our Lord
filled with such fervour as made them consider our affair as their
own, as if their own life and reputation were at stake; and yet it was
nothing to them, except in so far as it regarded the service of our
Lord.  His Majesty visibly helped the priest I have spoken of
before, [<a href="#l36note25">25</a>] who was also one of those who
gave us great help when the Bishop sent him as his representative to
one of the great meetings.  There he stood alone against all; at last
he pacified them by means of certain propositions, which obtained us a
little respite.  But that was not enough; for they were ready to spend
their lives, if they could but destroy the monastery.  This servant of
God was he who gave the habit and reserved the most Holy Sacrament,
and he was the object of much persecution. This attack lasted about
six months: to relate in detail the heavy trials we passed through
would be too tedious.</p>
<p><a name="l36.19">19</a>. I wondered at what Satan did against a few
poor women, and also how all people thought that merely twelve women,
with a prioress, could be so hurtful to the city,--for they were not
to be more,--I say this to those who opposed us,--and living such
austere lives; for if any harm or error came of it, it would all fall
upon them.  Harm to the city there could not be in any way; and yet
the people thought there was so much in it, that they opposed us with
a good conscience.  At last they resolved they would tolerate us if we
were endowed, and in consideration of that would suffer us to remain.
I was so distressed at the trouble of all those who were on our
side--more than at my own--that I thought it would not be amiss, till
the people were pacified, to accept an endowment, but afterwards to
resign it.  At other times, too, wicked and imperfect as I am, I
thought that perhaps our Lord wished it to be so, seeing that, without
accepting it, we could not succeed; and so I consented to
the compromise.</p>
<p><a name="l36.20">20</a>. The night before the settlement was to be
made, I was in prayer,--the discussion of the terms of it had already
begun,--when our Lord said to me that I must do nothing of the kind;
for if we began with an endowment, they would never allow us to resign
it.  He said some other things also.  The same night, the holy friar,
Peter of Alcantara, appeared to me.  He was then
dead. [<a href="#l36note26">26</a>]  But he had written to me before
his death--for he knew the great opposition and persecution we had to
bear--that he was glad the foundation was so much spoken against; it
was a sign that our Lord would be exceedingly honoured in the
monastery, seeing that Satan was so earnest against it; and that I was
by no means to consent to an endowment.  He urged this upon me twice
or thrice in that letter, and said that if I persisted in this
everything would succeed according to my wish.</p>
<p><a name="l36.21">21</a>. At this time I had already seen him twice
since his death, and the great glory he was in, and so I was not
afraid,--on the contrary, I was very glad; for he always appeared as a
glorified body in great happiness, and the vision made me very happy
too.  I remember that he told me, the first time I saw him, among
other things, when speaking of the greatness of his joy, that the
penance he had done was a blessed thing for him, in that it had
obtained so great a reward.  But, as I think I have spoken of this
before, [<a href="#l36note27">27</a>] I will now say no more than that
he showed himself severe on this occasion: he merely said that I was
on no account to accept an endowment, and asked why it was I did not
take his advice.  He then disappeared.  I remained in astonishment,
and the next day told the nobleman--for I went to him in all my
trouble, as to one who did more than others for us in the
matter,--what had taken place, and charged him not to consent to the
endowment, but to let the lawsuit go on.  He was more firm on this
point than I was, and was therefore greatly pleased; he told me
afterwards how much he disliked the compromise.</p>
<p><a name="l36.22">22</a>. After this, another personage--a great
servant of God, and with good intentions--came forward, who, now that
the matter was in good train, advised us to put it in the hands of
learned men.  This brought on trouble enough; for some of those who
helped me agreed to do so; and this plot of Satan was one of the most
difficult of all to unravel.  Our Lord was my helper throughout.
Writing thus briefly, it is impossible for me to explain what took
place during the two years that passed between the beginning and the
completion of the monastery: the last six months and the first six
months were the most painful.</p>
<p><a name="l36.23">23</a>. When at last the city was somewhat calm,
the licentiate father, the Dominican
friar [<a href="#l36note28">28</a>] who helped us, exerted himself most
skilfully on our behalf.  Though not here at the time, our Lord
brought him here at a most convenient moment for our service, and it
seems that His Majesty brought him for that purpose only.  He told me
afterwards that he had no reasons for coming, and that he heard of our
affair as if by chance.  He remained here as long as we wanted him,
and on going away he prevailed, by some means, on the Father
Provincial to permit me to enter this house, and to take with me some
of the nuns [<a href="#l36note29">29</a>]--such a permission seemed
impossible in so short a time for the performance of the Divine
Office--and the training of those who were in this house: the day of
our coming was a most joyful day
for me. [<a href="#l36note30">30</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l36.24">24</a>. While praying in the church, before I went
into the house, and being as it were in a trance, I saw Christ; who,
as it seemed to me, received me with great affection, placed a crown
on my head, and thanked me for what I had done for His Mother.  On
another occasion, when all of us remained in the choir in prayer after
Compline, I saw our Lady in exceeding glory, in a white mantle, with
which she seemed to cover us all.  I understood by that the high
degree of glory to which our Lord would raise the religious of
this house.</p>
<p><a name="l36.25">25</a>. When we had begun to sing the Office, the
people began to have a great devotion to the monastery; more nuns were
received, and our Lord began to stir up those who had been our
greatest persecutors to become great benefactors, and give alms to us.
In this way they came to approve of what they had condemned; and so,
by degrees, they withdrew from the lawsuit, and would say that they
now felt it to be a work of God, since His Majesty had been pleased to
carry it on in the face of so much opposition.  And now there is not
one who thinks that it would have been right not to have founded the
monastery: so they make a point of furnishing us with alms; for
without any asking on our part, without begging of any one, our Lord
moves them to, succour us; and so we always have what is necessary for
us, and I trust in our Lord it will always be
so. [<a href="#l36note31">31</a>] As the sisters are few in number, if
they do their duty as our Lord at present by His grace enables them to
do, I am confident that they will always have it, and that they need
not be a burden nor troublesome to anybody; for our Lord will care for
them, as He has hitherto done.</p>
<p><a name="l36.26">26</a>. It is the greatest consolation to me to
find myself among those who are so detached.  Their occupation is to
learn how they may advance in the service of God.  Solitude is their
delight; and the thought of being visited by any one, even of their
nearest kindred, is a trial, unless it helps them to kindle more and
more their love of the Bridegroom.  Accordingly, none come to this
house who do not aim at this; otherwise they neither give nor receive
any pleasure from their visits.  Their conversation is of God only;
and so he whose conversation is different does not understand them,
and they do not understand him.</p>
<p><a name="l36.27">27</a>. We keep the rule of our Lady of Carmel,
not the rule of the Mitigation, but as it was settled by Fr. Hugo,
Cardinal of Santa Sabina, and given in the year 1248, in the fifth
year of the pontificate of Innocent IV., Pope.  All the trouble we had
to go through, as it seems to me, will have been endured to
good purpose.</p>
<p><a name="l36.28">28</a>. And now, though the rule be somewhat
severe,--for we never eat flesh except in cases of necessity, fast
eight months in the year, and practise some other austerities besides,
according to the primitive rule, [<a href="#l36note32">32</a>]--yet
the sisters think it light on many points, and so they have other
observances, which we have thought necessary for the more perfect
keeping of it.  And I trust in our Lord that what we have begun will
prosper more and more, according to the promise of His Majesty.</p>
<p><a name="l36.29">29</a>. The other house, which the holy woman of
whom I spoke before [<a href="#l36note33">33</a>] laboured to
establish, has been also blessed of our Lord, and is founded in
Alcala: it did not escape serious opposition, nor fail to endure many
trials.  I know that all duties of religion are observed in it,
according to our primitive rule.  Our Lord grant that all may be to
the praise and glory of Himself and of the glorious Virgin Mary, whose
habit we wear. Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l36.30">30</a>. I think you must be wearied, my father, by
the tedious history of this monastery; and yet it is most concise, if
you compare it with our labours, and the wonders which our Lord has
wrought here.  There are many who can bear witness to this on oath.  I
therefore beg of your reverence, for the love of God, should you think
fit to destroy the rest of this my writing, to preserve that part of
it which relates to this monastery, and give it, when I am dead, to
the sisters who may then be living in it.  It will encourage them
greatly, who shall come here both to serve God and to labour, that
what has been thus begun may not fall to decay, but ever grow and
thrive, when they see how much our Lord has done through one so mean
and vile as I.  As our Lord has been so particularly gracious to us in
the foundation of this house it seems to me that she will do very
wrong, and that she will be heavily chastised of God, who shall be the
first to relax the perfect observance of the rule, which our Lord has
here begun and countenanced, so that it may be kept with so much
sweetness: it is most evident that the observance of it is easy, and
that it can be kept with ease, by the arrangement made for those who
long to be alone with their Bridegroom Christ, in order to live for
ever in Him.</p>
<p><a name="l36.31">31</a>. This is to be the perpetual aim of those
who are here, to be alone with Him alone.  They are not to be more in
number than thirteen: I know this number to be the best, for I have
had many opinions about it; and I have seen in my own experience, that
to preserve our spirit, living on alms, without asking of anyone, a
larger number would be inexpedient.  May they always believe one who
with much labour, and by the prayers of many people, accomplished that
which must be for the best!  That this is most expedient for us will
be seen from the joy and cheerfulness, and the few troubles, we have
all had in the years we have lived in this house, as well as from the
better health than usual of us all.  If any one thinks the rule hard,
let her lay the fault on her want of the true spirit, and not on the
rule of the house, seeing that delicate persons, and those not
saints,--because they have the true spirit,--can bear it all with so
much sweetness.  Let others go to another monastery, where they may
save their souls in the way of their own spirit.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l36note1">1</a>. Toledo.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note2">2</a>. Avila.  In the beginning of
June, 1562.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note3">3</a>. See <a
href="#l34.2">ch. xxxiv. § 2</a>.  The Brief was dated
Feb. 7, 1562, the third year of Pius IV. (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note4">4</a>. The Brief was addressed to Doņa
Aldonza de Guzman, and to Doņa Guiomar de Ulloa,
her daughter.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note5">5</a>. Don Alvaro de Mendoza (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note6">6</a>. Don Francisco
de Salcedo.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note7">7</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Peter of Alcantara.  &#34;Truly this is the house of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph,&#34; were the Saint's words when he
saw the rising monastery; &#34;for I see it is the little hospice of
Bethlehem&#34; (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note8">8</a>. In less than three months,
perhaps; for <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter died in the
sixty-third year of his age, Oct. 18, 1562, and in less than
eight weeks after the foundation of the monastery of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note9">9</a>. Don Juan de Ovalle.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note10">10</a>. When he saw that the Saint had
made all her arrangements, he knew the meaning of his illness, and
said to her, &#34;It is not necessary I should be ill any longer&#34;
(<cite>Ribera</cite>, i. c. 8).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note11">11</a>. Doņa Guiomar de Ulloa was now in
her native place, Ciudad Toro.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note12">12</a>. The Mass was said by Gaspar
Daza.  See <i lang="la">infra</i>, <a href="#l36.18">§ 18</a>;
<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, i. c. xlvi. § 3.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note13">13</a>. The bell which the Saint had
provided for the convent weighed less than three pounds, and remained
in the monastery for a hundred years, till it was sent, by order of
the General, to the monastery of Pastrana, where the general chapters
were held. There the friars assembled at the sound of the bell, which
rang for the first Mass of the Carmelite Reform
(<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, i. c. xlvi. § 1).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note14">14</a>. They were Doņa Ines and Doņa Ana
de Tapia, cousins of the Saint.  There were present also Don Gonzalo
de Aranda, Don Francisco Salcedo, Julian of Avila, priest; Doņa Juana
de Ahumada, the Saint's sister; with her husband, Juan de Ovalle.  The
Saint herself retained her own habit, making no change, because she
had not the permission of her superiors
(<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, i. c. xlvi. § 2).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note15">15</a>. <a href="#l33.13">Ch.
xxxiii. § 13</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note16">16</a>. <a href="#l33.3">Ch.
xxxiii. § 3</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note17">17</a>. The first of these was Antonia
de Henao, a penitent of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter of
Alcantara, and who wished to enter a religious house far away from
Avila, her home.  <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter kept her for
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa.  She was called from this day
forth Antonia of the Holy Ghost.  The second was Maria de la Paz,
brought up by Doņa Guiomar de Ulloa.  Her name was Maria of the Cross.
The third was Ursola de los Santos.  She retained her family name as
Ursola of the Saints.  It was Gaspar Daza who brought her to the
Saint.  The fourth was Maria de Avila, sister of Julian the priest,
and she was called Mary of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.  It
was at this house, too, that the Saint herself exchanged her ordinary
designation of Doņa Teresa de Ahumada for Teresa of Jesus
(<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, i. c. xlvi. § 2).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note18">18</a>. See <cite>Foundations</cite>,
ch. ii. § 1, and ch. xxxi, § 1.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note19">19</a>. <a href="#l33.1">Ch.
xxxiii. §§ 1, 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note20">20</a>. Of the Incarnation.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note21">21</a>. F. Domingo Baņes, the great
commentator on <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Thomas.  On the margin
of the <abbr title="manuscript">MS.</abbr>, Baņes has with his own
hand written: &#34;This was at the end of August, 1562.  I was
present, and gave this opinion.  I am writing this in May&#34; (the
day of the month is not legible) &#34;1575, and the mother has now
founded nine monasteries <i lang="es">en gran religion</i>&#34;
(<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).  At this time Baņes did not know, and had
never seen, the Saint; he undertook her defence simply because he saw
that her intentions were good, and the means she made use of for
founding the monastery lawful, seeing that she had received the
commandment to do so from the Pope.  Baņes testifies thus in the
depositions made in Salamanca in 1591 in the Saint's process.  See
vol. ii. p. 376 of Don Vicente's edition.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note22">22</a>. See <a
href="#l39.25">Ch. xxxix. § 25</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note23">23</a>. Gonzalo de Aranda (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note24">24</a>. Don Francisco de
Salcedo (<i lang="la">ibid.</i>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note25">25</a>. <a href="#l23.6">Ch.
xxiii. § 6</a>; Gaspar Daza (<i lang="la">ibid.</i>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note26">26</a>. He died Oct.
18, 1562.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note27">27</a>. <a href="#l27.21">Ch.
xxvii. § 21</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note28">28</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;El Padre
Presentado, Dominico.  Presentado en algunas Religiones es cierto
titulo de grado que es respeto del Maestro como Licenciado&#34;</span>
(<cite>Cobarruvias</cite>, <i lang="la">in voce</i> Presente).  The
father was Fra Pedro Ibaņez.  See <a href="#l38.15">ch.
xxxviii. § 15</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note29">29</a>. From the monastery of the
Incarnation.  These were Ana of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> John,
Ana of All the Angels, Maria Isabel, and Isabel of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul.  <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa
was a simple nun, living under obedience to the prioress of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, Ana of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> John, and intended so to remain.  But the
nuns applied to the Bishop of Avila and to the Provincial of the
Order, who, listening to the complaints of the sisters, compelled the
Saint to be their prioress.  See <cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, i. c.
xlix. § 4.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note30">30</a>. Mid-Lent of 1563.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note31">31</a>. See <cite>Way of
Perfection</cite>, ch. ii.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note32">32</a>. <span lang="la">&#34;Jejunium
singulis diebus, exceptis Dominicis, observetis a Festo Exaltationis
Sanctæ Crucis usque ad diem Dominicæ Resurrectionis, nisi infirmitas
vel debilitas corporis, aut alia justa causa, jejunium solvi suadeat;
quia necessitas non habet legem.  Ab esu carnium abstineatis, nisi pro
infirmitatis aut debilitatis remedio sint sumantur.&#34;</span>  That
is the tenth section of the rule.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l36note33">33</a>. See <a
href="#l35.1">ch. xxxv. § 1</a>.  Maria of Jesus had
founded her house in Alcala de Henares; but the austerities practised
in it, and the absence of the religious mitigations which long
experience had introduced, were too much for the fervent nuns there
assembled.  Maria of Jesus begged Doņa Leonor de Mascareņas to
persuade <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa to come to Alcala.  The
Saint went to the monastery, and was received there with joy, and even
entreated to take the house under her own government
(<cite lang="es">Reforma</cite>, ii. c. x. §§ 3, 4).</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l37.0">Chapter XXXVII.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Effects of the Divine Graces in the Soul.  The Inestimable
Greatness of One Degree of Glory.</big></p>
<p><a name="l37.1">1</a>. It is painful to me to recount more of the
graces which our Lord gave me than these already spoken of; and they
are so many, that nobody can believe they were ever given to one so
wicked: but in obedience to our Lord, who has commanded me to do
it, [<a href="#l37note1">1</a>] and you, my fathers, I will speak of
some of them to His glory.  May it please His Majesty it may be to the
profit of some soul!  For if our Lord has been thus gracious to
so--miserable a thing as myself, what will He be to those who shall
serve Him truly? Let all people resolve to please His Majesty, seeing
that He gives such pledges as these even in
this life. [<a href="#l37note2">2</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l37.2">2</a>. In the first place, it must be understood
that, in those graces which God bestows on the soul, there are diverse
degrees of joy: for in some visions the joy and sweetness and comfort
of them so far exceed those of others, that I am amazed at the
different degrees of fruition even in this life; for it happens that
the joy and consolation which God gives in a vision or a trance are so
different, that it seems impossible for the soul to be able to desire
anything more in this world: and, so, in fact, the soul does not
desire, nor would it ask for, a greater joy.  Still, since our Lord
has made me understand how great a difference there is in heaven
itself between the fruition of one and that of another, I see clearly
enough that here also, when our Lord wills, He gives not by
measure; [<a href="#l37note3">3</a>] and so I wish that I myself
observed no measure in serving His Majesty, and in using my whole life
and strength and health therein; and I would not have any fault of
mine rob me of the slightest degree of fruition.</p>
<p><a name="l37.3">3</a>. And so I say that if I were asked which I
preferred, to endure all the trials of the world until the end of it,
and then receive one slight degree of glory additional, or without any
suffering of any kind to enter into glory of a slightly lower degree,
I would accept--oh, how willingly!--all those trials for one slight
degree of fruition in the contemplation of the greatness of God; for I
know that he who understands Him best, loves Him and praises Him best.
I do not mean that I should not be satisfied, and consider myself most
blessed, to be in heaven, even if I should be in the lowest place; for
as I am one who had that place in hell, it would be a great mercy of
our Lord to admit me at all; and may it please His Majesty to bring me
thither, and take away His eyes from beholding my grievous sins.  What
I mean is this,--if it were in my power, even if it cost me
everything, and our Lord gave me the grace to endure much affliction,
I would not through any fault of mine lose one degree of glory.  Ah,
wretched that I am, who by so many faults had forfeited all!</p>
<p><a name="l37.4">4</a>. It is also to be observed that, in every
vision or revelation which our Lord in His mercy sent me, a great gain
accrued to my soul, and that in some of the visions this gain was very
great.  The vision of Christ left behind an impression of His
exceeding beauty, and it remains with me to this day.  One vision
alone of Him is enough to effect this; what, then, must all those
visions have done, which our Lord in His mercy sent me?  One
exceedingly great blessing has resulted therefrom, and it is this,--I
had one very grievous fault, which was the source of much evil;
namely, whenever I found anybody well disposed towards myself, and I
liked him, I used to have such an affection for him as compelled me
always to remember and think of him, though I had no intention of
offending God: however, I was pleased to see him, to think of him and
of his good qualities.  All this was so hurtful, that it brought my
soul to the very verge of destruction.</p>
<p><a name="l37.5">5</a>. But ever since I saw the great
beauty [<a href="#l37note4">4</a>] of our Lord, I never saw any one
who in comparison with Him seemed even endurable, or that could occupy
my thoughts.  For if I but turn mine eyes inwardly for a moment to the
contemplation of the image which I have within me, I find myself so
free, that from that instant everything I see is loathsome in
comparison with the excellences and graces of which I had a vision in
our Lord.  Neither is there any sweetness, nor any kind of pleasure,
which I can make any account of, compared with that which comes from
hearing but one word from His divine mouth.  What, then, must it be
when I hear so many?  I look upon it as impossible--unless our Lord,
for my sins, should permit the loss of this remembrance--that I should
have the power to occupy myself with anything in such a way as that I
should not instantly recover my liberty by thinking of our Lord.</p>
<p><a name="l37.6">6</a>. This has happened to me with some of my
confessors, for I always have a great affection for those who have the
direction of my soul.  As I really saw in them only the
representatives of God, I thought my will was always there where it is
most occupied; and as I felt very safe in the matter, I always showed
myself glad to see them. [<a href="#l37note5">5</a>]  They, on the
other hand, servants of God, and fearing Him, were afraid that I was
attaching and binding myself too much to them, though in a holy way,
and treated me with rudeness.  This took place after I had become so
ready to obey them; for before that time I had no affection whatever
for them.  I used to laugh to myself, when I saw how much they were
deceived.  Though I was not always putting before them how little I
was attached to anybody, as clearly as I was convinced of it myself,
yet I did assure them of it; and they, in their further relations with
me, acknowledged how much I owed to our Lord in the matter.  These
suspicions of me always arose in the beginning.</p>
<p><a name="l37.7">7</a>. My love of, and trust in, our Lord, after I
had seen Him in a vision, began to grow, for my converse with Him was
so continual.  I saw that, though He was God, He was man also; that He
is not surprised at the frailties of men, that He understands our
miserable nature, liable to fall continually, because of the first
sin, for the reparation of which He had come.  I could speak to Him as
to a friend, though He is my Lord, because I do not consider Him as
one of our earthly Lords, who affect a power they do not possess, who
give audience at fixed hours, and to whom only certain persons may
speak.  If a poor man have any business with these, it will cost him
many goings and comings, and currying favour with others, together
with much pain and labour before he can speak to them.  Ah, if such a
one has business with a king!  Poor people, not of gentle blood,
cannot approach him, for they must apply to those who are his friends,
and certainly these are not persons who tread the world under their
feet; for they who do this speak the truth, fear nothing, and ought to
fear nothing; they are not courtiers, because it is not the custom of
a court, where they must be silent about those things they dislike,
must not even dare to think about them, lest they should fall
into disgrace.</p>
<p><a name="l37.8">8</a>. O King of glory, and Lord of all kings! oh,
how Thy kingly dignity is not hedged about by trifles of this kind!
Thy kingdom is for ever.  We do not require chamberlains to introduce
us into Thy presence.  The very vision of Thy person shows us at once
that Thou alone art to be called Lord.  Thy Majesty is so manifest
that there is no need of a retinue or guard to make us confess that
Thou art King.  An earthly king without attendants would be hardly
acknowledged; and though he might wish ever so much to be recognised,
people will not own him when he appears as others; it is necessary
that his dignity should be visible, if people are to believe in it.
This is reason enough why kings should affect so much state; for if
they had none, no one would respect them; this their semblance of
power is not in themselves, and their authority must come to them
from others.</p>
<p><a name="l37.9">9</a>. O my Lord!  O my King! who can describe Thy
Majesty?  It is impossible not to see that Thou art Thyself the great
Ruler of all, that the beholding of Thy Majesty fills men with awe.
But I am filled with greater awe, O my Lord, when I consider Thy
humility, and the love Thou hast for such as I am.  We can converse
and speak with Thee about everything whenever we will; and when we
lose our first fear and awe at the vision of Thy Majesty, we have a
greater dread of offending Thee,--not arising out of the fear of
punishment, O my Lord, for that is as nothing in comparison with the
loss of Thee!</p>
<p><a name="l37.10">10</a>. Thus far of the blessings of this vision,
without speaking of others, which abide in the soul when it is past.
If it be from God, the fruits thereof show it, when the soul receives
light; for, as I have often said, [<a href="#l37note6">6</a>] the will
of our Lord is that the soul should be in darkness, and not see this
light.  It is, therefore, nothing to be wondered at that I, knowing
myself to be so wicked as I am, should be afraid.</p>
<p><a name="l37.11">11</a>. It is only just now it happened to me to
be for eight days in a state wherein it seemed that I did not, and
could not, confess my obligations to God, or remember His mercies; but
my soul was so stupefied, and occupied with I know not what nor how:
not that I had any bad thoughts; only I was so incapable of good
thoughts, that I was laughing at myself, and even rejoicing to see how
mean a soul can be if God is not always working in
it. [<a href="#l37note7">7</a>]  The soul sees clearly that God is not
away from it in this state, and that it is not in those  great
tribulations which I have spoken of as being occasionally mine.
Though it heaps up fuel, and does the little it can do of itself, it
cannot make the fire of the love of God burn: it is a great mercy that
even the smoke is visible, showing that it is not altogether quenched.
Our Lord will return and kindle it; and until then the soul--though it
may lose its breath in blowing and arranging the fuel--seems to be
doing nothing but putting it out more and more.</p>
<p><a name="l37.12">12</a>. I believe that now the best course is to
be absolutely resigned, confessing that we can do nothing, and so
apply ourselves--as I said before [<a href="#l37note8">8</a>]--to
something else which is meritorious.  Our Lord, it may be, takes away
from the soul the power of praying, that it may betake itself to
something else, and learn by experience how little it can do in its
own strength.</p>
<p><a name="l37.13">13</a>. It is true I have this day been rejoicing
in our Lord, and have dared to complain of His Majesty.  I said unto
Him: How is it, O my God, that it is not enough for Thee to detain me
in this wretched life, and that I should have to bear with it for the
love of Thee, and be willing to live where everything hinders the
fruition of Thee; where, besides, I must eat and sleep, transact
business, and converse with every one, and all for Thy love? how is
it, then,--for Thou well knowest, O my Lord, all this to be the
greatest torment unto me,--that, in the rare moments when I am with
Thee, Thou hidest Thyself from me?  How is this consistent with Thy
compassion?  How can that love Thou hast for me endure this?  I
believe, O Lord, if it were possible for me to hide myself from Thee,
as Thou hidest Thyself from me--I think and believe so--such is Thy
love, that Thou wouldest not endure it at my hands.  But Thou art with
me, and seest me always.  O my Lord, I beseech Thee look to this; it
must not be; a wrong is done to one who loves Thee so much.</p>
<p><a name="l37.14">14</a>. I happened to utter these words, and
others of the same kind, when I should have been thinking rather how
my place in hell was pleasant in comparison with the place I deserved.
But now and then my love makes me foolish, so that I lose my senses;
only it is with all the sense I have that I make these complaints, and
our Lord bears it all.  Blessed be so good a King!</p>
<p><a name="l37.15">15</a>. Can we be thus bold with the kings of this
world?  And yet I am not surprised that we dare not thus speak to a
king, for it is only reasonable that men should be afraid of him, or
even to the great lords who are his representatives.  The world is now
come to such a state, that men's lives ought to be longer than they
are if we are to learn all the new customs and ceremonies of good
breeding, and yet spend any time in the service of God.  I bless
myself at the sight of what is going on. The fact is, I did not know
how I was to live when I came into this house.  Any negligence in
being much more ceremonious with people than they deserve is not taken
as a jest; on the contrary, they look upon it as an insult
deliberately offered; so that it becomes necessary for you to satisfy
them of your good intentions, if there happens, as I have said, to
have been any negligence; and even then, God grant they may
believe you.</p>
<p><a name="l37.16">16</a>. I repeat it,--I certainly did not know how
to live; for my poor soul was worn out.  It is told to employ all its
thoughts always on God, and that it is necessary to do so if it would
avoid many dangers.  On the other hand, it finds it will not do to
fail in any one point of the world's law, under the penalty of
affronting those who look upon these things as touching their honour.
I was worn out in unceasingly giving satisfaction to people; for,
though I tried my utmost, I could not help failing in many ways in
matters which, as I have said, are not slightly thought of in
the world.</p>
<p><a name="l37.17">17</a>. Is it true that in religious houses no
explanations are necessary, for it is only reasonable we should be
excused these observances?  Well, that is not so; for there are people
who say that monasteries ought to be courts in politeness and
instruction.  I certainly cannot understand it.  I thought that
perhaps some saint may have said that they ought to be courts to teach
those who wish to be the courtiers of heaven, and that these people
misunderstood their meaning; for if a man be careful to please God
continually, and to hate the world, as he ought to do, I do not see
how he can be equally careful to please those who live in the world in
these matters which are continually changing.  If they could be learnt
once for all, it might be borne with: but as to the way of addressing
letters, there ought to be a professor's chair founded, from which
lectures should be given, so to speak, teaching us how to do it; for
the paper should on one occasion be left blank in one corner, and on
another in another corner; and a man must be addressed as the
illustrious who was not hitherto addressed as the magnificent.</p>
<p><a name="l37.18">18</a>. I know not where this will stop: I am not
yet fifty, and yet I have seen so many changes during my life, that I
do not know how to live.  What will they do who are only just born,
and who may live many years?  Certainly I am sorry for those spiritual
people who, for certain holy purposes, are obliged to live in the
world; the cross they have to carry is a dreadful one.  If they could
all agree together, and make themselves ignorant, and be willing to be
considered so in these sciences, they would set themselves free from
much trouble.  But what folly am I about! from speaking of the
greatness of God I am come to speak of the meanness of the world!
Since our Lord has given me the grace to quit it, I wish to leave it
altogether.   Let them settle these matters who maintain these follies
with so much labour.  God grant that in the next life, where there is
no changing, we may not have to pay for them! Amen.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l37note1">1</a>. The Saint, having interrupted her
account of her interior life in order to give the history of the
foundation of the monastery of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph,
Avila,--the first house of the Reformed Carmelites,--here resumes that
account broken off at the end of <a href="#l32.10">§ 10 of
ch. xxxii</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l37note2">2</a>. Ephes. i. 14: <span
lang="la">&#34;Pignus hæreditatis nostræ.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l37note3">3</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John iii. 34: <span lang="la">&#34;Non enim ad mensuram dat
Deus spiritum.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l37note4">4</a>. <a href="#l28.1">Ch.
xxviii. §§ 1-5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l37note5">5</a>. See <a
href="#l40.24">ch. xl. § 24</a>; <cite>Way of
Perfection</cite>, ch. vii. § 1; but ch. iv. of the
previous editions.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l37note6">6</a>. See <a
href="#l20.14">ch. xx. § 14</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l37note7">7</a>. See <a
href="#l30.19">ch. xxx. § 19</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l37note8">8</a>. See <a
href="#l30.18">ch. xxx. §§ 18</a>, <a
href="#l30.25">25</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l38.0">Chapter XXXVIII.</a></h3>
<p><big>Certain Heavenly Secrets, Visions, and Revelations.  The
Effects of Them in Her Soul.</big></p>
<p><a name="l38.1">1</a>. One night I was so unwell that I thought I
might be excused making my prayer; so I took my rosary, that I might
employ myself in vocal prayer, trying not to be recollected in my
understanding, though outwardly I was recollected, being in my
oratory.  These little precautions are of no use when our Lord will
have it otherwise.  I remained there but a few moments thus, when I
was rapt in spirit with such violence that I could make no resistance
whatever.  It seemed to me that I was taken up to heaven; and the
first persons I saw there were my father and my mother.  I saw other
things also; but the time was no longer than that in which the <i
lang="la">Ave Maria</i> might be said, and I was amazed at it, looking
on it all as too great a grace for me.  But as to the shortness of the
time, it might have been longer, only it was all done in a very
short space.</p>
<p><a name="l38.2">2</a>. I was afraid it might be an illusion; but as
I did not think so, I knew not what to do, because I was very much
ashamed to go to my confessor about it.  It was not, as it seemed to
me, because I was humble, but because I thought he would laugh at me,
and say: Oh, what a <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul!--she sees the
things of heaven; or a <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Jerome.  And
because these glorious Saints had had such visions, I was so much the
more afraid, and did nothing but cry; for I did not think it possible
for me to see what they saw.  At last, though I felt it exceedingly, I
went to my confessor; for I never dared to keep secret anything of
this kind, however much it distressed me to speak of them, owing to
the great fear I had of being deceived.  When my confessor saw how
much I was suffering, he consoled me greatly, and gave me plenty of
good reasons why I should have no fear.</p>
<p><a name="l38.3">3</a>. It happened, also, as time went on, and it
happens now from time to time, that our Lord showed me still greater
secrets.  The soul, even if it would, has neither the means not the
power to see more than what He shows it; and so, each time, I saw
nothing more than what our Lord was pleased to let me see.  But such
was the vision, that the least part of it was enough to make my soul
amazed, and to raise it so high that it esteems and counts as nothing
all the things of this life.  I wish I could describe, in some
measure, the smallest portion of what I saw; but when I think of doing
it, I find it impossible; for the mere difference alone between the
light we have here below, and that which is seen in a vision,--both
being light,--is so great, that there is no comparison between them;
the brightness of the sun itself seems to be something exceedingly
loathsome.  In a word, the imagination, however strong it may be, can
neither conceive nor picture to itself this light, nor any one of the
things which our Lord showed me in a joy so supreme that it cannot be
described; for then all the senses exult so deeply and so sweetly that
no description is possible; and so it is better to say
nothing more.</p>
<p><a name="l38.4">4</a>. I was in this state once for more than an
hour, our Lord showing me wonderful things.  He seemed as if He would
not leave me.  He said to me, &#34;See, My daughter, what they lose
who are against Me; do not fail to tell them of it.&#34;  Ah, my Lord,
how little good my words will do them, who are made blind by their own
conduct, if Thy Majesty will not give them light!  Some, to whom Thou
hast given it, there are, who have profited by the knowledge of Thy
greatness; but as they see it revealed to one so wicked and base as I
am, I look upon it as a great thing if there should be any found to
believe me.  Blessed be Thy name, and blessed be Thy compassion; for I
can trace, at least in my own soul, a visible improvement.  Afterwards
I wished I had continued in that trance for ever, and that I had not
returned to consciousness, because of an abiding sense of contempt for
everything here below; all seemed to be filth; and I see how meanly we
employ ourselves who are detained on earth.</p>
<p><a name="l38.5">5</a>. When I was staying with that lady of whom I
have been speaking, [<a href="#l38note1">1</a>] it happened to me once
when I was suffering from my heart,--for, as I have
said, [<a href="#l38note2">2</a>] I suffered greatly at one time,
though not so much now,--that she, being a person of great charity,
brought out her jewels set in gold, and precious stones of great
price, and particularly a diamond, which she valued very much.  She
thought this might amuse me; but I laughed to myself, and was very
sorry to see what men made much of; for I thought of what our Lord had
laid up for us, and considered how impossible it was for me, even if I
made the effort, to have any appreciation whatever of such things,
provided our Lord did not permit me to forget what He was keeping
for us.</p>
<p><a name="l38.6">6</a>. A soul in this state attains to a certain
freedom, which is so complete that none can understand it who does not
possess it.  It is a real and true detachment, independent of our
efforts; God effects it all Himself; for His Majesty reveals the truth
in such a way, that it remains so deeply impressed on our souls as to
make it clear that we of ourselves could not thus acquire it in so
short a time.</p>
<p><a name="l38.7">7</a>. The fear of death, also, was now very slight
in me, who had always been in great dread of it; now it seems to me
that death is a very light thing for one who serves God, because the
soul is in a moment delivered thereby out of its prison, and at rest.
This elevation of the spirit, and the vision of things so high, in
these trances seem to me to have a great likeness to the flight of the
soul from the body, in that it finds itself in a moment in the
possession of these good things.  We put aside the agonies of its
dissolution, of which no great account is to be made; for they who
love God in truth, and are utterly detached from the things of this
life, must die with the greater sweetness.</p>
<p><a name="l38.8">8</a>. It seems to me, also, that the rapture was a
great help to recognise our true home, and to see that we are pilgrims
here; [<a href="#l38note3">3</a>] it is a great thing to see what is
going on there and to know where we have to live; for if a person has
to go and settle in another country, it is a great help to him, in
undergoing the fatigues of his journey, that he has discovered it to
be a country where he may live in the most perfect peace.  Moreover,
it makes it easy for us to think of the things of heaven, and to have
our conversation there. [<a href="#l38note4">4</a>]  It is a great
gain, because the mere looking up to heaven makes the soul
recollected; for as our Lord has been pleased to reveal heaven in some
degree, my soul dwells upon it in thought; and it happens occasionally
that they who are about me, and with whom I find consolation, are
those whom I know to be living in heaven, and that I look upon them
only as really alive; while those who are on earth are so dead, that
the whole world seems unable to furnish me with companions,
particularly when these impetuosities of love are upon me. Everything
seems a dream, and what I see with the bodily eyes an illusion.  What
I have seen with the eyes of the soul is that which my soul desires;
and as it finds itself far away from those things, that is death.</p>
<p><a name="l38.9">9</a>. In a word, it is a very great mercy which
our Lord gives to that soul to which He grants the like visions, for
they help it in much, and also in carrying a heavy cross, since
nothing satisfies it, and everything is against it; and if our Lord
did not now and then suffer these visions to be forgotten, though they
recur again and again to the memory, I know not how life could be
borne.  May He be blessed and praised for ever and ever!  I implore
His Majesty by that Blood which His Son shed for me, now that, of His
good pleasure, I know something of these great blessings, and begin to
have the fruition of them, that it may not be with me as it was with
Lucifer, who by his own fault forfeited it all.  I beseech Thee, for
Thine own sake, not to suffer this; for I am at times in great fear,
though at others, and most frequently, the mercy of God reassures me,
for He who has delivered me from so many sins will not withdraw His
hand from under me, and let me be lost.  I pray you, my father, to beg
this grace for me always.</p>
<p><a name="l38.10">10</a>. The mercies, then, hitherto described, are
not, in my opinion, so great as those which I am now going to speak
of, on many accounts, because of the great blessings they have brought
with them, and because of the great fortitude which my soul derived
from them; and yet every one separately considered is so great, that
there is nothing to be compared with them.</p>
<p><a name="l38.11">11</a>. One day--it was the eve of Pentecost--I
went after Mass to a very lonely spot, where I used to pray very
often, and began to read about the feast in the book of a
Carthusian; [<a href="#l38note5">5</a>] and reading of the marks by
which beginners, proficients, and the perfect may know that they have
the Holy Ghost, it seemed to me, when I had read of these three
states, that by the goodness of God, so far as I could understand, the
Holy Ghost was with me.  I praised God for it; and calling to mind how
on another occasion, when I read this, I was very deficient,--for I
saw most distinctly at that time how deficient I was then from what I
saw I was now,--I recognised herein the great mercy of our Lord to me,
and so began to consider the place which my sins had earned for me in
hell, and praised God exceedingly, because it seemed as if I did not
know my own soul again, so great a change had come over it.</p>
<p><a name="l38.12">12</a>. While thinking of these things, my soul
was carried away with extreme violence, and I knew not why.  It seemed
as if it would have gone forth out of the body, for it could not
contain itself, nor was it able to hope for so great a good.  The
impetuosity was so excessive that I had no power left, and, as I
think, different from what I had been used to.  I knew not what ailed
my soul, nor what it desired, for it was so changed. I leaned for
support, for I could not sit, because my natural strength had
utterly failed.</p>
<p><a name="l38.13">13</a>. Then I saw over my head a dove, very
different from those we usually see, for it had not the same plumage,
but wings formed of small shells shining brightly.  It was larger than
an ordinary dove; I thought I heard the rustling of its wings.  It
hovered above me during the space of an <i lang="la">Ave Maria</i>.
But such was the state of my soul, that in losing itself it lost also
the sight of the dove.  My spirit grew calm with such a guest; and
yet, as I think, a grace so wonderful might have disturbed and
frightened it; and as it began to rejoice in the vision, it was
delivered from all fear, and with the joy came peace, my soul
continuing entranced.  The joy of this rapture was exceedingly great;
and for the rest of that festal time I was so amazed and bewildered
that I did not know what I was doing, nor how I could have received so
great a grace.  I neither heard nor saw anything, so to speak, because
of my great inward joy.  From that day forth I perceived in myself a
very great progress in the highest love of God, together with a great
increase in the strength of my virtues.  May He be blessed and praised
for ever! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l38.14">14</a>. On another occasion I saw that very dove
above the head of one of the Dominican fathers; but it seemed to me
that the rays and brightness of the wings were far greater.  I
understood by this that he was to draw souls unto God.</p>
<p><a name="l38.15">15</a>. At another time I saw our Lady putting a
cope of exceeding whiteness on that Licentiate of the same Order, of
whom I have made mention more than once. [<a href="#l38note6">6</a>]
She told me that she gave him that cope in consideration of the
service he had rendered her by helping to found this
house, [<a href="#l38note7">7</a>] that it was a sign that she would
preserve his soul pure for the future, and that he should not fall
into mortal sin. I hold it for certain that so it came to pass, for he
died within a few years; his death and the rest of his life were so
penitential, his whole life and death so holy, that, so far as
anything can be known, there cannot be a doubt on the subject.  One of
the friars present at his death told me that, before he breathed his
last, he said to him that <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Thomas was
with him. [<a href="#l38note8">8</a>]  He died in great joy, longing
to depart out of this land of exile.</p>
<p><a name="l38.16">16</a>. Since then he has appeared to me more than
once in exceedingly great glory, and told me certain things.  He was
so given to prayer, that when he was dying, and would have interrupted
it if he could because of his great weakness, he was not able to do
so; for he was often in a trance.  He wrote to me not long before he
died, and asked me what he was to do; for as soon as he had said Mass
he fell into a trance which lasted a long time, and which he could not
hinder.  At last God gave him the reward of the many services of his
whole life.</p>
<p><a name="l38.17">17</a>. I had certain visions, too, of the great
graces which our Lord bestowed upon that rector of the Society of
Jesus, of whom I have spoken already more than
once; [<a href="#l38note9">9</a>] but I will not say anything of them
now, lest I should be too tedious.  It was his lot once to be in great
trouble, to suffer great persecution and distress.  One day, when I
was hearing Mass, I saw Christ on the Cross at the elevation of the
Host.  He spoke certain words to me, which I was to repeat to that
father for his comfort, together with others, which were to warn him
beforehand of what was coming, and to remind him of what He had
suffered on his behalf, and that he must prepare for suffering.  This
gave him great consolation and courage; and everything came to pass
afterwards as our Lord had told me.</p>
<p><a name="l38.18">18</a>. I have seen great things of members of the
Order to which this father belongs, which is the Society of Jesus, and
of the whole Order itself; I have occasionally seen them in heaven
with white banners in their hands, and I have had other most wonderful
visions, as I am saying, about them, and therefore have a great
veneration for this Order; for I have had a great deal to do with
those who are of it, and I see that their lives are conformed to that
which our Lord gave me to understand about them.</p>
