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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

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




Produced by Elizabeth T. Knuth




The Life of St. Teresa of Jesus




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 "Quæ præparavit Deus
iis qui" to "Quæ præparavit Deus his qui;" and in L 29 note 12,
I have changed "As the longing of the heart" to "As the longing
of the hart."




The Life
of
St. Teresa of Jesus


Re-imprimatur.
+ Franciscus
Archiepiscopus Westmonast.

Die 27 Sept., 1904.





The Life
of
St. Teresa of Jesus,
of the Order of Our Lady of Carmel.
Written by Herself.

Translated from the Spanish by
David Lewis.

Third Edition Enlarged.

With additional Notes and an Introduction by
Rev. Fr. Benedict Zimmerman, O.C.D.

London: Thomas Baker.
New York: Benziger Bros.
MCMIV.





Contents.


Chap.

Introduction to the Third Edition, by Rev. B. Zimmerman

St. Teresa's Arguments of the Chapters

Preface by David Lewis

Annals of the Saint's Life

Prologue

I. Childhood and early Impressions--The Blessing of pious
Parents--Desire of Martyrdom--Death of the Saint's Mother

II. Early Impressions--Dangerous Books and Companions--The Saint
is placed in a Monastery

III. The Blessing of being with good people--How certain
Illusions were removed

IV. Our Lord helps her to become a Nun--Her many Infirmities

V. Illness and Patience of the Saint--The Story of a Priest whom
she rescued from a Life of Sin

VI. The great Debt she owed to our Lord for His Mercy to her--She
takes St. Joseph for her Patron

VII. Lukewarmness--The Loss of Grace--Inconvenience of Laxity in
Religious Houses

VIII. The Saint ceases not to pray--Prayer the way to recover
what is lost--All exhorted to pray--The great Advantage of
Prayer, even to those who may have ceased from it

IX. The means whereby our Lord quickened her Soul, gave her Light
in her Darkness, and made her strong in Goodness

X. The Graces she received in Prayer--What we can do
ourselves--The great Importance of understanding what our Lord is
doing for us--She desires her Confessors to keep her Writings
secret, because of the special Graces of our Lord to her, which
they had commanded her to describe

XI. Why men do not attain quickly to the perfect Love of God--Of
Four Degrees of Prayer--Of the First Degree--The Doctrine
profitable for Beginners, and for those who have no
sensible Sweetness

XII. What we can ourselves do--The Evil of desiring to attain to
supernatural States before our Lord calls us

XIII. Of certain Temptations of Satan--Instructions
relating thereto

XIV. The Second State of Prayer--Its supernatural Character

XV. Instructions for those who have attained to the Prayer of
Quiet--Many advance so far, but few go farther

XVI. The Third State of Prayer--Deep Matters--What the Soul can
do that has reached it--Effects of the great Graces of our Lord

XVII. The Third State of Prayer--The Effects thereof--The
Hindrance caused by the Imagination and the Memory

XVIII. The Fourth State of Prayer--The great Dignity of the Soul
raised to it by our Lord--Attainable on Earth, not by our Merit,
but by the Goodness of our Lord

XIX. The Effects of this Fourth State of Prayer--Earnest
Exhortations to those who have attained to it not to go back nor
to cease from Prayer, even if they fall--The great Calamity of
going back

XX. The Difference between Union and Rapture--What Rapture
is--The Blessing it is to the Soul--The Effects of it

XXI. Conclusion of the Subject--Pain of the Awakening--Light
against Delusions

XXII. The Security of Contemplatives lies in their not ascending
to high Things if our Lord does not raise them--The Sacred
Humanity must be the Road to the highest Contemplation--A
Delusion in which the Saint was once entangled

XXIII. The Saint resumes the History of her Life--Aiming at
Perfection--Means whereby it may be gained--Instructions
for Confessors

XXIV. Progress under Obedience--Her Inability to resist the
Graces of God--God multiplies His Graces

XXV. Divine Locutions--Delusions on that Subject

XXVI. How the Fears of the Saint vanished--How she was assured
that her Prayer was the Work of the Holy Spirit

XXVII. The Saint prays to be directed in a different
way--Intellectual Visions

XXVIII. Visions of the Sacred Humanity and of the glorified
Bodies--Imaginary Visions--Great Fruits thereof when they come
from God

XXIX. Of Visions--The Graces our Lord bestowed on the Saint--The
Answers our Lord gave her for those who tried her

XXX. St. Peter of Alcantara comforts the Saint--Great Temptations
and Interior Trials

XXXI. Of certain outward Temptations and Appearances of Satan--Of
the Sufferings thereby occasioned--Counsels for those who go on
unto Perfection

XXXII. Our Lord shows St. Teresa the Place which she had by her
Sins deserved in Hell--The Torments there--How the Monastery of
St. Joseph was founded

XXXIII. The Foundation of the Monastery hindered--Our Lord
consoles the Saint

XXXIV. The Saint leaves her Monastery of the Incarnation for a
time, at the command of her superior--Consoles an afflicted Widow

XXXV. The Foundation of the House of St. Joseph--Observance of
holy Poverty therein--How the Saint left Toledo

XXXVI. The Foundation of the Monastery of St. Joseph--Persecution
and Temptations--Great interior Trial of the Saint, and
her Deliverance

XXXVII. The Effects of the divine Graces in the Soul--The
inestimable Greatness of one Degree of Glory

XXXVIII. Certain heavenly Secrets, Visions, and Revelations--The
Effects of them in her Soul

XXXIX. Other Graces bestowed on the Saint--The Promises of our
Lord to her--Divine Locutions and Visions

XL. Visions, Revelations, and Locutions

The Relations.

Relation.

I. Sent to St. Peter of Alcantara in 1560 from the Monastery of
the Incarnation, Avila

II. To one of her Confessors, from the House of Dona Luisa de la
Cerda, in 1562

III. Of various Graces granted to the Saint from the year 1568 to
1571, inclusive

IV. Of the Graces the Saint received in Salamanca at the end of
Lent, 1571

V. Observations on certain Points of Spirituality

VI. The Vow of Obedience to Father Gratian which the Saint made
in 1575

VII. Made for Rodrigo Alvarez, S.J., in the year 1575, according
to Don Vicente de la Fuente; but in 1576, according to the
Bollandists and F. Bouix

VIII. Addressed to F. Rodrigo Alvarez

IX. Of certain spiritual Graces she received in Toledo and Avila
in the years 1576 and 1577

X. Of a Revelation to the Saint at Avila, 1579, and of Directions
concerning the Government of the Order

XI. Written from Palencia in May, 1581, and addressed to Don
Alonzo Velasquez, Bishop of Osma, who had been when Canon of
Toledo, one of the Saint's Confessors





Introduction to the Present Edition.

When the publisher entrusted me with the task of editing this
volume, one sheet was already printed and a considerable portion
of the book was in type.  Under his agreement with the owners of
the copyright, he was bound to reproduce the text and notes,
etc., originally prepared by Mr. David Lewis without any change,
so that my duty was confined to reading the proofs and verifying
the quotations.  This translation of the Life of St. Teresa is so
excellent, that it could hardly be improved.  While faithfully
adhering to her wording, the translator has been successful in
rendering the lofty teaching in simple and clear language, an
achievement all the more remarkable as in addition to the
difficulty arising from the transcendental nature of the subject
matter, the involved style, and the total absence of punctuation
tend to perplex the reader.  Now and then there might be some
difference of opinion as to how St. Teresa's phrases should be
construed, but it is not too much to say that on the whole
Mr. Lewis has been more successful than any other translator,
whether English or foreign.  Only in one case have I found it
necessary to make some slight alteration in the text, and I trust
the owners of the copyright will forgive me for doing so.  In
Chapter XXV., § 4, St. Teresa, speaking of the difference between
the Divine and the imaginary locutions, says that a person
commending a matter to God with great earnestness, may think that
he hears whether his prayer will be granted or not: y es muy
posible, "and this is quite possible," but he who has ever heard
a Divine locution will see at once that this assurance is
something quite different.  Mr. Lewis, following the old Spanish
editions, translated "And it is most impossible," whereas both
the autograph and the context demand the wording I have ventured
to substitute.