<p><a name="l38.19">19</a>. One night, when I was in prayer, our Lord
spoke to me certain words, whereby He made me remember the great
wickedness of my past life.  They filled me with shame and distress;
for though they were not spoken with severity, they caused a feeling
and a painfulness which were too much for me: and we feel that we make
greater progress in the knowledge of ourselves when we hear one of
these words, than we can make by a meditation of many days on our own
misery, because these words impress the truth upon us at the same time
in such a way that we cannot resist it.  He set before me the former
inclinations of my will to vanities, and told me to make much of the
desire I now had that my will, which had been so ill employed, should
be fixed on Him, and that He would accept it.</p>
<p><a name="l38.20">20</a>. On other occasions He told me to remember
how I used to think it an honourable thing to go against His honour;
and, again, to remember my debt to Him, for when I was most rebellious
He was bestowing His graces upon me.  If I am doing anything
wrong--and my wrong-doings are many--His Majesty makes me see it in
such a way that I am utterly confounded; and as I do so often, that
happens often also.  I have been found fault with by my confessors
occasionally; and on betaking myself to prayer for consolation, have
received a real reprimand.</p>
<p><a name="l38.21">21</a>. To return to what I was speaking of.  When
our Lord made me remember my wicked life, I wept; for as I considered
that I had then never done any good, I thought He might be about to
bestow upon me some special grace; because most frequently, when I
receive any particular mercy from our Lord, it is when I have been
previously greatly humiliated, in order that I may the more clearly
see how far I am from deserving it.  I think our Lord must do it for
that end.</p>
<p><a name="l38.22">22</a>. Almost immediately after this I was so
raised up in spirit that I thought myself to be, as it were, out of
the body; at least, I did not know that I was living in
it. [<a href="#l38note10">10</a>]  I had a vision of the most Sacred
Humanity in exceeding glory, greater than I had ever seen It in
before.  I beheld It in a wonderful and clear way in the bosom of the
Father.  I cannot tell how it was, for I saw myself, without seeing,
as it seemed to me, in the presence of God.  My amazement was such
that I remained, as I believe, some days before I could recover
myself.  I had continually before me, as present, the Majesty of the
Son of God, though not so distinctly as in the vision.  I understood
this well enough; but the vision remained so impressed on my
imagination, that I could not get rid of it for some time, though it
had lasted but a moment; it is a great comfort to me, and also a
great blessing.</p>
<p><a name="l38.23">23</a>. I have had this vision on three other
occasions, and it is, I think, the highest vision of all the visions
which our Lord in His mercy showed me.  The fruits of it are the very
greatest, for it seems to purify the soul in a wonderful way, and
destroy, as it were utterly, altogether the strength of our sensual
nature.  It is a grand flame of fire, which seems to burn up and
annihilate all the desires of this life.  For though now--glory be to
God!--I had no desire after vanities, I saw clearly in the vision how
all things are vanity, and how hollow are all the dignities of earth;
it was a great lesson, teaching me to raise up my desires to the Truth
alone.  It impresses on the soul a sense of the presence of God such
as I cannot in any way describe, only it is very different from that
which it is in our own power to acquire on earth.  It fills the soul
with profound astonishment at its own daring, and at any one else
being able to dare to offend His most awful Majesty.</p>
<p><a name="l38.24">24</a>. I must have spoken now and then of the
effects of visions, [<a href="#l38note11">11</a>] and of other matters
of the same kind, and I have already said that the blessings they
bring with them are of various degrees; but those of this vision are
the highest of all. When I went to Communion once I called to mind the
exceeding great majesty of Him I had seen, and considered that it was
He who is present in the most Holy Sacrament, and very often our Lord
was pleased to show Himself to me in the Host; the very hairs on my
head stood, [<a href="#l38note12">12</a>] and I thought I should come
to nothing.</p>
<p><a name="l38.25">25</a>. O my Lord! ah, if Thou didst not throw a
veil over Thy greatness, who would dare, being so foul and miserable,
to come in contact with Thy great Majesty?  Blessed be Thou, O Lord;
may the angels and all creation praise Thee, who orderest all things
according to the measure of our weakness, so that, when we have the
fruition of Thy sovereign mercies, Thy great power may not terrify us,
so that we dare not, being a frail and miserable race, persevere in
that fruition!</p>
<p><a name="l38.26">26</a>. It might happen to us as it did to the
labourer--I know it to be a certain fact--who found a treasure beyond
his expectations, which were mean.  When he saw himself in possession
of it, he was seized with melancholy, which by degrees brought him to
his grave through simple distress and anxiety of mind, because he did
not know what to do with his treasure.  If he had not found it all at
once, and if others had given him portions of it by degrees,
maintaining him thereby, he might have been more happy than he had
been in his poverty, nor would it have cost him his life.</p>
<p><a name="l38.27">27</a>. O Thou Treasure of the poor! how
marvellously Thou sustainest souls, showing to them, not all at once,
but by little and little, the abundance of Thy riches!  When I behold
Thy great Majesty hidden beneath that which is so slight as the Host
is, I am filled with wonder, ever since that vision, at Thy great
wisdom; and I know not how it is that our Lord gives me the strength
and courage necessary to draw near to him, were it not that He who has
had such compassion on me, and still has, gives me strength, nor would
it be possible for me to be silent, or refrain from making known
marvels so great.</p>
<p><a name="l38.28">28</a>. What must be the thoughts of a wretched
person such as I am, full of abominations, and who has spent her life
with so little fear of God, when she draws near to our Lord's great
Majesty, at the moment He is pleased to show Himself to my soul?  How
can I open my mouth, that has uttered so many words against Him, to
receive that most glorious Body, purity and compassion itself?  The
love that is visible in His most beautiful Face, sweet and tender,
pains and distresses the soul, because it has not served Him, more
than all the terrors of His Majesty.  What should have been my
thoughts, then, on those two occasions when I saw what I have
described?  Truly, O my Lord and my joy, I am going to say that in
some way, in these great afflictions of my soul, I have done something
in Thy service.  Ah!  I know not what I am saying, for I am writing
this as if the words were not mine, [<a href="#l38note13">13</a>]
because I am troubled, and in some measure beside myself, when I call
these things to remembrance.  If these thoughts were really mine, I
might well say that I had done something for Thee, O my Lord; but as I
can have no good thought if Thou givest it not, no thanks are due to
me; I am the debtor, O Lord, and it is Thou who art the
offended One.</p>
<p><a name="l38.29">29</a>. Once, when I was going to Communion, I saw
with the eyes of the soul, more distinctly than with those of the
body, two devils of most hideous shape; their horns seemed to
encompass the throat of the poor priest; and I beheld my Lord, in that
great majesty of which I have spoken, [<a href="#l38note14">14</a>]
held in the hands of that priest, in the Host he was about to give me.
It was plain that those hands were those of a sinner, and I felt that
the soul of that priest was in mortal sin.  What must it be, O my
Lord, to look upon Thy beauty amid shapes so hideous!  The two devils
were so frightened and cowed in Thy presence, that they seemed as if
they would have willingly run away, hadst Thou but given them leave.
So troubled was I by the vision, that I knew not how I could go to
Communion.  I was also in great fear, for I thought, if the vision was
from God, that His Majesty would not have allowed me to see the evil
state of that soul. [<a href="#l38note15">15</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l38.30">30</a>. Our Lord Himself told me to pray for that
priest; that He had allowed this in order that I might understand the
power of the words of consecration, and how God failed not to be
present, however wicked the priest might be who uttered them; and that
I might see His great goodness in that He left Himself in the very
hands of His enemy, for my good and for the good of all.  I understood
clearly how the priests are under greater obligations to be holy than
other persons; and what a horrible thing it is to receive this most
Holy Sacrament unworthily, and how great is the devil's dominion over
a soul in mortal sin.  It did me a great service, and made me fully
understand what I owe to God.  May He be blessed for evermore!</p>
<p><a name="l38.31">31</a>. At another time I had a vision of a
different kind, which frightened me very much.  I was in a place where
a certain person died, who as I understood had led a very bad life,
and that for many years.  But he had been ill for two years, and in
some respects seemed to have reformed.  He died without confession;
nevertheless, I did not think he would be damned.  When the body had
been wrapped in the winding-sheet, I saw it laid hold of by a
multitude of devils, who seemed to toss it to and fro, and also to
treat it with great cruelty.  I was terrified at the sight, for they
dragged it about with great hooks.  But when I saw it carried to the
grave with all the respect and ceremoniousness common to all, I began
to think of the goodness of God, who would not allow that person to be
dishonoured, but would have the fact of his being His
enemy concealed.</p>
<p><a name="l38.32">32</a>. I was almost out of my senses at the
sight.  During the whole of the funeral service, I did not see one of
the evil spirits.  Afterwards, when the body was about to be laid in
the grave, so great a multitude of them was therein waiting to receive
it, that I was beside myself at the sight, and it required no slight
courage on my part not to betray my distress. I thought of the
treatment which that soul would receive, when the devils had such
power over the wretched body.  Would to God that all who live in
mortal sin might see what I then saw,--it was a fearful sight; it
would go, I believe, a great way towards making them lead
better lives.</p>
<p><a name="l38.33">33</a>. All this made me know more of what I owe
to God, and of the evils from which He has delivered me.  I was in
great terror.  I spoke of it to my confessor, and I thought it might
be an illusion of Satan, in order to take away my good opinion of that
person, who yet was not accounted a very good Christian.  The truth
is, that, whether it was an illusion or not, it makes me afraid
whenever I think of it.</p>
<p><a name="l38.34">34</a>. Now that I have begun to speak of the
visions I had concerning the dead, I will mention some matters which
our Lord was pleased to reveal to me in relation to certain souls.  I
will confine myself to a few for the sake of brevity, and because they
are not necessary; I mean that they are not for our profit.  They told
me that one who had been our Provincial--he was then of another
province--was dead.  He was a man of great virtue, with whom I had had
a great deal to do, and to whom I was under many obligations for
certain kindnesses shown me.  When I heard that he was dead, I was
exceedingly troubled, because I trembled for his salvation, seeing
that he had been superior for twenty years. That is what I dread very
much; for the cure of souls seems to me to be full of danger.  I went
to an oratory in great distress, and gave up to him all the good I had
ever done in my whole life,--it was little enough,--and prayed our
Lord that His merits might fill up what was wanting, in order that
this soul might be delivered up from purgatory.</p>
<p><a name="l38.35">35</a>. While I was thus praying to our Lord as
well as I could, he seemed to me to rise up from the depths of the
earth on my right hand, and I saw him ascend to heaven in exceeding
great joy.  He was a very old man then, but I saw him as if he were
only thirty years old, and I thought even younger, and there was a
brightness in his face.  This vision passed away very quickly; but I
was so exceedingly comforted by it, that I could never again mourn his
death, although many persons were distressed at it, for he was very
much beloved. So greatly comforted was my soul, that nothing disturbed
it, neither could I doubt the truth of the vision; I mean that it was
no illusion.</p>
<p><a name="l38.36">36</a>. I had this vision about a fortnight after
he was dead; nevertheless, I did not omit to obtain prayers for him
and I prayed myself, only I could not pray with the same earnestness
that I should have done if I had not seen that vision.  For when our
Lord showed him thus to me, it seemed to me afterwards, when I prayed
for him to His Majesty,--and I could not help it,--that I was like one
who gave alms to a rich man.  Later on I heard an account of the death
he died in our Lord--he was far away from here; it was one of such
great edification, that he left all wondering to see how recollected,
how penitent, and how humble he was when he died.</p>
<p><a name="l38.37">37</a>. A nun, who was a great servant of God,
died in this house.  On the next day one of the sisters was reciting
the lesson in the Office of the Dead, which was said in choir for that
nun's soul, and I was standing myself to assist her in singing the
versicle, when, in the middle of the lesson, I saw the departed nun as
I believe, in a vision; her soul seemed to rise on my right hand like
the soul of the Provincial, and ascend to heaven.  This vision was not
imaginary, like the preceding, but like those others of which I have
spoken before; [<a href="#l38note16">16</a>] it is not less certain,
however, than the other visions I had.</p>
<p><a name="l38.38">38</a>. Another nun died in this same house of
mine, she was about eighteen or twenty years of age, and had always
been sickly.  She was a great servant of God, attentive in choir, and
a person of great virtue.  I certainly thought that she would not go
to purgatory, on account of her exceeding merits, because the
infirmities under which she had laboured were many.  While I was
saying the Office, before she was buried,--she had been dead about
four hours,--I saw her rise in the same place and ascend
to heaven.</p>
<p><a name="l38.39">39</a>. I was once in one of the colleges of the
Society of Jesus, and in one of those great sufferings which, as I
have said, [<a href="#l38note17">17</a>] I occasionally had, and still
have, both in soul and body, and then so grievously that I was not
able, as it seemed to me, to have even one good thought.  The night
before, one of the brothers of that house had died in it; and I, as
well as I could, was commending his soul to God, and hearing the Mass
which another father of that Society was saying for him when I became
recollected at once, and saw him go up to heaven in great glory, and
our Lord with him.  I understood that His Majesty went with him by way
of special grace.</p>
<p><a name="l38.40">40</a>. Another brother of our Order, a good
friar, was very ill; and when I was at Mass, I became recollected and
saw him dead, entering into heaven without going through purgatory.
He died, as I afterwards learned, at the very time of my vision. I was
amazed that he had not gone to purgatory.  I understood that, having
become a friar and carefully kept the rule, the Bulls of the Order had
been of use to him, so that he did not pass into purgatory.  I do not
know why I came to have this revealed to me; I think it must be
because I was to learn that it is not enough for a man to be a friar
in his habit--I mean, to wear the habit--to attain to that state of
high perfection which that of a friar is.</p>
<p><a name="l38.41">41</a>. I will speak no more of these things,
because as I have just said, [<a href="#l38note18">18</a>] there is no
necessity for it, though our Lord has been so gracious to me as to
show me much.  But in all the visions I had, I saw no souls escape
purgatory except this Carmelite father, the holy friar Peter of
Alcantara, and that Dominican father of whom I spoke
before. [<a href="#l38note19">19</a>]  It pleased our Lord to let me
see the degree of glory to which some souls have been raised, showing
them to me in the places they occupy.  There is a great difference
between one place and another.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l38note1">1</a>. <a href="#l34.0">Ch.
xxxiv</a>.  Doņa Luisa de la Cerda, at Toledo.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note2">2</a>. <a href="#l4.6">Ch. iv.
§ 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note3">3</a>. 1 <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Peter ii. 11: <span lang="la">&#34;Advenas
et peregrinos.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note4">4</a>. Philipp. iii. 20: <span
lang="la">&#34;Nostra autem conversatio in
coelis est.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note5">5</a>. The <cite>Life of Christ</cite>,
by Ludolf of Saxony.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note6">6</a>. F. Pedro Ibaņez.  See <a
href="#l33.5">ch. xxxiii. § 5</a>, <a
href="#l36.23">ch. xxxvi. § 23</a>.  &#34;This father died Prior of Trianos,&#34; is
written on the margin of the <abbr title="manuscript">MS.</abbr> by
F. Baņes (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note7">7</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Joseph, Avila, where <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa was living
at this time.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note8">8</a>. See below, <a
href="#l38.41">§ 41</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note9">9</a>. <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr>
Gaspar de Salazar: see <a href="#l33.9">ch. xxxiii. §
9</a>, <a href="#l34.2">ch. xxxiv. § 2</a>.  It appears
from the 179th letter of the Saint (lett. 20, vol. i. of the Doblado
edition) that <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Salazar was reported to
his Provincial, <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Juan Suarez, as having
desire to quit the Society for the Carmelite Order.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note10">10</a>. 2 Cor. xii. 2: <span
lang="la">&#34;Sive in corpore nescio, sive extra
corpus nescio.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note11">11</a>. See <a href="#l28.0">ch.
xxviii</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note12">12</a>. Job iv. 15: <span
lang="la">&#34;Inhorruerunt pili carnis meæ.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note13">13</a>. The biographers of the Saint say
that she often found, on returning from an ecstasy, certain passages
written, but not by herself; this seems to be alluded to here
(<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note14">14</a>. <a
href="#l38.22">§ 22</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note15">15</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John of the Cross, <cite>Ascent of Mount Carmel</cite>,
bk. ii. ch. xxvi. vol. i. p. 183.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note16">16</a>. See <a href="#l27.0">ch.
xxvii</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note17">17</a>. <a href="#l30.9">Ch.
xxx. § 9</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note18">18</a>. <a
href="#l38.34">§ 34</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l38note19">19</a>. <a href="#l38.15">§ 15</a>.  Fr.
Pedro Ibaņez.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l39.0">Chapter XXXIX.</a></h3>
<p><big>Other Graces Bestowed on the Saint.  The Promises of Our Lord
to Her.  Divine Locutions and Visions.</big></p>
<p><a name="l39.1">1</a>. I was once importuning our Lord exceedingly
to restore the sight of a person who had claims upon me, and who was
almost wholly blind.  I was very sorry for him, and afraid our Lord
would not hear me because of my sins.  He appeared to me as at other
times, and began to show the wound in His left hand; with the other He
drew out the great nail that was in it, and it seemed to me that, in
drawing the nail, He tore the flesh.  The greatness of the pain was
manifest, and I was very much distressed thereat.  He said to me, that
He who had borne that for my sake would still more readily grant what
I asked Him, and that I was not to have any doubts about it.  He
promised me there was nothing I should ask that He would not grant;
that He knew I should ask nothing that was not for His glory, and that
He would grant me what I was now praying for.  Even during the time
when I did not serve Him, I should find, if I considered it, I had
asked nothing that He had not granted in an ampler manner than I had
known how to ask; how much more amply still would He grant what I
asked for, now that He knew I loved Him!  I was not to doubt.  I do
not think that eight days passed before our Lord restored that person
to sight.  My confessor knew it forthwith.  It might be that it was
not owing to my prayer; but, as I had had the vision, I have a certain
conviction that it was a grace accorded to me.  I gave thanks to
His Majesty.</p>
<p><a name="l39.2">2</a>. Again, a person was exceedingly ill of a
most painful disease; but, as I do not know what it was, I do not
describe it by its name here.  What he had gone through for two months
was beyond all endurance; and his pain was so great that he tore his
own flesh.  My confessor, the rector of whom I have
spoken, [<a href="#l39note1">1</a>] went to see him; he was very sorry
for him, and told me that I must anyhow go myself and visit him; he
was one whom I might visit, for he was my kinsman.  I went, and was
moved to such a tender compassion for him that I began, with the
utmost importunity, to ask our Lord to restore him to health.  Herein
I saw clearly how gracious our Lord was to me, so far as I could
judge; for immediately, the next day, he was completely rid of
that pain.</p>
<p><a name="l39.3">3</a>. I was once in the deepest distress, because
I knew that a person to whom I was under great obligations was about
to commit an act highly offensive to God and dishonourable to himself.
He was determined upon it.  I was so much harassed by this that I did
not know what to do in order to change his purpose; and it seemed to
me as if nothing could be done.  I implored God, from the bottom of my
heart, to find a way to hinder it; but till I found it I could find no
relief for the pain I felt.  In my distress, I went to a very lonely
hermitage,--one of those belonging to this monastery,--in which there
is a picture of Christ bound to the pillar; and there, as I was
imploring our Lord to grant me this grace, I heard a voice of
exceeding gentleness, speaking, as it were, in a
whisper. [<a href="#l39note2">2</a>]  My whole body trembled, for it
made me afraid.  I wished to understand what was said, but I could
not, for it all passed away in a moment.</p>
<p><a name="l39.4">4</a>. When my fears had subsided, and that was
immediately, I became conscious of an inward calmness, a joy and
delight, which made me marvel how the mere hearing a voice,--I heard
it with my bodily ears,--without understanding a word, could have such
an effect on the soul.  I saw by this that my prayer was granted; and
so it was; and I was freed from my anxieties about a matter not yet
accomplished, as it afterwards was, as completely as if I saw it done.
I told my confessors of it, for I had two at this time, both of them
learned men, and great servants of God.</p>
<p><a name="l39.5">5</a>. I knew of a person who had resolved to serve
God in all earnestness, and had for some days given himself to prayer,
in which he bad received many graces from our Lord, but who had
abandoned his good resolutions because of certain occasions of sin in
which he was involved, and which he would not avoid; they were
extremely perilous.  This caused me the utmost distress, because the
person was one for whom I had a great affection, and one to whom I
owed much.  For more than a month I believe I did nothing else but
pray to God for his conversion.  One day, when I was in prayer, I saw
a devil close by in a great rage, tearing to pieces some paper which
he had in his hands.  That sight consoled me greatly, because it
seemed that my prayer had been heard.  So it was, as I learnt
afterwards; for that person had made his confession with great
contrition, and returned to God so sincerely, that I trust in His
Majesty he will always advance further and further.  May He be blessed
for ever! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l39.6">6</a>. In answer to my prayers, our Lord has very
often rescued souls from mortal sins and led others on to greater
perfection. But as to the delivering of souls out of purgatory, and
other remarkable acts, so many are the mercies of our Lord herein,
that were I to speak of them I should only weary myself and my reader.
But He has done more by me for the salvation of souls than for the
health of the body.  This is very well known, and there are many to
bear witness to it.</p>
<p><a name="l39.7">7</a>. At first it made me scrupulous, because I
could not help thinking that our Lord did these things in answer to my
prayer; I say nothing of the chief reason of all--His pure compassion.
But now these graces are so many, and so well known to others, that it
gives me no pain to think so.  I bless His Majesty, and abase myself,
because I am still more deeply in His debt; and I believe that He
makes my desire to serve Him grow, and my love revive.</p>
<p><a name="l39.8">8</a>. But what amazes me most is this: however
much I may wish to pray for those graces which our Lord sees not to be
expedient, I cannot do it; and if I try, I do so with little
earnestness, force, and spirit: it is impossible to do more, even if I
would. But it is not so as to those which His Majesty intends to
grant. These I can pray for constantly, and with great importunity;
though I do not carry them in my memory, they seem to present
themselves to me at once. [<a href="#l39note3">3</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l39.9">9</a>. There is a great difference between these
two ways of praying, and I know not how to explain it.  As to the
first, when I pray for those graces which our Lord does not mean to
grant,--even though they concern me very nearly,--I am like one whose
tongue is tied; who, though he would speak, yet cannot; or, if he
speaks, sees that people do not listen to him.  And yet I do not fail
to force myself to pray, though not conscious of that fervour which I
have when praying for those graces which our Lord intends to give.  In
the second case, I am like one who speaks clearly and intelligibly to
another, whom he sees to be a willing listener.</p>
<p><a name="l39.10">10</a>. The prayer that is not to be heard is, so
to speak, like vocal prayer; the other is a prayer of contemplation so
high that our Lord shows Himself in such a way as to make us feel He
hears us, and that He delights in our prayer, and that He is about to
grant our petition.  Blessed be He for ever who gives me so much and
to whom I give so little!  For what is he worth, O my Lord, who does
not utterly abase himself to nothing for Thee?  How much, how much,
how much,--I might say so a thousand times,--I fall short of this!  It
is on this account that I do not wish to live,--though there be other
reasons also,--because I do not live according to the obligations
which bind me to Thee.  What imperfections I trace in myself! what
remissness in Thy service!  Certainly, I could wish occasionally I had
no sense, that I might be unconscious of the great evil that is in me.
May He who can do all things help me!</p>
<p><a name="l39.11">11</a>. When I was staying in the house of that
lady of whom I have spoken before, [<a href="#l39note4">4</a>] it was
necessary for me to be very watchful over myself, and keep continually
in mind the intrinsic vanity of all the things of this life, because
of the great esteem I was held in, and of the praises bestowed on me.
There was much there to which I might have become attached, if I had
looked only to myself; but I looked to Him who sees things as they
really are, not to let me go out of His hand.  Now that I speak of
seeing things as they really are, I remember how great a trial it is
for those to whom God has granted a true insight into the things of
earth to have to discuss them with others.  They wear so many
disguises, as our Lord once told me,--and much of what I am saying of
them is not from myself, but rather what my Heavenly Master has taught
me; and therefore, in speaking of them, when I say distinctly I
understood this, or our Lord told me this, I am very scrupulous
neither to add nor to take away one single syllable; so, when I do not
clearly remember everything exactly, that must be taken as coming from
myself, and some things, perhaps, are so altogether.  I do not call
mine that which is good, for I know there is no other good in me but
only that which our Lord gave me when I was so far from deserving it:
I call that mine which I speak without having had it made known to me
by revelation.</p>
<p><a name="l39.12">12</a>. But, O my God, how is it that we too often
judge even spiritual things, as we do those of the world, by our own
understanding, wresting them grievously from their true meaning?  We
think we may measure our progress by the years which we have given to
the exercise of prayer; we even think we can prescribe limits to Him
who bestows His gifts not by measure [<a href="#l39note5">5</a>] when
He wills, and who in six months can give to one more than to another
in many years.  This is a fact which I have so frequently observed in
many persons, that I am surprised how any of us can deny it.</p>
<p><a name="l39.13">13</a>. I am certainly convinced that he will not
remain under this delusion who possesses the gift of discerning
spirits, and to whom our Lord has given real humility; for such a one
will judge of them by the fruits, by the good resolutions and
love,--and our Lord gives him light to understand the matter; and
herein He regards the progress and advancement of souls, not the years
they may have spent in prayer; for one person may make greater
progress in six months than another in twenty years, because, as I
said before, our Lord gives to whom He will, particularly to him who
is best disposed.</p>
<p><a name="l39.14">14</a>. I see this in certain persons of tender
years who have come to this monastery,--God touches their hearts, and
gives them a little light and love.  I speak of that brief interval in
which He gives them sweetness in prayer, and then they wait for
nothing further, and make light of every difficulty, forgetting the
necessity even of food; for they shut themselves up for ever in a
house that is unendowed, as persons who make no account of their life,
for His sake, who, they know, loves them.  They give up everything,
even their own will; and it never enters into their mind that they
might be discontented in so small a house, and where enclosure is so
strictly observed.  They offer themselves wholly in sacrifice
to God.</p>
<p><a name="l39.15">15</a>. Oh, how willingly do I admit that they are
better than I am! and how I ought to be ashamed of myself before God!
What His Majesty has not been able to accomplish in me in so many
years,--it is long ago since I began to pray, and He to bestow His
graces upon me,--He accomplished in them in three months, and in some
of them even in three days, though he gives them much fewer graces
than He gave to me: and yet His Majesty rewards them well; most
assuredly they are not sorry for what they have done for Him.</p>
<p><a name="l39.16">16</a>. I wish, therefore, we reminded ourselves
of those long years which have gone by since we made our religious
profession.  I say this to those persons, also, who have given
themselves long ago to prayer, but not for the purpose of distressing
those who in a short time have made greater progress than we have
made, by making them retrace their steps, so that they may proceed
only as we do ourselves.  We must not desire those who, because of the
graces God has given them, are flying like eagles, to become like
chickens whose feet are tied.  Let us rather look to His Majesty, and
give these souls the reins, if we see that they are humble; for our
Lord, who has had such compassion upon them, will not let them fall
into the abyss.</p>
<p><a name="l39.17">17</a>. These souls trust themselves in the hands
of God, for the truth, which they learn by faith, helps them to do it;
and shall not we also trust them to Him, without seeking to measure
them by our measure which is that of our meanness of spirit?  We must
not do it; for if we cannot ascend to the heights of their great love
and courage,--without experience none can comprehend them--let us
humble ourselves, and not condemn them; for, by this seeming regard to
their progress, we hinder our own, and miss the opportunity our Lord
gives us to humble ourselves, to ascertain our own shortcomings, and
learn how much more detached and more near to God these souls must be
than we are, seeing that His Majesty draws so near to
them Himself.</p>
<p><a name="l39.18">18</a>. I have no other intention here, and I wish
to have no other, than to express my preference for the prayer that in
a short time results in these great effects, which show themselves at
once; for it is impossible they should enable us to leave all things
only to please God, if they were not accompanied with a vehement love.
I would rather have that prayer than that which lasted many years, but
which at the end of the time, as well as at the beginning, never
issued in a resolution to do anything for God, with the exception of
some trifling services, like a grain of salt, without weight or bulk,
and which a bird might carry away in its mouth.  Is it not a serious
and mortifying thought that we are making much of certain services
which we render our Lord, but which are too pitiable to be considered,
even if they were many in number?  This is my case, and I am
forgetting every moment the mercies of our Lord.  I do not mean that
His Majesty will not make much of them Himself, for He is good; but I
wish I made no account of them myself, or even perceived that I did
them, for they are nothing worth.</p>
<p><a name="l39.19">19</a>. But, O my Lord, do Thou forgive me, and
blame me not, if I try to console myself a little with the little I
do, seeing that I do not serve Thee at all; for if I rendered Thee any
great services, I should not think of these trifles.  Blessed are they
who serve Thee in great deeds; if envying these, and desiring to do
what they do, were of any help to me, I should not be so far behind
them as I am in pleasing Thee; but I am nothing worth, O my Lord; do
Thou make me of some worth, Thou who lovest me so much.</p>
<p><a name="l39.20">20</a>. During one of those days, when this
monastery, which seems to have cost me some labour, was fully founded
by the arrival of the Brief from Rome, which empowered us to live
without an endowment; [<a href="#l39note6">6</a>] and I was comforting
myself at seeing the whole affair concluded, and thinking of all the
trouble I had had, and giving thanks to our Lord for having been
pleased to make some use of me,--it happened that I began to consider
all that we had gone through.  Well, so it was; in every one of my
actions, which I thought were of some service, I traced so many faults
and imperfections, now and then but little courage, very frequently a
want of faith; for until this moment, when I see everything
accomplished, I never absolutely believed; neither, however, on the
other hand, could I doubt what our Lord said to me about the
foundation of this house.  I cannot tell how it was; very often the
matter seemed to me, on the one hand, impossible; and, on the other
hand, I could not be in doubt; I mean, I could not believe that it
would not be accomplished.  In short, I find that our Lord Himself, on
His part, did all the good that was done, while I did all the evil.  I
therefore ceased to think of the matter, and wished never to be
reminded of it again, lest I should do myself some harm by dwelling on
my many faults.  Blessed be He who, when He pleases, draws good out of
all my failings! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="l39.21">21</a>. I say, then, there is danger in counting
the years we have given to prayer; for, granting that there is nothing
in it against humility, it seems to me to imply something like an
appearance of thinking that we have merited, in some degree, by the
service rendered.  I do not mean that there is no merit in it at all,
nor that it will not be well rewarded; yet if any spiritual person
thinks, because he has given himself to prayer for many years, that he
deserves any spiritual consolations, I am sure he will never attain to
spiritual perfection.  Is it not enough that a man has merited the
protection of God, which keeps him from committing those sins into
which he fell before he began to pray, but he must also, as they say,
sue God for His own money?</p>
<p><a name="l39.22">22</a>. This does not seem to me to be deep
humility, and yet it may be that it is; however, I look on it as great
boldness, for I, who have very little humility, have never ventured
upon it.  It may be that I never asked for it, because I had never
served Him; perhaps, if I had served Him, I should have been more
importunate than all others with our Lord for my reward.</p>
<p><a name="l39.23">23</a>. I do not mean that the soul makes no
progress in time, or that God will not reward it, if its prayer has
been humble; but I do mean that we should forget the number of years
we have been praying, because all that we can do is utterly worthless
in comparison with one drop of blood out of those which our Lord shed
for us.  And if the more we serve Him, the more we become His debtors,
what is it, then, we are asking for? for, if we pay one farthing of
the debt, He gives us back a thousand ducats.  For the love of God,
let us leave these questions alone, for they belong to Him.
Comparisons are always bad, even in earthly things; what, then, must
they be in that, the knowledge of which God has reserved to Himself?
His Majesty showed this clearly enough, when those who came late and
those who came early to His vineyard received the
same wages. [<a href="#l39note7">7</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l39.24">24</a>. I have sat down so often to write, and
have been so many days writing these three leaves,--for, as I have
said, [<a href="#l39note8">8</a>] I had, and have still, but few
opportunities,--that I forgot what I had begun with, namely, the
following vision. [<a href="#l39note9">9</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l39.25">25</a>. I was in prayer, and saw myself on a wide
plain all alone.  Round about me stood a great multitude of all kinds
of people, who hemmed me in on every side; all of them seemed to have
weapons of war in their hands, to hurt me; some had spears, others
swords; some had daggers, and others very long rapiers.  In short, I
could not move away in any direction without exposing myself to the
hazard of death, and I was alone, without any one to take my part.  In
this my distress of mind, not knowing what to do, I lifted up my eyes
to heaven, and saw Christ, not in heaven, but high above me in the
air, holding out His hand to me, and there protecting me in such a way
that I was no longer afraid of all that multitude, neither could they,
though they wished it, do me any harm.</p>
<p><a name="l39.26">26</a>. At first the vision seemed to have no
results; but it has been of the greatest help to me, since I
understood what it meant.  Not long afterwards, I saw myself, as it
were, exposed to the like assault, and I saw that the vision
represented the world, because everything in it takes up arms against
the poor soul.  We need not speak of those who are not great servants
of our Lord, nor of honours, possessions, and pleasures, with other
things of the same nature; for it is clear that the soul, if it be not
watchful, will find itself caught in a net,--at least, all these
things labour to ensnare it; more than this, so also do friends and
relatives, and--what frightens me most--even good people.  I found
myself afterwards so beset on all sides, good people thinking they
were doing good, and I knowing not how to defend myself, nor what
to do.</p>
<p><a name="l39.27">27</a>. O my God, if I were to say in what way,
and in how many ways, I was tried at that time, even after that trial
of which I have just spoken, what a warning I should be giving to men
to hate the whole world utterly!  It was the greatest of all the
persecutions I had to undergo.  I saw myself occasionally so hemmed in
on every side, that I could do nothing else but lift up my eyes to
heaven, and cry unto God. [<a href="#l39note10">10</a>] I recollected
well what I had seen in the vision, and it helped me greatly not to
trust much in any one, for there is no one that can be relied on
except God.  In all my great trials, our Lord--He showed it to
me--sent always some one on His part to hold out his hand to help me,
as it was shown to me in the vision, so that I might attach myself to
nothing, but only please our Lord; and this has been enough to sustain
the little virtue I have in desiring to serve Thee: be Thou blessed
for evermore!</p>
<p><a name="l39.28">28</a>. On one occasion I was exceedingly
disquieted and troubled, unable to recollect myself, fighting and
struggling with my thoughts, running upon matters which did not relate
to perfection; and, moreover, I did not think I was so detached from
all things as I used to be.  When I found myself in this wretched
state, I was afraid that the graces I had received from our Lord were
illusions, and the end was that a great darkness covered my soul.  In
this my distress our Lord began to speak to me: He bade me not to
harass myself, but learn, from the consideration of my misery, what it
would be if He withdrew Himself from me, and that we were never safe
while living in the flesh.  It was given me to understand how this
fighting and struggling are profitable to us, because of the reward,
and it seemed to me as if our Lord were sorry for us who live in the
world.  Moreover, He bade me not to suppose that He had forgotten me;
He would never abandon me, but it was necessary I should do all that I
could myself.</p>
<p><a name="l39.29">29</a>. Our Lord said all this with great
tenderness and sweetness; He also spoke other most gracious words,
which I need not repeat.  His Majesty, further showing His great love
for me, said to me very often: &#34;Thou art Mine, and I am
thine.&#34;  I am in the habit of saying myself, and I believe in all
sincerity: &#34;What do I care for myself?--I care only for Thee, O
my Lord.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="l39.30">30</a>. These words of our Lord, and the
consolation He gives me, fill me with the utmost shame, when I
remember what I am.  I have said it before, I
think, [<a href="#l39note11">11</a>] and I still say now and then to
my confessor, that it requires greater courage to receive these graces
than to endure the heaviest trials.  When they come, I forget, as it
were, all I have done, and there is nothing before me but a picture of
my wretchedness, and my understanding can make no reflections; this,
also, seems to me at times to be supernatural.</p>
<p><a name="l39.31">31</a>. Sometimes I have such a vehement longing
for Communion; I do not think it can be expressed.  One morning it
happened to rain so much as to make it seem impossible to leave the
house.  When I had gone out, I was so beside myself with that longing,
that if spears had been pointed at my heart, I should have rushed upon
them; the rain was nothing.  When I entered the church I fell into a
deep trance, and saw heaven open--not a door only, as I used to see at
other times.  I beheld the throne which, as I have told you, my
father, I saw at other times, with another throne above it, whereon,
though I saw not, I understood by a certain inexplicable knowledge
that the Godhead dwelt.</p>
<p><a name="l39.32">32</a>. The throne seemed to me to be supported by
certain animals; I believe I saw the form of them: I thought they
might be the Evangelists.  But how the throne was arrayed, and Him who
sat on it I did not see, but only an exceedingly great multitude of
angels, who seemed to me more beautiful, beyond all comparison, than
those I had seen in heaven.  I thought they were, perhaps, the
seraphim or cherubim, for they were very different in their glory, and
seemingly all on fire.  The difference is great, as I said
before; [<a href="#l39note12">12</a>] and the joy I then felt cannot be
described, either in writing or by word of mouth; it is inconceivable
to any one what has not had experience of it. I felt that everything
man can desire was all there together, and I saw nothing; they told
me, but I know not who, that all I could do there was to understand
that I could understand nothing, and see how everything was nothing in
comparison with that.  So it was; my soul afterwards was vexed to see
that it could rest on any created thing: how much more, then, if it
had any affection thereto; for everything seemed to me but an
ant-hill.  I communicated, and remained during Mass.  I know not how
it was: I thought I had been but a few minutes, and was amazed when
the clock struck; I had been two hours in that trance and joy.</p>
<p><a name="l39.33">33</a>. I was afterwards amazed at this fire,
which seems to spring forth out of the true love of God; for though I
might long for it, labour for it, and annihilate myself in the effort
to obtain it, I can do nothing towards procuring a single spark of it
myself, because it all comes of the good pleasure of His Majesty, as I
said on another occasion. [<a href="#l39note13">13</a>]  It seems to
burn up the old man, with his faults, his lukewarmness, and misery; so
that it is like the phoenix, of which I have read that it comes forth,
after being burnt, out of its own ashes into a new life.  Thus it is
with the soul: it is changed into another, whose desires are
different, and whose strength is great.  It seems to be no longer what
it was before, and begins to walk renewed in purity in the ways of our
Lord.  When I was praying to Him that thus it might be with me, and
that I might begin His service anew, He said to me: &#34;The
comparison thou hast made is good; take care never to forget it, that
thou mayest always labour to advance.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="l39.34">34</a>. Once, when I was doubting, as I said just
now, [<a href="#l39note14">14</a>] whether these visions came from God
or not, our Lord appeared, and, with some severity, said to me: &#34;O
children of men, how long will you remain hard of heart!&#34;  I was
to examine myself carefully on one subject,--whether I had given
myself up wholly to Him, or not.  If I had,--and it was so,--I
was to believe that He would not suffer me to perish.  I was very much
afflicted when He spoke thus, but He turned to me with great
tenderness and sweetness, and bade me not to distress myself, for He
knew already that, so far as it lay in my power, I would not fail in
anything that was for His service; that He Himself would do what I
wished,--and so He did grant what I was then praying for; that I was
to consider my love for Him, which was daily growing in me, for I
should see by this that these visions did not come from Satan; that I
must not imagine that God would ever allow the devil to have so much
power over the souls of His servants as to give them such clearness of
understanding and such peace as I had.</p>
<p><a name="l39.35">35</a>. He gave me also to understand that, when
such and so many persons had told me the visions were from God, I
should do wrong if I did not
believe them. [<a href="#l39note15">15</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l39.36">36</a>. Once, when I was reciting the psalm <i
lang="la">Quicumque vult</i>, [<a href="#l39note16">16</a>] I was given
to understand the mystery of One God and Three Persons with so much
clearness, that I was greatly astonished and consoled at the same
time.  This was of the greatest help to me, for it enabled me to know
more of the greatness and marvels of God; and when I think of the most
Holy Trinity, or hear It spoken of, I seem to understand the mystery,
and a great joy it is.</p>
<p><a name="l39.37">37</a>. One day--it was the Feast of the
Assumption of the Queen of the Angels, and our Lady--our Lord was
pleased to grant me this grace.  In a trance He made me behold her
going up to heaven, the joy and solemnity of her reception there, as
well as the place where she now is.  To describe it is more than I can
do; the joy that filled my soul at the sight of such great glory was
excessive.  The effects of the vision were great; it made me long to
endure still greater trials: and I had a vehement desire to serve our
Lady, because of her great merits.</p>
<p><a name="l39.38">38</a>. Once, in one of the colleges of the
Society of Jesus, when the brothers of the house were communicating, I
saw an exceedingly rich canopy above their heads.  I saw this twice;
but I never saw it when others were receiving Communion.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l39note1">1</a>. <a href="#l33.10">Ch.
xxxiii. § 10</a>.  F. Gaspar de Salazar.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note2">2</a>. 3 Kings xix. 12: <span
lang="la">&#34;Sibilus auræ tenuis.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note3">3</a>. See <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John of the Cross, <cite>Ascent of Mount Carmel</cite>,
bk. iii. ch. i, p. 210).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note4">4</a>. <a href="#l34.1">Ch.
xxxiv. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note5">5</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John iii. 34: <span lang="la">&#34;Non enim ad mensuram dat
Deus spiritum.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note6">6</a>. See <a
href="#l33.15">ch. xxxiii. § 15</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note7">7</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. xx. 9-14: <span lang="la">&#34;Volo autem et huic novissimo dare
sicut et tibi.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note8">8</a>. <a href="#l14.12">Ch.
xiv. § 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note9">9</a>. The Saint had this vision when she
was in the house of Doņa Luisa de la Cerda in Toledo, and it was
fulfilled in the opposition she met with in the foundation of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph of Avila.  See <a
href="#l36.18">ch. xxxvi. § 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note10">10</a>. 2 Paralip. xx. 12: <span
lang="la">&#34;Hoc solum habemus residui, ut oculos nostros dirigamus
ad Te.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note11">11</a>. <a href="#l20.4">Ch.
xx. § 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note12">12</a>. <a href="#l29.16">Ch.
xxix. § 16</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note13">13</a>. <a href="#l29.13">Ch.
xxix. § 13</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note14">14</a>. <a
href="#l39.28">§ 28</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note15">15</a>. See <a
href="#l28.19">ch. xxviii. §§ 19, 20</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l39note16">16</a>. Commonly called the Creed of
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Athanasius.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="l40.0">Chapter XL.</a></h3>
<p><big>Visions, Revelations, and Locutions.</big></p>
<p><a name="l40.1">1</a>. One day, in prayer, the sweetness of which
was so great that, knowing how unworthy I was of so great a blessing,
I began to think how much I had deserved to be in that place which I
had seen prepared for me in hell,--for, as I said
before, [<a href="#l40note1">1</a>] I never forget the way I saw
myself there,--as I was thinking of this, my soul began to be more and
more on fire, and I was carried away in spirit in a way I cannot
describe.  It seemed to me as if I had been absorbed in, and filled
with, that grandeur of God which, on another occasion, I had
felt. [<a href="#l40note2">2</a>] In that majesty it was given me to
understand one truth, which is the fulness of all truth, but I cannot
tell how, for I saw nothing.  It was said to me, I saw not by whom,
but I knew well enough it was the Truth Itself: &#34;This I am doing
to thee is not a slight matter; it is one of those things for which
thou owest Me much; for all the evil in the world comes from ignorance
of the truths of the holy writings in their clear simplicity, of which
not one iota shall pass away.&#34; [<a href="#l40note3">3</a>]  I
thought that I had always believed this, and that all the faithful
also believed it. Then he said,: &#34;Ah, My daughter, they are few
who love Me in truth; for if men loved Me, I should not hide My
secrets from them. Knowest thou what it is to love Me in truth?  It is
to admit everything to be a lie which is not pleasing unto Me.  Now
thou dost not understand it, but thou shalt understand it clearly
hereafter, in the profit it will be to thy soul.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="l40.2">2</a>. Our Lord be praised, so I found it; for
after this vision I look upon everything which does not tend to the
service of God as vanity and lies.  I cannot tell how much I am
convinced of this, nor how sorry I am for those whom I see living in
darkness, not knowing the truth.  I derived other great blessings also
from this, some of which I will here speak of, others I
cannot describe.</p>
<p><a name="l40.3">3</a>. Our Lord at the same time uttered a special
word of most exceeding graciousness.  I know not how it was done, for
I saw nothing; but I was filled, in a way which also I cannot
describe, with exceeding strength and earnestness of purpose to
observe with all my might everything contained in the divine writings.
I thought that I could rise above every possible hindrance put in
my way.</p>
<p><a name="l40.4">4</a>. Of this divine truth, which was put before
me I know not how, there remains imprinted within me a truth--I cannot
give it a name--which fills me with a new reverence for God; it gives
me a notion of His Majesty and power in a way which I cannot explain.
I can understand that it is something very high.  I had a very great
desire never to speak of anything but of those deep truths which far
surpass all that is spoken of here in the world,--and so the living in
it began to be painful to me.</p>
<p><a name="l40.5">5</a>. The vision left me in great tenderness, joy,
and humility.  It seemed to me, though I knew not how, that our Lord
now gave me great things; and I had no suspicion whatever of any
illusion.  I saw nothing; but I understood how great a blessing it is
to make no account of anything which does not lead us nearer unto God.
I also understood what it is for a soul to be walking in the truth, in
the presence of the Truth itself.  What I understood is this: that our
Lord gave me to understand that He is Himself the very Truth.</p>
<p><a name="l40.6">6</a>. All this I am speaking of I learnt at times
by means of words uttered; at other times I learnt some things without
the help of words, and that more clearly than those other things which
were told me in words.  I understood exceedingly deep truths
concerning the Truth, more than I could have done through the teaching
of many learned men.  It seems to me that learned men never could have
thus impressed upon me, nor so clearly explained to me, the vanity of
this world.</p>
<p><a name="l40.7">7</a>. The Truth of which I am speaking, and which
I was given to see, is Truth Itself, in Itself.  It has neither
beginning nor end.  All other truths depend on this Truth, as all
other loves depend on this love, and all other grandeurs on this
grandeur.  I understood it all, notwithstanding that my words are
obscure in comparison with that distinctness with which it pleased our
Lord to show it to me.  What think you must be the power of His
Majesty, seeing that in so short a time it leaves so great a blessing
and such an impression on the soul?  O Grandeur! Majesty of mine! what
is it Thou art doing, O my Lord Almighty! Consider who it is to whom
Thou givest blessings so great!  Dost Thou not remember that this my
soul has been an abyss of lies and a sea of vanities, and all my
fault?  Though Thou hadst given me a natural hatred of lying yet I did
involve myself in many lying ways.  How is this, O my God? how can it
be that mercies and graces so great should fall to the lot of one who
has so ill deserved them at Thy hands?</p>
<p><a name="l40.8">8</a>. Once, when I was with the whole community
reciting the Office, my soul became suddenly recollected, and seemed
to me all bright as a mirror, clear behind, sideways, upwards, and
downwards; and in the centre of it I saw Christ our Lord, as I usually
see Him.  It seemed to me that I saw Him distinctly in every part of
my soul, as in a mirror, and at the same time the mirror was all
sculptured--I cannot explain it--in our Lord Himself by a most loving
communication which I can never describe.  I know that this vision was
a great blessing to me, and is still whenever I remember it,
particularly after Communion.</p>
<p><a name="l40.9">9</a>. I understood by it, that, when a soul is in
mortal sin, this mirror becomes clouded with a thick vapour, and
utterly obscured, so that our Lord is neither visible nor present,
though He is always present in the conservation of its being.  In
heretics, the mirror is, as it were, broken in pieces, and that is
worse than being dimmed.  There is a very great difference between
seeing this and describing it, for it can hardly be explained.  But it
has done me great good; it has also made me very sorry on account of
those times when I dimmed the lustre of my soul by my sins, so that I
could not see our Lord.</p>
<p><a name="l40.10">10</a>. This vision seems to me very profitable to
recollected persons, to teach them to look upon our Lord as being in
the innermost part of their soul.  It is a method of looking upon Him
which penetrates us more thoroughly, and is much more fruitful, than
that of looking upon Him as external to us, as I have said
elsewhere, [<a href="#l40note4">4</a>] and as it is laid down in books
on prayer, where they speak of where we are to seek God.  The glorious
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Augustin, [<a href="#l40note5">5</a>]
in particular, says so, when he says that neither in the streets of
the city, nor in pleasures, nor in any place whatever where he sought
Him, did he find Him as he found Him within himself.  This is clearly
the best way; we need not go up to heaven, nor any further than our
own selves, for that would only distress the spirit and distract the
soul, and bring but little fruit.</p>
<p><a name="l40.11">11</a>. I should like to point out one result of a
deep trance; it may be that some are aware of it.  When the time is
over during which the soul was in union, wherein all its powers were
wholly absorbed,--it lasts, as I have said, [<a href="#l40note6">6</a>]
but a moment,--the soul continues still to be recollected, unable to
recover itself even in outward things; for the two powers--the memory
and the understanding--are, as it were, in a frenzy, extremely
disordered.  This, I say, happens occasionally, particularly in the
beginnings.  I am thinking whether it does not result from this: that
our natural weakness cannot endure the vehemence of the spirit, which
is so great, and that the imagination is enfeebled.  I know it to be
so with some.  I think it best for these to force themselves to give
up prayer at that time, and resume it afterwards, when they may
recover what they have lost, and not do everything at once, for in
that case much harm might come of it.  I know this by experience, as
well as the necessity of considering what our health can bear.</p>
<p><a name="l40.12">12</a>. Experience is necessary throughout, so
also is a spiritual director; for when the soul has reached this
point, there are many matters which must be referred to the director.
If, after seeking such a one, the soul cannot find him, our Lord will
not fail that soul, seeing that He has not failed me, who am what I
am: They are not many, I believe, who know by experience so many
things, and without experience it is useless to treat a soul at all,
for nothing will come of it, save only trouble and distress.  But our
Lord will take this also into account, and for that reason it is
always best to refer the matter to the director.  I have already more
than once said this, [<a href="#l40note7">7</a>] and even all I am
saying now, only I do not distinctly remember it; but I do see that
it is of great importance, particularly to women, that they should go
to their confessor, and that he should be a man of experience herein.
There are many more women than men to whom our Lord gives these
graces; I have heard the holy friar Peter of Alcantara say so, and,
indeed, I know it myself.  He used to say that women made greater
progress in this way than men did; and he gave excellent reasons for
his opinion, all in favour of women; but there is no necessity for
repeating them here.</p>
<p><a name="l40.13">13</a>. Once, when in prayer, I had a vision, for
a moment,--I saw nothing distinctly, but the vision was most
clear,--how all things are seen in God and how all things are
comprehended in Him.  I cannot in any way explain it, but the vision
remains most deeply impressed on my soul, and is one of those grand
graces which our Lord wrought in me, and one of those which put me to
the greatest shame and confusion whenever I call my sins to
remembrance.  I believe, if it had pleased our Lord that I had seen
this at an earlier time, or if they saw it who sin against Him, we
should have neither the heart nor the daring to do so.  I had the
vision, I repeat it, but I cannot say that I saw anything; however, I
must have seen something, seeing that I explain it by an illustration,
only it must have been in a way so subtile and delicate that the
understanding is unable to reach it, or I am so ignorant in all that
relates to these visions, which seem to be not imaginary.  In some of
these visions there must be something imaginary, only, as the powers
of the soul are then in a trance, they are not able afterwards to
retain the forms, as our Lord showed them to it then, and as He would
have it rejoice in them.</p>
<p><a name="l40.14">14</a>. Let us suppose the Godhead to be a most
brilliant diamond, much larger than the whole world, or a mirror like
that to which I compared the soul in a former
vision, [<a href="#l40note8">8</a>] only in a way so high that I
cannot possibly describe it; and that all our actions are seen in that
diamond, which is of such dimensions as to include everything, because
nothing can be beyond it.  It was a fearful thing for me to see, in so
short a time, so many things together in that brilliant diamond, and a
most piteous thing too, whenever I think of it, to see such foul
things as my sins present in the pure brilliancy of that light.</p>
<p><a name="l40.15">15</a>. So it is, whenever I remember it, I do not
know how to bear it, and I was then so ashamed of myself that I knew
not where to hide myself.  Oh, that some one could make this plain to
those who commit most foul and filthy sins, that they may remember
their sins are not secret, and that God most justly resents them,
seeing that they are wrought in the very presence of His Majesty, and
that we are demeaning ourselves so irreverently before Him!  I saw,
too, how completely hell is deserved for only one mortal sin, and how
impossible it is to understand the exceeding great wickedness of
committing it in the sight of majesty so great, and how abhorrent to
His nature such actions are.  In this we see more and more of His
mercifulness, who, though we all know His hatred of sin, yet suffers
us to live.</p>
<p><a name="l40.16">16</a>. The vision made me also reflect, that if
one such vision as this fills the souls with such awe, what will it be
in the day of judgment, when His Majesty will appear distinctly, and
when we too shall look on the sins we have committed!  O my God, I
have been, oh, how blind!  I have often been amazed at what I have
written; and you, my father, be you not amazed at anything, but that I
am still living,--I, who see such things, and know myself to be what I
am.  Blessed for ever be He who has borne with me so long!</p>
<p><a name="l40.17">17</a>. Once, in prayer, with much recollection,
sweetness, and repose, I saw myself, as it seemed to me, surrounded by
angels, and was close unto God.  I began to intercede with His Majesty
on behalf of the church.  I was given to understand the great services
which a particular Order would render in the latter days, and the
courage with which its members would maintain the faith.</p>
<p><a name="l40.18">18</a>. I was praying before the most Holy
Sacrament one day; I had a vision of a Saint, whose Order was in some
degree fallen. In his hands he held a large book, which he opened, and
then told me to read certain words, written in large and very legible
letters; they were to this effect: &#34;In times to come this Order
will flourish; it will have
many martyrs.&#34; [<a href="#l40note9">9</a>]</p>
<p><a name="l40.19">19</a>. On another occasion, when I was at Matins
in choir, six or seven persons, who seemed to me to be of this Order,
appeared and stood before me with swords in their hands.  The meaning
of that, as I think, is that they are to be defenders of the faith;
for at another time, when I was in prayer, I fell into a trance, and
stood in spirit on a wide plain, where many persons were fighting; and
the members of this Order were fighting with great zeal.  Their faces
were beautiful, and as it were on fire.  Many they laid low on the
ground defeated, others they killed.  It seemed to me to be a battle
with heretics.</p>
<p><a name="l40.20">20</a>. I have seen this glorious Saint
occasionally, and he has told me certain things, and thanked me for
praying for his Order, and he has promised to pray for me to our Lord.
I do not say which Orders these are,--our Lord, if it so pleased Him,
could make them known,--lest the others should be aggrieved.  Let
every Order, or every member of them by himself, labour, that by his
means our Lord would so bless his own Order that it may serve Him in
the present grave necessities of His Church.  Blessed are they whose
lives are so spent.</p>
<p><a name="l40.21">21</a>. I was once asked by a person to pray God
to let him know whether his acceptance of a bishopric would be for the
service of God.  After Communion our Lord said to me: &#34;When he
shall have clearly and really understood that true dominion consists
in possessing nothing, he may then accept it.&#34;  I understood by
this that he who is to be in dignity must be very far from wishing or
desiring it, or at least he must not seek it.</p>
<p><a name="l40.22">22</a>. These and many other graces our Lord has
given, and is giving continually, to me a sinner.  I do not think it
is necessary to speak of them, because the state of my soul can be
ascertained from what I have written; so also can the spirit which our
Lord has given me.  May He be blessed for ever, who has been so
mindful of me!</p>
<p><a name="l40.23">23</a>. Our Lord said to me once, consoling me,
that I was not to distress myself,--this He said most
lovingly,--because in this life we could not continue in the same
state. [<a href="#l40note10">10</a>]  At one time I should be fervent,
at another not; now disquieted, and again at peace, and tempted; but I
must hope in Him, and fear not.</p>
<p><a name="l40.24">24</a>. I was one day thinking whether it was a
want of detachment in me to take pleasure in the company of those who
had the care of my soul, and to have an affection for them, and to
comfort myself with those whom I see to be very great servants of
God. [<a href="#l40note11">11</a>]  Our Lord said to me: &#34;It is
not a virtue in a sick man to abstain from thanking and loving the
physician who seems to restore him to health when he is in danger of
death.  What should I have done without these persons?  The
conversation of good people was never hurtful; my words should always
be weighed, and holy; and I was not to cease my relations with them,
for they would do me good rather than harm.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="l40.25">25</a>. This was a great comfort to me, because,
now and then, I wished to abstain from converse with all people; for
it seemed to me that I was attached to them.  Always, in all things,
did our Lord console me, even to the showing me how I was to treat
those who were weak, and some other people also.  Never did He cease
to take care of me.  I am sometimes distressed to see how little I do
in His service, and how I am forced to spend time in taking care of a
body so weak and worthless as mine is, more than I wish.</p>
<p><a name="l40.26">26</a>. I was in prayer one night, when it was
time to go to sleep.  I was in very great pain, and my usual sickness
was coming on. [<a href="#l40note12">12</a>]  I saw myself so great a
slave to myself, and, on the other hand, the spirit asked for time for
itself.  I was so much distressed that I began to weep exceedingly,
and to be very sorry.  This has happened to me not once only, but, as
I am saying, very often; and it seems to make me weary of myself, so
that at the time I hold myself literally in abhorrence. Habitually,
however, I know that I do not hate myself, and I never fail to take
that which I see to be necessary for me.  May our Lord grant that I do
not take more than is necessary!--I am afraid I do.</p>
<p><a name="l40.27">27</a>. When I was thus distressed, our Lord
appeared unto me.  He comforted me greatly, and told me I must do this
for His love, and bear it; my life was necessary now.  And so, I
believe, I have never known real pain since I resolved to serve my
Lord and my Consoler with all my strength; for though he would leave
me to suffer a little, yet He would console me in such a way that I am
doing nothing when I long for troubles. And it seems to me there is
nothing worth living for but this, and suffering is what I most
heartily pray to God for.  I say to Him sometimes, with my whole
heart: &#34;O Lord, either to die or to suffer!  I ask of Thee nothing
else for myself.&#34;  It is a comfort to me to hear the clock strike,
because I seem to have come a little nearer to the vision of God, in
that another hour of my life has passed away.</p>
<p><a name="l40.28">28</a>. At other times I am in such a state that I
do not feel that I am living, nor yet do I desire to die but I am
lukewarm, and darkness surrounds me on every side, as I said
before; [<a href="#l40note13">13</a>] for I am very often in great
trouble.  It pleased our Lord that the graces He wrought in me should
be published abroad, [<a href="#l40note14">14</a>] as He told me some
years ago they should be.  It was a great pain to me, and I have borne
much on that account even to this day, as you, my father, know,
because every man explains them in his own sense.  But my comfort
herein is that it is not my fault that they are become known, for I
was extremely cautious never to speak of them but to my confessors, or
to persons who I knew had heard of them from them.  I was silent,
however, not out of humility, but because, as I said
before, [<a href="#l40note15">15</a>] it gave me great pain to speak of
them even to my confessors.</p>
<p><a name="l40.29">29</a>. Now, however,--to God be the
glory!--though many speak against me, but out of a zeal for goodness,
and though some are afraid to speak to me, and even to hear my
confession, and though others have much to say about me, because I see
that our Lord willed by this means to provide help for many
souls,--and also because I see clearly and keep in mind how much He
would suffer, if only for the gaining of one,--I do not care about it
at all.</p>
<p><a name="l40.30">30</a>. I know not why it is so, but perhaps the
reason may in some measure be that His Majesty has placed me in this
corner out of the way, where the enclosure is so strict, and where I
am as one that is dead.  I thought that no one would remember me, but
I am not so much forgotten as I wish I was, for I am forced to speak
to some people.  But as I am in a house where none may see me, it
seems as if our Lord had been pleased to bring me to a haven, which I
trust in His Majesty will be secure.  Now that I am out of the world,
with companions holy and few in number, I look down on the world as
from a great height, and care very little what people say or know
about me.  I think much more of one soul's advancement, even if it
were but slight, than of all that people may say of me; and since I am
settled here it has pleased our Lord that all my desires tend
to this.</p>
<p><a name="l40.31">31</a>. He has made my life to me now a kind of
sleep; for almost always what I see seems to me to be seen as in a
dream, nor have I any great sense either of pleasure or of pain.  If
matters occur which may occasion either, the sense of it passes away
so quickly that it astonishes me, and leaves an impression as if I had
been dreaming,--and this is the simple truth; for if I wished
afterwards to delight in that pleasure, or be sorry over that pain, it
is not in my power to do so: just as a sensible person feels neither
pain nor pleasure in the memory of a dream that is past; for now our
Lord has roused my soul out of that state which, because I was not
mortified nor dead to the things of this world, made me feel as I did,
and His Majesty does not wish me to become blind again.</p>
<p><a name="l40.32">32</a>. This is the way I live now, my lord and
father; do you, my father, pray to God that He would take me to
Himself, or enable me to serve Him.  May it please His Majesty that
what I have written may be of some use to you, my father!  I have so
little time, [<a href="#l40note16">16</a>] and therefore my trouble
has been great in writing; but it will be a blessed trouble if I have
succeeded in saying anything that will cause one single act of praise
to our Lord.  If that were the case, I should look upon myself as
sufficiently rewarded, even if you, my father, burnt at once what I
have written.  I would rather it were not burnt before those three saw
it, whom you, my father, know of, because they are, and have been, my
confessors; for if it be bad, it is right they should lose the good
opinion they have of me; and if it be good, they are good and learned
men, and I know they will recognise its source, and give praise to Him
who hath spoken through me.</p>
<p><a name="l40.33">33</a>. May His Majesty ever be your protector, and
make you so great a saint that your spirit and light may show the way
to me a miserable creature, so wanting in humility and so bold as to
have ventured to write on subjects so high!  May our Lord grant I have
not fallen into any errors in the matter, for I had the intention and
the desire to be accurate and obedient, and also that through me He
might, in some measure, have glory,--because that is what I have been
praying for these many years; and as my good works are inefficient for
that end, I have ventured to put in order this my disordered life.
Still, I have not wasted more time, nor given it more attention, than
was necessary for writing it; yet I have put down all that has
happened to me with all the simplicity and sincerity possible.</p>
<p><a name="l40.34">34</a>. May our Lord, who is all-powerful,
grant--and He can if He will--that I may attain to the doing of His
will in all things!  May He never suffer this soul to be lost, which
He so often, in so many ways, and by so many means, has rescued from
hell and drawn unto Himself! Amen.</p>
<p>I.H.S.</p>
<p>The Holy Spirit be ever with you, my
father. [<a href="#l40note17">17</a>]  Amen.  It would not be anything
improper if I were to magnify my labour in writing this, to oblige you
to be very careful to recommend me to our Lord; for indeed I may well
do so, considering what I have gone through in giving this account of
myself, and in retracing my manifold wretchedness.  But, still, I can
say with truth that I felt it more difficult to speak of the graces
which I have received from our Lord than to speak of my offences
against His Majesty.  You, my father, commanded me to write at length;
that is what I have done, on condition that you will do what you
promised, namely, destroy everything in it that has the appearance of
being wrong.  I had not yet read it through after I had written it,
when your reverence sent for it.  Some things in it may not be very
clearly explained, and there may be some repetitions; for the time I
could give to it was so short, that I could not stop to see what I was
writing.  I entreat your reverence to correct it and have it copied,
if it is to be sent on to the Father-Master,
Avila, [<a href="#l40note18">18</a>] for perhaps some one may recognise
the handwriting.  I wish very much you would order it so that he might
see it, for I began to write it with a view to that I shall be greatly
comforted if he shall think that I am on a safe road, now that, so far
as it concerns me, there is nothing more to be done.</p>
<p>Your reverence will do in all things that which to you shall seem
good, and you will look upon yourself as under an obligation to take
care of one who trusts her soul to your keeping.  I will pray for the
soul of your reverence to our Lord, so long as I live.  You will,
therefore, be diligent in His service, in order that you may be able
to help me; for your reverence will see by what I have written how
profitable it is to give oneself, as your reverence has begun to do,
wholly unto Him who gives Himself to us so utterly
without measure.</p>
<p>Blessed be His Majesty for ever!  I hope of His mercy we shall see
one another one day, when we, your reverence and myself, shall see
more clearly the great mercies He has shown us, and when we shall
praise Him for ever and ever.  Amen.  This book was finished in
June, 1562.</p>
<p>&#34;This date refers to the first account which the holy Mother
Teresa of Jesus wrote of her life; it was not then divided into
chapters.  Afterwards she made this copy, and inserted in it many
things which had taken place subsequent to this date, such as the
foundation of the monastery of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph
of Avila, as in <abbr
title="page">p.</abbr> 169. [<a href="#l40note19">19</a>]--<span
lang="es">Fray</span> <abbr title="Domingo">Do</abbr> Baņes.&#34;</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="l40note1">1</a>. <a href="#l32.1">Ch.
xxxii. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note2">2</a>. <a href="#l28.14">Ch.
xxviii. § 14</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note3">3</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. v. 18: &#34;<span lang="he">Iota</span> <span lang="la">unum aut
unus apex non præteribit a lege.</span>&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note4">4</a>. <a href="#l4.10">Ch. iv.
§ 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note5">5</a>. <span lang="la">&#34;Ecce quantum
spatiatus sum in memoria mea quærens Te, Domine; et non Te inveni
extra eam. . . .  Ex quo didici Te, manes in memoria mea, et illic Te
invenio cum reminiscor Tui et delector in Te&#34;</span>
(<cite lang="la"><abbr title="Confessiones">Confess.</abbr></cite>
x. 24).  See <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>, Sixth Mansion,
ch. iv.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note6">6</a>. <a href="#l20.26">Ch.
xx. § 26</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note7">7</a>. <a href="#l25.18">Ch.
xxv. § 18</a>, <a href="#l26.4">ch. xxvi. § 4</a>.  See
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> John of the Cross, <cite>Mount
Carmel</cite>, bk. ii. ch. xxii.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note8">8</a>. <a
href="#l40.8">§ 8</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note9">9</a>. Yepez says that the Order here
spoken of is the Carmelite, and Ribera understands the Saint to refer
to that of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic.  The Bollandists,
n. 1638-1646, on the whole, prefer the authority of Ribera to that of
Yepez and give good reasons for their preference, setting aside as
insufficient the testimony of <span lang="es">Fray</span> Luis of the
Assumption, who says he heard himself from the Venerable Anne of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Bartholomew that the Order in question is the
Order of our Lady of Mount Carmel.  Don Vicente, the Spanish editor,
rejects the opinion of Ribera, on the ground that it could not have
been truly said of the Dominicans in the sixteenth century that the
Order was in &#34;some degree fallen,&#34; for it was in a most
flourishing state.  He therefore was inclined to believe that the
Saint referred to the Augustinians or to the Franciscans.  But, after
he had printed this part of his book, he discovered among the <abbr
title="manuscripts">MSS.</abbr> in the public library of Madrid a
letter of Anne of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Bartholomew,
addressed to <span lang="es">Fray</span> Luis of the Assumption, in
which the saintly companion of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa
says that the &#34;Order was ours.&#34;  Don Vicente has published the
letter in the Appendix, p. 566.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note10">10</a>. Job xiv. 2: <span
lang="la">&#34;Nunquam in eodem
statu permanet.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note11">11</a>. See <a
href="#l37.4">ch. xxxvii. §§ 4</a>, <a
href="#l37.6">6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note12">12</a>. See <a
href="#l7.18">ch. vii. § 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note13">13</a>. <a href="#l30.10">Ch.
xxx. § 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note14">14</a>. <a href="#l31.16">Ch.
xxxi. §§ 16, 17</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note15">15</a>. <a href="#l28.6">Ch.
xxviii. § 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note16">16</a>. See <a
href="#l14.12">ch. xiv. § 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note17">17</a>. This letter, which seems to have
accompanied the &#34;Life,&#34; is printed among the other letters of
the Saint, and is addressed to her confessor, the Dominican friar,
Pedro Ibaņez.  It is the fifteenth letter in the first volume of the
edition of Madrid; but it is not dated there.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note18">18</a>. Juan de Avila, commonly called
the Apostle of Andalusia.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="l40note19">19</a>. <i
lang="la"><abbr title="Id est">I.e.</abbr></i> of the <abbr
title="manuscript">MS</abbr>.  See <a
href="#page337">p. 337</a> of this translation.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<p><small><a name="rehalftp">The</a></small><br>
<big><big>Relations or Manifestations</big></big><br>
<small>of Her</small><br>
<big>Spiritual State</big><br>
<small>Which</small><br>
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa Submitted to Her Confessors.</p>
<h2>The Relations.</h2>
<h3><a name="r1.0">Relation 1.</a></h3>
<p><big>Sent to <abbr title="Saint">St</abbr>. Peter of Alcantara in
1560 from the Monastery of the
Incarnation, Avila. [<a href="#r1note1">1</a>]</big></p>
<p><a name="r1.1">1</a>. The method of prayer I observe at present is
this: when I am in prayer, it is very rarely that I can use the
understanding, because the soul becomes at once recollected, remains
in repose, or falls into a trance, so that I cannot in any way have
the use of the faculties and the senses,--so much so, that the hearing
alone is left; but then it does not help me to
understand anything.</p>
<p><a name="r1.2">2</a>. It often happens, when I am not even thinking
of the things of God, but engaged in other matters, and when prayer
seems to be beyond my power, whatever efforts I might make, because of
the great aridity I am in, bodily pains contributing thereto, that
this recollection or elevation of spirit comes upon me so suddenly
that I cannot withstand it, and the fruits and blessings it brings
with it are in a moment mine: and this, without my having had a
vision, or heard anything, or knowing where I am, except that when the
soul seems to be lost I see it make great progress, which I could not
have made if I had laboured for a whole year, so great is my gain.</p>
<p><a name="r1.3">3</a>. At other times certain excessive
impetuosities occur, accompanied with a certain fainting away of the
soul for God, so that I have no control over
myself; [<a href="#r1note2">2</a>] my life seems to have come to an
end, and so it makes me cry out and call upon God; and this comes upon
me with great vehemence.  Sometimes I cannot remain sitting, so great
is the oppression of the heart; and this pain comes on without my
doing anything to cause it, and the nature of it is such that my soul
would be glad never to be without it while I live.  And the longings I
have are longings not to live; and they come on because it seems as if
I must live on without being able to find any relief, for relief comes
from the vision of God, which comes by death, and death is what I
cannot take; and with all this my soul thinks that all except itself
are filled with consolations, and that all find help in their
troubles, but not itself.  The distress thus occasioned is so intense
that, if our Lord did not relieve it by throwing it into a trance,
whereby all is made calm, and the soul rests in great quiet and is
satisfied, now by seeing something of that which it desires, now by
hearing other things, it would seem to be impossible for it to be
delivered from this pain.</p>
<p><a name="r1.4">4</a>. At other times there come upon me certain
desires to serve God, with a vehemence so great that I cannot describe
it, and accompanied with a certain pain at seeing how unprofitable I
am.  It seems to me then that there is nothing in the world, neither
death, nor martyrdom, that I could not easily endure.  This
conviction, too, is not the result of any reflection, but comes in a
moment.  I am wholly changed, and I know not whence cometh such great
courage.  I think I should live to raise my voice, and publish to all
the world how important it is for men not to be satisfied with the
common way, and how great the good is that God will give us if we
prepare ourselves to receive it.  I say it again, these desires are
such that I am melted away in myself, for I seem to desire what I
cannot have.  The body seems to me to hold me in prison, through its
inability to serve God and my state [<a href="#r1note3">3</a>] in
anything; for if it were not for the body, I might do very great
things, so far as my strength would allow; and thus, because I see
myself without any power whatever to serve God, I feel this pain in a
way wholly indescribable; the issue is delight, recollection, and the
consolation of God.</p>
<p><a name="r1.5">5</a>. Again, it has happened, when these longings
to serve Him come upon me, that I wish to do penance, but I am not
able.  It would be a great relief to me, and it does relieve and cheer
me, though what I do is almost nothing, because of my bodily weakness;
and yet, if I were to give way to these my longings, I believe I
should observe no moderation.</p>
<p><a name="r1.6">6</a>. Sometimes, if I have to speak to any one, I
am greatly distressed, and I suffer so much that it makes me weep
abundantly; for my whole desire is to be alone, and solitude comforts
me, though at times I neither pray nor read, and
conversation--particularly of kindred and connections--seems
oppressive, and myself to be as a slave, except when I speak to those
whose conversation is of prayer and matters of the soul,--in these I
find comfort and joy; [<a href="#r1note4">4</a>] yet these occasionally
are too much for me, and I would rather not see them, but go where I
might be alone: though this is not often the case, for those
especially who direct my conscience always console me.</p>
<p><a name="r1.7">7</a>. At other times it gives me much pain that I
must eat and sleep, and that I see I cannot forego these things, being
less able to do so than any one.  I submit that I may serve God, and
thus I offer up those actions to him.  Time seems to me too short, and
that I have not enough for my prayer, for I should never be tired of
being alone.  I am always wishing I had time for reading, for I have
been always fond of reading.  I read very little, for when I take up a
book I become recollected through the pleasure it gives me, and thus
my reading is turned into prayer: and it is but rarely, for I have
many occupations; and though they are good, they do not give me the
pleasure which reading would give.  And thus I am always wishing for
more time, and everything becomes disagreeable, so I believe, because
I see I cannot do what I wish and desire.</p>
<p><a name="r1.8">8</a>. All these desires, with an increase in
virtue, have been given me by our Lord since He raised me to this
prayer of quiet, and sent these raptures.  I find myself so improved
that I look on myself as being a mass of perdition before this.  These
raptures and visions leave me in possession of the blessings I shall
now speak of; and I maintain that, if there be any good in me, they
are the occasions of it.</p>
<p><a name="r1.9">9</a>. I have made a very strong resolution never to
offend God, not even venially.  I would rather die a thousand deaths
than do anything of the kind knowingly.  I am resolved never to leave
undone anything I may consider to be the more perfect, or more for the
honour of our Lord, if he who has the care of my soul and directs me
tells me I may do it.  Cost me what pain it might, I would not leave
such an act undone for all the treasure of the world.  If I were to do
so, I do not think I could have the face to ask anything of God our
Lord, or to make my prayer; and yet, for all this, I have many faults
and imperfections.  I am obedient to my
confessor, [<a href="#r1note5">5</a>] though imperfectly; but if I know
that he wishes or commands anything, I would not leave that undone, so
far as I understand it; if I did so, I should think myself under a
grievous delusion.</p>
<p><a name="r1.10">10</a>. I have a longing for poverty, though not
free from imperfection; however, I believe, if I had wealth, I would
not reserve any revenue, nor hoard money for myself, nor do I care for
it; I wish to have only what is necessary.  Nevertheless, I feel that
I am very defective in this virtue; for, though I desire nothing for
myself, I should like to have something to give away: still, I desire
no revenue, nor anything for myself. [<a href="#r1note6">6</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r1.11">11</a>. In almost all the visions I have had, I
have found good, if it be not a delusion of Satan; herein I submit
myself to the judgment of my confessors.</p>
<p><a name="r1.12">12</a>. As to fine and beautiful things, such as
water, fields, perfume, music, etc., I think I would rather not have
them, so great is the difference between them and what I am in the
habit of seeing, and so all pleasure in them is gone from
me. [<a href="#r1note7">7</a>]  Hence it is that I care not for them,
unless it be at the first sight: they never make any further
impression; to me they seem but dirt.</p>
<p><a name="r1.13">13</a>. If I speak or converse with people in the
world--for I cannot help it--even about prayer, and if the
conversation be long, though to pass away the time, I am under great
constraint if it be not necessary, for it gives me much pain.</p>
<p><a name="r1.14">14</a>. Amusements, of which I used to be fond, and
worldly things, are all disagreeable to me now, and I cannot look
at them.</p>
<p><a name="r1.15">15</a>. The longings, which I said I
have, [<a href="#r1note8">8</a>] of loving and serving and seeing God,
are not helped by any reflections, as formerly, when I thought I was
very devout, and shed many tears; but they flow out of a certain fire
and heat so excessive that, I repeat it, if God did not relieve them
by throwing me into a trance, wherein the soul seems to find itself
satisfied, I believe my life would come to an end at once.</p>
<p><a name="r1.16">16</a>. When I see persons making great progress,
and thus resolved, detached, and courageous, I love them much; and I
should like to have my conversation with such persons, and I think
they help me on.  People who are afraid, and seemingly cautious in
those things, the doing of which is perfectly reasonable here, seem to
vex me, and drive me to pray to God and the saints to make them
undertake such things as these which now frighten us.  Not that I am
good for anything myself, but because I believe that God helps those
who, for His sake, apply themselves to great things, and that He never
abandons any one who puts his trust in Him only.  And I should like to
find any one who would help me to believe so, and to be without
thought about food and raiment, but leave it all in the hands
of God. [<a href="#r1note9">9</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r1.17">17</a>. This leaving in the hands of God the supply
of all I need is not to be understood as excluding all labour on my
part, but merely solicitude--I mean, the solicitude of care.  And
since I have attained to this liberty, it goes well with me, and I
labour to forget myself as much as I can.  I do not think it is a year
ago since our Lord gave me this liberty.</p>
<p><a name="r1.18">18</a>.
Vainglory [<a href="#r1note10">10</a>]--glory, be to God!--so far as I
know, there is no reason why I should have any; for I see plainly that
in these things which God sends me I have no part myself; on the
contrary, God makes me conscious of my own wretchedness; for whatever
reflections I might be able to make, I could never come to the
knowledge of such deep truths as I attain to in a single rapture.</p>
<p><a name="r1.19">19</a>. When I speak of these things a few days
after, they seem to me as if they had happened to another person.
Previously, I thought it a wrong to me that they should be known to
others; but I see now that I am not therefore any the better, but
rather worse, seeing that I make so little progress after receiving
mercies so great.  And certainly, in every way, it seems to me that
there was not in the world anybody worse than myself; and so the
virtues of others seem to me much more meritorious than mine, and that
I do nothing myself but receive graces, and that God must give to
others at once all that He is now giving unto me; and I pray Him not
to reward me in this life; and so I believe that God has led me along
this way because I am weak and wicked.</p>
<p><a name="r1.20">20</a>. When I am in prayer, and even almost always
when I am able to reflect at all, I cannot, even if I tried, pray to
God for rest, or desire it; for I see that His life was one of
suffering, and that I ask Him to send me, giving me first the grace to
bear it.</p>
<p><a name="r1.21">21</a>. Everything of this kind, and of the highest
perfection, seems to make so deep an impression on me in prayer, that
I am amazed at the sight of truths so great and so clear that the
things of the world seem to be folly; and so it is necessary for me to
take pains to reflect on the way I demeaned myself formerly in the
things of the world, for it seems to me folly to feel for deaths and
the troubles of the world,--at least, that sorrow for, or love of,
kindred and friends should last long.  I say I have to take pains when
I am considering what I was, and what I used to feel.</p>
<p><a name="r1.22">22</a>. If I see people do anything which clearly
seems to be sin, I cannot make up my mind that they have offended God;
and if I dwell upon this at all,--which happens rarely or never,--I
never can make up my mind, though I see it plainly enough.  It seems
to me that everybody is as anxious to serve God as I am.  And herein
God has been very gracious unto me, for I never dwell on an evil deed,
to remember it afterwards and if I do remember it, I see some virtue
or other in that person.  In this way these things never weary me,
except generally: but heresies do; they distress me very often, and
almost always when I think of them they seem to me to be the only
trouble which should be felt.  And also I feel, when I see people who
used to give themselves to prayer fall away; this gives me pain, but
not much, because I strive not to dwell upon it.</p>
<p><a name="r1.23">23</a>. I find, also, that I am improved in the
matter of that excessive neatness which I was wont to
observe, [<a href="#r1note11">11</a>] though not wholly delivered from
it.  I do not discern that I am always mortified in this; sometimes,
however, I do.</p>
<p><a name="r1.24">24</a>. All this I have described, together with a
very constant dwelling in thought on God, is the ordinary state of my
soul, so far as I can understand it.  And if I must be busy about
something else, without my seeking it, as I said
before, [<a href="#r1note12">12</a>] I know not who makes me
awake,--and this not always, only when I am busy with things of
importance; and such--glory be to God!--only at intervals demand my
attention, and do not occupy me at all times.</p>
<p><a name="r1.25">25</a>. For some days--they are not many,
however--for three, or four, or five, all my good and fervent
thoughts, and my visions, seem to be withdrawn, yea, even forgotten,
so that, if I were to seek for it, I know of no good that can ever
have been in me.  It seems to have been all a dream, or, at least, I
can call nothing to mind.  Bodily pains at the same time distress me.
My understanding is troubled, so that I cannot think at all about God,
neither do I know under what law I live.  If I read anything, I do not
understand it; I seem to be full of faults, and without any resolution
whatever to practise virtue; and the great resolution I used to have
is come to this, that I seem to be unable to resist the least
temptation or slander of the world. It suggests itself to me then that
I am good for nothing, if any one would have me undertake more than
the common duties.  I give way to sadness, thinking I have deceived
all those who trusted me at all.  I should like to hide myself where
nobody could see me; but my desire for solitude arises from want of
courage, not from love of virtue.  It seems to me that I should like
to dispute with all who contradict me; I am under the influence of
these impressions, only God has been so gracious unto me, that I do
not offend more frequently than I was wont to do, nor do I ask Him to
deliver me from them, but only, if it be His will I should always
suffer thus, to keep me from offending Him; and I submit myself to His
will with my whole heart, and I see that it is a very great grace
bestowed upon me that He does not keep me constantly in
this state.</p>
<p><a name="r1.26">26</a>. One thing astonishes me; it is that, while
I am in this state, through a single word of those I am in the habit
of hearing, or a single vision, or a little self-recollection, lasting
but an Ave Maria, or through my drawing near to communicate, I find my
soul and body so calm, so sound, the understanding so clear, and
myself possessing all the strength and all the good desires I usually
have.  And this I have had experience of very often--at least when I
go to Communion; it is more than six months ago that I felt a clear
improvement in my bodily health, [<a href="#r1note13">13</a>] and that
occasionally brought about through raptures, and I find it last
sometimes more than three hours, at other times I am much stronger for
a whole day; and I do not think it is fancy, for I have considered the
matter, and reflected on it.  Accordingly, when I am thus recollected,
I fear no illness.  The truth is, that when I pray, as I was
accustomed to do before, I feel no improvement.</p>
<p><a name="r1.27">27</a>. All these things of which I am speaking
make me believe that it comes from God; for when I see what I once
was, that I was in the way of being lost, and that soon, my soul
certainly is astonished at these things, without knowing whence these
virtues came to me; I did not know myself, and saw that all was a
gift, and not the fruit of my labours.  I understand in all
truthfulness and sincerity, and see that I am not deluded, that it has
been not only the means of drawing me to God in His service, but of
saving me also from hell.  This my confessors know, who have heard my
general confession.</p>
<p><a name="r1.28">28</a>. Also, when I see any one who knows anything
about me, I wish to let him know my whole
life, [<a href="#r1note14">14</a>] because my honour seems to me to
consist in the honour of our Lord, and I care for nothing else.  This
He knows well, or I am very blind; for neither honour, nor life, nor
praise, nor good either of body or of soul, can interest me, nor do I
seek or desire any advantage, only His glory.  I cannot believe that
Satan has sought so many means of making my soul advance, in order to
lose it after all.  I do not hold him to be so foolish.  Nor can I
believe it of God, though I have deserved to fall into delusions
because of my sins, that He has left unheeded so many prayers of so
many good people for two years, and I do nothing else but ask
everybody to pray to our Lord that He would show me if this be for His
glory, or lead me by another way. [<a href="#r1note15">15</a>]  I do
not believe that these things would have been permitted by His Majesty
to be always going on if they were not His work.  These
considerations, and the reasons of so many saintly men, give me
courage when I am under the pressure of fear that they are not from
God, I being so wicked myself.  But when I am in prayer, and during
those days when I am in repose, and my thoughts fixed on God, if all
the learned and holy men in the world came together and put me to, all
conceivable tortures, and I, too, desirous of agreeing with them, they
could not make me believe that this is the work of Satan, for I
cannot.  And when they would have had me believe it, I was afraid,
seeing who it was that said so; and I thought that they must be saying
what was true, and that I, being what I was, must have been deluded.
But all they had said to me was destroyed by the first word, or
recollection, or vision that came, and I was able to resist no longer,
and believed it was from God. [<a href="#r1note16">16</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r1.29">29</a>. However, I can think that Satan now and
then may intermeddle here, and so it is, as I have seen and said; but
he produces different results, nor can he, as it seems to me, deceive
any one possessed of any experience.  Nevertheless, I say that, though
I do certainly believe this to be from God, I would never do anything,
for any consideration whatever, that is not judged by him who has the
charge of my soul to be for the better service of our Lord, and I
never had any intention but to obey without concealing anything, for
that is my duty.  I am very often rebuked for my faults, and that in
such a way as to pierce me to the very quick; and I am warned when
there is, or when there may be, any danger in what I am doing.  These
rebukes and warnings have done me much good, in often reminding me of
my former sins, which make me exceedingly sorry.</p>
<p><a name="r1.30">30</a>. I have been very long, but this is the
truth,--that, when I rise from my prayer, I see that I have received
blessings which seem too briefly described.  Afterwards I fall into
many imperfections, and am unprofitable and very wicked.  And perhaps
I have no perception of what is good, but am deluded; still, the
difference in my life is notorious, and compels me to think over all I
have said--I mean, that which I verily believe I have felt. These are
the perfections which I feel our Lord has wrought in me, who am so
wicked and so imperfect.  I refer it all to your judgment, my father,
for you know the whole state of my soul.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="r1note1">1</a>. Fra <abbr
title="Antonio">Anton.</abbr> a Sancto Joseph, in his notes on this
Relation, usually published among the letters of the Saint, ed.
Doblado, vol. ii. letter 11, says it was written for <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter of Alcantara when he came to Avila in
1560, at the time when the Saint was so severely tried by her
confessors and the others who examined her spirit, and were convinced
that her prayer was a delusion of Satan: see the <a
href="#l25.18"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxv. § 18</a>. The
following notes were discovered among the papers of the Saint in the
monastery of the Incarnation, and are supposed to refer to this