When Mr. Lewis undertook the translation of St. Teresa's works,
he had before him Don Vicente de la Fuente's edition (Madrid,
1861-1862), supposed to be a faithful transcript of the original.
In 1873 the Sociedad Foto-Tipografica-Catolica of Madrid
published a photographic reproduction of the Saint's autograph in
412 pages in folio, which establishes the true text once for all.
Don Vicente prepared a transcript of this, in which he wisely
adopted the modern way of spelling but otherwise preserved the
original text, or at least pretended to do so, for a minute
comparison between autograph and 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 Chapter
XVIII. § 20, St. Teresa's words are: Un gran letrado de la orden
del glorioso santo Domingo, while Don Vicente retains the old
reading De la orden del glorioso patriarca santo Domingo.
Mr. Lewis possessed a copy of this photographic reproduction, but
utilised it only in one instance in his second edition. [1]

The publication of the autograph has settled a point of some
importance.  The Bollandists (n. 1520), discussing the question
whether the headings of the chapters (appended to this
Introduction) are by St. Teresa or a later addition, come to the
conclusion (against the authors of the Reforma de los Descalços)
that they are clearly an interpolation (clarissime patet) on
account of the praise of the doctrine contained in these
arguments.  Notwithstanding their high authority the Bollandists
are in this respect perfectly wrong, the arguments are entirely
in St. Teresa's own hand and are exclusively her own work.
The Book of Foundations and the Way of Perfection contain similar
arguments in the Saint's handwriting.  Nor need any surprise be
felt at the alleged praise of her doctrine for by saying: this
chapter is most noteworthy (Chap. XIV.), or: this is good
doctrine (Chap. XXI.), etc., she takes no credit for herself
because she never grows tired of repeating that she only delivers
the message she has received from our Lord. [2]  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 S. 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: "She was pleased when her writings
were being praised and her Order and the convents were held in
esteem.  Speaking one day of the Way of Perfection, 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." [3]

A notable feature in Mr. Lewis's translation is his division of
the chapters into short paragraphs.  But it appears that he
rearranged the division during the process of printing, with the
result that a large number of references were wrong.  No labour
has been spared in the correction of these, and I trust that the
present edition will be the more useful for it.  In quoting the
Way of Perfection and the Interior Castle (which he calls Inner
Fortress!) Mr. Lewis refers to similar paragraphs which, however,
are to be found in no English edition.  A new translation of
these two works is greatly needed, and, in the case of the Way of
Perfection, the manuscript of the Escurial should be consulted as
well as that of Valladolid.  Where the writings of S. 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 St. 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 S. Joseph (Paris,
Poussielgue, 1900), which may be considered as the
standard edition.

In note 2 to Chap. XI. Mr. Lewis draws attention to a passage in
a sermon by S. Bernard containing an allusion to different ways
of watering a garden similar to St. Teresa's well-known
comparison.  Mr. Lewis's quotation is incorrect, and I am not
certain what sermon he may have had in view.  Something to the
point may be found in sermon 22 on the Canticle (Migne,
P. L. Vol. CLXXXIII, p. 879), and in the first sermon on the
Nativity of our Lord (ibid., p. 115), and also in a sermon on the
Canticle by one of St. Bernard's disciples (Vol. CLXXXIV.,
p. 195).  I am indebted to the Very Rev. Prior Vincent McNabb,
O.P., for the verification of a quotation from St. Vincent Ferrer
(Chap. XX. § 31).

Since the publication of Mr. Lewis's translation the uncertainty
about the date of St. Teresa's profession has been cleared up.
Yepes, the Bollandists, P. Bouix, Don Vicente de la Fuente,
Mr. Lewis, and numerous other writers assume that she entered the
convent of the Incarnation [4] 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 [5] 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 St. Teresa is
not always reliable in her calculation should have warned us not
to rely too much upon a somewhat casual statement.  In the first
chapter, § 7, 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 doña Maria
Pinel, nun of the Incarnation, says in her deposition: "She
(Teresa of Jesus) took the habit on 2 November, 1535." [6]
This is corroborated by various passages in the Saint's writings.
Thus, in Relation VII., written in 1575, she says, speaking of
herself: "This nun took the habit forty years ago."  Again in a
passage of the Life written about the end of 1564 or the
beginning of the following year, [7] 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 Reforma de los Descalços thought that
they must have been drawn up before St. 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: [8] 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.  There was, indeed, good reason in the
case of St. 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 Reforma and the
Bollandists, [9] though neither seem to have understood its
meaning.  On leaving the convent of the Incarnation for
St. Joseph's in 1563, St. 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: Ingrediens
ordinem ad sui ipsius instantiam habeat lectisternia pro se ipso,
sin autem recipiens solvat lectum illum.  As St. 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 St. 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.

The date of St. Teresa's profession being thus fixed on the 3rd
of November, 1536, some other dates of the chronology must be
revised.  Her visit to Castellanos de la Canada 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; [10] her own words are that this event
took place "at the very beginning of her acquaintance with the
person" 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
St. Teresa gives [11] as to her disposition immediately after her
profession, we need not be surprised if the first roots of her
lukewarmness show themselves so soon.

From Castellanos she proceeded to Hortigosa on a visit to her
uncle.  While there she became acquainted with the book called
Tercer Abecedario.  Don Vicente remarks that the earliest edition
known to him was printed in 1537, which tells strongly against
the chronology of the Bollandists, P. Bouix, and others.
Again, speaking of her cure at Bezadas she gives a valuable hint
by saying that she remained blind to certain dangers for more
than seventeen years until the Jesuit fathers finally undeceived
her.  As these came to Avila in 1555 the seventeen years lead us
back to 1538, which precisely coincides with her sojourn at
Bezadas.  She remained there until Pascua florida of the
following year.  P. Bouix and others understand by this term Palm
Sunday, but Don Vicente shows good reason that Easter Sunday is
meant, which in 1539 was April the 6th.  She then returned to
Avila, more dead than alive, and remained seriously ill for
nearly three years, until she was cured through the miraculous
intervention of St. Joseph about the beginning of 1542.
Now began the period of lukewarmness which was temporally
interrupted by the illness and death of her father, in 1544 or
1545, and came to an end about 1555.  Don Vicente, followed by
Mr. Lewis, draws attention to what he believes to be a "proof of
great laxity of the convent," that St. Teresa should have been
urged by one of her confessors to communicate as often as once a
fortnight.  It should be understood that frequent communion such
as we now see it practised was wholly unknown in her time.
The Constitutions of the Order specified twelve days on which all
those that were not priests should communicate, adding:
Verumtamen fratres professi prout Deus eis devotionem contulerit
diebus dominicis et festis duplicibus (i.e., on feasts of our
Lady, the Apostles, etc.), communicare poterunt si qui velint.
Thus, communicating about once a month St. Teresa acted as
ordinary good Religious were wont to do, and by approaching the
sacrament more frequently she placed herself among the more
fervent nuns. [12]

St. Teresa wrote quite a number of different accounts of her
life.  The first, addressed to Father Juan de Padranos, S.J. [13]
and dated 1557, is now lost.  The second, written for St. 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 Ibañez 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 "first"
Life.  At the end of the Life such as we have it now, St. Teresa
wrote: "This book was finished in June, 1562," and Father Bañez
wrote underneath: "This date refers to the first account which
the Holy Mother Teresa of Jesus wrote of her life; it was not
then divided into chapters.  Afterwards she made this copy and
inserted in it many things which had taken place subsequent to
this date, such as the foundation of the monastery of St. Joseph
of Avila."  Elsewhere Father Bañez says: [14] "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 Ibañez, reader of Divinity at Avila.  She afterwards
completed and recast this book."  These two passages of Bañez
have led the biographers of the Saint to think that she wrote her
Life twice, first in 1561 and the following year, completing it
in the house of Doña Luisa de la Cerda at Toledo, in the month of
June; and secondly between 1563 and 1565 at St. Joseph's Convent
of Avila.  They have been at pains to point out a number of
places which could not have been in the "first" Life, but must
have been added in the second; [15] and they took it for granted
that the letter with which the book as we now have it concludes,
was addressed to Father Ibañez in 1562, when the Saint sent him
the "first" 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 "second" Life, and that whomsoever it was
addressed to, it cannot have been to Father Ibañez, who was
already dead at the time. [16]  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 St. Teresa had to write twice to Doña
Luisa for this purpose; [17] 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 "first" 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 "first" 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 Reforma suggests Father Garcia de Toledo,
Dominican, who bade the Saint write the history of the foundation
of St. Joseph's at Avila [18] and who was her confessor at that
convent.  It moreover believes that he it is to whom Chapter
XXXIV. §§ 8-20 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
Chapter XVI. § 10, beginning "O, my son," would concern him also,
as well as several passages where Vuestra Merced--you, my
Father--is addressed.  For although the book came finally into
the hands of Father Bañez, it was first delivered into those of
the addressee of the letter.

Whether the previous paper was a mere "Relation," or really a
first attempt at a "Life," [19] there can be no dispute about its
purpose: St. Teresa speaks of it in the following terms: "I had
recourse to my Dominican father (Ibañez); 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." [20]  The account thus rendered had the object of
enabling Father Ibañez to give her light upon the state of her
soul.  But while she was drawing it up, a great change came over
her.  During St. Teresa's sojourn at Toledo she became from a
pupil an experienced master in Mystical knowledge.  "When I was
there a religious" (probably Father Garcia de Toledo) "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." [21]  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.

St. Teresa's development, if extraordinary considering the degree
of spirituality she reached, was nevertheless gradual and
regular.  With her wonderful power of analysis, she has given us
not only a clear insight into her interior progress, but also a
sketch of the development of her understanding of supernatural
things.  "It is now (i.e., about the end of 1563) some five or
six years, I believe, since our Lord raised me to this state of
prayer, in its fulness, and that more than once,--and I never
understood it, and never could explain it; and so I was resolved,
when I should come thus far in my story, to say very little or
nothing at all." [22]  In the following chapter she adds: "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." [23]  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.
"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." [24]  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 St. 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.

This explains the difference of the "Life" such as we know it
from the first version or the "Relations" preceding it.
Whatever this writing was, it still belonged to the period of her
spiritual education, whereas the volume before us is the
first-fruit of her spiritual Mastership.  The new light that had
come to her induced her confessors [25] to demand a detailed work
embodying everything she had learned from her heavenly
Teacher. [26]  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. [27]  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 "Life" was written from the beginning with a view to
publication.  Allusions to this object may be found in various
places [28] as well as in the letter appended to the book, [29]
but the decisive utterances must be sought for elsewhere, namely
in the "Way of Perfection." This work was written immediately
after the "Life," while the Saint was as yet at the convent of
St. 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
St. Teresa in writing her "Life."  "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 St. 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." [30]  Again: "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." [31]  At the end she writes: "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 Bañez, presentado of the Order of St. 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." [32]  While the first and
second of these quotations may be found, somewhat weakened, in
the final version of the "Way of Perfection," the last one is
entirely omitted.  Nor need this surprise us, for Father Bañez
had his own ideas about the advisability of the publication of
the "Life." In his deposition, already referred to, he says: "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, doña
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, doña Maria Enriquez, and is now, I think, in the hands
of her daughter-in-law, doña 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." [33]  From this it will he seen that Bañez,
who had given a most favourable opinion when the "Life" was
denounced to the Inquisition (1574), resulting in the approbation
by Cardinal de Quiroga to the great joy of St. Teresa, [34]
returned it to the Holy Office for safety's sake. It was
withdrawn by the Ven. 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.

St. Teresa wrote her "Life" slowly.  It was begun in spring,
1563, [35] 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; [36] 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 "Life" is superior to the
first version of the "Way of Perfection."  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 "Life" 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.

St. Teresa's canonisation took place before the stringent laws of
Urban VIII. came into force.  Consequently, the writings of the
Saint were not then enquired into, the Holy See contenting itself
with the approbations granted by the Spanish Inquisition, and by
the congregation of the Rota in Rome.  A certain number of
passages selected from various works having been denounced by
some Roman theologians as being contrary to the teaching of
St. Thomas Aquinas and other authorities, Diego Alvarez, a
Dominican, and John Rada, a Franciscan, were commissioned to
examine the matter and report on it.  The twelve censures with
the answers of the two theologians and the final judgment of the
Rota seem to have remained unknown to the Bollandists. [37]
The "heavenly doctrine" of St. Teresa is alluded to not only in
the Bull of canonisation but even in the Collect of the Mass of
the Saint.

Concerning the English translations of the "Life" noticed by
Mr. Lewis it should be mentioned that the one ascribed to Abraham
Woodhead is only partly his work.  Father Bede of St. Simon Stock
(Walter Joseph Travers), a Discalced Carmelite, labouring on the
English Mission from 1660 till 1692, was anxious to complete the
translation of St. Teresa's works into English.  He had not
proceeded very far when he learnt that "others were engaged in
the same task.  On enquiry he found that a new translation was
contemplated by two graduates of the University of Cambridge,
converts to the Faith, most learned and pious men, who were
leading a solitary life, spending their time and talents in the
composition of controversial and devotional works for the good of
their neighbour and the glory of God."  One of these two men was
Woodhead, who, however, was an Oxford man, but the name of the
other, who must have been a Cambridge man, is not known.
They undertook the translation while Father Bede provided the
funds and bore the risks of what was then a dangerous work.
As there existed already two English translations of the "Life,"
the first volume to appear (1669) contained the Book of
Foundations, to which was prefixed the history of the foundation
of St. Joseph's from the "Life."  When, therefore, the new
translation of the latter appeared, in 1671, this portion of the
book was omitted. [38]  The translation was made direct from the
Spanish but "uniformly with the Italian edition."

Mr. Lewis, whose translation is the fifth, was born on the 12th
of November, 1814, and died on January the 23rd, 1895.  The first
edition was printed in 1870, the second in 1888.  It is
regrettable that the latter edition, of which the present is a
reprint, omitted the marginal notes which would have been so
helpful to the reader.

St. Teresa's life and character having always been a favourite
study of men and women of various schools of thought, it may be
useful to notice here a few recent English and foreign works on
the subject:--

The Life of Saint Teresa, by the author of "Devotions before and
after Holy Communion" (i.e., Miss Maria Trench), London, 1875.

The Life of Saint Teresa of the Order of Our Lady of Mount
Carmel.  Edited with a preface by the Archbishop of Westminster
(Cardinal Manning), London, 1865.  (By Miss Elizabeth Lockhart,
afterwards first abbess of the Franciscan convent, Notting Hill.)
Frequently reprinted.

The Life and Letters of St. Teresa, by Henry James Coleridge,
S.J.  Quarterly Series.  3 vols (1881, 1887, 1888).

And, from another point of view:

The Life of St. Teresa, by Gabriela Cunninghame-Graham, 2 vols,
London, 1894.

Histoire de Sainte Thérèse d'après les Bollandistes.  2 vols,
Nantes, 1882.  Frequently reprinted.  The author is
Mlle. Adelaide Lecornu (born 5 July, 1852, died at the Carmelite
convent at Caen, 14 December, 1901.  Her name in religion was
Adelaide-Jéronyme-Zoe-Marie du Sacré-Coeur).

An excellent character sketch of the Saint has appeared in the
"Les Saints" series (Paris, Lecoffre, 1901):

Sainte Thérèse, par Henri Joly.

Although the attempt at explaining the extraordinary phenomena in
the life of St. Teresa by animal Magnetism and similar obscure
theories had already been exploded by the Bollandists, it has
lately been revived by Professor Don Arturo Perales Gutierrez of
Granada, and Professor Don Fernando Segundo Brieva Salvatierra of
Madrid, who considered her a subject of hysterical derangements.
The discussion carried on for some time, not only in Spain but
also in France, Germany, and other countries, has been ably
summed up and disposed of by P. Grégoire de S. Joseph: La
prétendue Hystérie de Sainte Thérèse. Lyons.

The Bibliographie Thérèsienne, by Henry de Curzon (Paris, 1902)
is, unfortunately, too incomplete, not to say slovenly, to be of
much use.

Finally, it is necessary to say a word about the spelling of the
name Teresa.  In Spanish and Italian it should be written without
an h as these languages do not admit the use of Th; in English,
likewise, where this combination of letters represents a special
sound, the name should be spelt with T only.  But the present
fashion of thus writing it in Latin, German, French, and other
languages, which generally maintain the etymological spelling, is
intolerable: The name is Greek, and was placed on the calendar in
honour of a noble Spanish lady, St. Therasia, who became the wife
of a Saint, Paulinus of Nola, and a Saint herself.  See Sainte
Thérèse, Lettres au R. P. Bouix, by the Abbé Postel, Paris, 1864.
The derivation of the name from the Hebrew Thersa can no longer
be defended (Father Jerome-Gratian, in Fuente, Obras, Vol. VI.,
p. 369 sqq.).

Benedict Zimmerman,
Prior O.C.D.

St. Luke's Priory,
Wincanton, Somerset.
16th July, 1904.


1. Chap. xxxiv., note 5.

2. Chap. xviii. § 11.

3. Fuente, Obras (1881), vol. vi. p. 133.

4. 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).

5. Chap. iv § 9.

6. Lettres de Ste. Thérèse, edit. P. Grégoire de S. Joseph,
vol. iii, p. 419, note 2.

7. Chap. xxxvi. § 10.  The date of this part of the Life can be
easily ascertained from the two following chapters.  In xxxvii. §
18, St. Teresa says that she is not yet fifty years old,
consequently the chapter must have been written before the end of
March, 1565; and in the next chapter, xxxviii. § 15, she speaks
of the death of Father Pedro Ibañez, which appears to have taken
place on 2nd February.  This, at least, is the date under which
his name appears in the Année Dominicaine, and the Very
Rev. Prior Vincent McNabb tells me that there is every reason to
think that it is the date of his death.

8. When about A.D. 1452 certain communities of Beguines demanded
affiliation to the Carmelite Order, they were given the
Constitutions of the friars without any alterations.
These Constitutions were revised in 1462, but neither there nor
in the Acts of the General Chapters, so far as these are
preserved, is there the slightest reference to convents of nuns.
The colophon of the printed edition (Venice, 1499) shows that
they held good for friars and nuns: Expliciunt sacrae
constitutiones novae fratrum et sororum beatae Mariae de Monte
Carmelo.  They contain the customary laws forbidding the friars
under pain of excommunication, to leave the precincts of their
convents without due licence, but do not enjoin strict enclosure,
which would have been incompatible with their manner of life and
their various duties.  St. Teresa nowhere insinuates that the
Constitutions, such as they were, were not kept at the
Incarnation; her remarks in chap. vii. are aimed at the
Constitutions themselves, which were never made for nuns, and
therefore did not provide for the needs of their convents.

9. Reforma lib. i., cap. 47.  Bollandists. no. 366.

10. Chap. vii. § 11.

11. Chap. v. § 2.

12. Constitutions of 1462. Part i., cap. x.

13. Chap. xxiii. § 17.

14. Deposition for the process of canonisation, written in 1591.
Fuente, Obras, vol. vi., p. 174.

15. See the notes to chapters vii. § 11; xvi. § 10; xx. § 6;
xxiv. § 4; xxvii. § 17.  At the end of chapter xxxi. we are told
on the authority of Don Vicente that the "first" Life must have
ended at this point.

16. Bollandists, no. 1518.

17. Lettres, edit. Grégoire. I., pp. 13 (18 May, 1568); 21
(27 May); 35 (2 November).

18. Reforma, vol. i., lib. v., cap. xxxv., no. 9.  Bollandists,
no. 1518.

19. 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.

20. Chap. xxxiii. § 7.

21. Chap. xxxiv. § 8.

22. Chap. xvi. § 2.

23. Chap. xvii. § 7.

24. Chap. xxviii. § 10.

25. In the Prologue to the Book of Foundations, Father Garcia de
Toledo, her confessor at St. Joseph's Convent, is said to be
responsible for the order to rewrite the "Life"; but in the
Preface to the "Life" St. Teresa speaks of her "confessors" in
the plural.  Fathers Ibañez and Bañez may be included in the
number. See also ch. xxx. § 27.