Relation.  The Chronicler of the Order, Fra Francis a Sancta Maria, is
inclined to the belief that they were written by <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter of Alcantara, to whom the Relation is
addressed, and the more so because Ribera does not claim them for any
member of the Society, notwithstanding the reference to them in <a
href="#r1n1.22">§§ 22</a>, <a href="#r1n1.28">28</a>.</small></p>
<blockquote><p><small>&#34;1. The end God has in view is the drawing a
soul to himself; that of the devil is the withdrawing it from God.
Our Lord never does anything whereby anyone may be separated from Him,
and the devil does nothing whereby any one may be made to draw near
unto God.  All the visions and the other operations in the soul of
this person draw her nearer unto God, and make her more humble
and obedient.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;2. It is the teaching of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Thomas that an angel of light may be recognised by the peace and
quietness he leaves in the soul.  She is never visited in this way,
but she afterwards abides in peace and joy; so much so, that all the
pleasures of earth together are not comparable to one of
these visitations.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;3. She never commits a fault, nor falls into an
imperfection, without being instantly rebuked by Him who speaks
interiorly to her.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;4. She has never prayed for nor wished for them: all
she wishes for is to do the will of God our Lord in
all things.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;5. Everything herein is consistent with the Scriptures
and the teaching of the Church, and most
true, according to the most rigorous principles of
scholastic theology.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;6. This soul is most pure and sincere, with the most
fervent desires of being pleasing unto God, and of trampling on every
earthly thing.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;7. She has been told that whatever she shall ask of
God, being good, she shall have.  She has asked much, and things not
convenient to put on paper lest it should be wearisome; all of which
our Lord has granted.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;8. When these operations are from God, they are always
directed to the good of the recipient, to that of the community, or of
some other.  That she has profited by them she knows by experience,
and she knows it, too, of other persons also.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;9. No one converses with her, if he be not in evil
dispositions, who is not moved thereby to devotion, even though she
says nothing about it.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;10. She is growing daily in the perfection of virtues,
and learns by these things the way of a higher perfection.  And thus,
during the whole time in which she had visions, she was making
progress, according to the doctrine of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Thomas.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;11. The spirit that speaks to her soul never tells her
anything in the way of news, or what is unbecoming, but only that
which tends to edification.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;12. She has been told of some persons that they were
full of devils: but this was for the purpose of enabling her to
understand the state of a soul which has sinned mortally against
our Lord.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;13. The devil's method is, when he attempts to deceive
a soul, to advise that soul never to speak of what he says to it; but
the spirit that speaks to this soul warns her to be open with learned
men, servants of our Lord, and that the devil may deceive her if she
should conceal anything through shame.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;14. So great is the progress of her soul in this way,
and the edification she ministers in the good example given, that more
than forty nuns in her monastery practise
great recollection.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;15. These supernatural things occur after long praying,
when she is absorbed in God, on fire with His love, or
at Communion.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;16. They kindle in her a most earnest desire to be on
the right road, and to escape the delusions of Satan.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;17. They are in her the cause of the deepest humility;
she understands that what she receives comes to her from the hand of
our Lord, and how little worth she is herself.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;18. When they are withheld, anything that occurs is
wont to pain and distress her; but when she is in this state, she
remembers nothing; all she is conscious of is a great longing for
suffering, and so great is it that she is amazed at it.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;19. They are to her sources of joy and consolation in
her troubles, when people speak ill of her, and in her
infirmities--and she has fearful pains about the heart, sicknesses,
and many other afflictions, all of which leave her when she has
these visions.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;20. With all this, she undergoes great penances,
fasting, the discipline, and mortifications.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;21. All that on earth may give her any pleasure, and
her trials, which are many, she bears with equal tranquillity of
mind, without losing the peace and quiet of her soul.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;<a name="r1n1.22">22</a>. Her resolution never to offend our Lord is so
earnest that she has made a vow never to leave undone what she knows
herself, or is told by those who understand the matter better, to be
the more perfect.  And though she holds the members of the Society to
be saints, and believes that our Lord made
use of them to bestow on her graces so great, she told me that, if she
knew it would be more perfect to have nothing more to do with them,
she would never speak to them again, nor see them, notwithstanding the
fact that it was through them that her mind had been quieted and
directed in these things.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;23. The sweetnesses she commonly receives, her sense of
God, her languishing with love, are certainly marvellous, and through
these she is wont to be enraptured the whole day long.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;24. She frequently falls into a trance when she hears
God spoken of with devotion and earnestness, and cannot resist the
rapture, do what she can; and in that state her appearance is such
that she excites very great devotion.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;25. She cannot bear to be directed by any one who will
not tell her of her faults, and rebuke her; all that she accepts with
great humility.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;26. Moreover, she cannot endure people who are in a
state of perfection, if they do not labour to become perfect,
according to the spirit of their rule.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;27. She is most detached from her kindred, has no
desire to converse with people, and loves solitude.  She has a great
devotion to the saints, and on their feasts, and on the days on which
the Church celebrates the mysteries of the faith, is filled with most
fervent affections for our Lord.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;<a name="r1n1.28">28</a>. If all the members of the Society, and all the
servants of God upon earth, tell her that her state is an effect of
the operations of Satan, or were to say so, she is in fear and
trembling before the visions occur; but as soon as she is in prayer,
and recollected, she cannot be persuaded, were they to tear her into a
thousand pieces, that it is any other than God who is working in her
and speaking to her.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;29. God has given her a most wonderfully strong and
valiant spirit: she was once timid; now she tramples on all the evil
spirits.  She has put far away from herself all the littleness and
silliness of women; she is singularly free from scruples, and
most sincere.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;30. Besides, our Lord has given her the gift of most
sweet tears, great compassion for her neighbours, the knowledge of her
own faults, a great reverence for good people, and self-abasement; and
I am certain that she has done good to many, of whom I
am one.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;31. She is continually reminding herself of God, and
has a sense of His presence.  All the locutions have been verified,
and every one of them accomplished; and this is a very
great test.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;32. Her visions are a source of great clearness in her
understanding, and an admirable illumination in the things
of God.</small></p>
<p><small>&#34;33. It was said to her that she should lead those who
were trying her spirit to look into the Scriptures, and that they
would not find that any soul desirous of pleasing God had been so
long deceived.&#34;</small></p></blockquote>
<p><small><a name="r1note2">2</a>. See <a
href="#l29.9"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxix.
§§ 9-13</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note3">3</a>. De la Fuente thinks she means the
religious state.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note4">4</a>. See <a
href="#l24.8"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxiv. § 8</a>, and <a
href="#l31.22">ch. xxxi. § 22</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note5">5</a>. See <a
href="#l23.19"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxiii.
§ 19</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note6">6</a>. See <a
href="#l35.2"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxxv.
§ 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note7">7</a>. See <a
href="#l9.6"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. ix. § 6</a>, and <a
href="#l14.7">ch. xiv. § 7</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note8">8</a>. See <a href="#r1.3">§ 3</a>,
above.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note9">9</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. vi. 31: <span lang="la">&#34;Nolite ergo solliciti esse,
dicentes: Quid manducabimus. . . . aut
quo operiemur?&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note10">10</a>. See <a
href="#l7.2"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. vii.
§ 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note11">11</a>. See <a
href="#l2.2"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. ii. § 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note12">12</a>. <a href="#r1.2">§ 2</a>,
above.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note13">13</a>. See <a
href="#l20.29"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xx.
§ 29</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note14">14</a>. See <a
href="#l31.17"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxxi.
§ 17</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note15">15</a>. See <a
href="#l25.20"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxv.
§ 20</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r1note16">16</a>. See <a
href="#l25.18"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxv. §§ 18</a>, <a
href="#l25.22">22</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="r2.0">Relation II.</a></h3>
<p><big>To One of Her Confessors, from the House of Doņa Luisa de la
Cerda, in 1562. [<a href="#r2note1">1</a>]</big></p>
<p>Jesus.</p>
<p>I think it is more than a year since this was written; God has all
this time protected me with His hand, so that I have not become worse;
on the contrary, I see a great change for the better in all I have to
say: may He be praised for it all!</p>
<p><a name="r2.1">1</a>. The visions and revelations have not ceased,
but they are of a much higher kind.  Our Lord has taught me a way of
prayer, wherein I find myself far more advanced, more detached from
the things of this life, more courageous, and more
free. [<a href="#r2note2">2</a>]  I fall into a trance more frequently,
for these ecstasies at times come upon me with great violence, and in
such a way as to be outwardly visible, I having no power to resist
them; and even when I am with others--for they come in such a way as
admits of no disguising them, unless it be by letting people suppose
that, as I am subject to disease of the heart, they are fainting-fits;
I take great pains, however, to resist them when they are coming
on--sometimes I cannot do it.</p>
<p><a name="r2.2">2</a>. As to poverty, God seems to have wrought
great things in me; for I would willingly be without even what is
necessary, unless given me as an alms; and therefore my longing is
extreme that I may be in such a state as to depend on alms alone for
my food.  It seems to me that to live, when I am certain of food and
raiment without fail, is not so complete an observance of my vow or of
the counsel of Christ as it would be to live where no revenue is
possessed, and I should be in want at times; and as to the blessings
that come with true poverty, they seem to me to be great, and I would
not miss them.  Many times do I find myself with such great faith,
that I do not think God will ever fail those who serve Him, and
without any doubt whatever that there is, or can be, any time in which
His words are not fulfilled: I cannot persuade myself to the contrary,
nor can I have any fear; and so, when they advise me to accept an
endowment, I feel it keenly, and betake myself unto God.</p>
<p><a name="r2.3">3</a>. I think I am much more compassionate towards
the poor than I used to be, having a great pity for them and a desire
to help them; for if I regarded only my good will, I should give them
even the habit I wear.  I am not fastidious with respect to them, even
if I had to do with them or touched them with my hands,--and this I
now see is a gift of God; for though I used to give alms for His love,
I had no natural compassion.  I am conscious of a distinct
improvement herein.</p>
<p><a name="r2.4">4</a>. As to the evil speaking directed against
me,--which is considerable, and highly injurious to me, and done by
many,--I find myself herein also very much the better.  I think that
what they say makes scarcely any more impression upon me than it would
upon an idiot.  I think at times, and nearly always, that it is just.
I feel it so little that I see nothing in it that I might offer to
God, as I learn by experience that my soul gains greatly thereby; on
the contrary, the evil speaking seems to be a favour.  And thus, the
first time I go to prayer, I have no ill-feeling against them; the
first time I hear it, it creates in me a little resistance, but it
neither disturbs nor moves me; on the contrary, when I see others
occasionally disturbed, I am sorry for them.  So it is, I put myself
out of the question; for all the wrongs of this life seem to me so
light, that it is not possible to feel them, because I imagine myself
to be dreaming, and see that all this will be nothing when
I awake.</p>
<p><a name="r2.5">5</a>. God is giving me more earnest desires, a
greater love of solitude, a much greater detachment, as I said, with
the visions; by these He has made me know what all that is, even if I
gave up all the friends I have, both men and women and kindred.  This
is the least part of it: my kindred are rather a very great weariness
to me; I leave them in all freedom and joy, provided it be to render
the least service unto God; and thus on every side I find peace.</p>
<p><a name="r2.6">6</a>. Certain things, about which I have been
warned in prayer, have been perfectly verified.  Thus, considering the
graces received from God, I find myself very much better; but,
considering my service to Him in return, I am exceedingly worthless,
for I have received greater consolation than I have given, though
sometimes that gives me grievous pain.  My penance is very scanty, the
respect shown me great, much against my own will very
often. [<a href="#r2note3">3</a>]  However in a word, I see that I live
an easy, not a penitential, life; God help me, as He can!</p>
<p><a name="r2.7">7</a>. It is now nine months, more or less, since I
wrote this with mine own hand; since then I have not turned my back on
the graces which God has given me; I think I have received, so far as
I can see, a much greater liberty of late.  Hitherto I thought I had
need of others, and I had more reliance on worldly helps.  Now I
clearly understand that all men are bunches of dried rosemary, and
that there is no safety in leaning on them, for if they are pressed by
contradictions or evil speaking they break down.  And so I know by
experience that the only way not to fall is to cling to the cross, and
put our trust in Him who was nailed thereto.  I find Him a real
Friend, and with Him I find myself endowed with such might that, God
never failing me, I think I should be able to withstand the whole
world if it were against me.</p>
<p><a name="r2.8">8</a>. Having a clear knowledge of this truth, I
used to be very fond of being loved by others; now I do not care for
that, yea, rather, their love seems to weary me in some measure,
excepting theirs who take care of my soul, or theirs to whom I think I
do good.  Of the former I wish to be loved, in order that they may
bear with me; and of the latter, that they may be more inclined to
believe me when I tell them that all is vanity.</p>
<p><a name="r2.9">9</a>. In the very grievous trials, persecutions,
and contradictions of these months, [<a href="#r2note4">4</a>] God gave
me great courage; and the more grievous they were, the greater the
courage, without weariness in suffering.  Not only had I no
ill-feeling against those who spoke evil of me, but I had, I believe,
conceived a deeper affection for them.  I know not how it was;
certainly it was a gift from the hand of our Lord.</p>
<p><a name="r2.10">10</a>. When I desire anything, I am accustomed
naturally to desire it with some vehemence; now my desires are so
calm, that I do not even feel that I am pleased when I see them
fulfilled. Sorrow and joy, excepting in that which relates to prayer,
are so moderated, that I seem to be without sense, and in that state I
remain for some days.</p>
<p><a name="r2.11">11</a>. The vehement longings to do penance which
come, and have come, upon me are great; and if I do any penance, I
feel it to be so slight in comparison with that longing, that I regard
it sometimes, and almost always, as a special consolation; however, I
do but little, because of my great weakness.</p>
<p><a name="r2.12">12</a>. It is a very great pain to me very often,
and at this moment most grievous, that I must take food, particularly
if I am in prayer.  It must be very great, for it makes me weep much,
and speak the language of affliction, almost without being aware of
it, and that is what I am not in the habit of doing, for I do not
remember that I ever did so in the very heaviest trials of my life: I
am not a woman in these things, for I have a hard heart.</p>
<p><a name="r2.13">13</a>. I feel in myself a very earnest desire,
more so than usual, that God may find those who will serve Him,
particularly learned men, in all detachment, and who will not cleave
to anything of this world, for I see it is all a mockery; for when I
see the great needs of the Church, I look upon it as a mockery to be
distressed about aught else.  I do nothing but pray to God for such
men, because I see that one person, who is wholly perfect in the true
fervour of the love of God, will do more good than many who
are lukewarm.</p>
<p><a name="r2.14">14</a>. In matters concerning the faith, my courage
seems to me much greater.  I think I could go forth alone by myself
against the Lutherans, and convince them of their errors.  I feel very
keenly the loss of so many souls.  I see many persons making great
progress; I see clearly it was the pleasure of God that such progress
should have been helped by me; and I perceive that my soul, of His
goodness, grows daily more and more in His love.</p>
<p><a name="r2.15">15</a>. I think I could not be led away by
vainglory, even if I seriously tried, and I do not see how I could
imagine any one of my virtues to be mine, for it is not long since I
was for many years without any at all; and now so far as I am
concerned, I do nothing but receive graces, without rendering any
service in return, being the most worthless creature in the world.
And so it is that I consider at times how all, except myself, make
progress; I am good for nothing in myself.  This is not humility only,
but the simple truth; and the knowledge of my being so worthless makes
me sometimes think with fear that I must be under some delusion.  Thus
I see clearly that all my gain has come through the revelations and
the raptures, in which I am nothing myself, and do no more to effect
them than the canvas does for the picture painted on it.  This makes
me feel secure and be at rest; and I place myself in the hands of God,
and trust my desires; for I know for certain that my desires are to
die for Him, and to lose all ease, and that whatever may happen.</p>
<p><a name="r2.16">16</a>. There are days wherein I remember times
without number the words of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul, [<a href="#r2note5">5</a>]--though
certainly they are not true of me,--that I have neither life, nor
speech, nor will of my own, but that there is One in me by whom I am
directed and made strong; and I am, as it were, beside myself, and
thus life is a very grievous burden to me. And the greatest oblation I
make to God, as the highest service on my part, is that I, when I feel
it so painfully to be absent from Him, am willing to live on for the
love of Him.  I would have my life also full of great tribulations and
persecutions; now that I am unprofitable, I should like to suffer; and
I would endure all the tribulations in the world to gain ever so
little more merit--I mean, by a more perfect doing of His will.</p>
<p><a name="r2.17">17</a>. Everything that I have learnt in prayer,
though it may be two years previously, I have seen fulfilled.  What I
see and understand of the grandeurs of God, and of the way He has
shown them, is so high, that I scarcely ever begin to think of them
but my understanding fails me,--for I am as one that sees things far
higher than I can understand,--and I become recollected.</p>
<p><a name="r2.18">18</a>. God so keeps me from offending Him, that I
am verily amazed at times.  I think I discern the great care He takes
of me, without my taking scarcely any care at all, being as I was,
before these things happened to me, a sea of wickedness and sins, and
without a thought that I was mistress enough of myself to leave them
undone.  And the reason why I would have this known is that the great
power of God might be made manifest.  Unto Him be praise for ever and
ever! Amen.</p>
<p>Jesus.</p>
<p>This Relation here set forth, not in my handwriting, is one that I
gave to my confessor, and which he with his own hand copied, without
adding or diminishing a word.  He was a most spiritual man and a
theologian: I discussed the state of my soul with him, and he with
other learned men, among whom was Father
Mancio. [<a href="#r2note6">6</a>]  They found nothing in it that is
not in perfect agreement with the holy writings.  This makes me calm
now, though, while God is leading me by this way, I feel that it is
necessary for me to put no trust whatever in myself.  And so I have
always done, though it is painful enough.  You, my father, will be
careful that all this goes under the seal of confession, according to
my request.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="r2note1">1</a>. Addressed, it is believed, to her
confessor, F. Pedro Ibaņez.  This Relation corresponds with <a
href="#l34.0">ch. xxxiv. of the <cite>Life</cite></a> (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r2note2">2</a>. See <a
href="#l27.0"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxvii</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r2note3">3</a>. See <a
href="#l31.15"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxxi.
§ 15</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r2note4">4</a>. The Saint is supposed to refer to
the troubles she endured during the foundation of the monastery of
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r2note5">5</a>. Gal. ii. 20: <span
lang="la">&#34;Vivo autem, jam non ego; vivit vero in
me Christus.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r2note6">6</a>. A celebrated Dominican, professor
of theology in Salamanca (<cite>Bouix</cite>).</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="r3.0">Relation III.</a></h3>
<p><big>Of Various Graces Granted to the Saint from the Year 1568 to
1571 Inclusive.</big></p>
<p><a name="r3.1">1</a>. When I was in the monastery of Toledo, and
some people were advising me not to allow any but noble persons to be
buried there, [<a href="#r3note1">1</a>] our Lord said to me: &#34;Thou
wilt be very inconsistent, My daughter, if thou regardest the laws of
the world.  Look at Me, poor and despised of men: are the great people
of the world likely to be great in My eyes? or is it descent or virtue
that is to make you esteemed?&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r3.2">2</a>. After Communion, the second day of Lent, in
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph of Malagon, our Lord Jesus
Christ appeared to me in an imaginary vision, as He is I wont to do;
and when I was looking upon Him I saw that He had on His head, instead
of the crown of thorns, a crown of great splendour, over the part
where the wounds of that crown must have been.  And as I have a great
devotion to the crowning with thorns, I was exceedingly consoled, and
began to think how great the pain must have been because of the many
wounds, and to be sorrowful.  Our Lord told me not to be sad because
of those wounds, but for the many wounds which men inflict upon Him
now.  I asked Him what I could do by way of reparation; for I was
resolved to do anything.  He replied: &#34;This is not the time for
rest;&#34; that I must hasten on the foundations, for He would take
His rest with the souls which entered the monasteries; that I must
admit all who offered themselves, because there were many souls that
did not serve Him because they had no place wherein to do it; that
those monasteries which were to be founded in small towns should be
like this; that the merit of those in them would be as great, if they
only desired to do that which was done in the other houses; that I
must contrive to put them all under the jurisdiction of one
superior, [<a href="#r3note2">2</a>] and take care that anxieties
about means of bodily maintenance did not destroy interior peace, for
He would help us, so that we should never be in want of food.
Especial care was to be had of the sick sisters; the prioress who did
not provide for and comfort the sick was like the friends of Job: He
sent them sickness for the good of their souls, and careless superiors
risked the patience of their nuns.  I was to write the history of the
foundation of the monasteries.  I was thinking how there was nothing
to write about in reference to the foundation of Medina, when He asked
me, what more did I want to see than that the foundation there was
miraculous?  By this He meant to say that He alone had done it, when
it seemed impossible. [<a href="#r3note3">3</a>]  I resolved to
execute His commands.</p>
<p><a name="r3.3">3</a>. Our Lord told me something I was to tell
another, and as I was considering how I did not understand it at
all,--though I prayed to Him, and was thinking it might be from
Satan,--He said to me that it was not, and that He Himself would warn
me when the time came.</p>
<p><a name="r3.4">4</a>. Once, when I was thinking how much more
purely they live who withdraw themselves from all business, and how
ill it goes with me, and how many faults I must be guilty of, when I
have business to transact, I heard this: &#34;It cannot be otherwise,
My daughter; but strive thou always after a good intention in all
things, and detachment; lift up thine eyes to Me, and see that all
thine actions may resemble Mine.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r3.5">5</a>. Thinking how it was that I scarcely ever fell
into a trance of late in public, I heard this: &#34;It is not
necessary now; thou art sufficiently esteemed for My purpose; we are
considering the weakness of the wicked.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r3.6">6</a>. One Tuesday after the
Ascension, [<a href="#r3note4">4</a>] having prayed for awhile after
Communion in great distress, because I was so distracted that I could
fix my mind on nothing, I complained of our poor nature to our Lord.
The fire began to kindle in my soul, and I saw, as it seemed to me,
the most Holy Trinity [<a href="#r3note5">5</a>] distinctly present in
an intellectual vision, whereby my soul understood through a certain
representation, as a figure of the truth, so far as my dulness could
understand, how God is Three and One; and thus it seemed to me that
all the Three Persons spoke to me, that They were distinctly present
in my soul, saying unto me &#34;that from that day forth I should see
that my soul had grown better in three ways, and that each one of the
Three Persons had bestowed on me a distinct grace,--in charity, in
suffering joyfully, in a sense of that charity in my soul, accompanied
with fervour.&#34;  I learnt the meaning of those words of our Lord,
that the Three Divine Persons will dwell in the soul that is in a
state of grace. [<a href="#r3note6">6</a>]  Afterwards giving thanks
to our Lord for so great a mercy, and finding myself utterly unworthy
of it, I asked His Majesty with great earnestness how it was that He,
after showing such mercies to me, let me go out of His hand, and
allowed me to become so wicked; for on the previous day I had been in
great distress on account of my sins, which I had set before me.  I
saw clearly then how much our Lord on His part had done, ever since my
infancy, to draw me to Himself by means most effectual, and yet, that
all had failed.  Then I had a clear perception of the surpassing love
of God for us, in that He forgives us all this when we turn to Him,
and for me more than for any other, for many reasons.  The vision of
the Three Divine Persons--one God--made so profound an impression on
my soul, that if it had continued it would have been impossible for me
not to be recollected in so divine a company.  What I saw and heard
besides is beyond my power to describe.</p>
<p><a name="r3.7">7</a>. Once, when I was about to communicate,--it
was shortly before I had this vision,--the Host being still in the
ciborium, for It had not yet been given me, I saw something like a
dove, which moved its wings with a sound.  It disturbed me so much,
and so carried me away out of myself, that it was with the utmost
difficulty I received the Host.  All this took place in <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph of Avila.  It was Father Francis
Salcedo who was giving me the most Holy Sacrament.  Hearing Mass
another day, I saw our Lord glorious in the Host; He said to me that
his sacrifice was acceptable unto Him.</p>
<p><a name="r3.8">8</a>. I heard this once: &#34;The time will come
when many miracles will be wrought in this church; it will be called
the holy church.&#34;  It was in <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph
of Avila, in the year 1571.</p>
<p><a name="r3.9">9</a>. I retain to this day, which is the
Commemoration of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul, the presence of
the Three Persons of which I spoke in the
beginning; [<a href="#r3note7">7</a>] they are present almost
continually in my soul. I, being accustomed to the presence of Jesus
Christ only, always thought that the vision of the Three Persons was
in some degree a hindrance, though I know the Three Persons are but
One God.  To-day, while thinking of this, our Lord said to me
&#34;that I was wrong in imagining that those things which are
peculiar to the soul can be represented by those of the body; I was to
understand that they were very different, and that the soul had a
capacity for great fruition.&#34;  It seemed to me as if this were
shown to me thus: as water penetrates and is drunk in by the sponge,
so, it seemed to me, did the Divinity fill my soul, which in a certain
sense had the fruition and possession of the Three Persons.  And I
heard Him say also: &#34;Labour thou not to hold Me within thyself
enclosed, but enclose thou thyself within Me.&#34;  It seemed to me
that I saw the Three Persons within my soul, and communicating
Themselves to all creatures abundantly without ceasing to be
with me.</p>
<p><a name="r3.10">10</a>. A few days after this, thinking whether
they were right who disapproved of my going out to make new
foundations, and whether it would not be better for me if I occupied
myself always with prayer, I heard this: &#34;During this life, the
true gain consists not in striving after greater joy in Me, but in
doing My will.&#34;  It seemed to me, considering what <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul says about women, how they should stay
at home, [<a href="#r3note8">8</a>]--people reminded me lately of
this, and, indeed, I had heard it before,--it might be the will of God
I should do so too.  He said to me: &#34;Tell them they are not to
follow one part of the Scripture by itself, without looking to the
other parts also; perhaps, if they could, they would like to tie
My hands.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r3.11">11</a>. One day after the octave of the Visitation,
in one of the hermitages of Mount Carmel, praying to God for one of my
brothers, I said to our Lord,--I do not know whether it was only in
thought or not, for my brother was in a place where his salvation was
in peril,--&#34;If I saw one of Thy brethren, O Lord, in this danger,
what would I not do to help him!&#34;  It seemed to me there was
nothing that I could do which I would not have done. Our Lord said to
me: &#34;O daughter, daughter! the nuns of the Incarnation are thy
sisters, and thou holdest back.  Take courage, then.  Behold, this is
what I would have thee do: it is not so difficult as it seems; and
though it seems to thee that by going thither thy foundations will be
ruined, yet it is by thy going that both these and the monastery of
the Incarnation will gain; resist not, for My power
is great.&#34; [<a href="#r3note9">9</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r3.12">12</a>. Once, when thinking of the great penance
practised by Doņa Catalina de Cardona, [<a href="#r3note10">10</a>] and
how I might have done more, considering the desires which our Lord had
given me at times, if it had not been for my obedience to my
confessors, I asked myself whether it would not be as well if I
disobeyed them for the future in this matter.  Our Lord said to me:
&#34;No, My daughter; thou art on the sound and safe road.  Seest thou
all her penance?  I think more of thy obedience.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r3.13">13</a>. Once, when I was in prayer, He showed me by
a certain kind of intellectual vision the condition of a soul in a
state of grace: in its company I saw by intellectual vision the most
Holy Trinity, from whose companionship the soul derived a power which
was a dominion over the whole earth.  I understood the meaning of
those words in the Canticle: &#34;Let my Beloved come into His garden
and eat.&#34; [<a href="#r3note11">11</a>]  He showed me also the
condition of a soul in sin, utterly powerless, like a person tied and
bound and blindfold, who, though anxious to see, yet cannot, being
unable to walk or to hear, and in grievous obscurity.  I was so
exceedingly sorry for such souls, that, to deliver only one, any
trouble seemed to me light.  I thought it impossible for any one who
saw this as I saw it,--and I can hardly explain it,--willingly to
forfeit so great a good or continue in so evil a state.</p>
<p><a name="r3.14">14</a>. One day, in very great distress about the
state of the Order, and casting about for means to succour it, our
Lord said to me: &#34;Do thou what is in thy power, and leave Me to
Myself, and be not disquieted by anything; rejoice in the blessing
thou hast received, for it is a very great one.  My Father is pleased
with thee, and the Holy Ghost loves thee.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r3.15">15</a>. &#34;Thou art ever desiring trials, and, on
the other hand, declining them.  I order things according to what I
know thy will is, and not according to thy sensuality and weakness.
Be strong, for thou seest how I help thee; I have wished thee to gain
this crown. Thou shalt see the Order of the Virgin greatly advanced in
thy days.&#34;  I heard this from our Lord about the middle of
February, 1571.</p>
<p><a name="r3.16">16</a>. On the eve of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Sebastian, the first year of my being in the
monastery of the Incarnation [<a href="#r3note12">12</a>] as prioress
there, at the beginning of the <i lang="la">Salve</i>, I saw the
Mother of God descend with a multitude of angels to the stall of the
prioress, where the image of our Lady is, and sit there herself.  I
think I did not see the image then, but only our Lady.  She seemed to
be like that picture of her which the
Countess [<a href="#r3note13">13</a>] gave me; but I had no time to
ascertain this, because I fell at once into a trance.  Multitudes of
angels seemed to me to be above the canopies of the stalls, and on the
desks in front of them; but I saw no bodily forms, for the vision was
intellectual. She remained there during the <i lang="la">Salve</i>,
and said to me: &#34;Thou hast done well to place me here; I will be
present when the sisters sing the praises of my Son, and will offer
them to Him.&#34; After this I remained in that prayer which I still
practise, and which is that of keeping my soul in the company of the
most Holy Trinity; and it seemed to me that the Person of the Father
drew me to Himself, and spoke to me most comfortable words.  Among
them were these, while showing how He loved me: &#34;I give thee My
Son, and the Holy Ghost, and the Virgin: what canst thou
give Me?&#34; [<a href="#r3note14">14</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r3.17">17</a>. On the octave of the Holy Ghost, our Lord
was gracious unto me, and gave me hopes of this
house, [<a href="#r3note15">15</a>] that it would go on
improving--I mean the souls that are in it.</p>
<p><a name="r3.18">18</a>. On the feast of the Magdalene, our Lord
again confirmed a grace I had received in Toledo, electing me, in the
absence of a certain person, in her place.</p>
<p><a name="r3.19">19</a>. In the monastery of the Incarnation, and in
the second year of my being prioress there, on the octave of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Martin, when I was going to Communion, the
Father, Fr. John of the Cross, [<a href="#r3note16">16</a>]--divided
the Host between me and another sister.  I thought it was done, not
because there was any want of Hosts, but that he wished to mortify me
because I had told him how much I delighted in Hosts of a large size.
Yet I was not ignorant that the size of the Host is of no moment; for
I knew that our Lord is whole and entire in the smallest particle.
His Majesty said to me: &#34;Have no fear, My daughter; for no one
will be able to separate thee from Me,&#34;--giving me to understand
that the size of the Host mattered not.</p>
<p><a name="r3.20">20</a>. Then appearing to me, as on other
occasions, in an imaginary vision, most interiorly, He held out His
right hand and said: &#34;Behold this nail! it is the pledge of thy
being My bride from this day forth.  Until now thou hadst not merited
it; from henceforth thou shalt regard My honour, not only as of one
who is Thy Creator, King, and God, but as thine, My veritable bride;
My honour is thine, and thine is Mine.&#34;  This grace had such an
effect on me, that I could not contain myself: I became as one that is
foolish, and said to our Lord: &#34;Either ennoble my vileness or
cease to bestow such mercies on me, for certainly I do not think that
nature can bear them.&#34;  I remained thus the whole day, as one
utterly beside herself.  Afterwards I became conscious of great
progress, and greater shame and distress to see that I did nothing in
return for graces so great.</p>
<p><a name="r3.21">21</a>. Our Lord said this to me one day:
&#34;Thinkest thou, My daughter, that meriting lies in fruition? No;
merit lies only in doing, in suffering, and in loving.  You never
heard that <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul had the fruition of
heavenly joys more than once; while he was often in
sufferings. [<a href="#r3note17">17</a>]  Thou seest how My whole life
was full of dolors, and only on Mount Tabor hast thou heard of Me in
glory. [<a href="#r3note18">18</a>]  Do not suppose, when thou seest
My Mother hold Me in her arms, that she had that joy unmixed with
heavy sorrows. From the time that Simeon spoke to her, My Father made
her see in clear light all I had to suffer.  The grand Saints of the
desert, as they were led by God, so also did they undergo heavy
penances; besides, they waged serious war with the devil and with
themselves, and much of their time passed away without any spiritual
consolation whatever.  Believe Me, My daughter, his trials are the
heaviest whom My Father loves most; trials are the measure of His
love.  How can I show My love for thee better than by desiring for
thee what I desired for Myself?  Consider My wounds; thy pains will
never reach to them.  This is the way of truth; thus shalt thou help
Me to weep over the ruin of those who are in the world, for thou
knowest how all their desires, anxieties, and thoughts tend the other
way.&#34;  When I began my prayer that day, my headache was so violent
that I thought I could not possibly go on.  Our Lord said to me:
&#34;Behold now, the reward of suffering.  As thou, on account of thy
health, wert unable to speak to Me, I spoke to thee and comforted
thee.&#34;  Certainly, so it was; for the time of my recollection
lasted about an hour and a half, more or less.  It was then that He
spoke to me the words I have just related, together with all the
others.  I was not able to distract myself, neither knew I where I
was; my joy was so great as to be indescribable; my headache was gone,
and I was amazed, and I had a longing for suffering.  He also told me
to keep in mind the words He said to His Apostles: &#34;The servant is
not greater than his Lord.&#34; [<a href="#r3note19">19</a>]</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="r3note1">1</a>. Alonzo Ramirez wished to have the
right of burial in the new monastery, but the nobles of Toledo looked
on his request as unreasonable.  See <cite>Foundations</cite>,
chs. xv. and xvi.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note2">2</a>. See <cite>Way of Perfection</cite>,
ch. viii.; but ch. v. of the previous editions.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note3">3</a>. See <cite>Book of the
Foundations</cite>, ch. iii.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note4">4</a>. In the copy kept in Toledo, the day
is Tuesday after the Assumption (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note5">5</a>. <a href="#l27.10">Ch.
xxvii. § 10</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note6">6</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> John
xiv. 23: <span lang="la">&#34;Ad eum veniemus, et mansionem apud
eum faciemus.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note7">7</a>. See <a
href="#r3.6">§ 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note8">8</a>. Titus ii. 5: <span
lang="la">&#34;Sobrias, domus curam habentes.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note9">9</a>. This took place in 1571, when the
Saint had been appointed prioress of the monastery of the Incarnation
at Avila; the very house she had left in order to found that of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, to keep the rule in
its integrity.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note10">10</a>. See <cite>Book of the
Foundations</cite>, ch. xxviii.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note11">11</a>. Cant. v. 1: <span
lang="la">&#34;Veniat dilectus meus in hortum suum,
et comedat.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note12">12</a>. A.D. 1572.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note13">13</a>. Maria de Velasco y Aragon,
Countess of Osorno (<cite>Ribera</cite>, lib. iii. c. 1).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note14">14</a>. See <a
href="#r4.2"><cite>Relation</cite> iv. § 2</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note15">15</a>. The monastery of the Incarnation,
Avila (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note16">16</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John of the Cross, at the instance of the Saint, was sent to Avila,
with another father of the reformed Carmelites, to be confessor of the
nuns of the Incarnation, who then disliked the observance of the
primitive rule.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note17">17</a>. 2 Cor. xi. 27: <span
lang="la">&#34;In labore et ærumna, in
vigiliis multis.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note18">18</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. xvii. 2: <span lang="la">&#34;Et transfiguratus est
ante eos.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r3note19">19</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John xiii. 16: <span lang="la">&#34;Non est servus major
domino suo.&#34;</span></small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="r4.0">Relation IV.</a></h3>
<p><big>Of the Graces the Saint Received in Salamanca at the End of
Lent, 1571.</big></p>
<p><a name="r4.1">1</a>. I found myself the whole of yesterday in
great desolation, and, except at Communion, did not feel that it was
the day of the Resurrection.  Last night, being with the community, I
heard one [<a href="#r4note1">1</a>] of them singing how hard it is to
be living away from God.  As I was then suffering, the effect of that
singing on me was such that a numbness began in my hands, and no
efforts of mine could hinder it; but as I go out of myself in raptures
of joy, so then my soul was thrown into a trance through the excessive
pain, and remained entranced; and until this day I had not felt this.
A few days previously I thought that the vehement impulses were not so
great as they used to be, and now it seems to be that the reason is
what I have described; I know not if it is so.  Hitherto the pain had
not gone so far as to make me beside myself; and as it is so
unendurable, and as I retained the control of my senses, it made me
utter loud cries beyond my power to restrain.  Now that it has grown,
it has reached this point of piercing me; and I understand more of
that piercing which our Lady suffered; for until to-day, as I have
just said, I never knew what that piercing was.  My body was so
bruised, that I suffer even now when I am writing this; for my hands
are as if the joints were loosed, and in
pain. [<a href="#r4note2">2</a>]  You, my father, will tell me when
you see me whether this trance be the effect of suffering, or whether
I felt it, or whether I am deceived.</p>
<p><a name="r4.2">2</a>. I was in this great pain till this morning;
and, being in prayer, I fell into a profound trance; and it seemed to
me that our Lord had taken me up in spirit to His Father, and said to
Him: &#34;Whom Thou hast given to Me, I give to
Thee;&#34; [<a href="#r4note3">3</a>] and He seemed to draw me near to
Himself.  This is not an imaginary vision, but one most certain, and
so spiritually subtile that it cannot be explained.  He spoke certain
words to me which I do not remember.  Some of them referred to His
grace, which He bestows on me.  He kept me by Him for some time.</p>
<p><a name="r4.3">3</a>. As you, my father, went away yesterday so
soon, and I consider the many affairs which detain you, so that it is
impossible for me to have recourse to you for comfort even when
necessary,--for I see that your occupations are most urgent,--I was
for some time in pain and sadness.  As I was then in desolation,--as I
said before,--that helped me; and as nothing on earth, I thought, had
any attractions for me, I had a scruple, and feared I was beginning to
lose that liberty.  This took place last night; and to-day our Lord
answered my doubt, and said to me &#34;that I was not to be surprised;
for as men seek for companions with whom they may speak of their
sensual satisfactions, so the soul--when there is any one who
understands it--seeks those to whom it may communicate its pleasures
and its pains, and is sad and mourns when it can find none.&#34;  He
said to me: &#34;Thou art prosperous now, and thy works please
Me.&#34;  As He remained with me for some time, I remembered that I
had told you, my father, that these visions pass quickly away; He said
to me &#34;that there was a difference between these and the imaginary
visions, and that there could not be an invariable law concerning the
graces He bestowed on us; for it was expedient to give them now in one
way, now in another.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r4.4">4</a>. After Communion, I saw our Lord most
distinctly close beside me; and He began to comfort me with great
sweetness, and said to me, among other things: &#34;Thou beholdest Me
present, My daughter,--it is I.  Show me thy hands.&#34;  And to me He
seemed to take them and to put them to His side, and said: &#34;Behold
My wounds; thou art not without Me.  Finish the short course of thy
life.&#34;  By some things He said to me, I understood that, after His
Ascension, He never came down to the earth except in the most Holy
Sacrament to communicate Himself to any one.  He said to me, that when
He rose again He showed Himself to our Lady, because she was in great
trouble; for sorrow had so pierced her soul that she did not even
recover herself at once in order to have the fruition of that joy.  By
this I saw how different was my piercing. [<a href="#r4note4">4</a>]
But what must that of the Virgin have been? He remained long with her
then because it was necessary to console her.</p>
<p><a name="r4.5">5</a>. On Palm Sunday, at Communion, I was in a deep
trance,--so much so, that I was not able even to swallow the Host;
and, still having It in my mouth, when I had come a little to myself,
I verily believed that my mouth was all filled with Blood; and my face
and my whole body seemed to be covered with It, as if our Lord had
been shedding It at that moment.  I thought It was warm, and the
sweetness I then felt was exceedingly great; and our Lord said to me:
&#34;Daughter, My will is that My Blood should profit thee; and be not
thou afraid that My compassion will fail thee.  I shed It in much
suffering, and, as thou seest, thou hast the fruition of It in great
joy.  I reward thee well for the pleasure thou gavest me to-day.&#34;
He said this because I have been in the habit of going to Communion,
if possible, on this day for more than thirty years, and of labouring
to prepare my soul to be the host of our Lord; for I considered the
cruelty of the Jews to be very great, after giving Him so grand a
reception, in letting Him go so far for supper; and I used to picture
Him as remaining with me, and truly in a poor lodging, as I see now.
And thus I used to have such foolish thoughts--they must have been
acceptable to our Lord, for this was one of the visions which I regard
as most certain; and, accordingly it has been a great blessing to me
in the matter of Communion.</p>
<p><a name="r4.6">6</a>. Previous to this, I had been, I believe, for
three days in that great pain, which I feel sometimes more than at
others, because I am away from God; and during those days it had been
very great, and seemingly more than I could bear.  Being thus
exceedingly wearied by it, I saw it was late to take my collation, nor
could I do so,--for if I do not take it a little earlier, it occasions
great weakness because of my sickness; and then, doing violence to
myself, I took up some bread to prepare for collation, and on the
instant Christ appeared, and seemed to be breaking the bread and
putting it into my mouth.  He said to me: &#34;Eat, My daughter, and