26. Chap. xviii. § 11.

27. Chap. xiii. § 22.  In chap. xvi. § 12, the Saint says: "I
wish we five who now love one another in our Lord, had made some
such arrangement, etc."  Fuente is of opinion that these five
were, besides the Saint, Father Julian de Avila, Don Francisco de
Salcedo, St. John of the Cross, and Don Lorenzo de Cepeda,
St. Teresa's brother: but this is impossible at the date of this
part of the "Life."  It is more probable that she meant Francisco
de Salcedo, Gaspar Daza, Julian de Avila, and Father Ibañez, the
latter being still alive in the beginning of 1564, when this
chapter was written.  It is more difficult to say who the three
confessors were whom St. Teresa desired to see the "Life"
(ch. xl. § 32).  If, as I think, the book was first handed to
Father Garcia de Toledo, the others may have been Francisco de
Salcedo, Baltasar Alvarez, and Gaspar de Salazar.

28. Chap. x. §§ 11 and 12.

29. This is the second reason why the letter could not have been
addressed to Father Ibañez in 1562.

30. Edited by Don Francisco Herrero Bayona, 1883 p. 4.

31. Ibid., chap. xli. (see Dalton's translation, chap. xxv.).

32. Ibid., chap. lxxiii.  See the difference in Dalton's
translation, chap. xlii.

33. Fuente, Obras, vol. vi., p. 275.

34. See the following Preface, p. xxxvii.  Lettres, ed. Grégoire,
ii., p. 65.  P. Bertholde-Ignace, Vie de la Mère Anne de Jésus,
i., p. 472.

35. In the Prologue to the Book of Foundations, St. Teresa says
that Father Garcia de Toledo ordered her to rewrite the book the
same year in which St. Joseph's Convent was founded, i.e. 1562,
but seeing that she only spent a few hours there and that the
principal difficulties only arose after her return to the
Incarnation, it appears more probable that Father Garcia's
command was not made until the spring of the following year, when
she went to live at St. Joseph's.

36. Chap. x. § 11.

37. See Historia Generalis Fratrum Discalceatorum Ordinis
B. Virginis Mariae de Monte Carmelo Congregationis Eliae.
Romae, 1668, vol. i., pp. 340-358 ad ann. 1604.

38. See Carmel in England, by Rev. Father B. Zimmerman,
p. 240 sqq.





St. Teresa's Arguments of the Chapters.


J.H.S.


J.H.S. Chapter I. [1]--In which she tells how God [2] began to
dispose this soul from childhood for virtue, and how she was
helped by having virtuous parents.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XVIII.--She treats of the fourth degree of prayer, and
begins to explain [3] 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. [4]

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

Chapter XX.--She speaks of the difference between Union and
Trance, and explains what a Trance is; she also says something
about the good a soul derives from being, through God's goodness,
led so far.  She speaks of the effects of Union. [5]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXII.--She narrates how it pleased God to put her in
spirit in that place of Hell she had deserved by her sins.
She tells a little [6] of what she saw there compared with what
there was besides.  She begins to speak of the manner and way
of founding the convent of St. Joseph where she now lives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


1. St. Teresa wrote no title, either of the whole book or of the
Preface, but only the monogram J.H.S., which is repeated at the
beginning of the first chapter and at the end of the last,
previous to the letter with which the volume concludes.

2. "El Señor" is everywhere translated by "God" in distinction to
"Nuestro Señor," "Our Lord."

3. "In an excellent manner," scored through by the Saint herself.

4. "To be read with great care, as it is explained in a most
delicate way, and contains many noteworthy points," also scored
through by St. Teresa herself.

5. "This is most admirable," scored through by the Saint.

6. "Una cifra," a mere nothing.





Preface by David Lewis.


St. Teresa was born in Avila on Wednesday, March 28, 1515.
Her father was Don Alfonso Sanchez de Cepeda, and her mother Doña
Beatriz Davila y Ahumada.  The name she received in her baptism
was common to both families, for her great-grandmother on the
father's side was Teresa Sanchez, and her grandmother on her
mother's side was Teresa de las Cuevas.  While she remained in
the world, and even after she had become a nun in the monastery
of the Incarnation, which was under the mitigated rule, she was
known as Doña Teresa Sanchez Cepeda Davila y Ahumada; for in
those days children took the name either of the father or of the
mother, as it pleased them.  The two families were noble, but
that of Ahumada was no longer in possession of its former wealth
and power. [1]  Doña 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.

Doña Beatriz died young, and the eldest daughter, Maria de
Cepeda, took charge of her younger sisters--they were two--and
was as a second mother to them till her marriage, which took
place in 1531, when the Saint was in her sixteenth year.  But as
she was too young to be left in charge of her father's house, and
as her education was not finished, she was sent to the
Augustinian monastery, the nuns of which received young girls,
and brought them up in the fear of God. [2]  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; "but for all this," she
writes, "I wished not to be a nun." [3]  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.

At last, after a struggle which lasted three months, she made up
her mind, and against her inclination, to give up the world.
She asked her father's leave, and was refused.  She besieged him
through her friends, but to no purpose.  "The utmost I could get
from him," she says, "was that I might do as I pleased after his
death." [4]  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. [5]

But she had to forsake her father, and so she left her father's
house by stealth, taking with her one of her brothers, whom she
had persuaded to give himself to God in religion.  The brother
and sister set out early in the morning, the former for the
monastery of the Dominicans, and the latter for the Carmelite
monastery of the Incarnation, in Avila.  The nuns received her
into the house, but sent word to her father of his child's
escape.  Don Alfonso, however, yielded at once, and consented to
the sacrifice which he was compelled to make.

In the monastery of the Incarnation the Saint was led on, without
her own knowledge, to states of prayer so high, that she became
alarmed about herself.  In the purity and simplicity of her soul,
she feared that the supernatural visitations of God might after
all be nothing else but delusions of Satan. [6]  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. [7]  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.

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: "he thought the evil
spirit might have something to do" with her, [8] and advised her
to consider carefully her way of prayer.

Don Francis now applied again to Gaspar Daza, and the two friends
consulted together; but, after much prayer on their part and on
that of the Saint, they came to the conclusion that she "was
deluded by an evil spirit," and recommended her to have recourse
to the fathers of the Society of Jesus, lately settled in Avila.

The Saint, now in great fear, but still hoping and trusting that
God would not suffer her to be deceived, made preparations for a
general confession; and committed to writing the whole story of
her life, and made known the state of her soul to F.  Juan de
Padranos, one of the fathers of the Society.  F. Juan understood
it all, and comforted her by telling her that her way of prayer
was sound and the work of God.  Under his direction she made
great progress, and for the further satisfaction of her
confessor, and of Don Francis, who seems to have still retained
some of his doubts, she told everything to St. Francis de Borja,
who on one point changed the method of direction observed by
F. Juan.  That father recommended her to resist the supernatural
visitations of the spirit as much as she could, but she was not
able, and the resistance pained her; [9] St. Francis told her she
had done enough, and that it was not right to prolong
that resistance. [10]

The account of her life which she wrote before she applied to the
Jesuits for direction has not been preserved; but it is possible
that it was made more for her own security than for the purpose
of being shown to her confessor.

The next account is Relation I., made for St. Peter of Alcantara,
and was probably seen by many; for that Saint had to defend her,
and maintain that the state of her soul was the work of God,
against those who thought that she was deluded by Satan.  Her own
confessor was occasionally alarmed, and had to consult others,
and thus, by degrees, her state became known to many; and there
were some who, were so persuaded of her delusions, that they
wished her to be exorcised as one possessed of an evil
spirit, [11] and at a later time her friends were afraid that she
might be denounced to the Inquisitors. [12]

During the troubles that arose when it became known that the
Saint was about to found the monastery of St. Joseph, and therein
establish the original rule of her Order in its primitive
simplicity and austerity, she went for counsel to the Father Fra
Pedro Ibañez, [13] 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
Doña Luisa de la Cerda, in Toledo, in the month of June, 1562.
On the 24th of August, the feast of St. Bartholomew, in the same
year, the Reform of the Carmelites began in the new monastery of
St. Joseph in Avila.

What the Saint wrote for Fra Ibañez has not been found.  It is,
no doubt, substantially preserved in her Life, as we have it now,
and is supposed to have reached no further than the end of
ch. xxxi.  What follows was added by direction of another
Dominican father, confessor of the Saint in the new monastery of
St. Joseph, Fra Garcia of Toledo, who, in 1562, bade her "write
the history of that foundation, and other matters."

But as the Saint carried a heavy burden laid on her by God, a
constant fear of delusion, she had recourse about the same time
to the Inquisitor Soto, who advised her to write a history of her
life, send it to Juan of Avila, the "Apostle of Andalucia," and
abide by his counsel.  As the direction of Fra Garcia of Toledo
and the advice of the Inquisitor must have been given, according
to her account, about the same time, the Life, as we have it now,
must have occupied her nearly six years in the writing of it,
which may well be owing to her unceasing care in firmly
establishing the new monastery of St. Joseph.  The book at last
was sent to Blessed Juan of Avila by her friend Doña Luisa de la
Cerda, and that great master of the spiritual life wrote the
following censure of it:

"The grace and peace of Jesus Christ be with you always.

"1. When I undertook to read the book sent me, it was not so much
because I thought myself able to judge of it, as because I
thought I might, by the grace of our Lord, learn something from
the teachings it contains: and praised be Christ; for, though I
have not been able to read it with the leisure it requires,
I have been comforted by it, and might have been edified by it,
if the fault had not been mine.  And although, indeed, I may have
been comforted by it, without saying more, yet the respect due to
the subject and to the person who has sent it will not allow me,
I think, to let it go back without giving my opinion on it, at
least in general.

"2. The book is not fit to be in the hands of everybody, for it
is necessary to correct the language in some places, and explain
it in others; and there are some things in it useful for your
spiritual life and not so for others who might adopt them, for
the special ways by which God leads some souls are not meant for
others.  These points, or the greater number of them, I have
marked for the purpose of arranging them when I shall be able to
do so, and I shall not fail to send them to you; for if you were
aware of my infirmities and necessary occupations, I believe they
would make you pity me rather than blame me for the omission.

"3. The doctrine of prayer is for the most part sound, and you
may rely on it, and observe it; and the raptures I find to
possess the tests of those which are true.  What you say of God's
way of teaching the soul, without respect to the imagination and
without interior locutions, is safe, and I find nothing to object
to it.  St. Augustine speaks well of it.

"4. Interior locutions in these days have been a delusion of
many, and exterior locutions are the least safe.  It is easy
enough to see when they proceed from ourselves, but to
distinguish between those of a good and those of an evil spirit
is more difficult.  There are many rules given for finding out
whether they come from our Lord or not, and one of them is, that
they should be sent us in a time of need, or for some good end,
as for the comforting a man under temptation or in doubt, or as a
warning of coming danger.  As a good man will not speak
unadvisedly, neither will God; so, considering this, and that the
locutions are agreeable to the holy writings and the teaching of
the Church, my opinion is that the locutions mentioned in the
book came from God.

"5. Imaginary or bodily visions are those which are most
doubtful, and should in no wise be desired, and if they come
undesired still they should be shunned as much as possible, yet
not by treating them with contempt, unless it be certain that
they come from an evil spirit; indeed, I was filled with horror,
and greatly distressed, when I read of the gestures of contempt
that were made. [14]  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.

"6. But if the visions continue after all this is done, and if
the soul derives good from them, and if they do not lead to
vanity, but deeper humility, and if the locutions be at one with
the teaching the Church, and if they continue for any time, and
that with inward satisfaction--better felt than described--there
is no reason for avoiding them.  But no one ought to rely on his
own judgment herein; he should make everything known to him who
can give him light.  That is the universal remedy to be had
recourse to in such matters, together with hope in God, Who will
not let a soul that wishes to be safe lie under a delusion, if it
be humble enough to yield obedience to the opinion of others.

"7. Nor should any one cause alarm by condemning them forthwith,
because he sees that the person to whom they are granted is not
perfect, for it is nothing new that our Lord in His goodness
makes wicked people just, yea, even grievous sinners; by giving
them to taste most deeply of His sweetness.  I have seen it so
myself.  Who will set bounds to the goodness of our
Lord?--especially when these graces are given, not for merit, nor
because one is stronger; on the contrary, they are given to one
because he is weaker; and as they do not make one more holy, they
are not always given to the most holy.

"8. They are unreasonable who disbelieve these things merely
because they are most high things, and because it seems to them
incredible that infinite Majesty humbles Himself to these loving
relations with one of His creatures. It is written, God is love,
and if He is love, then infinite love and infinite goodness, and
we must not be surprised if such a love and such a goodness
breaks out into such excesses of love as disturb those who know
nothing of it.  And though many know of it by faith, still, as to
that special experience of the loving, and more than loving,
converse of God with whom He will, if not had, how deep it
reaches can never be known; and so I have seen many persons
scandalized at hearing of what God in His love does for His
creatures.  As they are themselves very far away from it, they
cannot think that God will do for others what He is not doing for
them.  As this is an effect of love, and that a love which causes
wonder, reason requires we should look upon it as a sign of its
being from God, seeing that He is wonderful in His works, and
most especially in those of his compassion; but they take
occasion from this to be distrustful, which should have been a
ground of confidence, when other circumstances combine as
evidences of these visitations being good.

"9. It seems from the book, I think, that you have resisted, and
even longer than was right.  I think, too, that these locutions
have done your soul good, and in particular that they have made
you see your own wretchedness and your faults more clearly, and
amend them.  They have lasted long, and always with spiritual
profit.  They move you to love God, and to despise yourself, and
to do penance.  I see no reasons for condemning them, I incline
rather to regard them as good, provided you are careful not to
rely altogether on them, especially if they are unusual, or bid
you do something out of the way, or are not very plain.  In all
these and the like cases you must withhold your belief in them,
and at once seek for direction.

"10. Also it should be considered that, even if they do come from
God, Satan may mix with them suggestions of his own; you should
therefore be always suspicious of them.  Also, when they are
known to be from God, men must not rest much on them, seeing that
holiness does not lie in them, but in a humble love of God and
our neighbour; everything else, however good, must be feared, and
our efforts directed to the gaining of humility, goodness, and
the love of our Lord.  It is seemly, also, not to worship what is
seen in these visions, but only Jesus Christ, either as in Heaven
or in the Sacrament, or, if it be a vision of the Saints, then to
lift up the heart to the Holy One in Heaven, and not to that
which is presented to the imagination: let it suffice that the
imagination may be made use of for the purpose of raising me up
to that which it makes me see.

"11. I say, too, that the things mentioned in this book befall
other persons even in this our day, and that there is great
certainty that they come from God, Whose arm is not shortened
that He cannot do now what He did in times past, and that in weak
vessels, for His own glory.

"12. Go on your road, but always suspecting robbers, and asking
for the right way; give thanks to our Lord, Who has given you His
love, the knowledge of yourself, and a love of penance and the
cross, making no account of these other things.  However, do not
despise them either, for there are signs that most of them come
from our Lord, and those that do not come from Him will not hurt
you if you ask for direction.

"13. I cannot believe that I have written this in my own
strength, for I have none, but it is the effect of your prayers.
I beg of you, for the love of Jesus Christ our Lord, to burden
yourself with a prayer for me; He knows that I am asking this in
great need, and I think that is enough to make you grant my
request.  I ask your permission to stop now, for I am bound to
write another letter.  May Jesus be glorified in all and
by all! Amen.

"Your servant, for Christ's sake.
"Juan de Avila

"Montilla, 12th Sept., 1568."

Her confessors, having seen the book, "commanded her to make
copies of it," [15] one of which has been traced into the
possession of the Duke and Duchess of Alva.

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. [16]  It is not
quite clear, however, that it was seized at this time.

The Princess became a widow in July, 1573, and insisted on
becoming a Carmelite nun in the house she and her husband, Ruy
Gomez, had founded in Pastrana.  When the news of her resolve
reached the monastery, the mother-prioress, Isabel of St.
Dominic, exclaimed, "The Princess a nun! I look on the house as
ruined."  The Princess came, and insisted on her right as
foundress; she had compelled a friar to give her the habit before
her husband was buried, and when she came to Pastrana she began
her religious life by the most complete disobedience and
disregard of common propriety.  Don Vicente's description of her
is almost literally correct, though intended only for a general
summary of her most childish conduct:

"On the death of the Prince of Eboli, the Princess would become a
nun in her monastery of Pastrana.  The first day she had a fit of
violent fervour; on the next she relaxed the rule; on the third
she broke it, and conversed with secular people within the
cloisters.  She was also so humble that she required the nuns to
speak to her on their knees, and insisted upon their receiving
into the house as religious whomsoever she pleased.
Hereupon complaints were made to St. Teresa, who remonstrated
with the Princess, and showed her how much she was in the wrong,
whereupon she replied that the monastery was hers; but the Saint
proved to her that the nuns were not, and had them removed
to Segovia." [17]

The nuns were withdrawn from Pastrana in April, 1574, and then
the anger of the Princess prevailed; she sent the Life of the
Saint, which she had still in her possession, to the Inquisition,
and denounced it as a book containing visions, revelations, and
dangerous doctrines, which the Inquisitors should look into and
examine: The book was forthwith given to theologians for
examination, and two Dominican friars, of whom Bañes was one,
were delegated censors of it by the Inquisition. [18]

Fra Bañes did not know the Saint when he undertook her defence in
Avila against the authorities of the city, eager to destroy the
monastery of St. Joseph; [19] 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. [20]  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 Bañes, struck with her
humility, had not the courage to burn it; he sent it to the Holy
Office in Madrid. [21]  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 Bañes, state that the
copy given up by the latter was sent to the Inquisition in
Madrid, and Fra Bañes says so twice in his deposition.
The Inquisitor Soto returned the copy to Fra Bañes, desiring him
to read it, and give his opinion thereon.  Fra Bañes did so, and
wrote his "censure" 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.  Bañes 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 St. Teresa, and to admit her sanctity,
after her death.  Fra Bañes 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, "in lecturing and disputing." [22]

That censure is as follows:

"1. This book, wherein Teresa of Jesus, Carmelite nun, and
foundress of the Barefooted Carmelites, gives a plain account of
the state of her soul, in order to be taught and directed by her
confessors, has been examined by me, and with much attention, and
I have not found anywhere in it anything which, in my opinion, is
erroneous in doctrine.  On the contrary, there are many things in
it highly edifying and instructive for those who give themselves
to prayer.  The great experience of this religious, her
discretion also and her humility, which made her always seek for
light and learning in her confessors, enabled her to speak with
an accuracy on the subject of prayer that the most learned men,
through their want of experience, have not always attained to.
One thing only there is about the book that may reasonably cause
any hesitation till it shall be very carefully examined;
it contains many visions and revelations, matters always to be
afraid of, especially in women, who are very ready to believe of
them that they come from God, and to look on them as proofs of
sanctity, though sanctity does not lie in them.  On the contrary,
they should be regarded as dangerous trials for those who are
aiming at perfection, because Satan is wont to transform himself
into an angel of light, [23] and to deceive souls which are
curious and of scant humility, as we have seen in our day:
nevertheless, we must not therefore lay down a general rule that
all revelations and visions come from the devil.  If it were so,
St. Paul could not have said that Satan transforms himself into
an angel of light, if the angel of light did not sometimes
enlighten us.