bear it as well as thou canst.  I condole with thee in thy suffering;
but it is good for thee now.&#34; My pain was gone, and I was
comforted; for He seemed to be really with me then, and the whole of
the next day; and with this my desires were then satisfied.  The word
&#34;condole&#34; made me strong; for now I do not think I am
suffering at all.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="r4note1">1</a>. Isabel of Jesus, born in Segovia,
and whose family name was Jimena, told Ribera (<i lang="la">vide</i>
lib. iv. c. v.) that she was the singer, being then a novice
in Salamanca.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r4note2">2</a>. See <cite>Fortress of the
Soul</cite>, vi. ch. xi.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r4note3">3</a>. See <a
href="#r3.16"><cite>Relation</cite>, iii.
§ 16</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r4note4">4</a>. See above, <a
href="#r4.1">§ 1</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="r5.0">Relation V.</a></h3>
<p><big>Observations on Certain Points of Spirituality.</big></p>
<p><a name="r5.1">1</a>. &#34;What is it that distresses thee, little
sinner?  Am I not thy God?  Dost thou not see how ill I am treated
here?  If thou lovest Me, why art thou not sorry for Me?  Daughter,
light is very different from darkness.  I am faithful; no one will be
lost without knowing it.  He must be deceiving himself who relies on
spiritual sweetnesses; the true safety lies in the witness of a good
conscience. [<a href="#r5note1">1</a>]  But let no one think that of
himself he can abide in the light, any more than he can hinder the
natural night from coming on; for that depends on My grace.  The best
means he can have for retaining the light is the conviction in his
soul that he can do nothing of himself, and that it comes from Me;
for, even if he were in the light, the instant I withdraw, night will
come.  True humility is this: the soul's knowing what itself can do,
and what I can do.  Do not neglect to write down the counsels I give
thee, that thou mayest not forget them.  Thou seekest to have the
counsels of men in writing; why, then, thinkest thou that thou art
wasting time in writing down those I give thee?  The time will come
when thou shalt require them all.&#34;</p>
<h4>On Union.</h4>
<p><a name="r5.2">2</a>. &#34;Do not suppose, My daughter, that to be
near to Me is union; for they who sin against Me are near Me, though
they do not wish it.  Nor is union the joys and comforts of
union, [<a href="#r5note2">2</a>] though they be of the very highest
kind, and though they come from Me.  These very often are means of
winning souls, even if they are not in a state of grace.&#34;  When I
heard this, I was in a high degree lifted up in spirit.  Our Lord
showed me what the spirit was, and what the state of the soul was
then, and the meaning of those words of the Magnificat, &#34;Exultavit
spiritus meus.&#34;  He showed me that the spirit was the higher part
of the will.</p>
<p><a name="r5.3">3</a>. To return to union; I understood it to be a
spirit, pure and raised up above all the things of earth, with nothing
remaining in it that would swerve from the will of God, being a spirit
and a will resigned to His will, and in detachment from all things,
occupied in God in such a way as to leave no trace of any love of
self, or of any created thing whatever. [<a href="#r5note3">3</a>]
Thereupon, I considered that, if this be union, it comes to this,
that, as my soul is always abiding in this resolution, we can say of
it that it is always in this prayer of union: and yet it is true that
the union lasts but a very short time.  It was suggested to me that,
as to living in justice, meriting and making progress, it will be so;
but it cannot be said that the soul is in union as it is when in
contemplation; and I thought I understood, yet not by words heard,
that the dust of our wretchedness, faults, and imperfections, wherein
we bury ourselves, is so great, that it is not possible to live in
such pureness as the spirit is in when in union with God, raised up
and out of our wretched misery.  And I think, if it be union to have
our will and spirit in union with the will and Spirit of God, that it
is not possible for any one not in a state of grace to attain thereto;
and I have been told so.  Accordingly, I believe it is very difficult
to know when the soul is in union; to have that knowledge is a special
grace of God, because nobody can tell whether he is in a state of
grace or not. [<a href="#r5note4">4</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r5.4">4</a>. You will show me in writing, my father, what
you think of this, and how I am in the wrong, and send me this
paper back.</p>
<p><a name="r5.5">5</a>. I had read in a book that it was an
imperfection to possess pictures well painted,--and I would not,
therefore, retain in my cell one that I had; and also, before I had
read this, I thought that it was poverty to possess none, except those
made of paper,--and, as I read this afterwards, I would not have any
of any other material.  I learnt from our Lord, when I was not
thinking at all about this, what I am going to say: &#34;that this
mortification was not right.  Which is better, poverty or charity?
But as love was the better, whatever kindled love in me, that I must
not give up, nor take away from my nuns; for the book spoke of much
adorning and curious devices--not of
pictures. [<a href="#r5note5">5</a>]  What Satan was doing among the
Lutherans was the taking away from them all those means by which their
love might be the more quickened; and thus they were going to
perdition. Those who are loyal to Me, My daughter, must now, more than
ever, do the very reverse of what they do.&#34;  I understood that I
was under great obligations to serve our Lady and <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, because, when I was utterly lost,
God, through their prayers, came and saved me.</p>
<p><a name="r5.6">6</a>. One day, after the feast of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Matthew, [<a href="#r5note6">6</a>] I was as
is usual with me, after seeing in a vision the most Holy Trinity, and
how It is present in a soul in a state of
grace. [<a href="#r5note7">7</a>]  I understood the mystery most
clearly, in such a way that, after a certain fashion and comparisons,
I saw It in an imaginary vision.  And though at other times I have
seen the most Holy Trinity in an intellectual vision, for some days
after the truth of it did not rest with me,--as it does now,--I mean,
so that I could dwell upon it.  I see now that it is just as learned
men told me; and I did not understand it as I do now, though I
believed them without the least hesitation; for I never had any
temptations against the faith.</p>
<p><a name="r5.7">7</a>. It seems to us ignorant women that the
Persons of the most Holy Trinity are all Three, as we see Them
painted, in one Person, after the manner of those pictures, which
represent a body with three faces; and thus it causes such
astonishment in us that we look on it as impossible, and so there is
nobody who dares to think of it; for the understanding is perplexed,
is afraid it may come to doubt the truth, and that robs us of a
great blessing.</p>
<p><a name="r5.8">8</a>. What I have seen is this: Three distinct
Persons each one by Himself visible, and by Himself
speaking. [<a href="#r5note8">8</a>]  And afterwards I have been
thinking that the Son alone took human flesh, whereby this truth is
known.  The Persons love, communicate, and know Themselves.  Then, if
each one is by Himself, how can we say that the Three are one Essence,
and so believe?  That is a most deep truth, and I would die for it a
thousand times.  In the Three Persons there is but one will and one
power and one might; neither can One be without Another: so that of
all created things there is but one sole Creator.  Could the Son
create an ant without the Father?  No; because the power is all one.
The same is to be said of the Holy Ghost.  Thus, there is one God
Almighty, and the Three Persons are one Majesty.  Is it possible to
love the Father without loving the Son and the Holy Ghost? No; for he
who shall please One of the Three pleases the Three Persons; and he
who shall offend One offends All.  Can the Father be without the Son
and without the Holy Ghost?  No; for They are one substance, and where
One is there are the Three; for they cannot be divided.  How, then, is
it that we see the Three Persons distinct? and how is it that the Son,
not the Father, nor the Holy Ghost, took human flesh?  This is what I
have never understood; theologians know it.  I know well that the
Three were there when that marvellous work was done, and I do not busy
myself with much thinking thereon.  All my thinking thereon comes at
once to this: that I see God is almighty, that He has done what He
would, and so can do what He will.  The less I understand it, the more
I believe it, and the greater the devotion it excites in me.  May He
be blessed for ever! Amen.</p>
<p><a name="r5.9">9</a>. If our Lord had not been so gracious with me
as He has been, I do not think I should have had the courage to do
what has been done, nor strength to undergo the labours endured, with
the contradictions and the opinions of men.  And accordingly, since
the beginning of the foundations, I have lost the fears I formerly
had, thinking that I was under delusions,--and I had a conviction that
it was the work of God: having this, I ventured upon difficult things,
though always with advice and under obedience.  I see in this that
when our Lord willed to make a beginning of the Order, and of His
mercy made use of me, His Majesty had to supply all that I was
deficient in, which was everything, in order that the work might be
effected, and that His greatness might be the more clearly revealed
in one so wicked.</p>
<p><a name="r5.10">10</a>. Antiochus was unendurable to himself, and
to those who were about him, because of the stench of his
many sins. [<a href="#r5note9">9</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r5.11">11</a>. Confession is for faults and sins, and not
for virtues, nor for anything of the kind relating to prayer.  These
things are to be treated of out of confession with one who understands
the matter,--and let the prioress see to this; and the nun must
explain the straits she is in, in order that the proper helps may be
found for her; for Cassian says that he who does not know the fact, as
well as he who has never seen or learnt, that men can swim, will
think, when he sees people throw themselves into the river, that they
will all be drowned. [<a href="#r5note10">10</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r5.12">12</a>. Our Lord would have Joseph tell the vision
to his brethren, and have it known, though it was to cost Joseph
so much.</p>
<p><a name="r5.13">13</a>. How the soul has a sense of fear when God
is about to bestow any great grace upon it; that sense is the worship
of the spirit, as that of the four [<a href="#r5note11">11</a>] elders
spoken of in Scripture.</p>
<p><a name="r5.14">14</a>. How, when the faculties are suspended, it
is to be understood that certain matters are suggested to the soul, to
be by it recommended to God; that an angel suggests them, of whom it
is said in the Scriptures that he was burning incense and offering up
the prayers of the saints. [<a href="#r5note12">12</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r5.15">15</a>. How there are no sins where there is no
knowledge; and thus our Lord did not permit the king to sin with the
wife of Abraham, for he thought that she was his sister, not
his wife.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="r5note1">1</a>. 2 Cor. i. 12: <span
lang="la">&#34;Gloria nostra hæc est, testimonium
conscientiæ nostræ.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r5note2">2</a>. See <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John of the Cross, <cite>Mount Carmel</cite>,
bk. ii. ch. v.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r5note3">3</a>. See <cite>Foundations</cite>, ch.
v. § 10.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r5note4">4</a>. Eccl. ix. 1: <span
lang="la">&#34;Nescit homo utrum amore an odio
dignus sit.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r5note5">5</a>. See <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John of the Cross, <cite>Mount Carmel</cite>,
bk. iii. ch. xxxiv.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r5note6">6</a>. The §§ 6, 7, and 8 are the
thirteenth letter of the second volume, ed. Doblado.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r5note7">7</a>. See <a
href="#r3.13"><cite>Relation</cite> iii.
§ 13</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r5note8">8</a>. <abbr title="Antonio">Anton.</abbr>
a Sancto Joseph, in his notes on this passage, is anxious to save the
Thomist doctrine that one of the Divine Persons cannot be seen without
the other, and so he says that the Saint speaks of the Three Persons
as she saw Them--not as They are in Themselves.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r5note9">9</a>. 2 Maccab. ix. 10, 12: <span
lang="la">&#34;Eum nemo poterat propter intolerantiam foetoris
portare, . . . . nec ipse jam foetorem suum
ferre posset.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r5note10">10</a>. Cassian, <cite
lang="la"><abbr title="Collationes">Collat.</abbr></cite> vii. cap.
iv. p. 311: <span lang="la">&#34;Nec enim si quis ignarus natandi,
sciens pondus corporis sui ferre aquarum liquorem non posse,
experimento suæ voluerit imperitiæ definire, neminem penitus posse
liquidis elementis solida carne
circumdatum sustineri.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r5note11">11</a>. <abbr
title="Antonio">Anton.</abbr> a Sancto Joseph says that the Saint
meant to write four-and-twenty, in allusion to Apoc.
iv. 4.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r5note12">12</a>. Apoc. viii. 4.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="r6.0">Relation VI.</a></h3>
<p><big>The Vow of Obedience to Father Gratian Which the Saint Made
in 1575.</big></p>
<p><a name="r6.1">1</a>. In the year 1575, in the month of April, when
I was founding the monastery of Veas, Fra Jerome of the Mother of God
Gratian happened to come thither. [<a href="#r6note1">1</a>]  I began
to go to confession to him from time to time, though not looking upon
him as filling the place of the other confessors I had, so as to be
wholly directed by him.  One day, when I was taking food, but without
any interior recollection whatever, my soul began to be recollected in
such a way that I thought I must fall into a trance; and I had a
vision, that passed away with the usual swiftness, like a meteor.  I
seemed to see close beside me Jesus Christ our Lord, in the form
wherein His Majesty is wont to reveal Himself, with F. Gratian on His
right.  Our Lord took his right hand and mine, and, joining them
together, said to me that He would have me accept him in His place for
my whole life, and that we were both to have one mind in all things,
for so it was fitting.  I was profoundly convinced that this was the
work of God, though I remembered with regret two of my confessors whom
I frequented in turn for a long time, and to whom I owed much; that
one for whom I have a great affection especially caused a terrible
resistance. Nevertheless, not being able to persuade myself that the
vision was a delusion, because it had a great power and influence over
me, and also because it was said to me on two other occasions that I
was not to be afraid, that He wished this,--the words were
different,--I made up my mind at last to act upon them, understanding
it to be our Lord's will, and to follow that counsel so long as I
should live. I had never before so acted with any one, though I had
consulted many persons of great learning and holiness, and who watched
over my soul with great care,--but neither had I received any such
direction as that I should make no change; for as to my confessors, of
some I understood that they would be profitable to me, and so also
of these.</p>
<p><a name="r6.2">2</a>. When I had resolved on this, I found myself
in peace and comfort so great that I was amazed, and assured of our
Lord's will; for I do not think that Satan could fill the soul with
peace and comfort such as this: and so, whenever I think of it, I
praise our Lord, and remember the words, <span lang="la">&#34;posuit
fines tuos pacem,&#34;</span> [<a href="#r6note2">2</a>] and I wish I
could wear myself out in the praises of God.</p>
<p><a name="r6.3">3</a>. It must have been about a month after this my
resolve was made, on the second day after Pentecost, when I was going
to found the monastery in Seville, that we heard Mass in a hermitage
in Ecija, and rested there during the hottest part of the day. Those
who were with me remained in the hermitage while I was by myself in
the sacristy belonging to it.  I began to think of one great grace
which I received of the Holy Ghost, on one of the vigils of His
feast, [<a href="#r6note3">3</a>] and a great desire arose within me
of doing Him some most special service, and I found nothing that was
not already done,--at least, resolved upon,--for all I do must be
faulty; and I remembered that, though I had already made a vow of
obedience, it might be made in greater perfection, and I had an
impression it would be pleasing unto Him if I promised that which I
was already resolved upon, to live under obedience to the
Father-Master, Fr. Jerome.  On the other hand, I seemed to be doing
nothing, because I was already bent on doing it; on the other hand, it
would be a very serious thing, considering that our interior state is
not made known to the superiors who receive our vows, and that they
change, and that, if one is not doing his work well, another comes in
his place; and I believed I should have none of my liberty all my life
long, either outwardly or inwardly, and this constrained me greatly to
abstain from making the vow.  This repugnance of the will made me
ashamed, and I saw that, now I had something I could do for God, I was
not doing it; it was a sad thing for my resolution to serve Him.  The
fact is, that the objection so pressed me, that I do not think I ever
did anything in my life that was so hard--not even my
profession--unless it be that of my leaving my father's house to
become a nun. [<a href="#r6note4">4</a>]  The reason of this was that
I had forgotten my affection for him, and his gifts for directing me;
yea, rather, I was looking on it then as a strange thing, which has
surprised me; feeling nothing but a great fear whether the vow would
be for the service of God or not: and my natural self--which is fond
of liberty--must have been doing its work, though for years now I have
no pleasure in it. But it seemed to me a far other matter to give up
that liberty by a vow, as in truth it is.  After a protracted
struggle, our Lord gave me great confidence; and I saw it was the
better course, the more I felt about it: if I made this promise in
honour of the Holy Ghost, He would be bound to give him light for the
direction of my soul; and I remembered at the same time that our Lord
had given him to me as my guide. Thereupon I fell upon my knees, and,
to render this tribute of service to the Holy Ghost, made a promise to
do whatever he should bid me do while I lived, provided nothing were
required of me contrary to the law of God and the commands of
superiors whom I am more bound to obey.  I adverted to this, that the
obligation did not extend to things of little importance,--as if I
were to be importunate with him about anything, and he bade me cease,
and I neglected his advice and repeated my request,--nor to things
relating to my convenience.  In a word, his commands were not to be
about trifles, done without reflection; and I was not knowingly to
conceal from him my faults and sins, or my interior state; and this,
too, is more than we allow to superiors.  In a word, I promised to
regard him as in the place of God, outwardly and inwardly.  I know not
if it be so, but I seemed to have done a great thing in honour of the
Holy Ghost--at least, it was all I could do, and very little it was in
comparison with what I owe Him.</p>
<p><a name="r6.4">4</a>. I give God thanks, who has created one
capable of this work: I have the greatest confidence that His Majesty
will bestow on him great graces; and I myself am so happy and joyous,
that I seem to be in every way free from myself; and though I thought
that my obedience would be a burden, I have attained to the greatest
freedom.  May our Lord be praised for ever!</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="r6note1">1</a>. See <cite>Foundations</cite>,
ch. xxii.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r6note2">2</a>. Psalm cxlvii. 14: &#34;He hath made
thy borders peace.&#34;</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r6note3">3</a>. Perhaps the Saint refers to what
she has written in her <a href="#l38.11"><cite>Life</cite>,
ch. xxxviii. §§ 11, 12</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r6note4">4</a>. <a
href="#l4.1"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. iv. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="r7.0">Relation VII.</a></h3>
<p><big>Made for Rodrigo Alvarez, S.J., in the Year 1575, According to
Don Vicente de la Fuente; but in 1576, According to the Bollandists
and <abbr title="Father">F.</abbr> Bouix.</big></p>
<p><a name="r7.1">1</a>. This nun took the habit forty years ago, and
from the first began to reflect on the mysteries of the Passion of
Christ our Lord, and on her own sins, for some time every day, without
thinking at all of anything supernatural, but only of created things,
or of such subjects as suggested to her how soon the end of all things
must come, discerning in creatures the greatness of God and His love
for us.</p>
<p><a name="r7.2">2</a>. This made her much more willing to serve Him:
she was never under the influence of fear, and made no account of it,
but had always a great desire to see God honoured, and His glory
increased.  To that end were all her prayers directed, without making
any for herself; for she thought that it mattered little if she had to
suffer in purgatory in exchange for the increase of His glory even in
the slightest degree.</p>
<p><a name="r7.3">3</a>. In this she spent about two-and-twenty years
in great aridities, and never did it enter into her thoughts to desire
anything else; for she regarded herself as one who, she thought, did
not deserve even to think about God, except that His Majesty was very
merciful to her in allowing her to remain in His presence, saying her
prayers, reading also in good books.</p>
<p><a name="r7.4">4</a>. It must be about eighteen years since she
began to arrange about the first monastery of Barefooted Carmelites
which she founded.  It was in Avila, three or two years before,--I
believe it is three,--she began to think that she occasionally heard
interior locutions, and had visions and revelations interiorly.  She
saw with the eyes of the soul, for she never saw anything with her
bodily eyes, nor heard anything with her bodily ears; twice, she
thinks, she heard a voice, but she understood not what was said.  It
was a sort of making things present when she saw these things
interiorly; they passed away like a meteor most frequently.  The
vision, however, remained so impressed on her mind, and produced such
effects, that it was as if she saw those things with her bodily eyes,
and more.</p>
<p><a name="r7.5">5</a>. She was then by nature so very timid, that
she would not dare to be alone even by day, at times.  And as she
could not escape from these visitations, though she tried with all her
might, she went about in very great distress, afraid that it was a
delusion of Satan, and began to consult spiritual men of the Society
of Jesus about it, among whom were Father Araoz, who was Commissary of
the Society, and who happened to go to that place, and Father Francis,
who was Duke of Gandia,--him she consulted
twice; [<a href="#r7note1">1</a>] also a Provincial, now in Rome,
called Gil Gonzalez, and him also who is now Provincial of
Castille,--this latter, however, not so often,--Father Baltasar
Alvarez who is now Rector in Salamanca; and he heard her confession
for six years at this time; also the present Rector of Cuenca, Salazar
by name; the Rector of Segovia, called Santander; the Rector of
Burgos, whose name is Ripalda,--and he thought very ill of her when he
heard of these things, till after he had conversed with her; the
Doctor Paul Hernandez in Toledo, who was a Consultor of the
Inquisition, him who was Rector in Salamanca when she talked to him;
the Doctor Gutierrez, and other fathers, some of the Society, whom she
knew to be spiritual men, these she sought out, if any were in those
places where she went to found monasteries.</p>
<p><a name="r7.6">6</a>. With the Father Fra Peter of Alcantara, who
was a holy man of the Barefooted Friars of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis, she had many communications, and he
it was who insisted so much upon it that her spirit should be regarded
as good.  They were more than six years trying her spirit minutely, as
it is already described at very great
length, [<a href="#r7note2">2</a>] as will be shown hereafter: and she
herself in tears and deep affliction; for the more they tried her, the
more she fell into raptures, and into trances very often,--not,
however, deprived of her senses.</p>
<p><a name="r7.7">7</a>. Many prayers were made, and many Masses were
said, that our Lord would lead her by another
way, [<a href="#r7note3">3</a>] for her fear was very great when she
was not in prayer; though in everything relating to the state of her
soul she was very much better, and a great difference was visible,
there was no vainglory, nor had she any temptation thereto, nor to
pride; on the contrary, she was very much ashamed and confounded when
she saw that people knew of her state, and except with her confessors
or any one who would give her light, she never spoke of these things,
and it was more painful to speak of them than if they had been grave
sins; for it seemed to her that people must laugh at
her, [<a href="#r7note4">4</a>] and that these things were womanish
imaginations, which she had always heard of with disgust.</p>
<p><a name="r7.8">8</a>. About thirteen years ago, more or less, after
the house of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph was founded, into
which she had gone from the other monastery, came the present Bishop
of Salamanca, Inquisitor, I think, of Toledo, previously of Seville,
Soto by name. [<a href="#r7note5">5</a>]  She contrived to have a
conference with him for her greater security, and told him everything.
He replied, that there was nothing in all this that concerned his
office, because everything that she saw and heard confirmed her the
more in the Catholic faith, in which she always was, and is, firm,
with most earnest desires for the honour of God and the good of souls,
willing to suffer death many times for one of them.</p>
<p><a name="r7.9">9</a>. He told her, when he saw how distressed she
was, to give an account of it all, and of her whole life, without
omitting anything, to the Master Avila, who was a man of great
learning in the way of prayer, and to rest content with the answer he
should give.  She did so, and described her sins and her life.  He
wrote to her and comforted her, giving her great security.  The
account I gave was such that all those learned men who saw it--they
were my confessors--said that it was very profitable for instruction
in spiritual things; and they commanded her to make copies of it, and
write another little book [<a href="#r7note6">6</a>] for her
daughters,--she was prioress,--wherein she might give them
some instructions.</p>
<p><a name="r7.10">10</a>. Notwithstanding all this, she was not
without fears at times, for she thought that spiritual men also might
be deceived like herself.  She told her confessor that he might
discuss these things with certain learned men, though they were not
much given to prayer, for she had no other desire but that of knowing
whether what she experienced was in conformity with the sacred
writings or not.  Now and then she took comfort in thinking
that--though she herself, because of her sins, deserved to fall into
delusions--our Lord would not suffer so many good men, anxious to give
her light, to be led into error.</p>
<p><a name="r7.11">11</a>. Having this in view, she began to
communicate with fathers of the Order of the glorious <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic, to which, before these things took
place, she had been to confession--she does not say to them, but to
the Order. [<a href="#r7note7">7</a>]  These are they with whom she
afterwards had relations.  The Father Fra Vicente Barron, at that time
Consultor of the Holy Office, heard her confessions for eighteen
months in Toledo, and he had done so very many years before these
things began.  He was a very learned man.  He reassured her greatly,
as did also the fathers of the Society spoken of before.  All used to
say, If she does not sin against God, and acknowledges her own misery,
what has she to be afraid of?  She confessed to the Father Fra Pedro
Ibaņez, who was reader in Avila; to the Father-Master Fra Dominic
Baņes, who is now in Valladolid as rector of the college of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Gregory, I confessed for six years, and
whenever I had occasion to do so communicated with him by letter; also
to the Master Chaves; to the Father-Master Fra Bartholomew of Medina,
professor in Salamanca, of whom she knew that he thought ill of her;
for she, having heard this, thought that he, better than any other,
could tell her if she was deceived, because he had so little
confidence in her.  This was more than two years ago.  She contrived
to go to confession to him, and gave him a full account of everything
while she remained there; and he saw what she had
written, [<a href="#r7note8">8</a>] for the purpose of attaining to a
better understanding of the matter.  He reassured her so much, and
more than all the rest, and remained her very good friend.</p>
<p><a name="r7.12">12</a>. She went to confession also to Fra Philip
de Meneses, when she founded the monastery of Valladolid, for he was
rector of the college of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Gregory.  He,
having before that heard of her state, had gone to Avila, that he
might speak to her,--it was an act of great charity,--being desirous
of ascertaining whether she was deluded, so that he might enlighten
her, and, if she was not, defend her when he heard her spoken against;
and he was much satisfied.</p>
<p><a name="r7.13">13</a>. She also conferred particularly with
Salinas, Dominican Provincial, a man of great spirituality; with
another licentiate named Lunar, who was prior of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Thomas of Avila; and, in Segovia, with a
reader, Fra Diego de Yangües.</p>
<p><a name="r7.14">14</a>. Of these Dominicans some never failed to
give themselves greatly to prayer, and perhaps all did.  Some others
also she consulted; for in so many years, and because of the fear she
was in, she had opportunities of doing so, especially as she went
about founding monasteries in so many places.  Her spirit was tried
enough, for everybody wished to be able to enlighten her, and thereby
reassured her and themselves.  She always, at all times, wished to
submit herself to whatever they enjoined her, and she was therefore
distressed when, as to these spiritual things, she could not obey
them.  Both her own prayer, and that of the nuns she has established,
are always carefully directed towards the propagation of the faith;
and it was for that purpose, and for the good of her Order, that she
began her first monastery.</p>
<p><a name="r7.15">15</a>. She used to say that, if any of these
things tended to lead her against the Catholic faith and the law of
God, she would not need to seek for learned men nor tests, because she
would see at once that they came from Satan.  She never undertook
anything merely because it came to her in prayer; on the contrary,
when her confessors bade her do the reverse, she did so without being
in the least troubled thereat, and she always told them everything.
For all that they told her that these things came from God, she never
so thoroughly believed them that she could swear to it herself, though
it did seem to her that they were spiritually safe, because of the
effects thereof, and of the great graces which she at times received;
but she always desired virtues more than anything else; and this it is
that she has charged her nuns to desire, saying to them that the most
humble and mortified will be the most spiritual.</p>
<p><a name="r7.16">16</a>. All that is told and written she
communicated to the Father-Master Fra Dominic Baņes, who is now in
Valladolid, and who is the person with whom she has had, and has
still, the most frequent communications.  He sent her writings to the
Holy Office in Madrid, so it is said.  In all this she submits herself
to the Catholic faith and the Roman Church.  Nobody has found fault
with them, because these things are not in the power of any man, and
our Lord does not require what is impossible.</p>
<p><a name="r7.17">17</a>. The reason why so much is known about her
is that, as she was in fear about herself, and described her state to
so many, these talked to one another on the subject and also the
accident that happened to what she had
written. [<a href="#r7note9">9</a>]  This has been to her a very
grievous torment and cross, and has cost her many tears.  She says
that this distress is not the effect of humility, but of the causes
already mentioned. Our Lord seems to have given
permission [<a href="#r7note10">10</a>] for this torture for if one
spoke more harshly of her than others, by little and little he spoke
more kindly of her.</p>
<p><a name="r7.18">18</a>. She took the greatest pains not to submit
the state of her soul to any one who she thought would believe that
these things came from God, for she was instantly afraid that the
devil would deceive them both.  If she saw any one timid about these
things, to him she laid bare her secrets with the greater joy; though
also it gave her pain when, for the purpose of trying her, these
things were treated with contempt, for she thought some were really
from God, and she would not have people, even if they had good cause,
condemn them so absolutely; neither would she have them believe that
all were from God; and because she knew perfectly well that delusion
was possible, therefore it was that she never thought herself
altogether safe in a matter wherein there might be danger.</p>
<p><a name="r7.19">19</a>. She used to strive with all her might never
in any way to offend God, and was always obedient; and by these means
she thought she might obtain her deliverance, by the help of God, even
if Satan were the cause.</p>
<p><a name="r7.20">20</a>. Ever since she became subject to these
supernatural visitations, her spirit is always inclined to seek after
that which is most perfect, and she had almost always a great desire
to suffer; and in the persecutions she underwent, and they were many,
she was comforted, and had a particular affection for her persecutors.
She had a great desire to be poor and lonely, and to depart out of
this land of exile in order to see God.  Through these effects, and
others like them, she began to find peace, thinking that a spirit
which could leave her with these virtues could not be an evil one, and
they who had the charge of her soul said so; but it was a peace that
came from diminished weariness, not from the cessation of fear.</p>
<p><a name="r7.21">21</a>. The spirit she is of never urged her to
make any of these things known, but to be always
obedient. [<a href="#r7note11">11</a>]  As it has been said
already, [<a href="#r7note12">12</a>] she never saw anything with her
bodily eyes, but in a way so subtile and so intellectual that at first
she sometimes thought that all was the effect of imagination; at other
times she could not think so.  These things were not continual, but
occurred for the most part when she was in some trouble: as on one
occasion, when for some days she had to bear unendurable interior
pains, and a restlessness of soul arising out of the fear that she was
deluded by Satan, as it is described at length in the account she has
given of it, [<a href="#r7note13">13</a>] and where her sins, for they
have been so public, are mentioned with the rest: for the fear she was
in made her forget her own good name.</p>
<p><a name="r7.22">22</a>. Being thus in distress such as cannot be
described, at the mere hearing interiorly these
words, [<a href="#r7note14">14</a>] &#34;It is I, be not afraid,&#34;
her soul became so calm, courageous, and confident, that she could not
understand whence so great a blessing had come; for her confessor had
not been able--and many learned men, with many words, had not been
able--to give her that peace and rest which this one word had given
her.  And thus, at other times, some vision gave her strength, for
without that she could not have borne such great trials and
contradictions, together with infirmities without number, and which
she still has to bear, though they are not so many,--for she is never
free from some suffering or other, more or less intense.  Her ordinary
state is constant pain, with many other infirmities, though since she
became a nun they are more troublesome, if she is doing anything in
the service of our Lord.  And the mercies He shows her pass quickly
out of memory, though she often dwells on those mercies,--but she is
not able to dwell so long upon these as upon her sins; these are
always a torment to her, most commonly as filth smelling foully.</p>
<p><a name="r7.23">23</a>. That her sins are so many, and her service
of God so scanty, must be the reason why she is not tempted to
vainglory.  There never was anything in any of these spiritual
visitations that was not wholly pure and clean, nor does she think it
can be otherwise if the spirit be good and the visitations
supernatural, for she utterly neglects the body and never thinks of
it, being wholly intent upon God.</p>
<p><a name="r7.24">24</a>. She is also living in great fear about
sinning against God, and doing His will in all things; this is her
continual prayer.  And she is, she thinks, so determined never to
swerve from this, that there is nothing her confessors might enjoin
her, which she considers to be for the greater honour of our Lord,
that she would not undertake and perform, by the help of our Lord.
And confident that His Majesty helps those who have resolved to
advance His service and glory, she thinks no more of herself and of
her own progress, in comparison with that, than if she did not exist,
so far as she knows herself, and her confessors think so too.</p>
<p><a name="r7.25">25</a>. All that is written in this paper is the
simple truth, and they, and all others who have had anything to do
with her for these twenty years, can justify it.  Most frequently her
spirit urged her to praise God, and she wished that all the world gave
itself up to that, even though it should cost her exceedingly. Hence
the desire she has for the good of souls; and from considering how
vile are the things of this world, and how precious are interior
things, with which nothing can be compared, she has attained to a
contempt of the world.</p>
<p><a name="r7.26">26</a>. As for the vision about which you, my
father, wish to know something, it is of this kind: she sees nothing
either outwardly or inwardly, for the vision is not imaginary: but,
without seeing anything, she understands what it is, and where it is,
more clearly than if she saw it, only nothing in particular presents
itself to her.  She is like a person who feels that another is close
beside her; but because she is in the dark she sees him not, yet is
certain that he is there present.  Still, this comparison is not
exact; for he who is in the dark, in some way or other, through
hearing a noise or having seen that person before, knows he is there,
or knew it before; but here there is nothing of the kind, for without
a word, inward or outward, the soul clearly perceives who it is, where
he is, and occasionally what he means. [<a href="#r7note15">15</a>]
Why, or how, she perceives it, she knoweth not; but so it is; and
while it lasts, she cannot help being aware of it.  And when it is
over,--though she may wish ever so much to retain the image
thereof,--she cannot do it, for it is then clear to her that it would
be, in that case, an act of the imagination, not the vision
itself,--that is not in her power; and so it is with the supernatural
things. And it is from this it comes to pass that he in whom God works
these graces despises himself, and becomes more humble than he was
ever before, for he sees that this is a gift of God, and that he can
neither add to it nor take from it.  The love and the desire become
greater of serving our Lord, who is so mighty that He can do that
which is more than our imagination can conceive here, as there are
things which men, however learned they may be, can never know.
Blessed for ever and ever be He who bestows this! Amen.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="r7note1">1</a>. See <a
href="#l24.4"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxiv.
§ 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note2">2</a>. See <a
href="#l25.18"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxv.
§ 18</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note3">3</a>. See <a
href="#l25.20"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxv. § 20</a>, and <a
href="#l27.1">ch. xxvii. § 1</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note4">4</a>. See <a
href="#l26.5"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxvi.
§ 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note5">5</a>. Don Francisco de Soto y Salazar was
a native of Bonilli de la Sierra, and Vicar-General of the Bishops of
Astorga and Avila, and Canon of Avila; Inquisitor of Cordova, Seville,
and Toledo; Bishop, successively, of Albarracin, Segorve, and
Salamanca.  He died at Merida, in 1576, poisoned, it was suspected, by
the sect of the Illuminati, who were alarmed at his faithful zeal and
holy life (<cite>Palafox</cite>, note to letter 19, vol. i. ed.
Doblado).  &#34;She went to the Inquisitor, Don Francisco Soto de
Salazar--he was afterwards Bishop of Salamanca--and said to him: 'My
lord, I am subject to certain extraordinary processes in prayer, such
as ecstasies, raptures, and revelations, and do not wish to be deluded
or deceived by Satan, or to do anything that is not absolutely safe.
I give myself up to the Inquisition to try me, and examine my ways of
going on, submitting myself to its orders.'  The Inquisitor replied:
'Seņora, the business of the Inquisition is not to try the spirit, nor
to examine ways of prayer, but to correct heretics.  Do you, then,
commit your experience to writing, in all simplicity and truth, and
send it to the Father-Master Avila, who is a man of great spirituality
and learning, and extremely conversant with matters of prayer; and
when you shall have his answer, you may be sure there is nothing to be
afraid of'&#34; (Jerome Gratian, <cite>Lucidario</cite>, <abbr
lang="es" title="capítulo">cap.</abbr> iii.).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note6">6</a>. This book is the <cite>Way of
Perfection</cite>, written by direction of F. Baņes.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note7">7</a>. The Saint had such great affection
for the Order of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Dominic, that she used
to say of herself, &#34;<span lang="es">Yo soy la Dominica</span>
<span lang="la">in passione</span>,&#34; meaning thereby that she was
in her heart a Dominicaness, and a child of the Order
(<cite>Palafox</cite>, note to letter 16, vol. i.
ed. Doblado).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note8">8</a>. When this father had read the
<cite>Life</cite>, he had it copied, with the assent of F. Gratian,
and gave the copy thus made to the Duchess of Alba (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note9">9</a>. See <cite>Foundations</cite>, ch.
xvii. § 12, note.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note10">10</a>. <a
href="#l23.15"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxiii.
§ 15</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note11">11</a>. <a
href="#l26.5"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxvi. § 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note12">12</a>. <a
href="#r7.4">§ 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note13">13</a>. <a
href="#l25.19"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxv.
§ 19</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note14">14</a>. <a
href="#l25.22"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxv.
§ 22</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r7note15">15</a>. See <a
href="#l27.5"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxvii.
§ 5</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="r8.0">Relation VIII.</a></h3>
<p><big>Addressed to F. Rodrigo Alvarez.</big></p>
<p><a name="r8.1">1</a>. These interior things of the spirit are so
difficult to describe, and, still more, in such a way as to be
understood,--the more so as they pass quickly away,--that, if
obedience did not help me, it would be a chance if I succeeded,
especially in such difficult things.  I implore you, my father, to
take for granted that it is not in my mind to think this to be
correct, for it may well be that I do not understand the matter; but
what I can assure you of is this, that I will speak of nothing I have
not had experience of at times, and, indeed, often.</p>
<p><a name="r8.2">2</a>. I think it will please you, my father, if I
begin by discussing that which is at the root of supernatural things;
for that which relates to devotion, tenderness, tears, and
meditations, which is in our power here to acquire by the help of our
Lord, is understood.</p>
<p><a name="r8.3">3</a>. The first prayer of which I was
conscious,--in my opinion, supernatural,--so I call that which no
skill or effort of ours, however much we labour, can attain to, though
we should prepare ourselves for it, and that preparation must be of
great service,--is a certain interior
recollection [<a href="#r8note1">1</a>] of which the soul is sensible;
the soul seems to have other senses within itself then, which bear
some likeness to the exterior senses it possesses; and thus the soul,
withdrawing into itself, seeks to go away from the tumult of its
outward senses, and accordingly it drags them away with itself; for it
closes the eyes on purpose that it may neither see, nor hear, nor
understand anything but that whereon the soul is then intent, which is
to be able to converse with God alone.  In this prayer there is no
suspension of the faculties and powers of the soul; it retains the
full use of them; but the use of them is retained that they may be
occupied with God.  This will be easily understood by him whom our
Lord shall have raised to this state; but by him whom He has not, not;
at least, such a one will have need of many words
and illustrations.</p>
<p><a name="r8.4">4</a>. Out of this recollection grow a certain
quietude and inward peace most full of comfort; for the soul is in
such a state that it does not seem to it that it wants anything; for
even speaking wearies it,--I mean by this, vocal prayer and
meditation; it would do nothing but love.  This lasts some time, and
even a long time.</p>
<p><a name="r8.5">5</a>. Out of this prayer comes usually what is
called a sleep of the faculties; but they are not so absorbed nor so
suspended as that it can be called a trance; nor is it
altogether union.</p>
<p><a name="r8.6">6</a>. Sometimes, and even often, the soul is aware
that the will alone is in union; and this it sees very clearly,--that
is, it seems so to it.  The will is wholly intent upon God, and the
soul sees that it has no power to rest on, or do, anything else; and
at the same time the two other faculties are at liberty to attend to
other matters of the service of God,--in a word, Martha and Mary are
together. [<a href="#r8note2">2</a>]  I asked Father
Francis [<a href="#r8note3">3</a>] if this was a delusion, for it made
me stupid; and his reply was, that it often happened.</p>
<p><a name="r8.7">7</a>. When all the faculties of the soul are in
union, it is a very different state of things; for they can then do
nothing whatever, because the understanding is as it were surprised.
The will loves more than the understanding knows; but the
understanding does not know that the will loves, nor what it is doing,
so as to be able in any way to speak of it.  As to the memory, the
soul, I think, has none then, nor any power of thinking, nor are the
senses awake, but rather as lost, so that the soul may be the more
occupied with the object of its fruition: so it seems to me.  They are
lost but for a brief interval; it passes quickly away.  By the wealth
of humility, and other virtues and desires, left in the soul after
this may be learnt how great the blessing is that flows from this
grace, but it cannot be told what it is; for, though the soul applies
itself to the understanding of it, it can neither understand nor
explain it.  This, if it be real, is, in my opinion, the greatest
grace wrought by our Lord on this spiritual road,--at least, it is one
of the greatest.</p>
<p><a name="r8.8">8</a>. Raptures and trance, in my opinion, are all
one, only I am in the habit of using the word trance instead of
rapture, because the latter word frightens people; and, indeed, the
union of which I am speaking may also be called a trance.  The
difference between union and trance is this, that the latter lasts
longer and is more visible outwardly, because the breathing gradually
diminishes, so that it becomes impossible to speak or to open the
eyes; and though this very thing occurs when the soul is in union,
there is more violence in a trance for the natural warmth vanishes, I
know not how, when the rapture is deep; and in all these kinds of
prayer there is more or less of this.  When it is deep, as I was
saying, the hands become cold, and sometimes stiff and straight as
pieces of wood; as to the body, if the rapture comes on when it is
standing or kneeling, it remains so; [<a href="#r8note4">4</a>] and the
soul is so full of the joy of that which our Lord is setting before
it, that it seems to forget to animate the body, and abandons it.  If
the rapture lasts, the nerves are made to feel it.</p>
<p><a name="r8.9">9</a>. It seems to me that our Lord will have the
soul know more of that, the fruition of which it has, in a trance than
in union, and accordingly in a rapture the soul receives most commonly
certain revelations of His Majesty, and the effects thereof on the
soul are great,--a forgetfulness of self, through the longing it has
that God our Lord, who is so high, may be known and praised.  In my
opinion, if the rapture be from God, the soul cannot fail to obtain a
deep conviction of its own helplessness, and of its wretchedness and
ingratitude, in that it has not served Him who, of His own goodness
only, bestows upon it graces so great; for the feeling and the
sweetness are so high above all things that may be compared therewith
that, if the recollection of them did not pass away, all the
satisfactions of earth would be always loathsome to it; and hence
comes the contempt for all the things of the world.</p>
<p><a name="r8.10">10</a>. The difference between trance and
transport [<a href="#r8note5">5</a>] is this,--in a trance the soul
gradually dies to outward things, losing the senses and living unto
God.  A transport comes on by one sole act of His Majesty, wrought in
the innermost part of the soul with such swiftness that it is as if
the higher part thereof were carried away, and the soul leaving the
body.  Accordingly it requires courage at first to throw itself into
the arms of our Lord, that He may take it whithersoever He will; for,
until His Majesty establishes it in peace there whither He is pleased
to take it--by take it I mean the admitting of it to the knowledge of
deep things--it certainly requires in the beginning to be firmly
resolved to die for Him, because the poor soul does not know what this
means--that is, at first.  The virtues, as it seems to me, remain
stronger after this, for there is a growth in detachment, and the
power of God, who is so mighty, is the more known, so that the soul
loves and fears Him.  For so it is, He carries away the soul, no