"2. Saints, both men and women, have had revelations, not only in
ancient, but also in modern times; such were St. Dominic,
St. Francis, St. Vincent Ferrer, St. Catherine of Siena,
St. Gertrude, and many others that might be named; and as the
Church of God is, and is to be, always holy to the end, not only
because her profession is holiness, but because there are in her
just persons and perfect in holiness, it is unreasonable to
despise visions and revelations, and condemn them in one sweep,
seeing they are ordinarily accompanied with much goodness and a
Christian life.  On the contrary, we should follow the saying of
the Apostle in 1 Thess. v. 19-22: 'Spiritum nolite extinguere.
Prophetias nolite spernere.  Omnia [autem] probate: quod bonum
est tenete.  Ab omni specie mala abstinete vos.'  He who will
read St. Thomas on that passage will see how carefully they are
to be examined who, in the Church of God, manifest any particular
gift that may be profitable or hurtful to our neighbour, and how
watchful the examiners ought to be lest the fire of the Spirit of
God should be quenched in the good, and others cowed in the
practices of the perfect Christian life.

"3. Judging by the revelations made to her, this woman, even
though she may be deceived in something, is at least not herself
a deceiver, because she tells all the good and the bad so simply,
and with so great a wish to be correct, that no doubt can be made
as to her good intention; and the greater the reason for trying
spirits of this kind, because there are persons in our day who
are deceivers with the appearance of piety, the more necessary it
is to defend those who, with the appearance, have also the
reality, of piety.  For it is a strange thing to see how lax and
worldly people delight in seeing those discredited who have an
appearance of goodness.  God complained of old, by the Prophet
Ezekiel, ch. xiii., of those false prophets who made the just to
mourn and who flattered sinners, saying: 'Maerere fecisti cor
justi mendaciter, quem Ego non contristavi: et comfortastis manus
impii.'  In a certain sense this may be said of those who
frighten souls who are going on by the way of prayer and
perfection, telling them that this way is singular and full of
danger, that many who went by it have fallen into delusions, and
that the safest way is that which is plain and common, travelled
by all.

"4. Words of this kind, clearly, sadden the hearts of those who
would observe the counsels of perfection in continual prayer, so
far as it is possible for them, and in much fasting, watching,
and disciplines; and, on the other hand, the lax and the wicked
take courage and lose the fear of God, because they consider the
way on which they are travelling as the safer: and this is their
delusion,--they call that a plain and safe road which is the
absence of the knowledge and consideration of the dangers and
precipices amidst which we are all of us journeying in this
world.  Nevertheless, there is no other security than that which
lies in our knowing our daily enemies, and in humbly imploring
the compassion of God, if we would not be their prisoners.
Besides, there are souls whom God, in a way, constrains to enter
on the way of perfection, and who, if they relaxed in their
fervour, could not keep a middle course, but would immediately
fall into the other extreme of sins, and for souls of this kind
it is of the utmost necessity that they should watch and pray
without ceasing; and, in short, there is nobody whom lukewarmness
does not injure.  Let every man examine his own conscience, and
he will find this to be the truth.

"5. I firmly believe that if God for a time bears with the
lukewarm, it is owing to the prayers of the fervent, who are
continually crying, 'et ne nos inducas in tentationem.'  I have
said this, not for the purpose of honouring those whom we see
walking in the way of contemplation; for it is another extreme
into which the world falls, and a covert persecution of goodness,
to pronounce those holy forthwith who have the appearance of it.
For that would be to furnish them with motives for vain-glory,
and would do little honour to goodness; on the contrary, it would
expose it to great risks, because, when they fall who have been
objects of praise, the honour of goodness suffers more than if
those people had not been so esteemed.  And so I look upon this
exaggeration of their holiness who are still living in the world
to be a temptation of Satan.  That we should have a good opinion
of the servants of God is most just, but let us consider them
always as people in danger, however good they may be, and that
their goodness is not so evident that we can be sure of it
even now.

"6. Considering myself that what I have said is true, I have
always proceeded cautiously in the examination of this account of
the prayer and life of this nun, and no one has been more
incredulous than myself as to her visions and revelations,--not
so, however as to her goodness and her good desires, for herein I
have had great experience of her truthfulness, her obedience,
mortification, patience, and charity towards her persecutors, and
of her other virtues, which any one who will converse with her
will discern; and this is what may be regarded as a more certain
proof of her real love of God than these visions and revelations.
I do not, however, undervalue her visions, revelations, and
ecstasies; on the contrary, I suspect them to be the work of God,
as they have been in others who were Saints.  But in this case it
is always safer to be afraid and wary; for if she is confident
about them, Satan will take occasion to interfere, and that which
was once, perhaps, the work of God, may be changed into something
else, and that will be the devil's.

"7. I am of opinion that this book is not to be shown to every
one, but only to men of learning, experience, and Christian
discretion.  It perfectly answers the purpose for which it was
written, namely, that the nun should give an account of the state
of her soul to those who had the charge of it, in order that she
might not fall into delusions.  Of one thing I am very sure, so
far as it is possible for a man to be,--she is not a deceiver;
she deserves, therefore, for her sincerity, that all should be
favourable to her in her good purposes and good works.
For within the last thirteen years she has, I believe, founded a
dozen monasteries of Barefooted Carmelite nuns, the austerity and
perfection of which are exceeded by none other; of which they who
have been visitors of them, as the Dominican Provincial, master
in theology, [24] 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.

"Given in the College of St. Gregory, Valladolid, on the sixth
day of July, 1575.

"Fra Domingo Bañes."

The book remained in the keeping of the Inquisition, and the
Saint never saw it again.  But she heard of it from the
Archbishop of Toledo, Cardinal Quiroga, President of the Supreme
Court of the Inquisition, when she applied to him for license to
found a monastery in Madrid.  Jerome of the Mother of God was
with her; and heard the Cardinal's reply.  His Eminence said he
was glad to see her; that a book of hers had been in the Holy
Office for some years, and had been rigorously examined; that he
had read it himself, and regarded it as containing sound and
wholesome doctrine.  He would grant the license, and do whatever
he could for the Saint.  When she heard this, she wished to
present a petition to the Inquisition for the restitution of her
book; but Gratian 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. [25]

Anne of Jesus, in 1586, founding a monastery of her Order in
Madrid,--the Saint had died in 1582,--made inquiries about the
book, and applied to the Inquisition for it, for she was resolved
to publish the writings of her spiritual mother.  The Inquisitors
made no difficulty, and consented to the publication.  In this
she was seconded by the Empress Maria, daughter of Charles V.,
and widow of Maximilian II., who had obtained one of the copies
which Fra Jerome of the Mother of God had ordered to be made.
Fra Nicholas Doria, then Provincial, asked Fra Luis de Leon, the
Augustinian, to edit the book, who consented.  He was allowed to
compare the copy furnished him with the original in the keeping
of the Inquisition; but his edition has not been considered
accurate, notwithstanding the facilities given him, and his great
reverence for the Saint. It was published in Salamanca,
A.D. 1588.

With the Life of the Saint, Fra Luis de Leon received certain
papers in the handwriting of the Saint, which he published as an
additional chapter.  Whether he printed all he received, or
merely made extracts, may be doubtful, but anyhow that chapter is
singularly incomplete.  Don Vicente de la Fuente, from whose
edition (Madrid, 1861, 1862) this translation has been made,
omitted the additional chapter of Fra Luis de Leon, contrary to
the practice of his predecessors.  But he has done more, for he
has traced the paragraphs of that chapter to their sources, and
has given us now a collection of papers which form almost another
Life of the Saint, to which he has given their old name of
Relations, [26] the name which the Saint herself had given
them. [27]  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.

The Relations are ten in the Spanish edition, and eleven in the
translation.  The last, the eleventh, has hitherto been left
among the letters, and Don Vicente, seemingly not without some
hesitation, so left it; but as it is of the like nature with the
Relations, it has now been added to them.

The original text, in the handwriting of the Saint, is preserved
in the Escurial, not in the library, but among the relics of the
Church.  Don Vicente examined it at his leisure, and afterwards
found in the National Library in Madrid an authentic and exact
transcript of it, made by order of Ferdinand VI.  His edition is,
therefore, far better than any of its predecessors; but it is
possible that even now there may still remain some verbal errors
for future editors to correct.  The most conscientious diligence
is not a safeguard against mistakes.  F. Bouix says that in
ch. xxxiv. § 12, the reading of the original differs from that of
the printed editions; yet Don Vicente takes no notice of it, and
retains the common reading. It is impossible to believe that
F. Bouix has stated as a fact that which is not.  Again, in
ch. xxxix. § 29, the printed editions have after the words, "Thou
art Mine, and I am thine," "I am in the habit . . . . sincerity;"
but Don Vicente omits them.  This may have been an oversight, for
in general he points out in his notes all the discrepancies
between the printed editions and the original text.