longer in our power, as the true Lord thereof, which is filled with a
deep sorrow for having offended Him, and astonishment that it ever
dared to offend a Majesty so great, with an exceedingly earnest desire
that none may henceforth offend Him, and that all may praise Him.
This, I think, must be the source of those very fervent desires for
the salvation of souls, and for some share therein, and for the due
praising of God.</p>
<p><a name="r8.11">11</a>. The flight of the spirit--I know not how to
call it--is a rising upwards from the very depths of the soul.  I
remember only this comparison, and I made use of it before, as you
know, my father, in that writing where these and other ways of prayer
are explained at length, [<a href="#r8note6">6</a>] and such is my
memory that I forget things at once.  It seems to me that soul and
spirit are one and the same thing; but only as a fire, if it is great
and ready for burning; so, like fire burning rapidly, the soul, in
that preparation of itself which is the work of God, sends up a
flame,--the flame ascends on high, but the fire thereof is the same as
that below, nor does the flame cease to be fire because it ascends: so
here, in the soul, something so subtile and so swift, seems to issue
from it, that ascends to the higher part, and goes thither whither our
Lord wills.  I cannot go further with the explanation; it seems a
flight, and I know of nothing else wherewith to compare it: I know
that it cannot be mistaken, for it is most evident when it occurs, and
that it cannot be hindered.</p>
<p><a name="r8.12">12</a>. This little bird of the spirit seems to
have escaped out of this wretchedness of the flesh, out of the prison
of this body, and now, disentangled therefrom, is able to be the more
intent on that which our Lord is giving it.  The flight of the spirit
is something so fine, of such inestimable worth, as the soul perceives
it, that all delusion therein seems impossible, or anything of the
kind, when it occurs.  It was afterwards that fear arose, because she
who received this grace was so wicked; for she saw what good reasons
she had to be afraid of everything, though in her innermost soul there
remained an assurance and a confidence wherein she was able to live,
but not enough to make her cease from the anxiety she was in not to
be deceived.</p>
<p><a name="r8.13">13</a>. By impetus I mean that desire which at
times rushes into the soul, without being preceded by prayer, and this
is most frequently the case; it is a sudden remembering that the soul
is away from God, or of a word it has heard to that effect.  This
remembering is occasionally so strong and vehement that the soul in a
moment becomes as if the reason were gone, just like a person who
suddenly hears most painful tidings of which he knew not before, or is
surprised; such a one seems deprived of the power of collecting his
thoughts for his own comfort, and is as one lost.  So is it in this
state, except that the suffering arises from this, that there abides
in the soul a conviction that it would be well worth dying in it.  It
seems that whatever the soul then perceives does but increase its
suffering, and that our Lord will have its whole being find no comfort
in anything, nor remember that it is His will that it should live: the
soul seems to itself to be in great and indescribable loneliness, and
abandoned of all, because the world, and all that is in it, gives it
pain; and because it finds no companionship in any created thing, the
soul seeks its Creator alone, and this it sees to be impossible unless
it dies; and as it must not kill itself, it is dying to die, and there
is really a risk of death, and it sees itself hanging between heaven
and earth, not knowing what to do with itself.  And from time to time
God gives it a certain knowledge of Himself, that it may see what it
loses, in a way so strange that no explanation of it is possible; and
there is no pain in the world--at least I have felt none--that is
equal or like unto this, for if it lasts but half an hour the whole
body is out of joint, and the bones so racked, that I am not able to
write with my hands: the pains I endure are
most grievous. [<a href="#r8note7">7</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r8.14">14</a>. But nothing of all this is felt till the
impetus shall have passed away.  He to whom it comes has enough to do
in enduring that which is going on within him, nor do I believe that
he would feel if he were grievously tortured: he is in possession of
all his senses, can speak, and even observe; walk about he
cannot,--the great blow of that love throws him down to the ground.
If we were to die to have this, it would be of no use, for it cannot
be except when God sends it.  It leaves great effects and blessings in
the soul. Some learned men say that it is this, others that it is
that, but no one condemns it.  The Father-Master d'Avila wrote to me
and said it was good, and so say all.  The soul clearly understands
that it is a great grace from our Lord; were it to occur more
frequently, life would not last long.</p>
<p><a name="r8.15">15</a>. The ordinary impetus is, that this desire
of serving God comes on with a certain tenderness, accompanied with
tears, out of a longing to depart from this land of exile; but as the
soul retains its freedom, wherein it reflects that its living on is
according to our Lord's will, it takes comfort in that thought, and
offers its life to Him, beseeching Him that it may last only for His
glory.  This done, it bears all.</p>
<p><a name="r8.16">16</a>. Another prayer very common is a certain
kind of wounding; [<a href="#r8note8">8</a>] for it really seems to
the soul as if an arrow were thrust through the heart, or through
itself.  Thus it causes great suffering, which makes the soul
complain; but the suffering is so sweet, that it wishes it never would
end.  The suffering is not one of sense, neither is the wound
physical; it is in the interior of the soul, without any appearance of
bodily pain; but as I cannot explain it except by comparing it with
other pains, I make use of these clumsy expressions,--for such they
are when applied to this suffering.  I cannot, however, explain it in
any other way.  It is, therefore, neither to be written of nor spoken
of, because it is impossible for any one to understand it who has not
had experience of it,--I mean, how far the pain can go; for the pains
of the spirit are very different from those of earth.  I gather,
therefore, from this, that the souls in hell and purgatory suffer more
than we can imagine, by considering these pains of the body.</p>
<p><a name="r8.17">17</a>. At other times, this wound of love seems to
issue from the inmost depth of the soul; great are the effects of it;
and when our Lord does not inflict it, there is no help for it,
whatever we may do to obtain it; nor can it be avoided when it is His
pleasure to inflict it.  The effects of it are those longings after
God, so quick and so fine that they cannot be described and when the
soul sees itself hindered and kept back from entering, as it desires,
on the fruition of God, it conceives a great loathing for the body, on
which it looks as a thick wall which hinders it from that fruition
which it then seems to have entered upon within itself, and unhindered
by the body.  It then comprehends the great evil that has befallen us
through the sin of Adam in robbing us of
this liberty. [<a href="#r8note9">9</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r8.18">18</a>. This prayer I had before the raptures and
the great impetuosities I have been speaking of.  I forgot to say that
these great impetuosities scarcely ever leave me, except through a
trance or great sweetness in our Lord, whereby He comforts the soul,
and gives it courage to live on for His sake.</p>
<p><a name="r8.19">19</a>. All this that I speak of cannot be the
effect of the imagination; and I have some reasons for saying this,
but it would be wearisome to enter on them: whether it be good or not
is known to our Lord.  The effects thereof, and how it profits the
soul, pass all comprehension, as it seems to me.</p>
<p><a name="r8.20">20</a>. I see clearly that the Persons are
distinct, as I saw it yesterday when you, my father, were talking to
the Father Provincial; only I saw nothing, and heard nothing, as, my
father, I have already told you.  But there is a strange certainty
about it, though the eyes of the soul see nothing; and when the
presence is withdrawn, that withdrawal is felt.  How it is, I know
not; but I do know very well that it is not an imagination, because I
cannot reproduce the vision when it is over, even if I were to perish
in the effort; but I have tried to do so.  So is it with all that I
have spoken of here, so far as I can see; for, as I have been in this
state for so many years, I have been able to observe, so that I can
say so with this confidence.  The truth is,--and you, my father,
should attend to this,--that, as to the Person who always speaks, I
can certainly say which of Them He seems to me to be; of the others I
cannot say so much.  One of Them I know well has never spoken.  I
never knew why, nor do I busy myself in asking more of God than He is
pleased to give, because in that case, I believe, I should be deluded
by Satan, at once; nor will I ask now, because of the fear I
am in.</p>
<p><a name="r8.21">21</a>. I think the First spoke to me at times; but
as I do not remember that very well now, nor what it was that He
spoke, I will not venture to say so.  It is all written,--you, my
father, know where,--and more at large than it is here; I know not
whether in the same words or not. [<a href="#r8note10">10</a>]  Though
the Persons are distinct in a strange way, the soul knows One only
God.  I do not remember that our Lord ever seemed to speak to me but
in His Human Nature; and--I say it again--I can assure you that this
is no imagination.</p>
<p><a name="r8.22">22</a>. What, my father, you say about the water, I
know not; nor have I heard where the earthly paradise is.  I have
already said that I cannot but listen to what our Lord tells me; I
hear it because I cannot help myself; but, as for asking His Majesty
to reveal anything to me, that is what I have never done.  In that
case, I should immediately think I was imagining things, and that I
must be in a delusion of Satan.  God be praised, I have never been
curious about things, and I do not care to know more than I
do. [<a href="#r8note11">11</a>]  What I have learnt, without seeking
to learn, as I have just said, has been a great trouble to me, though
it has been the means, I believe, which our Lord made use of to save
me, seeing that I was so wicked; good people do not need so much to
make them serve His Majesty.</p>
<p><a name="r8.23">23</a>. I remember another way of prayer which I
had before the one I mentioned first,--namely, a presence of God,
which is not a vision at all.  It seems that any one, if he recommends
himself to His Majesty, even if he only prays vocally, finds Him;
every one, at all times, can do this, if we except seasons of aridity.
May He grant I may not by my own fault lose mercies so great, and may
He have compassion on me!</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="r8note1">1</a>. <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>, iv.
ch. iii.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r8note2">2</a>. See <a
href="#l17.5"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xvii.
§ 5</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r8note3">3</a>. Compare <a
href="#l24.4"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxiv.
§ 4</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r8note4">4</a>. See <a
href="#l20.23"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xx.
§ 23</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r8note5">5</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;Arrobamiento
y arrebatamiento.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r8note6">6</a>. See <a
href="#l20.0"><cite>Life</cite>, chs. xx.</a> and <a
href="#l21.0">xxi</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r8note7">7</a>. <a
href="#l20.16"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xx. § 16</a>;
<cite>Inner Fortress</cite>, vi. c. xi.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r8note8">8</a>. See <a
href="#l29.17"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxix.
§ 17</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r8note9">9</a>. See <a
href="#l17.9"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xvii.
§ 9</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r8note10">10</a>. See <a
href="#r3.6"><cite>Relation</cite>, iii.
§ 6</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r8note11">11</a>. See <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> John of the Cross, <cite>Ascent
of Mount Carmel</cite>, bk. ii. ch. xxii.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="r9.0">Relation IX.</a></h3>
<p><big>Of Certain Spiritual Graces She Received in Toledo and Avila
in the Years 1576 and 1577.</big></p>
<p><a name="r9.1">1</a>. I had begun to go to confession to a certain
person [<a href="#r9note1">1</a>] in the city wherein I am at present
staying, when he, though he had much good will towards me, and always
has had since he took upon himself the charge of my soul, ceased to
come here; and one night, when I was in prayer, and thinking how he
failed me, I understood that God kept him from coming because it was
expedient for me to treat of the affairs of my soul with a certain
person on the spot. [<a href="#r9note2">2</a>]  I was distressed
because I had to form new relations--it might be he would not
understand me, and would disturb me--and because I had a great
affection for him who did me this charity, though I was always
spiritually content when I saw or heard the latter preach; also, I
thought it would not do because of his many occupations.  Our Lord
said to me: &#34;I will cause him to hear and understand thee.  Make
thyself known unto him; it will be some relief to thee in thy
troubles.&#34;  The latter part was addressed to me, I think, because
I was then so worn out by the absence of God.  His Majesty also said
that He saw very well the trouble I was in; but it could not be
otherwise while I lived in this land of exile: all was for my good;
and he comforted me greatly.  So it has been: he comforts me, and
seeks opportunities to do so; he has understood me, and given me great
relief; he is a most learned and holy man.</p>
<p><a name="r9.2">2</a>. One day,--it was the Feast of the
Presentation,--I was praying earnestly to God for a certain person,
and thinking that after all the possession of property and of freedom
was unfitting for that high sanctity which I wished him to attain to;
I reflected on his weak health, and on the spiritual health which he
communicated to souls; and I heard these words: &#34;He serves Me
greatly; but the great thing is to follow Me stripped of everything,
as I was on the cross.  Tell him to trust in Me.&#34; These last words
were said because I thought he could not, with his weak health, attain
to such perfection.</p>
<p><a name="r9.3">3</a>. Once, when I was thinking of the pain it was
to me to eat meat and do no penance, I understood that there was at
times more of self-love in that feeling than of a desire
for penance.</p>
<p><a name="r9.4">4</a>. Once, when I was in great distress because of
my offences against God, He said to me: &#34;All thy sins in My sight
are as if they were not.  For the future, be strong; for thy troubles
are not over.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r9.5">5</a>. One day, in prayer, I felt my soul in God in
such a way that it seemed to me as if the world did not exist, I was
so absorbed in Him.  He made me then understand that verse of the
<cite lang="la">Magnificat</cite>, <span lang="la">&#34;Et exultavit
spiritus meus,&#34;</span> so that I can never forget it.</p>
<p><a name="r9.6">6</a>. Once, when I was thinking how people sought
to destroy this monastery of the Barefooted Carmelites, and that they
purposed, perhaps, to bring about the destruction of them all by
degrees, I heard: &#34;They do purpose it; nevertheless, they will
never see it done, but very much the reverse.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r9.7">7</a>. Once, in deep recollection, I was praying to
God for Eliseus; [<a href="#r9note3">3</a>] I heard this: &#34;He is My
true son; I will never fail him,&#34; or to that effect; but I am not
sure of the latter words.</p>
<p><a name="r9.8">8</a>. Having one day conversed with a person who
had given up much for God, and calling to mind that I had given up
nothing for Him, and had never served Him in anything, as I was bound
to do, and then considering the many graces He had wrought in my soul,
I began to be exceedingly weary; and our Lord said to me: &#34;Thou
knowest of the betrothal between thee and Myself, and therefore all I
have is thine; and so I give thee all the labours and sorrows I
endured, and thou canst therefore ask of My Father as if they were
thine.&#34;  Though I have heard that we are partakers
therein, [<a href="#r9note4">4</a>] now it was in a way so different
that it seemed as if I had become possessed of a great principality;
for the affection with which He wrought this grace cannot be
described.  The Father seemed to ratify the gift; and from that time
forth I look at our Lord's Passion in a very different light, as on
something that belongs to me; and that gives me
great comfort. [<a href="#r9note5">5</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r9.9">9</a>. On the Feast of the Magdalene, when thinking
of the great love I am bound to have for our Lord, according to the
words He spoke to, me in reference to this Saint, and having great
desires to imitate her, our Lord was very gracious unto me, and said,
I was to be henceforward strong; for I had to serve Him more than I
had hitherto done. [<a href="#r9note6">6</a>]  He filled me with a
desire not to die so soon, that I might have the time to occupy myself
therein; and I remained with a great resolution to suffer.</p>
<p><a name="r9.10">10</a>. On one occasion, I understood how our Lord
was in all things, and how He was in the soul; and the illustration of
a sponge filled with water was suggested to me.</p>
<p><a name="r9.11">11</a>. When my brothers came,--and I owe so much
to one of them, [<a href="#r9note7">7</a>]--I remained in conversation
with him concerning his soul and his affairs, which wearied and
distressed me; and as I was offering this up to our Lord, and thinking
that I did it all because I was under obligations to him, I remembered
that by our Constitutions [<a href="#r9note8">8</a>] we are commanded
to separate ourselves from our kindred, and I was set thinking whether
I was under any obligation, our Lord said to me: &#34;No, My daughter;
the regulations of the Order must be only in conformity with My
law.&#34; The truth is, that the end of the Constitutions is, that we
are not to be attached to our kindred; and to converse with them, as
it seems to me, is rather wearisome, and it is painful to have
anything to do with them.</p>
<p><a name="r9.12">12</a>. After Communion, on <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Augustine's Day, I understood, and, as it
were, saw,--I cannot tell how, unless it was by an intellectual vision
which passed rapidly away,--how the Three Persons of the most Holy
Trinity, whom I have always imprinted in my soul, are One.  This was
revealed in a representation so strange, and in a light so clear, that
the impression made upon me was very different from that which I have
by faith.  From that time forth I have never been able to think of One
of the Three Divine Persons without thinking of the Three; so that
to-day, when I was considering how, the Three being One, the Son alone
took our flesh upon Him, our Lord showed me how, though They are One,
They are also distinct. These are marvels which make the soul desire
anew to be rid of the hindrances which the body interposes between it
and the fruition of them.  Though this passes away in a moment, there
remains a gain to the soul incomparably greater than any it might have
made by meditation during many years; and all without knowing how
it happens.</p>
<p><a name="r9.13">13</a>. I have a special joy on the Feast of our Lady's
Nativity.  When this day was come, I thought it would be well to renew
our vows; and thereupon I saw our Lady, by an illuminative vision; and
it seemed as if we made them before her and that they were pleasing
unto her.  I had this vision constantly for some days, and our Lady
was by me on my left hand.  One day, after Communion, it seemed to me
that my soul was really one with the most Holy Body of our Lord, then
present before me; and that wrought a great work and blessing
in me.</p>
<p><a name="r9.14">14</a>. I was once thinking whether I was to be
sent to reform a certain monastery; [<a href="#r9note9">9</a>] and,
distressed at it, I heard: &#34;What art thou afraid of?  What canst
thou lose?--only thy life, which thou hast so often offered to Me.  I
will help thee.&#34;  This was in prayer, which was of such a nature
as to ease my soul exceedingly.</p>
<p><a name="r9.15">15</a>. Once, having a desire to render some
service to our Lord, I considered that I could serve Him but poorly,
and said to myself: &#34;Why, O Lord, dost Thou desire my works?&#34;
And He answered: &#34;To see thy good will, My child.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r9.16">16</a>. Once our Lord gave me light in a matter
that I was very glad to understand, and I immediately forgot it, so
that I was never able to call it again to mind; and so, when I was
trying to remember it, I heard: &#34;Thou knowest now that I speak to
thee from time to time.  Do not omit to write down what I say; for,
though it may not profit thee, it may be that it will profit
others.&#34;  As I was thinking whether I, for my sins, had to be of
use to others, and be lost myself, He said to me: &#34;Have
no fear.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r9.17">17</a>. I was once recollected in that
companionship which I ever have in my soul, and it seemed to me that
God was present therein in such a way that I remembered how <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter said: &#34;Thou art Christ, the Son of
the living God;&#34; [<a href="#r9note10">10</a>] for the living God
was in my soul.  This is not like other visions, for it overpowers
faith; so that it is impossible to doubt of the indwelling of the
Trinity in our souls, by presence, power, and essence.  To know this
truth is of the very highest gain; and as I stood amazed to see His
Majesty in a thing so vile as my soul, I heard: &#34;It is not vile,
My child, for it is made in My image.&#34; [<a href="#r9note11">11</a>]
I also learnt something of the reason why God delights in souls more
than in any other creatures: it is so subtile that, though the
understanding quickly comprehended it, I cannot tell it.</p>
<p><a name="r9.18">18</a>. When I was in such distress, because of the
troubles of our father, [<a href="#r9note12">12</a>] that I had no
rest, and after Communion one day was making most earnestly my
petition to our Lord that, as He had given him to me, I might not lose
him, He said to me: &#34;Have no fear.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r9.19">19</a>. Once, with that presence of the Three
Persons which I have in my soul, I was in light so clear that no doubt
of the presence of the true and living God was possible; and I then
came to the knowledge of things which afterwards I could not speak of.
One of these things was, how the person of the Son only took human
flesh.  I cannot, as I have just said, explain it at all; for some of
these things were wrought in the secret recesses of the soul, and the
understanding seems to grasp them only as one who is in his sleep, or
half awake, thinks he comprehends what is told him.  I was thinking
how hard it was to remain alive, seeing that it was living on that
robbed us of that marvellous companionship; and so I said to myself:
&#34;O Lord, show me some way whereby I may bear this life!&#34;  He
said unto me: &#34;Think, my child, when life is over, thou canst not
serve Me as thou art serving Me now, and eat for Me, and sleep for Me.
Whatsoever thou doest, let it be done for Me as if thou wert no longer
living, but I; for that is what <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul said.&#34; [<a href="#r9note13">13</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r9.20">20</a>. Once, after Communion, I saw how His Father
within our soul accepts the most Holy Body of Christ.  I have
understood and seen how the Divine Persons are there, and how pleasing
is this offering of His Son, because He has His joy and delight in
Him, so to speak, here on earth; for it is not the Humanity only that
is with us in our, souls, but the Divinity as well, and thus is it so
pleasing and acceptable unto Him, and gives us graces so great.  I
understood also that He accepts the sacrifice, though the priest be in
sin; but then the grace of it is not communicated to his soul as it is
to their souls who are in a state of grace: not that the inflowings of
grace, which proceed from this Communion wherein the Father accepts
the sacrifice, cease to flow in their strength, but because of his
fault who has to receive them; as it is not the fault of the sun that
it does not illumine a lump of pitch, when its rays strike it as it
illumines a globe of crystal.  If I could now describe it, I should be
better understood; it is a great matter to know this, because there
are grand secrets within us when we are at Communion.  It is sad that
these bodies of ours do not allow us to have the fruition thereof.</p>
<p><a name="r9.21">21</a>. During the Octave of All
Saints, [<a href="#r9note14">14</a>] I had two or three days of
exceeding anguish, the result of my remembrance of my great sins, and
I was also in great dread of persecutions, which had no foundation
except that great accusations were brought against me, and all my
resolutions to suffer anything for God failed me: though I sought to
encourage myself, and made corresponding acts, and saw that all would
be a great pain for me, it was to little purpose, for the fear never
left me.  It was a sharp warfare.  I came across a letter, in which my
good father [<a href="#r9note15">15</a>] had written that <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul said that our God does not suffer us to
be tempted beyond our power to bear. [<a href="#r9note16">16</a>]  This
was a very great relief to me, but was not enough; yea, rather, on the
next day I was in great distress at his absence, for I had no one to
go to in this trouble, for I seemed to be living in great loneliness.
And it added to my grief to see that I now find no one but he who can
comfort me, and he must be more than ever away, which is a very
sore trouble.</p>
<p><a name="r9.22">22</a>. The next night after this, reading in a
book, I found another saying of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Paul,
with which I began to be comforted; and being slightly recollected, I
remained thinking how I had our Lord before present within me, so that
I truly saw Him to be the living God.  While thinking on this He spoke
to me, and I saw Him in my inmost being, as it were beside my heart,
in an intellectual vision; His words were: &#34;I am here, only I will
have thee see how little thou canst do without Me.&#34;  I was on the
instant reassured, and my fears left me; and while at Matins that very
night our Lord Himself, in an intellectual vision so clear as to seem
almost imaginary, laid Himself in my arms, as He is painted in the
pictures of our Lady of Anguish. [<a href="#r9note17">17</a>]  The
vision made me very much afraid, for it was so clear, and so close to
me, that it made me think whether it was an illusion or not.  He said
to me, &#34;Be not afraid of it, for the union of My Father with thy
soul is incomparably closer than this.&#34;  The vision has remained
with me till now.  What I have said of our Lord continued more than a
month: now it has left me.</p>
<p><a name="r9.23">23</a>. I was one night in great distress, because
it was then a long time since I had heard anything of my
father; [<a href="#r9note18">18</a>] and, moreover, he was not well the
last time he wrote to me.  However, my distress was not so great as
that I felt before, for I had hopes, and distress like that I never
was in since; but still my anxiety hindered my prayer.  He appeared to
me on the instant; it could not have been the effect of imagination,
for I saw a light within me, and himself coming by the way joyous,
with a face all fair.  It must have been the light I saw that made his
face fair, for all the saints in heaven seem so; and I considered
whether it be the light and splendour proceeding from our Lord that
render them thus fair.  I heard this: &#34;Tell him to begin at once
without fear, for the victory is his.&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r9.24">24</a>. One day, after he came, when I was at night
giving thanks to our Lord for the many mercies He had given unto me,
He said to me: &#34;O my child, what canst thou ask that I have
not done?&#34;</p>
<p><a name="r9.25">25</a>. Our Lord said to me one day, in the
monastery of Veas, that I was to present my petition to Him, for I was
His bride.  He promised to grant whatever I might ask of Him, and, as
a pledge, gave me a very beautiful ring, with a stone set in it like
an amethyst, but of a brilliancy very unlike, which He put on my
finger.  I write this to my own confusion, considering the goodness of
God, and my wretched life; for I have deserved hell.  Ah! my
daughters, pray to God for me, and be devout to <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, who can do much.  This folly I
write . . . folly I write. . . .</p>
<p><a name="r9.26">26</a>. On the eve of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Laurence, at Communion, I was so distracted
and dissipated in mind, that I had no power over it, and began to envy
those who dwell in desert places; thinking that, as they see and hear
nothing, they are exempt from distractions.  I heard this: &#34;Thou
art greatly deceived, My daughter; on the contrary, the temptations of
Satan are more violent there.  Have patience while life lasts, it
cannot be helped.&#34;  While dwelling on this, I became suddenly
recollected, and I saw a great light within me, so that I thought I
was in another world, and my spirit found itself interiorly in a
forest and in a garden of delights, which made me remember those words
of the Canticle: [<a href="#r9note19">19</a>] <span
lang="la">&#34;Veniat dilectus meus in hortum suum.&#34;</span>  I saw
my Eliseus [<a href="#r9note20">20</a>] there, not at all swarthy, but
in strange beauty: around his head was a garland of precious stones; a
multitude of damsels went before him with palms in their hands, all
singing hymns of praise unto God.  I did nothing but open my eyes, to
see whether I could not distract myself from the vision, but that
failed to divert my attention; and I thought there was music
also,--the singing of birds and of angels,--which filled my soul with
joy, though I did not hear any.  My soul was in joy, and did not
consider that there was nobody else there.  I heard these words:
&#34;He has merited to be among you, and all this rejoicing which thou
beholdest will take place on the day he shall set aside for the honour
of My Mother; [<a href="#r9note21">21</a>] and do thou make haste, if
thou wouldst reach the place where he is.&#34;  This vision lasted
more than an hour and a half.  In this respect--differently from my
other visions--I could not turn away from it, and it filled me with
delight.  The effect of the vision was a great affection for Eliseus,
and a more frequent thinking of him in that beauty.  I have had a fear
of its being a temptation, for work of the imagination it could not
possibly be. [<a href="#r9note22">22</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r9.27">27</a>. The day after the presentation of the
Brief, [<a href="#r9note23">23</a>] as I was in the most eager
expectation, which utterly disturbed me, so that I could not even
pray,--for I had been told that our father was in great straits
because they would not let him come away, and that there was a great
tumult,--I heard these words: &#34;O woman of little faith, be quiet;
everything is going on perfectly well.&#34;  It was the Feast of the
Presentation of our Lady, in the year 1575.  I resolved within myself,
if our Lady obtained from her Son that we might see ourselves and our
father free of these friars, to ask him to order the solemn
celebration of that feast every year in our monasteries of the
Barefooted Carmelites.  When I made this resolution, I did not
remember what I had heard in a former vision, that he would establish
this solemnity.  Now, in reading again this little paper, I think this
must be the feast referred to. [<a href="#r9note24">24</a>]</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="r9note1">1</a>. F. Yepes, then prior of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Jerome's, Toledo (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note2">2</a>. Don Alonzo Velasquez, canon of
Toledo, to whom <a href="#r11.0">Relation xi.</a> is addressed.
The Saint speaks of this in a letter to Fra Gratian in 1576.  The
letter is numbered 82 in the edition of Don Vicente, and 23 in the
fourth volume of the edition of Doblado.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note3">3</a>. Fra Jerome Gratian (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note4">4</a>. 1 <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Peter iv. 13: <span lang="la">&#34;Communicantes Christi
passionibus, gaudete.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note5">5</a>. This took place in 1575, when she
was going to found her monastery in Seville (<cite>Ribera</cite>, l.
iv. c. v. n. 110).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note6">6</a>. See <a href="#r9.4">§ 4</a>,
above.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note7">7</a>. This was in 1575, when the Saint
was founding the monastery of Seville; and the brother was Don
Lorenzo, returned from the Indies, and who now placed himself under
the direction of his sister (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note8">8</a>. In the Chapter <cite
lang="es">&#34;De la Clausura,&#34;</cite> § 16: <span
lang="es">&#34;De tratar con deudos se desvien lo mas
que pudieren.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note9">9</a>. The monastery of Paterna, of the
unreformed Carmelites.  This was in 1576 (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note10">10</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
Matt. xvi. 16: <span lang="la">&#34;Tu es Christus, Filius
Dei vivi.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note11">11</a>. Gen. i. 26: <span
lang="la">&#34;Ad imaginem et
similitudinem Nostram.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note12">12</a>. Fra Jerome Gratian.  This took
place during the persecution that fell on the reformed Carmelites at
the end of the year 1575, and during the following year.  See <a
href="#r9.27">the last paragraph of this Relation</a> (<cite>De la
Fuente</cite>; see, also, <a href="#r6.1">Relation
vi. § 1</a>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note13">13</a>. Galat. ii. 20: <span
lang="la">&#34;Vivo autem, jam non ego: vivit vero in
me Christus.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note14">14</a>. A.D. 1577 (<cite>De
la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note15">15</a>. Jerome Gratian
(<i lang="la"><abbr title="idem">id.</abbr></i>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note16">16</a>. 1 Cor. x. 13: <span
lang="la">&#34;Fidelis autem Deus est qui non patietur vos tentari
supra id quod potestis.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note17">17</a>. Don Vicente says, that here is a
proof--if any were wanting--that the Saint wrote this after her
sojourn in Seville; because in Avila and in Castile and Aragon the
expression is, &#34;our Lady of Dolors;&#34; while in Andalucia it is
our Lady of Anguish--<span lang="es">&#34;Nuestra Seņora de
las Angustias.&#34;</span></small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note18">18</a>. Fra Jerome Gratian.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note19">19</a>. Cant. v. 1.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note20">20</a>. This was the name given to Fra
Jerome Gratian, when the Saint was driven, by the persecution raised
against her, to distinguish her friends by other designations than
those by which they were usually known: this fragment cannot have been
written before the year 1578 (<cite>De la Fuente</cite>).</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note21">21</a>. See <a href="#r9.27">the
last section</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note22">22</a>. Don Vicente published <a
href="#r9.25">§§ 25</a> and <a href="#r9.26">26</a> as fragments
separately (vol. i. pp. 524-526); but, as they seem to form a part of
the series of events spoken of in this Relation, they have been
placed here.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note23">23</a>. Fra Jerome Gratian exhibited the
brief which made him Visitor-Apostolic to the unreformed Carmelites,
who were very angry thereat, and rude in their vexation.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r9note24">24</a>. See <a
href="#r9.26">§ 26</a>.</small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="r10.0">Relation X.</a></h3>
<p><big>Of a Revelation to the Saint at Avila, 1579, and of Certain
Directions Concerning the Government of the Order.</big></p>
<p>In <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph of Avila, on Pentecost
eve, in the hermitage of Nazareth, thinking of one of the greatest
graces our Lord had given me on that day some twenty years
before, [<a href="#r10note1">1</a>] more or less, my spirit was
vehemently stirred and grew hot within me, [<a href="#r10note2">2</a>]
and I fell into a trance.  In that profound recollection I heard our
Lord say what I am now going to tell: I was to say to the Barefooted
Fathers, as from Him, that they must strive to observe four things;
and that so long as they observed them, the Order would increase more
and more; and if they neglected them, they should know that they were
falling away from their first estate.</p>
<p>The first is, the superiors of the monasteries are to be of
one mind.</p>
<p>The second, even if they have many monasteries, to have but
few friars in each.</p>
<p>The third, to converse little with people in the world, and
that only for the good of their souls.</p>
<p>The fourth, to teach more by works than by words.</p>
<p>This happened in the year 1579; and because it is a great
truth, I have put my name to it.</p>
<p>Teresa de Jesús.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="r10note1">1</a>. See <a
href="#l38.11"><cite>Life</cite>, ch. xxxviii.
§ 11</a>.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r10note2">2</a>. Psalm xxxviii. 3: <span
lang="la">&#34;Concaluit cor meum intra me.&#34;</span></small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h3><a name="r11.0">Relation XI.</a></h3>
<p><big>Written from Palencia in May 1581, and Addressed to Don Alonzo
Velasquez, Bishop of Osma, Who Had Been, When Canon of Toledo, One of
the Saint's Confessors. [<a href="#r11note1">1</a>]</big></p>
<p>Jesus.</p>
<p><a name="r11.1">1</a>. Oh, that I could clearly explain to your
Lordship the peace and quiet my soul has found! for it has so great a
certainty of the fruition of God, that it seems to be as if already in
possession, [<a href="#r11note2">2</a>] though the joy is withheld.  I
am as one to whom another has granted by deed a large revenue, into
the enjoyment and use of which he is to come at a certain time, but
until then has nothing but the right already given him to the revenue.
In gratitude for this, my soul would abstain from the joy of it,
because it has not deserved it; it wishes only to serve Him, even if
in great suffering, and at times it thinks it would be very little if,
till the end of the world, it had to serve Him who has given it this
right; for, in truth, it is in some measure no longer subject, as
before, to the miseries of this world; though it suffers more, it
seems as if only the habit were struck, for my soul is, as it were, in
a fortress with authority, and accordingly does not lose its peace.
Still, this confidence does not remove from it its great fear of
offending God, nor make it less careful to put away every hindrance to
His service, yea, rather, it is more careful than before.  But it is
so forgetful of its own interests as to seem, in some measure, to have
lost itself, so forgetful of self is it in this.  Everything is
directed to the honour of God, to the doing of His will more and
more, and the advancement of His glory.</p>
<p><a name="r11.2">2</a>. Though this be so, yet, in all that relates
to health and the care of the body, it seems to me that I am more
careful than I was, that I mortify myself less in my food, and do
fewer penances: it is not so with the desires I had; they seem to be
greater.  All this is done that I may be the better able to serve God
in other things, for I offer to Him very often, as a great sacrifice,
the care I take of my body, and that wearies me much, and I try it
sometimes in acts of mortification; but, after all, this cannot be
done without losing health, and I must not neglect what my superiors
command.  Herein, and in the wish for health, much self-love also must
insinuate itself; but, as it seems to me, I feel that it would give me
more pleasure, and it gave me more pleasure when I was strong, to do
penance, for, at least, I seemed to be doing something, and was giving
a good example, and I was free from the vexation which arises out of
the fact that I am not serving God at all.  Your Lordship will see
what it will be best to do in the matter.</p>
<p><a name="r11.3">3</a>. The imaginary visions have ceased, but the
intellectual vision of the Three Persons and of the Sacred Humanity
seems ever present, and that, I believe, is a vision of a much higher
kind; and I understand now, so I think, that the visions I had came
from God, because they prepared my soul for its present state; they
were given only because I was so wretched and so weak: God led me by
the way which He saw was necessary; but they are, in my opinion, of
great worth when they come from God.</p>
<p><a name="r11.4">4</a>. The interior locutions have not left me,
for, whenever it is necessary, our Lord gives me certain directions;
and now, in Palencia, were it not for these, there would have been
committed a great blunder, though not
a sin. [<a href="#r11note3">3</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r11.5">5</a>. The acts and desires do not seem to be so
vigorous as they used to be, for, though they are great, I have one
much greater to see the will of God accomplished and His glory
increased; for as the soul is well aware that His Majesty knoweth what
is expedient herein, and is so far removed from all self-seeking,
these acts and desires quickly end, and, as it seems to me, have no
strength.  Hence the fear I have at times though without disquietude
and pain as formerly, that my soul is dulled, and that I am doing
nothing, because I can do no penance; acts of desire for suffering,
for martyrdom, and of the vision of God, have no strength in them,
and, most frequently, I cannot make them.  I seem to live only for
eating and drinking, and avoiding pain in everything; and yet this
gives me none, except that sometimes, as I said before, I am afraid
that this is a delusion; but I cannot believe it, because so far as I
can see, I am not under the sway of any strong attachment to any
created thing, not even to all the bliss of heaven, but only to the
love of God; and this does not grow less,--on the contrary, I believe
it is growing, together with the longing that all men may
serve Him.</p>
<p><a name="r11.6">6</a>. But, for all this, one thing amazes me: I
have not the feelings I had formerly, so strong and so interior, which
tormented me when I saw souls go to their ruin, and when I used to
think I had offended God.  I cannot have these feelings now, though I
believe my desire that God be not sinned against is not less than
it was.</p>
<p><a name="r11.7">7</a>. Your Lordship must consider that in all
this, in my present as well as in my previous state, I can do no more,
and that it is not in my power to serve Him better: I might do so, if
I were not so wicked.  I may say, also, that if I were now to make
great efforts to wish to die, I could not, nor can I make the acts I
used to make, nor feel the pains I felt for having offended God, nor
the great fears I had for so many years when <a name="page479">I</a>
thought I was under a delusion: and accordingly, I have no need of
learned men, or of speaking to anybody at all, only to satisfy myself
that I am going the right road now, and whether I can do anything.  I
have consulted certain persons on this point, with whom I had taken
counsel on the others, with Fra Dominic [i.e., Baņes], the Master
Medina, and certain members of the Society.  I will be satisfied with
the answer which you, my Lord, may give me, because of the great trust
I have in your Lordship.  Consider it carefully, for the love of God!
Neither do I cease to learn that certain souls of people connected
with me when they died are in heaven: of others I learn nothing.  Oh,
in what solitude I find myself when I consider that the comparison of
which I spoke to you, concerning the return from Egypt, does not apply
to the child at my mother's breast. [<a href="#r11note4">4</a>]</p>
<p><a name="r11.8">8</a>. I am at peace within; and my likings and
dislikings have so little power to take from me the Presence of the
Three Persons, of which, while it continues, it is so impossible to
doubt, that I seem clearly to know by experience what is recorded by
<abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> John, that God will make His dwelling
in the soul: [<a href="#r11note5">5</a>] and not only by grace, but
because He will have the soul feel that presence, and it brings with
it so many blessings, particularly this, that there is no need to run
after reflections to learn that God is there.  This is almost always
the state I am in, except when my great infirmities oppress me.
Sometimes, God will have me suffer without any inward comfort; but my
will never swerves--not even in its first movements--from the will of
God. This resignation to His will is so efficacious, that I desire
neither life nor death, except for some moments, when I long to see
God; and then the Presence of the Three Persons becomes so distinct as
to relieve the pain of the absence, and I wish to live--if such be His
good pleasure--to serve Him still longer.  And if I might help, by my
prayers, to make but one soul love Him more, and praise Him, and that
only for a short time, I think that of more importance than to dwell
in glory.</p>
<p>The unworthy servant and daughter of your Lordship,<br>
Teresa de Jesús.</p>
<hr title="Notes">
<p><small><a name="r11note1">1</a>. This Relation is usually printed
among the letters of the Saint, and Don Vicente did not change the
practice, assigning as his reason the Saint's reference in <a
href="#r11.4">§ 4</a> to certain transactions in which she was
engaged.  The letter is the 333rd (336th in the second edition), and
the 4th of vol. ii., ed. Doblado, and is probably the latest account
of the state of her soul, for she died on October 4 in the
following year.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r11note2">2</a>. See <cite>Inner Fortress</cite>,
vii. ch. ii.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r11note3">3</a>. This relates to the taking of the
hermitage of our Lady de la Calle, in Palencia (<cite>De la
Fuente</cite>).  See <cite>Foundations</cite>, ch. xxix.</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r11note4">4</a>. <span lang="es">&#34;La soledad
que me hace pensar no se puede dar aquel sentido ā el que mama los
pechos de mi madre, la ida de Egito!&#34;</span> This passage, Don
Vicente observes, was omitted in all editions prior to his; he does
not know what it means; and the translator can give no corresponding
English words.  [Transcriber's note: The Spanish quoted here was
printed in the body of the text, <a href="#page479"><abbr
title="page">p.</abbr> 479</a>; English rendition supplied from <i
lang="la">Corrigenda</i>, <abbr
title="page">p.</abbr> [viii].]</small></p>
<p><small><a name="r11note5">5</a>. <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>
John xiv. 23: <span lang="la">&#34;Mansionem apud
eum faciemus.&#34;</span></small></p>
<hr title="Text">
<h2><a name="bkindex">Index.</a></h2>
<p>Abecedario, Tercer, <a href="#l4.8">iv. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Agony in raptures, <a href="#l20.15">xx. 15</a>.</p>
<p>Ahumada, de, Antonio, <a href="#l4.1">iv. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Ahumada, de, Doņa Beatriz, mother of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, death of, <a
href="#l1.7">i. 7</a>; seen in heaven by the Saint, <a
href="#l38.1">xxxviii. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Ahumada, de, Juana, sister of the Saint, <a
href="#l33.13">xxxiii. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Alcala, monastery founded in, <a
href="#l36note33">xxxvi. 29, note</a>.</p>
<p>Alcantara.  See <a href="#peteralc"><abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter of Alcantara</a>.</p>
<p>Almsgiving of the Saint, <a href="#l1.6">i. 6</a>, <a
href="#r2.3">Rel. ii. 3</a>.</p>
<p>Alvarez, F. Baltasar, <a href="#l24.6">xxiv. 6</a>, <a
href="#l25.18">xxv. 18</a>; mortifies the Saint, <a
href="#l26.4">xxvi. 4</a>; humility of, <a
href="#l28.20">xxviii. 20</a>; promise of, to protect the
Saint, <a href="#l28.21">xxviii. 21</a>; always consoled
the Saint, <a href="#l29.5">xxix. 5</a>; hesitates about
the new foundation, <a href="#l32.16">xxxii. 16</a>;
commands the Saint to abandon it, <a
href="#l33.4">xxxiii. 4</a>; orders her to proceed, <a
href="#l33.13">xxxiii. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Alvarez, F. Rodrigo, <a href="#r8.0">Rel. viii</a>.</p>
<p>Amendment of life, the work of prayer, <a
href="#l8.6">viii. 6-12</a>.</p>
<p>Amusements, <a href="#l7.1">vii. 1</a>, <a
href="#r1.14">Rel. i. 14</a>.</p>
<p>Angels and evil spirits, vision of, <a
href="#l31.11">xxxi. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Angel, the Saint's vision of the, <a
href="#l29.16">xxix. 16-18</a>.</p>
<p>Answers to the Saint's prayers, <a href="#l39.1">xxxix.
1-7</a>.</p>
<p>Antony, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, of Padua, <a
href="#l22.10">xxii. 10</a>.</p>
<p>Aranda, de, Don Gonzalo, <a
href="#l36.18">xxxvi. 18</a>.</p>
<p>Aridity, how it comes on in the second state of prayer, <a
href="#l15.15">xv. 15</a>.</p>
<p>Art, the, of serving God, <a
href="#l12.2">xii. 2</a>.</p>
<p>Ascent of the Mount, <a
href="#l23.13">xxiii. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Assumption, the, vision of, <a
href="#l39.37">xxxix. 37</a>.</p>
<p>Attachments, evil effects of worldly, <a
href="#l11.5">xi. 5</a>; <a
href="#l23.5">xxiii. 5</a>.</p>
<p>Augustin, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, Confessions of, <a
href="#l9.8">ix. 8</a>; effect of reading them on the Saint,
<a href="#l9.9">ix. 9</a>; saying of, <a
href="#l13.4">xiii. 4</a>.</p>
<p>Avila, birthplace of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa,
troubled by the new foundation: <a
href="#l36.14">xxxvi. 14</a>.</p>
<p>Avila, <i><abbr title="Blessed">Bl.</abbr></i>, Juan of, <a
href="#r7.9">Rel. vii. 9</a>.</p>
<p>Báņes, Fr. <abbr title="Domingo">Dom.</abbr>, <a
href="#l36.15">xxxvi. 15</a>; transmits the Saint's
writings to the Inquisition, <a
href="#r7.16">Rel. vii. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Barrientos.  See <a href="#guzmanyb">Martin</a>.</p>
<p>Barron, Fra Vicente, confessor of the Saint's father, <a
href="#l7.26">vii. 26</a>; hears the confession of the
Saint, <a href="#l7.27">vii. 27</a>, <a
href="#l19.19">xix. 19</a>.</p>
<p>Beauty of our Lord, <a href="#l28.2">xxviii. 2</a>, <a
href="#l29.2">xxix. 2</a>, <a
href="#l37.5">xxxvii. 5</a>; unimaginable, <a
href="#l38.7">xxviii. 7</a>.</p>
<p>Beginners, must toil, <a href="#l11.13">xi. 13</a>; and
persevere, <a href="#l11.15">xi. 15-17</a>; not to be
afraid of the cross, <a href="#l11.25">xi. 25</a>; must be