A new translation of the Life of St. Teresa seems called for now,
because the original text has been collated since the previous
translations were made, and also because those translations are
exceedingly scarce.  The first is believed to be this--it is a
small quarto:

"The Lyf of the Mother Teresa of Jesus, Foundresse of the
Monasteries of the Discalced or Bare-footed Carmelite Nunnes and
Fryers of the First Rule.
"Written by herself at the commaundement of her ghostly father,
and now translated into English out of Spanish.  By W.M., of the
Society of Jesus.
"Imprinted in Antwerp by Henry Jaye.  Anno MDCXI."

Some thirty years afterwards, Sir Tobias Matthew, S.J.,
dissatisfied, as he says, with the former translation, published
another, with the following title; the volume is a small octavo
in form:

"The Flaming Hart, or the Life of the glorious St. Teresa,
Foundresse of the Reformation of the Order of the All-Immaculate
Virgin Mother, our B. Lady of Mount Carmel.
"This History of her Life was written by the Saint in Spanish,
and is newly translated into English in the year of our Lord
God 1642.

'Aut mori aut pati:
Either to dye or else to suffer.'--Chap. xl.

"Antwerpe, printed by Joannes Meursius.  Anno MDCXLII."

The next translation was made by Abraham Woodhead, and published
in 1671, without the name of the translator, or of the printer,
or of the place of publication.  It is in quarto, and bears the
following title:

"The Life of the Holy Mother St. Teresa, Foundress of the
Reformation of the Discalced Carmelites according to the
Primitive Rule.  Printed in the year MDCLXXI."

It is not said that the translation was made from the Spanish,
and there are grounds for thinking it to have been made from the
Italian.  Ch. xxxii. is broken off at the end of § 10; and
ch. xxxiii., therefore, is ch. xxxvii.  That which is there
omitted has been thrown into the Book of the Foundations, which,
in the translation of Mr. Woodhead, begins with § 11 of
ch. xxxii. of the Life, as it also does in the Italian
translation. It is due, however, to Mr. Woodhead to say that he
has printed five of the Relations separately, not as letters, but
as what they really are, and with that designation.

The last translation is that of the Very Reverend John Dalton,
Canon of Northampton, which is now, though twice published,
almost as scarce as its predecessors.  The title is:

"The Life of St. Teresa, written by herself, and translated
from the Spanish by the Rev. John Dalton.  London, MDCCCLI."

Septuagesima, 1870.


1. Fr. Anton. a St. Joseph, in his note on letter 16, but letter
41, vol. iv. ed. Doblado.

2. Reforma de los Descalços. lib. i. ch. vii. § 3.

3. Ch. iii. § 2.

4. Ch. iii. § 9.

5. Ch. i. § 3.

6. Ch. xxiii. § 2.

7. Ch. xxiii. § 8.

8. Id. § 12.

9. Ch. xxiv. § 1.

10. Id. § 4.

11. Ch. xxix. § 4.

12. Ch. xxxiii. § 6.

13. 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.

14. See Life, ch. xxix. § 6.

15. Rel. vii. § 9.

16. Reforma de los Descalços, lib. ii. c. xxviii. § 6.

17. Introduccion al libro de la Vida, vol. i. p. 3.

18. Jerome Gratian, Lucidario, c. iv.

19. Life, ch. xxxvi. § 15.

20. The Saint says of herself, Rel. vii. § 18, that "she took the
greatest pains not to submit the state of her soul to any one who
she thought would believe that these things came from God, for
she was instantly afraid that the devil would deceive them both."

21. Rel. vii. § 16.

22. "Como hombre criado toda mi vida en leer y disputar" (De la
Fuente, ii. p. 376).

23. 2 Cor. xi. 14: "Ipse enim Satanas transfigurat se in
angelum lucis."

24. The other theologian appointed by the Inquisition, with Fra
Bañes, to examine the "Life."

25. This took place in the year 1580, according to the Chronicler
of the Order (Reforma de los Descalços, lib. v. c. xxxv. § 4);
and the Bollandists (n. 1536) accept his statement.  Fra Jerome
says he was Provincial of his Order at the time; and as he was
elected only on the 4th of March, 1581, according to the
Chronicler and the Bollandists, it is more likely that the
audience granted to them by the Cardinal took place in 1581.

26. Reforma de los Descalços, lib. v. c. xxxiv. § 4: "Relaciones
de su espiritu."

27. Rel. ii. § 18.





Annals of the Saint's Life.

By Don Vicente de la Fuente.

These are substantially the same with those drawn up by the
Bollandists, but they are fuller and more minute, and furnish a
more detailed history of the Saint.


1515.  St. Teresa is born in Avila, March 28th. [1]

1522.  She desires martyrdom, and leaves her father's house with
one of her brothers.

1527.  [2] Death of her mother.

1529.  Writes romances of chivalry, and is misled by a
thoughtless cousin.

1531.  Her sister Maria's marriage, and her removal from home to
the Augustinian monastery, where she remains till the autumn of
next year.

1533. [3]  Nov. 2, enters the monastery of the Incarnation.

1534.  Nov. 3, makes her profession.

1535.  Goes to Castellanos de la Cañada, to her sister's house,
where she remains till the spring of 1536, when she goes
to Bezadas.

1537.  Returns to Avila on Palm Sunday.  In July seriously ill,
and in a trance for four days, when in her father's house.
Paralysed for more than two years.

1539.  Is cured of her paralysis by St. Joseph.

1541.  Begins to grow lukewarm, and gives up mental prayer.

1542.  Our Lord appears to her in the parlour of the monastery,
"stern and grave " [ch. vii. § 11, see note there].

1555.  Ceases to converse with secular people, moved thereto by
the sight of a picture of our Lord on the cross [ch. ix. § 1].
The Jesuits come to Avila and the Saint confesses to F. Juan
de Padranos.

1556.  Beginning of the supernatural visitations.

1557.  St. Francis de Borja comes to Avila, and approves of the
spirit of the Saint.

1558.  First rapture of the Saint [ch. xxiv. § 7].  The vision of
Hell [ch. xxxii. § 1].  Father Alvarez ordained priest.

1559.  She takes F. Alvarez for her confessor.  The transpiercing
of her heart [ch. xxix. § 17].  Vision of our Lord risen from the
dead [ch. xxvii. § 3, ch. xxviii. § 2].

1560.  The vow of greater perfection.  St. Peter of Alcantara
approves of her spirit, and St. Luis Beltran encourages her to
proceed with her plan of founding a new monastery.

1561.  F. Gaspar de Salazar, S.J., comes to Avila; her sister
Doña Juana comes to Avila from Alba de Tormes to help the Saint
in the new foundation [ch. xxxiii. § 13].  Restores her nephew to
Life [ch. xxxv. § 14, note].  Fra Ibañez bids her write her Life.
Receives a sum of money from her brother in Peru, which enables
her to go on with the building of the new house.

1562.  Goes to Toledo, to the house of Doña Luisa de la Cerda,
and finishes the account of her Life.  Makes the acquaintance of
Fra Bañes, afterwards her principal director, and Fra Garcia of
Toledo, both Dominicans.  Receives a visit from Maria of Jesus.
Has a revelation that her sister, Doña Maria, will die suddenly
[ch. xxxiv. § 24].  Returns to Avila and takes possession of the
new monastery, August 24.  Troubles in Avila.  The Saint ordered
back to the monastery of the Incarnation.  Is commanded by Fra
Garcia of Toledo to write the history of the foundation of
St. Joseph.


1. In the same year St. Philip was born in Florence.  St. Teresa
died in 1582, and St. Philip in 1595; but they were canonised on
the same day, with St. Isidore, St. Ignatius, and St. Francis
Xavier.  The three latter were joined together in the three final
consistories held before the solemn proclamation of their
sanctity, and St. Teresa and St. Philip were joined together in
the same way in the final consistories held specially, as usual,
for them.

2. This must be an error.  See ch. i. § 7, note 7.

3. 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.





The Life
of the
Holy Mother Teresa of Jesus.
Written by Herself.


Prologue.


As I have been commanded and left at liberty to describe at
length my way of prayer, and the workings of the grace of our
Lord within me, I could wish that I had been allowed at the same
time to speak distinctly and in detail of my grievous sins and
wicked life.  But it has not been so willed; on the contrary, I
am laid herein under great restraint; and therefore, for the love
of our Lord, I beg of every one who shall read this story of my
life [1] to keep in mind how wicked it has been; and how, among
the Saints who were converted to God, I have never found one in
whom I can have any comfort.  For I see that they, after our Lord
had called them, never fell into sin again; I not only became
worse, but, as it seems to me, deliberately withstood the graces
of His Majesty, because I saw that I was thereby bound to serve
Him more earnestly, knowing, at the same time, that of myself I
could not pay the least portion of my debt.