content, <a href="#l12.2">xii. 2</a>; certain temptations
of, <a href="#l7.16">vii. 16</a>, <a
href="#l13.9">xiii. 9</a>; must begin humbly, <a
href="#l15.19">xv. 19</a>.</p>
<p>Bernard, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, <a
href="#l22.10">xxii. 10</a>.</p>
<p>Betrothal spiritual, of the Saint, <a
href="#r9.8">Rel. ix. 8</a>, <a
href="#r9.25">25</a>.</p>
<p>Bird, the soul likened to a, <a
href="#l18.13">xviii. 13</a>, <a
href="#l19.22">xix. 22</a>.</p>
<p>Bishopric, a, the Saint consulted about the acceptance of, <a
href="#l40.21">xl. 21</a>.</p>
<p>Blessed, the, joys of, <a href="#l10.3">x. 3</a>.</p>
<p>Blindness healed through the prayer of the Saint, <a
href="#l39.1">xxxix. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Body, the, shares the joy of the soul in certain states of prayer,
<a href="#l17.14">xvii. 14</a>, <a
href="#l18.15">xviii. 15</a>; state of, in raptures, <a
href="#l20.2">xx. 2</a>, <a href="#l20.4">4</a>,
<a href="#l20.23">23</a>; our Lord seen by the Saint always
in His glorified, <a href="#l29.4">xxix. 4</a>.</p>
<p>Book, a living, <a href="#l26.6">xxvi. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Books insufficient without a director, <a
href="#l22.3">xxii. 3</a>.</p>
<p>Borja, de, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis.  See <a
href="#francisb">Francis</a>.</p>
<p>Brief, the, sanctioning the observances of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's, <a
href="#l34.2">xxxiv. 2</a>, <a
href="#l36.1">xxxvi. 1</a>, <a
href="#l39.20">xxxix. 20</a>.</p>
<p>Brizeņo, Doņa Maria, <a href="#l2.12">ii. 12</a>;
influences the Saint, <a href="#l3.1">iii. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Bulls, the Sabbatine, <a
href="#l38.40">xxxviii. 40</a>.</p>
<p>Cardona, de, Doņa Catalina, <a href="#r3.12">Rel. iii.
12</a>.</p>
<p>Carmel, the Order of, vision concerning, <a
href="#r3.14">Rel. iii. 14</a>; advice to, <a
href="#r10.0">Rel. x</a>.</p>
<p>Caterpillar of self-respect, <a
href="#l31.24">xxxi. 24</a>.</p>
<p>Catherine, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, of Siena, <a
href="#l22.10">xxii. 10</a>.</p>
<p>Censoriousness of the world, <a
href="#l31.19">xxxi. 19</a>.</p>
<p>Cepeda, de, Alfonso Sanchez, father of the Saint, fond of spiritual
books, <a href="#l1.1">i. 1</a>; gives his daughter Maria in
marriage, <a href="#l2note2">ii. 4, note</a>, <a
href="#l2.8">8</a>; places the Saint at school in a
monastery, <a href="#l2.8">ii. 8</a>; would not consent to
her becoming a nun, <a href="#l3.9">iii. 9</a>; takes her to
Bezadas to be cured, <a href="#l5.5">v. 5, 6</a>; brings her
to his house in Avila, <a href="#l5.15">v. 15</a>; hinders
her from making her confession in an illness, <a
href="#l5.17">v. 17</a>; persuaded by the Saint to practise
mental prayer, <a href="#l7.16">vii. 16</a>; makes progress
therein, <a href="#l7.20">vii. 20</a>; holy death of, <a
href="#l7.22">vii. 22-25</a>; seen in heaven by the Saint,
<a href="#l38.1">xxxviii. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Cepeda, de, Don Lorenzo, finds money for the new monastery of <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, <a
href="#l33.13">xxxiii. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Cepeda, de, Maria, sister of the Saint, <a
href="#l2.4">ii. 4</a>; sudden death of, <a
href="#l34.24">xxxiv. 24</a>; seen in heaven by the Saint,
<a href="#l34.25">xxxiv. 25</a>.</p>
<p>Cerda, de la, Doņa Luisa, <a href="#l34.1">xxxiv. 1</a>;
attracted by the Saint, <a href="#l34.4">xxxiv. 4</a>;
visited by <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter of Alcantara, <a
href="#l35.6">xxxv. 6</a>; tries to amuse the Saint by
showing her diamonds, <a href="#l38.5">xxxviii. 5</a>; the
Saint's watchfulness over herself in the house of, <a
href="#l39.11">xxxix. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Cheerfulness, importance of, <a
href="#l12.1">xii. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Cherubim, <a href="#l29.16">xxix. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Choice of a director, <a
href="#l13.28">xiii. 28, 29</a>.</p>
<p>Church, the, ceremonies of, <a
href="#l31.4">xxxi. 4</a>; the Saint's reverence for, <a
href="#l33.6">xxxiii. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Clare, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, encourages the Saint, <a
href="#l33.15">xxxiii. 15</a>.</p>
<p>Comforts, worldly, the Saint's fear of, <a
href="#l34.4">xxxiv. 4</a>.</p>
<p>Communion, effects of the Saint's, <a href="#l16.3">xvi.
3-10</a>, <a href="#l18.10">xviii. 10-18</a>, <a
href="#l30.16">xxx. 16</a>, <a
href="#l38.24">xxxviii. 24</a>, <a
href="#r4.5">Rel. iv. 5</a>, <a href="#r9.13">Rel.
ix. 13</a>; the Saint's longing for, <a
href="#l39.31">xxxix. 31</a>; graces of, <a
href="#r9.20">Rel. ix. 20</a>.</p>
<p>Complaint, loving, of the Saint, <a
href="#l37.13">xxxvii. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Confession, frequent, of the Saint, <a href="#l5.17">v.
17</a>; matter of, <a href="#r5.11">Rel. v. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Confessors, the Saint's difficulty in finding, <a
href="#l4.8">iv. 8</a>, <a href="#l4.13">13</a>;
harm  done by ill-instructed, <a href="#l5.6">v. 6</a>, <a
href="#l5.20">20</a>, <a href="#l6.6">vi. 6</a>;
one of them misleads the Saint, <a
href="#l8.15">viii. 15</a>; unskilful, <a
href="#l20.28">xx. 28</a>; wrong counsel of, <a
href="#l26.5">xxvi. 5</a>; of the Saint harsh with her, <a
href="#l30.15">xxx. 15</a>; obedience of the Saint to her,
<a href="#l23.19">xxiii. 19</a>, <a
href="#l33.4">xxxiii. 4, 5</a>, <a
href="#r1.9">Rel, i. 9</a>; the Saint rebuked for her
affection to her, <a href="#l37.6">xxxvii. 6</a>; names of
the Saint's, <a href="#r7.5">Rel. vii. 5</a>, <a
href="#r7.11">11, 12, 13</a>.</p>
<p>Consecration, power of the words of, <a
href="#l38.30">xxxviii. 30</a>.</p>
<p>Consolations, <a href="#l11.21">xi. 21</a>; not to be
sought for, <a href="#l22.15">xxii. 15</a>.</p>
<p>Contemplation, <a href="#l22.1">xxii. 1</a>; why granted
to imperfect souls, <a href="#l22.22">xxii. 22, 23</a>.</p>
<p>Contempt, Satan shuns, <a href="#l31.10">xxxi. 10</a>;
the Saint directed to treat her visions with, <a
href="#l29.6">xxix. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Contradiction of good people, <a
href="#l28.24">xxviii. 24</a>, <a
href="#l30.6">xxx. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Conversation, worldly, <a href="#l7.10">vii. 10</a>;
danger of, <a href="#l2.5">ii. 5</a>, <a
href="#l7.10">vii. 10</a>; delight of our Lord in spiritual,
<a href="#l34.20">xxxiv. 20</a>.</p>
<p>Conversion of a wicked priest, <a
href="#l5.12">v. 12</a>; of a sinner, <a
href="#l39.5">xxxix. 5</a>.</p>
<p>Courage of the Saint, <a href="#l8.10">viii. 10</a>;
necessity of, <a href="#l10.8">x. 8</a>; effects of, <a
href="#l13.3">xiii. 3</a>; necessary in the way of
perfection, <a href="#l31.19">xxxi. 19</a>.</p>
<p>Covetousness, <a href="#l33.14">xxxiii. 14</a>.</p>
<p>Cowardice, spiritual, <a href="#l13.6">xiii. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Creator, the, traces of, in things visible, <a
href="#l9.6">ix. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Crosses, <a href="#l11.8">xi. 8</a>; desired by souls in
the prayer of imperfect union, <a
href="#l16.9">xvi. 9</a>.</p>
<p>Cross, the, way of, <a href="#l11.8">xi. 8</a>, <a
href="#l15.17">xv. 17</a>, <a
href="#l15.21">21</a>; necessity of carrying, <a
href="#l27.14">xxvii. 14</a>.</p>
<p>Daza, Gaspar, <a href="#l23.6">xxiii. 6</a>; thought the
Saint was deluded by an evil spirit, <a
href="#l23.16">xxiii. 16</a>; approved of the new
foundation, <a href="#l32.21">xxxii. 21</a>.</p>
<p>Delusion, a, into which the Saint fell, <a
href="#l22.3">xxii. 3</a>; the Saint always prayed to be
delivered from, <a href="#l29.6">xxix. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Delusions incidental to locutions, <a href="#l25.3">xxv.
3</a>, <a href="#l25.11">11</a>.</p>
<p>Desires, good, <a href="#l13.8">xiii. 8</a>, <a
href="#l21.9">xxi. 9</a>, <a
href="#r11.5">Rel. xi. 5</a>.</p>
<p>Desolation, spiritual, of the Saint, <a
href="#l30.10">xxx. 10</a>.</p>
<p>Detachment, blessing of, <a href="#l11.2">xi. 2</a>, <a
href="#l34.20">xxxiv. 20</a>; necessity of, for prayer, <a
href="#l11.16">xi. 16</a>, <a
href="#l15.17">xv. 17</a>; of the perfect, <a
href="#l15.18">xv. 18</a>; an effect of  raptures, <a
href="#l18.8">xviii. 8</a>, <a
href="#l20.10">xx. 10</a>; takes away the fear of death, <a
href="#l38.7">xxxviii. 7</a>; the Saint's, from kindred, <a
href="#l31.22">xxxi. 22</a>, <a
href="#r2.5">Rel. ii. 5</a>, <a
href="#r9.11">Rel. ix. 11</a>; from directors, <a
href="#r4.3">Rel. iv. 3</a>.</p>
<p>Detraction, avoided by the Saint, <a
href="#l6.4">vi. 4</a>, <a
href="#l7.3">vii. 3</a>; insensibility to, <a
href="#r2.4">Rel. ii. 4</a>.</p>
<p>Detractors, the Saint prays for her, <a
href="#l19.11">xix. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Devotion, sweetness in, never asked for by the Saint, <a
href="#l9.10">ix. 10</a>; but once, <a
href="#l9.11">ix. 11</a>; those who seek it censured, <a
href="#l11.21">xi. 21</a>; the Saint's, increased by
difficulties, <a href="#l28.10">xxviii. 10</a>.</p>
<p>Die, either to, or suffer, <a
href="#l40.27">xl. 27</a>.</p>
<p>Direction, unskilful, <a href="#l8.15">viii. 15, 16</a>;
importance of, <a href="#l13.4">xiii. 4</a>; methods of
wrong, <a href="#l13.25">xiii. 25</a>; not to be the same
for all, <a href="#l39.16">xxxix. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Directors ought to be experienced, <a
href="#l13.21">xiii. 21</a>; and prudent, <a
href="#l13.24">xiii. 24</a>; and learned, <a
href="#l13.26">xiii. 26</a>; choice of, <a
href="#l13.28">xiii. 28</a>; charity of, <a
href="#l13.29">xiii. 29</a>; should be secret, <a
href="#l23.14">xxiii. 14</a>; and humble, <a
href="#l34.15">xxxiv. 15</a>; should be trusted, <a
href="#l39.35">xxxix. 35</a>; necessary, <a
href="#l40.12">xl. 12</a>; the Saint preferred those who
distrusted her, <a href="#r7.18">Rel. vii. 18</a>.</p>
<p>Discouragements, <a href="#l11.15">xi. 15</a>; must be
resisted, <a href="#l19.6">xix. 6</a>; certain causes of,
<a href="#l31.21">xxxi. 21</a>.</p>
<p>Discretion, <a href="#l11.23">xi. 23</a>, <a
href="#l13.2">xiii. 2</a>; excessive, <a
href="#l13.8">xiii. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Distraction of the understanding in the prayer of quiet, <a
href="#l15.10">xv. 10</a>, <a
href="#l30.19">xxx. 19</a>; in monasteries not caused by
poverty, <a href="#l35.3">xxxv. 3</a>.</p>
<p>Distrust of self, <a href="#l8.18">viii. 18</a>, <a
href="#l9.3">ix. 3</a>; necessity of, <a
href="#l19.20">xix. 20</a>.</p>
<p><span lang="la">&#34;Domine, da mihi aquam,&#34;</span> <a
href="#l30.24">xxx. 24</a>.</p>
<p>Dominicans, the, help <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, <a
href="#l5.8">v. 8</a>, <a
href="#r7.11">Rel. vii. 11-14</a>.</p>
<p>Dominion, true, <a href="#l40.21">xl. 21</a>.</p>
<p>Dove, vision of a, <a
href="#l38.13">xxxviii. 13, 14</a>.</p>
<p>Ecija, vow of the Saint in the hermitage of, <a
href="#r6.3">Rel. vi. 3</a>.</p>
<p>Ecstasy, <a href="#l20.1">xx. 1</a>; how wrought, <a
href="#l20.2">xx. 2</a>; fear during, <a
href="#l20.9">xx. 9</a>; first, of the Saint, <a
href="#l24.7">xxiv. 7</a>.</p>
<p>Egypt, flesh-pots of, <a href="#l15.5">xv. 5</a>.</p>
<p>Elevation of the spirit not to be attempted in union, <a
href="#l18.8">xviii. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Eliseus.  See <a href="#jgracian">Jerome, Fra, of the Mother
of God</a>.</p>
<p>Enclosure, observance of, how important, <a
href="#l7.5">vii. 5</a>.</p>
<p>Endowments not accepted by the Saint for her monasteries, <a
href="#l35.4">xxxv. 4, 5</a>; offered for <abbr
title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, <a
href="#l36.19">xxxvi. 19</a>; and forbidden by a Brief, <a
href="#l39.20">xxxix. 20</a>.</p>
<p>Envy, a holy, <a href="#l39.19">xxxix. 19</a>.</p>
<p>Exorcisms, the Saint threatened with, <cite><abbr
title="Bollandists">Boll.</abbr></cite> 211, <a
href="#l29.4">xxix. 4</a>.</p>
<p>Experience, more valuable than books, <a
href="#l14.10">xiv. 10</a>; a safeguard against delusion,
<a href="#l14.11">xiv. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Faith, the, Satan was never able to make the Saint doubt, <a
href="#l19.13">xix. 13</a>; blessed effects of, <a
href="#l25.16">xxv. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Falls turn to our good, <a href="#l19.8">xix. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Fear, <a href="#l25.27">xxv. 27</a>; of God, <a
href="#l26.1">xxvi. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Founders of religious Orders, <a
href="#l32.17">xxxii. 17</a>.</p>
<p>Francis, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, <a
href="#l22.10">xxii. 10</a>.</p>
<p><a name="francisb">Francis, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, de
Borja</a> visits the Saint, <a href="#l24.4">xxiv. 4</a>;
consulted by her, <a href="#r7.5">Rel. vii. 5</a>.</p>
<p>Friendship, advantages of spiritual, <a
href="#l7.33">vii. 33-37</a>, <a
href="#l30.6">xxx. 6</a>; with God, <a
href="#l15.8">xv. 8</a>; the Saint's detachment from, <a
href="#l24.8">xxiv. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Friendship, worldly, dangers of, <a
href="#l2.4">ii. 4</a>, <a href="#l5.9">v. 9</a>;
deceitfulness of, <a href="#l21.1">xxi. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Garden, the prayer in the, <a href="#l9.5">ix. 5</a>; the
soul likened to a, <a href="#l11.10">xi. 10</a>, <a
href="#l14.13">xiv. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Gifts of God, the, importance of discerning, <a
href="#l10.4">x. 4</a>; demand our gratitude, <a
href="#l10.7">x. 7</a>; supply strength, <a
href="#l10.8">x. 8</a>; a grace to understand, <a
href="#l17.7">xvii. 7</a>; the Saint erroneously advised to
conceal, <a href="#l26.5">xxvi. 5</a>; given according to
His will, <a href="#l34.14">xxxiv. 14</a>, <a
href="#l39.12">xxxix. 12</a>; the Saint's joy when others
received, <a href="#l34.21">xxxiv. 21</a>.</p>
<p>God, sense of the presence of, <a
href="#l10.1">x. 1</a>; helps those who love Him, <a
href="#l11.19">xi. 19</a>; never fails those who trust Him,
<a href="#l13.15">xiii. 15</a>; munificence of, <a
href="#l18.5">xviii. 5</a>; the Saint has a vision of, <a
href="#l40.13">xl. 13, 14</a>; pain of absence from, <a
href="#r4.6">Rel. iv. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Grace, prayer the door of, <a href="#l8.13">viii. 13</a>;
comes after trials, <a href="#l11.18">xi. 18</a>; the
Saint's distress because she could not know whether she was in a state
of, <a href="#l34.12">xxxiv. 12</a>; vision of a soul in,
<a href="#r3.13">Rel. iii. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Guzman, de, y Barrientos, Don Martin, sudden death of, <a
href="#l34.24">xxxiv. 24</a>.</p>
<p>Hardships of the religious life, <a href="#l13.30">xiii.
30</a>.</p>
<p>Health, anxiety about, <a href="#l5.3">v. 3-8</a>;
importance of, in the spiritual life, <a
href="#l11.23">xi. 23</a>; to be made little of, <a
href="#l13.9">xiii. 9</a>.</p>
<p>Heaven, Queen of, <a href="#l19.9">xix. 9</a>; revealed
in raptures, <a href="#l33.16">xxxiii. 16</a>, <a
href="#l38.8">xxxviii. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Hell, a vision of, <a href="#l30.14">xxx. 14</a>, <a
href="#l32.1">xxxii. 1</a>; effects of, on the Saint, <a
href="#l32.7">xxxii. 7-10</a>.</p>
<p>Heretics, self-condemned, <a href="#l7.8">vii. 8</a>;
evil state of, <a href="#l32.9">xxxii. 9</a>; resemble a
broken mirror, <a href="#l40.9">xl. 9</a>.</p>
<p>Hilarion, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, the Saint commends
herself to, <a href="#l27.2">xxvii. 2</a>.</p>
<p>Honour, point of, <a href="#l21.12">xxi. 12</a>.</p>
<p>Hugo, Fra, Cardinal of Santa Sabina, <a
href="#l36.27">xxxvi. 27</a>.</p>
<p>Humanity, the Sacred, <a href="#l12.3">xii. 3</a>, <a
href="#l22.1">xxii. 1</a>; mistake of the Saint concerning,
<a href="#l22.3">xxii. 3</a>; source of all grace, <a
href="#l22.9">xxii. 9</a>; never to be lost sight of in
prayer, <a href="#l22.11">xxii. 11</a>; the Saint directed
to fix her thoughts on, <a href="#l23.18">xxiii. 18</a>;
the Saint renews her love of, <a href="#l24.2">xxiv. 2</a>;
vision of, <a href="#l28.4">xxviii. 4</a>, <a
href="#l38.22">xxxviii. 22</a>.</p>
<p>Humility, advantages of, <a href="#l7.37">vii. 37</a>, <a
href="#l12.9">xii. 9</a>; false kinds of, <a
href="#l10.4">x. 4</a>, <a
href="#l13.4">xiii. 4</a>; the foundation of the Christian
life, <a href="#l12.5">xii. 5</a>; worth more than all the
science in the world, <a href="#l15.13">xv. 13</a>; grows
most in the state of perfect union, <a
href="#l19.2">xix. 2</a>; dangers of false, <a
href="#l19.15">xix. 15-23</a>; acquired in raptures, <a
href="#l20.38">xx. 38</a>; foundation of prayer must be
laid in, <a href="#l22.16">xxii. 16</a>; a false, the most
crafty device of Satan, <a href="#l30.12">xxx. 12</a>;
asking for consolations not consistent with, <a
href="#l39.21">xxxix. 21-23</a>.</p>
<p>Hypocrisy, the Saint not tempted to, <a
href="#l7.2">vii. 2</a>, <a
href="#r1.18">Rel. i. 18</a>.</p>
<p><a name="pedroiba">Ibaņez, Fra Pedro</a>, <a
href="#l10note5">x. 10, note</a>, <a
href="#l16.10">xvi. 10</a>; <a
href="#l16note6">note 6</a>; consulted by the Saint about
the new foundation, <a href="#l32.19">xxxii. 19</a>;
encourages the Saint to persevere, <a
href="#l32.20">xxxii. 20</a>; confident of success, <a
href="#l33.5">xxxiii. 5</a>; departs from Avila, <a
href="#l33.7">xxxiii. 7</a>; advises the Saint to accept an
endowment for the new foundation, <a
href="#l35.5">xxxv. 5</a>; changes his opinion, <a
href="#l35.7">xxxv. 7</a>; and helps the Saint, <a
href="#l36.23">xxxvi. 23</a>; seen by the Saint in a
vision, <a href="#l38.15">xxxviii. 15, 16</a>.</p>
<p>Illness of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa, <a
href="#l4.6">iv. 6</a>, <a href="#l5.4">v. 4</a>;
extreme severity of, <a href="#l5.14">v. 14</a>.</p>
<p>Image of our Lord not to be mocked, <a
href="#l29.7">xxix. 7</a>.</p>
<p>Images, devotion of the Saint to, <a href="#l7.3">vii.
3</a>; effects of, on her, <a href="#l9.1">ix. 1-3</a>;
great blessing of, <a href="#l9.7">ix. 7</a>.</p>
<p>Imagination of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Teresa not active, <a
href="#l9.6">ix. 6</a>; wearisome to her, <a
href="#l17.9">xvii. 9</a>.</p>
<p>Imitation of the Saints, <a href="#l13.5">xiii.
5-9</a>.</p>
<p>Imperfections, rooting up of, <a href="#l14.14">xiv.
14</a>.</p>
<p>Impetuosities in prayer, <a href="#l29.11">xxix.
11-13</a>, <a href="#r1.3">Rel. i. 3</a>, <a
href="#r8.13">Rel. viii. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Impetuosities of divine love, <a href="#l29.10">xxix.
10, 11</a>, <a href="#l29.13">13</a>, <a
href="#l33.9">xxxiii. 9</a>; physical effects of, <a
href="#l29.15">xxix. 15</a>.</p>
<p>Incarnation, the monastery of the, the Saint enters, <a
href="#l4.1">iv. 1</a>; the nuns of, complain of the Saint,
<a href="#l19.12">xix. 12</a>; the Saint tempted to leave,
<a href="#l31.16">xxxi. 16</a>; the rule not strictly
observed in, <a href="#l32.12">xxxii. 12</a>; the Saint's
affection for, <a href="#l32.13">xxxii. 13</a>, <a
href="#l33.3">xxxiii. 3</a>; nuns of, object to the new
foundation, <a href="#l33.2">xxxiii. 2</a>; election of
prioress, <a href="#l35.8">xxxv. 8</a>; the Saint returns
to, from Toledo, <a href="#l35.10">xxxv. 10</a>, <a
href="#l36.1">xxxvi. 1</a>; troubled because of the
new foundation, <a href="#l36.11">xxxvi. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Indisposition, bodily, evil effects of, on the spiritual life, <a
href="#l11.23">xi. 23</a>.</p>
<p>Ingratitude, delusion arising from the dread of, <a
href="#l24.6">xxiv. 6</a>; the Saint bewails her, <a
href="#l14.16">xiv. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Inquisition, the, threats of denouncing the Saint to, <a
href="#l33.6">xxxiii. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Inspirations, good, not to be resisted, <a
href="#l4.3">iv. 3</a>.</p>
<p>Intentions, good, no excuse for an evil act, <a
href="#l5.12">v. 12</a>.</p>
<p><a name="jgracian">Jerome, Fra, of the Mother of God</a>, <a
href="#r6.1">Rel. vi. 1-3</a>, <a
href="#r9.7">Rel. ix. 7</a>, <a
href="#r9.21">21</a>, <a href="#r9.23">23</a>, <a
href="#r9.26">26</a>.</p>
<p>Jerome, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, <a
href="#l11.17">xi. 17</a>, <a
href="#l38.2">xxxviii. 2</a>; the Saint reads the letters
of, <a href="#l3.8">iii. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Jesus, the Society of, helps the Saint, <a
href="#l5.8">v. 8</a>; sought by her, <a
href="#l23.3">xxiii. 3</a>, <a
href="#l23.19">19</a>; visions concerning, <a
href="#l38.17">xxxviii. 17</a>, <a
href="#l38.39">39</a>.</p>
<p>Job, patience of, <a href="#l5.16">v. 16</a>; trial of,
<a href="#l30.12">xxx. 12</a>.</p>
<p>John, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, of the Cross, <a
href="#r3.19">Rel. iii. 19</a>.</p>
<p>Joseph, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, great devotion of the Saint
to, <a href="#l6.9">vi. 9</a>, <a
href="#l30.8">xxx. 8</a>, <a
href="#l36.5">xxxvi. 5</a>; the teacher of prayer, <a
href="#l6.12">vi. 12</a>; encourages the  Saint, <a
href="#l33.14">xxxiii. 14</a>; vision of, <a
href="#l33.16">xxxiii. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Joseph, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, the monastery of, purchase
of the site of, <a href="#l32.22">xxxii. 22</a>; not to be
subject to the Order, <a href="#l33.18">xxxiii. 18</a>;
paradise of God's delight, <a href="#l35.13">xxxv. 13</a>;
foundation of, <a href="#l36.4">xxxvi. 4</a>; destruction
of, threatened by the council of the city, <a
href="#l36.14">xxxvi. 14</a>; obtains the good will of the
people, <a href="#l36.25">xxxvi. 25</a>; goodness of the
nuns of, <a href="#l39.14">xxxix. 14</a>.</p>
<p>Joys, of prayer, <a href="#l10.3">x. 3</a>; of visions,
<a href="#l27.13">xxvii. 13</a>; of the saved, <a
href="#l27.15">xxvii. 15</a>.</p>
<p>Judas, temptation of, <a href="#l19.16">xix. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Judgment, day of, <a href="#l40.16">xl. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Kindred, detachment from, <a
href="#l31.22">xxxi. 22</a>, <a
href="#r9.11">Rel. ix. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Kings, obligations of, <a href="#l21.2">xxi. 2</a>, <a
href="#l21.4">4</a>; wherein lies the power of, <a
href="#l37.8">xxxvii. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Labourer, story of a, <a
href="#l38.26">xxxviii. 26</a>.</p>
<p>Laxity in religious houses, <a
href="#l7.6">vii. 6-10</a>.</p>
<p>Learning, accompanied with humility, a help to prayer, <a
href="#l12.6">xii. 6</a>; useful in directors, <a
href="#l13.24">xiii. 24-26</a>; the Saint wishes for, <a
href="#l14.9">xiv. 9</a>; not necessary in prayer, <a
href="#l15.12">xv. 12</a>.</p>
<p>Lie, a, Satan is, <a href="#l25.26">xxv. 26</a>; the
Saint's hatred of, <a href="#l28.6">xxviii. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Life, the, of the Saint, under what circumstances written, <a
href="#l10.11">x. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Life, weariness of, <a href="#l21.8">xxi. 8</a>; the
illuminative, <a href="#l22.1">xxii. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Light of visions, <a href="#l28.7">xxviii. 7</a>, <a
href="#l38.3">xxxviii. 3</a>.</p>
<p>Locutions, divine, <a href="#l19.14">xix. 14</a>, <a
href="#l25.1">xxv. 1, 2</a>; delusions incidental to, <a
href="#l25.3">xxv. 3</a>, <a
href="#l25.11">11</a>; efficacy of, <a
href="#l25.5">xxv. 5</a>, <a
href="#l25.12">12</a>; human, <a
href="#l25.8">xxv. 8</a>; Satanic, <a
href="#l25.13">xxv. 13</a>; tests of the Satanic, <a
href="#l25.17">xxv. 17</a>; nature of, <a
href="#l26.3">xxvi. 3</a>; state of the understanding
during, <a href="#l27.10">xxvii. 10</a>; effects of the
divine, <a href="#l38.19">xxxviii. 19-21</a>.</p>
<p>Locutions heard by the Saint, <a href="#l18.18">xviii.
18</a>, <a href="#l19.13">xix. 13</a>, <a
href="#l24.7">xxiv. 7</a>, <a
href="#l25.22">xxv. 22</a>, <a
href="#l26.3">xxvi. 3</a>, <a
href="#l26.6">6</a>, <a
href="#l29.7">xxix. 7</a>, <a
href="#l30.17">xxx. 17</a>, <a
href="#l31.15">xxxi. 15</a>, <a
href="#l32.17">xxxii. 17</a>, <a
href="#l33.10">xxxiii. 10</a>, <a
href="#l33.14">14</a>, <a
href="#l35.7">xxxv. 7</a>, <a
href="#l35.9">9</a>, <a
href="#l36.20">xxxvi. 20</a>, <a
href="#l38.4">xxxviii. 4</a>, <a
href="#l38.19">19, 20</a>, <a
href="#l39.29">xxxix. 29</a>, <a
href="#l39.34">34</a>, <a
href="#l40.1">xl. 1</a>, <a
href="#l40.21">21</a>, <a href="#l40.24">24</a>,
<a href="#r3.1">Rel. iii. 1, <i lang="la">passim</i></a>, <a
href="#r4.4">Rel. iv. 4, 5, 6</a>, <a
href="#r9.1">Rel. ix. 1, <i lang="la">passim</i></a>.</p>
<p>Lord, our, accounted mad, <a
href="#l27.15">xxvii. 15</a>.</p>
<p>Love, joyous, in seeing a picture of Christ, <a
href="#l9.7">ix. 7</a>; servants of, <a
href="#l11.1">xi. 1</a>; wherein it consists, <a
href="#l11.20">xi. 20</a>; vehement in perfect souls, <a
href="#l15.6">xv. 6</a>; effects of divine, <a
href="#l22.21">xxii. 21</a>; makes itself known without
words, <a href="#l27.12">xxvii. 12</a>; impetuosities of,
<a href="#l29.10">xxix. 10, 11</a>; fire of, <a
href="#l30.25">xxx. 25</a>.</p>
<p>Loyalty, worldly, <a href="#l5.9">v. 9</a>.</p>
<p>Ludolf of Saxony, <a href="#l38.11">xxxviii. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Lukewarmness, <a href="#l7.1">vii. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Lutherans, <a href="#l32.9">xxxii. 9</a>, <a
href="#r2.14">Rel. ii. 14</a>; destroyers of images, <a
href="#r5.5">Rel. v. 5</a>.</p>
<p>Madness, spiritual, <a href="#l16.1">xvi. 1-8</a>, <a
href="#l27.15">xxvii. 15</a>.</p>
<p>Magdalene, the, <a href="#l9.2">ix. 2</a>, <a
href="#l21.9">xxi. 9</a>; her example to be followed, <a
href="#l22.19">xxii. 19</a>.</p>
<p>Mancio, F., <a href="#r2.18">Rel. ii. 18</a>.</p>
<p>Mantles of the religious folded by the Saint, <a
href="#l31.27">xxxi. 27</a>.</p>
<p>Maria of Jesus, <a href="#l35.1">xxxv. 1</a>; founds a
house in Alcala de Henares, <a
href="#l36.29">xxxvi. 29</a>.</p>
<p><a name="guzmanyb">Martin, Don, Guzman y Barrientos</a>, marries a
sister of the Saint, <a href="#l2note2">ii. 4, note</a>, <a
href="#l3.4">iii. 4</a>; sudden death of, <a
href="#l34.24">xxxiv. 24</a>.</p>
<p>Martyrdom desired by the Saint, <a
href="#l1.4">i. 4</a>.</p>
<p>Martyrs, the, sufferings of, <a
href="#l16.6">xvi. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Mary and Martha, <a href="#l17.6">xvii. 6</a>, <a
href="#l22.13">xxii. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Meditation, advantage of, <a href="#l4.11">iv. 11</a>;
fruits of, <a href="#l11.20">xi. 20</a>; example of a, <a
href="#l13.19">xiii. 19</a>; the perfect may have to return
to, <a href="#l15.20">xv. 20</a>.</p>
<p>Memory, the, in the prayer of imperfect union, <a
href="#l17.5">xvii. 5</a>, <a
href="#l17.9">9</a>; troublesome, but not hurtful, <a
href="#l17.11">xvii. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Mendoza, de, Don Alvaro, Bishop of Avila, <a
href="#l33.19">xxxiii. 19</a>; protects the new monastery
of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph, <a
href="#l36.18">xxxvi. 18</a>.</p>
<p>Men, great, difficult of access, <a
href="#l37.7">xxxvii. 7</a>.</p>
<p>Mercies of God, the remembrance of, <a
href="#l15.23">xv. 23</a>.</p>
<p>Michael, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, the Saint commends herself
to, <a href="#l27.2">xxvii. 2</a>.</p>
<p>Misdirection, a, corrected by the Saint, <a
href="#l13.22">xiii. 22</a>.</p>
<p>Mitigation, the Bull of, <a href="#l32.12">xxxii.
12</a>; disused in the new monastery, <a
href="#l36.27">xxxvi. 27, 28</a>.</p>
<p>Monasteries, courts in politeness, <a
href="#l37.17">xxxvii. 17</a>.</p>
<p>Munificence of God, <a href="#l18.5">xviii. 5</a>, <a
href="#l22.26">xxii. 26</a>.</p>
<p>Neatness, excessive, <a href="#l2.2">ii. 2</a>, <a
href="#r1.23">Rel. i. 23</a>.</p>
<p>Novices in <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Joseph's, <a
href="#l39.15">xxxix. 15</a>.</p>
<p>Novitiate of the Saint, <a href="#l5.1">v. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Nun, illness of a, in the monastery of the Incarnation, <a
href="#l5.3">v. 3</a>; visions concerning a, <a
href="#l38.37">xxxviii. 37, 38</a>.</p>
<p>Obedience, the Saint writes under, <a
href="#l18.10">xviii. 10</a>; strict observance of, in the
Society of Jesus, <a href="#l33.9">xxxiii. 9</a>; of the
Saint to her confessors, <a href="#l23.19">xxiii. 19</a>,
<a href="#r1.9">Rel. i. 9</a>, <a
href="#r1.29">29</a>, <a
href="#r7.14">Rel. vii. 14</a>.</p>
<p>Objects, natural, moved the Saint to devotion, <a
href="#l9.6">ix. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Ocampo, de, Mary, <a href="#l32note4">xxxii. 13,
note</a>.</p>
<p>Office, the divine, the Saint's imperfect knowledge of, <a
href="#l31.26">xxxi. 26</a>.</p>
<p>Order, vision concerning a certain, <a
href="#l40.18">xl. 18, 19</a>.</p>
<p>Osorno, Countess of, <a href="#r3.16">Rel. iii.
16</a>.</p>
<p>Ovalle, de, Don Juan, <a href="#l35note16">xxxv. 14,
note</a>; providential illness of, <a
href="#l36.2">xxxvi. 2</a>.</p>
<p>Padranos, de, Juan, <a href="#l23.18">xxiii. 18</a>;
directs the Saint, <a href="#l24.1">xxiv. 1</a>; removed
from Avila, <a href="#l24.5">xxiv. 5</a>.</p>
<p>Pain of raptures, <a href="#l20.11">xx. 11</a>;
sweetness of, <a href="#l20.19">xx. 19</a>.</p>
<p>Paradise of His delight, <a
href="#l35.13">xxxv. 13</a>.</p>
<p><span lang="la">&#34;Passer solitarius,&#34;</span> <a
href="#l20.13">xx. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Passion, the, devotion of the Saint to, <a
href="#l9.5">ix. 5</a>; meditation on, <a
href="#l13.19">xiii. 19, 20</a>, <a
href="#l22.8">xxii. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Patience of a nun, <a href="#l5.3">v. 3</a>; of the
Saint, <a href="#l5.16">v. 16</a>; of God, <a
href="#l8.8">viii. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Penance, necessity of, <a href="#l27.14">xxvii. 14</a>;
of the Saint, <a href="#l24.2">xxiv. 2</a>, <a
href="#r1.5">Rel. i. 5</a>, <a
href="#r2.11">Rel. ii. 11</a>, <a
href="#r11.2">Rel. xi. 2</a>.</p>
<p>Perfection, <a href="#l21.10">xxi. 10</a>; true safety
lies in, <a href="#l25.15">xxxv. 15</a>; not always
attained to because of many years spent in prayer, <a
href="#l39.21">xxxix. 21</a>.</p>
<p>Persecution, of the Saint, <a
href="#l19.12">xix. 12</a>, <a
href="#l36.12">xxxvi. 12</a>; blessings of, <a
href="#l33.5">xxxiii. 5</a>.</p>
<p>Perseverance in prayer, <a href="#l8.5">viii. 5</a>;
fruits of, <a href="#l11.6">xi. 6</a>; reward of, certain,
<a href="#l11.17">xi. 17</a>; the Saint prays for, <a
href="#l14.17">xiv. 17</a>; and recommends, <a
href="#l19.7">xix. 7</a>.</p>
<p><a name="peteralc">Peter, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, of
Alcantara</a>, <a href="#l27.4">xxvii. 4</a>; penitential
life of, <a href="#l27.17">xxvii. 17-21</a>, <a
href="#l30.2">xxx. 2</a>; power of, with God, <a
href="#l27.22">xxvii. 22</a>; understands and comforts the
Saint, <a href="#l30.5">xxx. 5</a>, <a
href="#l30.7">7</a>, <a
href="#r7.6">Rel. vii. 6</a>; quiets a scruple of the Saint,
<a href="#l30.20">xxx. 20</a>; approves of the new
foundation, <a href="#l32.16">xxxii. 16</a>; and of the
observance of poverty in it, <a href="#l35.6">xxxv. 6</a>;
in Avila when the Saint came back from Toledo, <a
href="#l36.1">xxxvi. 1</a>; death of, <a
href="#l36note8">xxxvi. 1, note</a>; appears to the Saint,
<a href="#l36.20">xxxvi. 20, 21</a>; said that women make
greater progress than men, <a
href="#l40.12">xl. 12</a>.</p>
<p>Phoenix, the, <a href="#l39.33">xxxix. 33</a>.</p>
<p>Pilgrims, <a href="#l38.8">xxxviii. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Pillar, the, meditations on Christ at, <a
href="#l13.19">xiii. 19</a>, <a
href="#l13.31">31</a>.</p>
<p>Politeness, monasteries courts in, <a
href="#l37.17">xxxvii. 17</a>.</p>
<p>Poverty, effects of defective, <a href="#l11.3">xi.
3</a>; of spirit, <a href="#l22.17">xxii. 17</a>; the
Saint's love of, <a href="#l35.3">xxxv. 3</a>, <a
href="#r1.10">Rel. i. 10</a>, <a
href="#r2.2">Rel. ii. 2</a>.</p>
<p>Prayer, mental, <a href="#l8.7">viii. 7</a>; blessings
of, <a href="#l8.12">viii. 12</a>; joys of, <a
href="#l10.3">x. 3</a>; the Saint's four states of, <a
href="#l11.12">xi. 12</a>; fruit of mental, <a
href="#l11.20">xi. 20</a>; vocal, <a
href="#l12.3">xii. 3</a>; doctrine of, difficult, <a
href="#l13.18">xiii. 18</a>; importance of persevering in,
<a href="#l15.5">xv. 5</a>; must have its foundations in
humility, <a href="#l22.16">xxii. 16</a>; of the Saint
continued in sleep, <a href="#l29.9">xxix. 9</a>; effects
of intercessory, <a href="#l31.9">xxxi. 9</a>; two kinds
of, <a href="#l39.8">xxxix. 8-10</a>; the Saint's method
of, <a href="#r1.1">Rel. i. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Preachers, <a href="#l16.12">xvi. 12</a>.</p>
<p>Presence of God, the, <a href="#l18.20">xviii. 20</a>;
practice of the, <a href="#l12.3">xii. 3</a>; effects of,
in the prayer of quiet, <a href="#l14.8">xiv. 8</a>;
different from vision, <a href="#l27.6">xxvii. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Priest, conversion of an evil-living, <a href="#l5.9">v.
9</a>, <a href="#l31.7">xxxi. 7</a>; vision concerning a,
<a href="#l38.29">xxxviii. 29</a>.</p>
<p>Progress made in the way of raptures, <a
href="#l21.11">xxi. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Prophecies made to the Saint, <a href="#l34.23">xxxiv.
23</a>; fulfilled, <a href="#r2.6">Rel. ii. 6</a>, <a
href="#r2.17">17</a>.</p>
<p><a name="desangel">Provincial, the, of the Carmelites</a> offers to accept the new
foundation, <a href="#l32.16">xxxii. 16</a>; then declines
it, <a href="#l32.18">xxxii. 18</a>; sends the Saint to
Toledo, <a href="#l34.2">xxxiv. 2</a>; recalls her, <a
href="#l35.8">xxxv. 8</a>; reprimands the Saint, <a
href="#l36.12">xxxvi. 12</a>; allows the Saint to live in
the new monastery, <a href="#l36.23">xxxvi. 23</a>; death
of, <a href="#l38.34">xxxviii. 34-36</a>.</p>
<p>Purgatory, the Saint saw certain souls who were not sent to, <a
href="#l38.41">xxxviii. 41</a>; and delivers others from,
<a href="#l39.6">xxxix. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Queen of heaven, the, devotion to, <a
href="#l19.9">xix. 9</a>.</p>
<p>Quiet, the prayer of, <a href="#l4.9">iv. 9</a>, <a
href="#l9.6">ix. 6</a>, <a href="#l14.1">xiv. 1,
<i lang="la">passim</i></a>; disturbed by the memory and the
understanding, <a href="#l14.5">xiv. 5</a>; joy of the soul
in, <a href="#l14.7">xiv. 7</a>; few souls pass beyond, <a
href="#l15.3">xv. 3</a>, <a href="#l15.7">7</a>;
great fruits of, <a href="#l15.6">xv. 6</a>; how the soul
is to order itself in, <a href="#l15.9">xv. 9</a>;
difference between the true and false, <a
href="#l15.15">xv. 15</a>.</p>
<p>Rank, slavery of, <a href="#l34.6">xxxiv. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Rapture, <a href="#l20.1">xx. 1</a>; irresistible, <a
href="#l20.3">xx. 3</a>, <a href="#l22.20">xxii.
20</a>; effects of, <a href="#l20.9">xx. 9</a>, <a
href="#l20.30">30</a>; pain of, <a
href="#l20.11">xx. 11</a>; loneliness of the soul in, <a
href="#l20.13">xx. 13</a>; characteristics of, <a
href="#l20.23">xx. 23</a>; duration of, <a
href="#l20.25">xx. 25</a>; physical effects of, <a
href="#l20.29">xx. 29</a>, <a
href="#r1.26">Rel. i. 26</a>, <a
href="#r4.1">iv. 1</a>; made the Saint long for heaven, <a
href="#l38.8">xxxviii. 8</a>; good effects of, <a
href="#r1.8">Rel. i. 8</a>, <a
href="#r1.15">15</a>.</p>
<p>Reading, spiritual, <a href="#l1.1">i. 1</a>, <a
href="#l4.12">iv. 12, 13</a>; persevered in by the Saint, <a
href="#l8.14">viii. 14</a>; long unprofitable to her, <a
href="#l12.10">xii. 10</a>; impossible in the prayer of
perfect union, <a href="#l18.14">xviii. 14</a>; a delight,
<a href="#r1.7">Rel. i. 7</a>.</p>
<p>Recollection, prayer of, <a href="#l14.2">xiv. 2</a>, <a
href="#r8.3">Rel. viii. 3</a>.</p>
<p>Recreation, <a href="#l13.1">xiii. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Reflections, making, when dangerous in prayer, <a
href="#l15.11">xv. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Reform, the Carmelite, beginning of, <a
href="#l32.13">xxxii. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Religious must despise the world, <a
href="#l27.16">xxvii. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Resignation of the Saint, <a href="#l21.6">xxi. 6</a>,
<a href="#r1.20">Rel. i. 20</a>.</p>
<p>Revelations, the Saint never spoke of her, when she consulted her
confessors, <a href="#l32.19">xxxii. 19</a>.</p>
<p>Rosary, the, of the Saint, <a
href="#l29.8">xxix. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Rule, the Carmelite, mitigation of, <a
href="#l32.12">xxxii. 12</a>; restored by the Saint, <a
href="#l36.27">xxxvi. 27</a>; observance of, <a
href="#l36.30">xxxvi. 30, 31</a>.</p>
<p>Salasar, de, Angel.  See <a href="#desangel">Provincial</a>.</p>
<p>Salazar, de, Gaspar, Rector of the Society of Jesus in Avila, <a
href="#l33.9">xxxiii. 9</a>; understands the state of the
Saint, <a href="#l33.11">xxxiii. 11</a>; bids the Saint go
to Toledo, <a href="#l34.2">xxxiv. 2</a>; vision of the
Saint concerning, <a href="#l38.17">xxxviii. 17</a>.</p>
<p>Salcedo, de, Don Francisco, <a href="#l23.6">xxiii.
6</a>; gives spiritual advice to  the Saint, <a
href="#l23.11">xxiii. 11</a>; fears delusions, <a
href="#l23.12">xxiii. 12</a>; helps the Saint in her new
foundation, <a href="#l32.21">xxxii. 21</a>, <a
href="#l36.21">xxxvi. 21</a>; hospitable, <a
href="#l36.1">xxxvi. 1</a>; gives Communion to the Saint
when a priest, <a href="#r3.7">Rel. iii. 7</a>.</p>
<p>Samaria, the woman of, <a href="#l30.24">xxx.
24</a>.</p>
<p>Satan, subtlety of, <a href="#l4.14">iv. 14</a>; an
artifice of, <a href="#l7.12">vii. 12</a>, <a
href="#l7.35">35</a>; suggests a false humility, <a
href="#l13.5">xiii. 5</a>; and a carefulness for health, <a
href="#l13.9">xiii. 9</a>; afraid of learned directors who
are humble, <a href="#l13.26">xiii. 26</a>; efforts of, to
deceive, how thwarted, <a href="#l15.6">xv. 16</a>; tempted
the Saint to give up prayer, <a href="#l19.8">xix. 8</a>; a
lie, <a href="#l25.26">xxv. 26</a>; unable to counterfeit
intellectual visions, <a href="#l27.4">xxvii. 4-8</a>;
tries to counterfeit imaginary visions, <a
href="#l28.15">xxviii. 15</a>; appears to the Saint, <a
href="#l31.2">xxxi. 2</a>; dislikes contempt, <a
href="#l31.10">xxxi. 10</a>; wiles of, <a
href="#r1.29">Rel. i. 29</a>.</p>
<p>Scandal, <a href="#l27.16">xxvii. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Scorn, signs of, not to be made during visions, <a
href="#l29.6">xxix. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Self, contempt of, necessary in the spiritual life, <a
href="#l31.23">xxxi. 23</a>.</p>
<p>Self-denial, necessity of, <a href="#l31.25">xxxi.
25</a>.</p>
<p>Self-knowledge, <a href="#l13.23">xiii. 23</a>.</p>
<p>Self-love, <a href="#l11.2">xi. 2</a>; strong and
hurtful, <a href="#l11.4">xi. 4, 5</a>.</p>
<p>Self-respect, harm of, <a href="#l21.12">xxi.
12</a>.</p>
<p>Senses, the, suspension of, in the prayer of perfect union, <a
href="#l18.19">xviii. 19</a>.</p>
<p>Sensitiveness, <a href="#l11.4">xi. 4</a>.</p>
<p>Sermons, <a href="#l8.17">viii. 17</a>; without
simplicity, <a href="#l16.12">xvi. 12</a>.</p>
<p>Shame, good fruits of, <a href="#l5.9">v. 9</a>.</p>
<p>Sicknesses of the Saint, <a href="#l30.9">xxx.
9</a>.</p>
<p>Sickness sent for penance, <a href="#l24.2">xxiv.
2</a>.</p>
<p>Sight restored at the prayer of the Saint, <a
href="#l39.1">xxxix. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Sincerity of the Saint, <a href="#r1.28">Rel. i.
28</a>.</p>
<p>Sin, occasions of, <a href="#l8.14">viii. 14</a>; pain
occasioned by the sins of others, <a
href="#l13.14">xiii. 14</a>; original, <a
href="#l30.20">xxx. 20</a>; the Saint, by her prayers,
hinders a great, <a href="#l39.3">xxxix. 3</a>; wickedness
of, <a href="#l40.15">xl. 15</a>; vision of a soul in, <a
href="#r3.13">Rel. iii. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Sins, the Saint consents to the divulging of her, <a
href="#l10.10">x. 10</a>.</p>
<p>Solitude, longings for, <a href="#l1.6">i. 6</a>, <a
href="#l6.5">vi. 5</a>, <a
href="#r1.6">Rel. i. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Sorcery, <a href="#l5.10">v. 10</a>.</p>
<p>Soto, de, the Inquisitor, <a
href="#r7.8">Rel. vii. 8</a>.</p>
<p>Soul, our own, the first object, <a href="#l13.13">xiii.
13, 14</a>; likened to a garden, <a
href="#l11.10">xi. 10</a>, <a
href="#l14.13">xiv. 13</a>; in the prayer of quiet, <a
href="#l15.1">xv. 1</a>; growth  of, <a
href="#l15.20">xv. 20</a>; powers of, in the prayer of
imperfect union, <a href="#l16.1">xvi. 1</a>, <a
href="#l16.4">4</a>; beside itself, <a
href="#l16.1">xvi. 1-5</a>; crucifixion of, in raptures, <a
href="#l20.14">xx. 14</a>; detachment of the enraptured, <a
href="#l20.33">xx. 33</a>; strengthened in raptures, <a
href="#l21.14">xxi. 14</a>; effects of visions in, <a
href="#l27.11">xxvii. 11</a>; helplessness of, without God,
<a href="#l37.11">xxxvii. 11</a>; vision of a lost soul, <a
href="#l38.31">xxxviii. 31</a>; the Saint's vision of her
own, <a href="#l40.8">xl. 8</a>; and of, in a state of
grace, <a href="#r3.13">Rel. iii. 13</a>, <a
href="#r5.6">Rel. v. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Spirit, liberty of, <a href="#l11.25">xi. 25</a>;
poverty of, <a href="#l22.17">xxii. 17</a>; flight of the,
<a href="#l18.8">xviii. 8</a>, <a
href="#r8.11">Rel. viii. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Spirits, evil, put to flight, <a href="#l25.25">xxv.
25</a>; by holy water, <a href="#l31.4">xxxi. 4</a>.</p>
<p>Spirituality influenced by bodily health, <a
href="#l11.24">xi. 24</a>.</p>
<p>Suarez, Juana, <a href="#l3.2">iii. 2</a>; accompanies
the Saint to Bezadas, <a href="#l4.6">iv. 6</a>.</p>
<p>Sufferings, physical, of the Saint, <a href="#l4.7">iv.
7</a>, <a href="#l5.4">v. 4</a>, <a
href="#l5.14">14</a>, <a href="#l6.1">vi. 1</a>;
of raptures, <a href="#l20.16">xx. 16</a>; the Saint longs
for, <a href="#l40.27">xl. 27</a>.</p>
<p>Sweetness, spiritual, never sought by the Saint but once, <a
href="#l9.11">ix. 11</a>; seekers of, censured, <a
href="#l11.21">xi. 21</a>; of the pain of raptures, <a
href="#l20.19">xx. 19</a>; the Saint unable to resist it at
times, <a href="#l24.1">xxiv. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Tears, gift of, <a href="#l4.8">iv. 8</a>, <a
href="#l29.11">xxix. 11</a>; of the Saint before a picture
of the Passion, <a href="#l9.1">ix. 1</a>; in the prayer of
quiet, <a href="#l14.5">xiv. 5</a>; in the prayer of
perfect union, <a href="#l19.1">xix. 1, 2</a>; the Saint
prays God to accept her, <a href="#l19.10">xix. 10</a>.</p>
<p>Temptation, power of, <a href="#l30.13">xxx. 13</a>.</p>
<p>Tenderness of soul, <a href="#l10.2">x. 2</a>.</p>
<p>Teresa, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, desires martyrdom, <a
href="#l1.4">i. 4</a>; placed in a monastery, <a
href="#l2.8">ii. 8</a>; unwilling to become a nun, <a
href="#l2.10">ii. 10</a>; becomes more fervent, <a
href="#l3.2">iii. 2</a>; is resolved to follow her vocation,
<a href="#l3.6">iii. 6</a>; first fervours of, <a
href="#l4.2">iv. 2</a>; failure of health, <a
href="#l4.6">iv. 6</a>; God sends her an illness, <a
href="#l5.4">v. 4</a>; suffers grievously, <a
href="#l6.1">vi. 1</a>; afraid of prayer, <a
href="#l6.5">vi. 5</a>; leads her father to prayer, <a
href="#l7.16">vii. 16</a>; present at her father's death, <a
href="#l7.22">vii. 22</a>; perseveres in prayer, <a
href="#l8.2">viii. 2</a>; found it hard to pray, <a
href="#l8.10">viii. 10</a>; delights in sermons, <a
href="#l8.17">viii. 17</a>; devout to the Magdalene, <a
href="#l9.2">ix. 2</a>; never doubted of God's mercy, <a
href="#l9.8">ix. 8</a>; depreciates herself, <a
href="#l10.9">x. 9</a>; willing to have her sins divulged,
<a href="#l10.10">x. 10</a>; always sought for light, <a
href="#l10.13">x. 13</a>; complains of her memory, <a
href="#l11.9">xi. 9</a>; unable to explain the state of her
soul, <a href="#l12.10">xii. 10</a>; supernaturally
enlightened, <a href="#l12.11">xii. 11</a>; reads books on
prayer to no purpose, <a href="#l14.10">xiv. 10</a>; writes
with many hindrances, <a href="#l14.12">xiv. 12</a>, <a
href="#l40.32">xl. 32</a>; bewails her ingratitude, <a
href="#l14.16">xiv. 16</a>; scarcely understood a word of
Latin, <a href="#l15.12">xv. 12</a>; understands her state
in the prayer of imperfect union, <a
href="#l16.3">xvi. 3</a>; and describes it, <a
href="#l16.6">xvi. 6</a>; bewails her unworthiness, <a
href="#l18.6">xviii. 6</a>; writes under obedience, <a
href="#l18.10">xviii. 10</a>; confesses ignorance, <a
href="#l18.20">xviii. 20</a>; abandons her prayers for a
time, <a href="#l19.8">xix. 8</a>; evil spoken of, <a
href="#l19.12">xix. 12</a>; misled by false humility, <a
href="#l19.23">xix. 23</a>; prays to be delivered from
raptures, <a href="#l20.5">xx. 5, 6</a>; never cared for
money, <a href="#l20.34">xx. 34</a>; gives up her whole
being to God, <a href="#l21.7">xxi. 7</a>; unable to learn
from books, <a href="#l22.3">xxii. 3</a>; afraid of
delusions, <a href="#l23.3">xxiii. 3</a>; is directed by a
layman, <a href="">xxiii. 10</a>; severe to herself, <a
href="#l24.2">xxiv. 2</a>; her first ecstasy, <a
href="#l24.7">xxiv. 7</a>; had no visions before the prayer
of union, <a href="#l25.14">xxv. 14</a>; told by her
confessor that she was deluded by Satan, <a
href="#l25.18">xxv. 18</a>; prays to be led by a different
spiritual way, <a href="#l25.20">xxv. 20</a>, <a
href="#l28.3">xxvii. 3</a>, <a
href="#r7.7">Rel. vii. 7</a>; not afraid of Satan, <a
href="#l25.27">xxv. 27</a>; spoken against, <a
href="#l26.3">xxvi. 3</a>; troubles of, because of visions,
<a href="#l27.4">xxvii. 4</a>, <a
href="#l28.6">xxviii. 6</a>; her defence when told that her
visions were false, <a href="#l28.18">xxviii. 18, 19</a>;
afraid nobody would hear her confession, <a
href="#l28.20">xxviii. 20</a>; harshly judged by her
directors, <a href="#l28.23">xxviii. 23</a>; would not
exchange her visions for all the pleasures of the world, <a
href="#l29.5">xxix. 5</a>; vehemence of her love, <a
href="#l29.10">xxix. 10</a>; her supernatural wound, <a
href="#l29.17">xxix. 17</a>; manifests her spiritual state
to <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Peter of Alcantara, <a
href="#l30.4">xxx. 4</a>; bodily trials of, <a
href="#l30.17">xxx. 17</a>; finds no relief in exterior
occupations, <a href="#l30.18">xxx. 18</a>; buffeted by
Satan, <a href="#l31.3">xxxi. 3</a>; converts a great
sinner, <a href="#l31.7">xxxi. 7</a>; troubled because well
thought of, <a href="#l31.13">xxxi. 13-17</a>; her singing
of the Office, <a href="#l31.26">xxxi. 26</a>; commanded to
labour for the reform of her Order, <a
href="#l32.14">xxxii. 14</a>; commanded to abandon her
purpose, <a href="#l33.1">xxxiii. 1</a>; her vision in the
Dominican church, Avila, <a href="#l33.16">xxxiii. 16</a>;
goes to Toledo, <a href="#l34.3">xxxiv. 3</a>; the nuns
wish to have her as their Prioress, <a
href="#l35.8">xxxv. 8</a>; restores a child to life, <a
href="#l35note16">xxxv. 14, note</a>; begins the Reform, <a
href="#l36.4">xxxvi. 4</a>; her grievous trial, <a
href="#l36.6">xxxvi. 6, 7</a>; her health improved, <a
href="#l36.9">xxxvi. 9</a>; would suffer all things for one
additional degree of glory, <a href="#l37.3">xxxvii. 3</a>;
her affection for her confessors, <a
href="#l37.6">xxxvii. 6</a>; supernaturally helped when
writing, <a href="#l38.28">xxxviii. 28</a>; obtains sight
for a blind person, <a href="#l39.1">xxxix. 1</a>; and the
cure of one of her kindred, <a href="#l39.2">xxxix. 2</a>;
her spiritual state became known without her consent, <a
href="#l40.28">xl. 28</a>; submits all her writings to the
Roman Church, <a href="#r7.16">Rel. vii. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Theology, mystical, <a href="#l10.1">x. 1</a>, <a
href="#l11.8">xi. 8</a>, <a
href="#l12.8">xii. 8</a>; the Saint says she does not know
the terms of, <a href="#l18.4">xviii. 4</a>.</p>
<p>Thomas, <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr>, assisted at the deathbed of
Fra <abbr title="Pedro">P.</abbr> Ibaņez, <a
href="#l38.15">xxxviii. 15</a>.</p>
<p>Throne, vision of a, <a href="#l39.31">xxxix. 31,
32</a>.</p>
<p>Trance, a, <a href="#l18.17">xviii. 17</a>, <a
href="#l20.1">xx. 1</a>; outward effects of, <a
href="#l40.11">xl. 11</a>; gradual, <a
href="#r8.10">Rel. viii. 10</a>.</p>
<p>Transport, <a href="#r8.10">Rel. viii. 10</a>.</p>
<p>Trials followed by graces, <a href="#l11.18">xi. 18</a>;
promised to the Saint, <a href="#l35.9">xxxv. 9</a>; shown
her in a vision, <a href="#l39.25">xxxix. 25</a>.</p>
<p>Trinity, the, mystery of, revealed to the Saint, <a
href="#l39.36">xxxix. 36</a>; visions of, <a
href="#r3.6">Rel. iii. 6</a>, <a
href="#r5.6">Rel. v. 6-8</a>, <a
href="#r8.20">Rel. viii. 20</a>, <a
href="#r9.12">Rel. ix. 12</a>.</p>
<p>Truth, divine, <a href="#l40.3">xl. 3-7</a>.</p>
<p>Ulloa, de, Doņa Guiomar, <a href="#l24.5">xxiv. 5</a>;
takes the Saint to her house, <a href="#l30.3">xxx. 3</a>;
helps the Saint to accomplish the reform, <a
href="#l32.13">xxxii. 13</a>; is refused absolution, <a
href="#l32.18">xxxii. 18</a>.</p>
<p>Understanding, the, use of in prayer, <a
href="#l13.17">xiii. 17</a>; disorderly, <a
href="#l15.10">xv. 10</a>; powerless in the state of
imperfect union, <a href="#l16.4">xvi. 4</a>; and of the
perfect union, <a href="#l18.19">xviii. 19</a>; the Saint
speaks humbly of her, <a href="#l28.10">xxviii. 10</a>.</p>
<p>Union, imperfect, prayer of, <a href="#l16.1">xvi.
1</a>; a mystical death, <a
href="#l16.1"><i><abbr lang="la" title="ibidem">ib.</abbr></i></a>;
the soul resigned therein, <a href="#l17.1">xvii. 1</a>;
how it differs from the prayer of quiet, <a
href="#l17.5">xvii. 5, 6</a>; another degree of, <a
href="#l17.7">xvii. 7</a>; the labour of the soul lessens
in the later states of, <a href="#l18.1">xviii. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Union, perfect, prayer of, <a href="#l18.1">xviii.
1</a>; the senses wholly absorbed in, <a
href="#l18.3">xviii. 3</a>, <a
href="#l18.14">14</a>; duration of, <a
href="#l18.16">xviii. 16</a>; fruits of, <a
href="#l19.4">xix. 4</a>.</p>
<p>Union, prayer of, <a href="#l4.9">iv. 9</a>; followed by
visions in the Saint, <a href="#l25.14">xxv. 14</a>.</p>
<p>Union, what it is, <a href="#r5.2">Rel. v. 2</a>; of the
faculties of the soul, <a href="#r8.7">Rel. viii. 7</a>.</p>
<p>Vainglory, <a href="#l7.2">vii. 2</a>, <a
href="#l7.34">34</a>, <a href="#l10.5">x. 5</a>,
<a href="#r1.18">Rel. i. 18</a>, <a
href="#r2.15">Rel. ii. 15</a>, <a
href="#r7.23">Rel. vii. 23</a>.</p>
<p>Vanity of possessions, <a href="#l20.35">xx. 35</a>; the
Saint's watchfulness over herself herein, <a
href="#l39.11">xxxix. 11</a>.</p>
<p>Virtue, growth of, in the prayer of quiet, <a
href="#l14.6">xiv. 6</a>; and in that of imperfect union,
<a href="#l17.4">xvii. 4</a>.</p>
<p>Visions, our Lord seen in, <a href="#l7.11">vii. 11</a>,
<a href="#l25.14">xxv. 14</a>, <a
href="#l27.3">xxvii. 3</a>, <a
href="#l28.2">xxviii. 2</a>; intellectual, <a
href="#l27.4">xxvii. 4</a>; different from the sense of the
presence of God, <a href="#l27.6">xxvii. 6</a>; joy of, <a
href="#l27.13">xxvii. 13</a>; imaginary, <a
href="#l28.5">xxviii. 5</a>; effects of, in the soul, <a
href="#l28.13">xxviii. 13</a>; Satan tried to simulate, <a
href="#l28.15">xxviii. 15</a>; effects of, in the Saint, <a
href="#l28.19">xxviii. 19</a>; cessation of the Saint's
imaginary, <a href="#l29.2">xxix. 2</a>; of the Sacred
Humanity, effects of, <a
href="#l38.23">xxxviii. 23</a>.</p>
<p>Water, holy, puts evil spirits to flight, <a
href="#l31.4">xxxi. 4, 5</a>, <a
href="#l31.9">9, 10</a>.</p>
<p>Water, the first, <a href="#l11.13">xi. 13</a>; the
second, <a href="#l14.1">xiv. 1</a>; the third, <a
href="#l16.1">xvi. 1</a>; the fourth, <a
href="#l18.1">xviii. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Will, the state of, in the prayer of quiet, <a
href="#l14.4">xiv. 4</a>, <a
href="#l15.2">xv. 2</a>, <a
href="#l15.10">10</a>; in the prayer of imperfect union, <a
href="#l18.16">xviii. 16</a>.</p>
<p>Women, great care necessary in the direction of, <a
href="#l23.14">xxiii. 14, 15</a>; make greater progress
than men, <a href="#l40.12">xl. 12</a>.</p>
<p>World, the, contempt of, <a href="#l10.7">x. 7</a>, <a
href="#l27.16">xxvii. 16</a>; customs of, wearisome, <a
href="#l37.15">xxxvii. 15, 16</a>; hard on good people, <a
href="#l31.19">xxxi. 19</a>; vanity of, <a
href="#r1.21">Rel. i. 21</a>.</p>
<p>Wound of the soul, <a href="#r8.16">Rel. viii. 16</a>; of
love, <a href="#r8.17">Rel. viii. 17</a>.</p>
<p>Ybaņez. See <a href="#pedroiba">Ibaņez</a>.</p>
<p>Yepes, <a href="#r9.1">Rel. ix. 1</a>.</p>
<p>Zeal, indiscreet, <a href="#l13.11">xiii. 11</a>.</p>








<pre>





End of Project Gutenberg's The Life of St. Teresa of Jesus, by Teresa of Avila

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF ST. TERESA OF JESUS ***

This file should be named 8trsa10h.htm or 8trsa10h.zip
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8trsa11h.htm
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8trsa10ah.htm

Produced by Elizabeth T. Knuth

Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.

Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.

Most people start at our Web sites at:
http://gutenberg.net or
http://promo.net/pg

These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).


Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date.  This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.

http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03

Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90

Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.


Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)

We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.   Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month:  1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.

The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.

Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):

eBooks Year Month

    1  1971 July
   10  1991 January
  100  1994 January
 1000  1997 August
 1500  1998 October
 2000  1999 December
 2500  2000 December
 3000  2001 November
 4000  2001 October/November
 6000  2002 December*
 9000  2003 November*
10000  2004 January*


The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.

We need your donations more than ever!

As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.

We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.

As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.

In answer to various questions we have received on this:

We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states.  If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.

While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.

International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.

Donations by check or money order may be sent to:

Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109

Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154.  Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law.  As fund-raising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.

We need your donations more than ever!

You can get up to date donation information online at:

http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html


***

If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:

Michael S. Hart hart@pobox.com

Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.

We would prefer to send you information by email.


**The Legal Small Print**


(Three Pages)

***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.

*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.

ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.

Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.

To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.

THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.

Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.

INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause:  [1] distribution of this eBook,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
or [3] any Defect.

DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:

[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
     eBook or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
     if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
     including any form resulting from conversion by word
     processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
     *EITHER*:

     [*]  The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
          does *not* contain characters other than those
          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
          author, and additional characters may be used to
          indicate hypertext links; OR

     [*]  The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
          form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
          OR

     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
          eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
          or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2]  Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
     "Small Print!" statement.

[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
     gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
     payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
     the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
     legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
     periodic) tax return.  Please contact us beforehand to
     let us know your plans and to work out the details.

WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.

The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
hart@pobox.com

[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
when distributed free of all fees.  Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
Michael S. Hart.  Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
they hardware or software or any other related product without
express permission.]

*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*



</pre>

</body>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-01-23 17:56:08 +0000