May He be blessed for ever Who waited for me so long! I implore
Him with my whole heart to send me His grace, so that in all
clearness and truth I may give this account of myself which my
confessors command me to give; and even our Lord Himself, I know
it, has also willed it should be given for some time past, but I
had not the courage to attempt it.  And I pray it may be to His
praise and glory, and a help to my confessors; who, knowing me
better, may succour my weakness, so that I may render to our Lord
some portion of the service I owe Him.  May all creatures praise
Him for ever! Amen.


1. The Saint, in a letter written November 19, 1581, to Don Pedro
de Castro, then canon of Avila, speaking of this book, calls it
the book "Of the compassions of God"--Y ansi intitule ese libro
De las Misericordias de Dios.  That letter is the 358th in the
edition of Don Vicente de la Fuente, and the 8th of the fourth
volume of the Doblado edition of Madrid.  "Vitam igitur suam
internam et supernaturalem magis pandit quam narrat actiones
suas mere humanas" (Bollandists, n. 2).



Chapter I.


Childhood and Early Impressions.  The Blessing of Pious Parents.
Desire of Martyrdom.  Death of the Saint's Mother.


1. I had a father and mother, who were devout and feared God.
Our Lord also helped me with His grace.  All this would have been
enough to make me good, if I had not been so wicked.  My father
was very much given to the reading of good books; and so he had
them in Spanish, that his children might read them.  These books,
with my mother's carefulness to make us say our prayers, and to
bring us up devout to our Lady and to certain Saints, began to
make me think seriously when I was, I believe, six or seven years
old.  It helped me, too, that I never saw my father and mother
respect anything but goodness.  They were very good themselves.
My father was a man of great charity towards the poor, and
compassion for the sick, and also for servants; so much so, that
he never could be persuaded to keep slaves, for he pitied them so
much: and a slave belonging to one of his brothers being once in
his house, was treated by him with as much tenderness as his own
children.  He used to say that he could not endure the pain of
seeing that she was not free.  He was a man of great
truthfulness; nobody ever heard him swear or speak ill of any
one; his life was most pure.

2. My mother also was a woman of great goodness, and her life was
spent in great infirmities.  She was singularly pure in all her
ways.  Though possessing great beauty, yet was it never known
that she gave reason to suspect that she made any account
whatever of it; for, though she was only three-and-thirty years
of age when she died, her apparel was already that of a woman
advanced in years.  She was very calm, and had great sense.
The sufferings she went through during her life were grievous,
her death most Christian. [1]

3. We were three sisters and nine brothers. [2]  All, by the
mercy of God, resembled their parents in goodness except myself,
though I was the most cherished of my father.  And, before I
began to offend God, I think he had some reason,--for I am filled
with sorrow whenever I think of the good desires with which our
Lord inspired me, and what a wretched use I made of them.
Besides, my brothers never in any way hindered me in the service
of God.

4. One of my brothers was nearly of my own age; [3] and he it was
whom I most loved, though I was very fond of them all, and they
of me.  He and I used to read Lives of Saints together.  When I
read of martyrdom undergone by the Saints for the love of God, it
struck me that the vision of God was very cheaply purchased; and
I had a great desire to die a martyr's death,--not out of any
love of Him of which I was conscious, but that I might most
quickly attain to the fruition of those great joys of which I
read that they were reserved in Heaven; and I used to discuss
with my brother how we could become martyrs.  We settled to go
together to the country of the Moors, [4] begging our way for the
love of God, that we might be there beheaded; [5] and our Lord, I
believe, had given us courage enough, even at so tender an age,
if we could have found the means to proceed; but our greatest
difficulty seemed to be our father and mother.

5. It astonished us greatly to find it said in what we were
reading that pain and bliss were everlasting.  We happened very
often to talk about this; and we had a pleasure in repeating
frequently, "For ever, ever, ever."  Through the constant
uttering of these words, our Lord was pleased that I should
receive an abiding impression of the way of truth when I was yet
a child.

6. As soon as I saw it was impossible to go to any place where
people would put me to death for the sake of God, my brother and
I set about becoming hermits; and in an orchard belonging to the
house we contrived, as well as we could, to build hermitages, by
piling up small stones one on the other, which fell down
immediately; and so it came to pass that we found no means of
accomplishing our wish.  Even now, I have a feeling of devotion
when I consider how God gave me in my early youth what I lost by
my own fault.  I gave alms as I could--and I could but little.
I contrived to be alone, for the sake of saying my
prayers [6]--and they were many--especially the Rosary, to which
my mother had a great devotion, and had made us also in this like
herself.  I used to delight exceedingly, when playing with other
children, in the building of monasteries, as if we were nuns; and
I think I wished to be a nun, though not so much as I did to be a
martyr or a hermit.

7. I remember that, when my mother died, [7] I was about twelve
years old--a little less.  When I began to understand my loss, I
went in my affliction to an image of our Lady, [8] and with many
tears implored her to be my mother.  I did this in my simplicity,
and I believe that it was of service to me; for I have by
experience found the royal Virgin help me whenever I recommended
myself to her; and at last she has brought me back to herself.
It distresses me now, when I think of, and reflect on, that which
kept me from being earnest in the good desires with which
I began.

8. O my Lord, since Thou art determined to save me--may it be the
pleasure of Thy Majesty to effect it!--and to bestow upon me so
many graces, why has it not been Thy pleasure also--not for my
advantage, but for Thy greater honour--that this habitation,
wherein Thou hast continually to dwell, should not have
contracted so much defilement?  It distresses me even to say
this, O my Lord, because I know the fault is all my own, seeing
that Thou hast left nothing undone to make me, even from my
youth, wholly Thine.  When I would complain of my parents, I
cannot do it; for I saw nothing in them but all good, and
carefulness for my welfare.  Then, growing up, I began to
discover the natural gifts which our Lord had given me--they were
said to be many; and, when I should have given Him thanks for
them, I made use of every one of them, as I shall now explain, to
offend Him.


1. See ch. xxxvii. § 1; where the Saint says that she saw them in
a vision both in Heaven.

2. Alfonso Sanchez de Cepeda, father of the Saint, married first
Catalina del Peso y Henao, and had three children--one daughter,
Maria de Cepeda, and two sons.  After the death of Catalina, he
married Beatriz Davila y Ahumada, by whom he had nine
children--seven boys and two girls.  The third of these, and the
eldest of the daughters, was the Saint, Doña Teresa Sanchez
Cepeda Davila y Ahumada.  In the Monastery of the Incarnation,
where she was a professed nun for twenty-eight years, she was
known as Doña Teresa; but in the year 1563, when she left her
monastery for the new foundation of St. Joseph, of the Reform of
the Carmelites, she took for the first time the name of Teresa of
Jesus (De la Fuente).  The Saint was born March 28, 1515, and
baptized on the 4th of April, in the church of St. John; on which
day Mass was said for the first time in the Monastery of the
Incarnation, where the Saint made her profession.  Her godfather
was Vela Nuñez, and her godmother Doña Maria del Aguila.
The Bollandists and Father Bouix say that she was baptized on the
very day of her birth.  But the testimony of Doña Maria de Pinel,
a nun in the Monastery of the Incarnation, is clear: and Don
Vicente de La Fuente, quoting it, vol. i. p. 549, says that this
delay of baptism was nothing singular in those days, provided
there was no danger of death.

3. Rodrigo de Cepeda, four years older than the Saint, entered
the army, and, serving in South America, was drowned in the river
Plate, Rio de la Plata.  St. Teresa always considered him a
martyr, because he died in defence of the Catholic faith (Ribera,
lib. i. ch. iii.).  Before he sailed for the Indies, he made his
will, and left all his property to the Saint, his sister (Reforma
de los Descalços, vol. i. lib. i. ch. iii. § 4).

4. The Bollandists incline to believe that St. Teresa may not
have intended to quit Spain, because all the Moors were not at
that time driven out of the country.  The Bull of the Saint's
canonization, and the Lections of the Breviary, say that she left
her father's house, ut in Africam trajiceret.

5. The two children set out on their strange journey--one of them
seven, the other eleven, years old--through the Adaja Gate; but
when they had crossed the bridge, they were met by one of their
uncles, who brought them back to their mother, who had already
sent through Avila in quest of them.  Rodrigo, like Adam, excused
himself, and laid the blame on the woman (Ribera,
lib. i. ch. iii.).  Francisco de Santa Maria, chronicler of the
Order, says that the uncle was Francisco Alvarez de Cepeda
(Reforma de los Descalços, lib. i. ch. v. § 4).

6. She was also marvellously touched by the story of the
Samaritan woman at the well, of whom there was a picture in her
room (Ribera, lib. i. ch. iv.).  She speaks of this later on.
(See ch. xxx. § 24.)

7. The last will and testament of Doña Beatriz de Ahumada was
made November 24, 1528 and she may have died soon after.
If there be no mistake in the copy of that instrument, the Saint
must have been more than twelve years old at that time.
Don Vicente, in a note, says, with the Bollandists, that Doña
Beatriz died at the end of the year 1526, or in the beginning of
1527; but it is probable that, when he wrote that note, he had
not read the copy of the will, which he has printed in the first
volume of the Saint's writings, p. 550.

8. Our Lady of Charity, in the church of the hospital where
the poor and pilgrims were received in Avila (Bouix).



Chapter II.


Early Impressions.  Dangerous Books and Companions.  The Saint Is
Placed in a Monastery.


1. What I shall now speak of was, I believe, the beginning of
great harm to me.  I often think how wrong it is of parents not
to be very careful that their children should always, and in
every way, see only that which is good; for though my mother was,
as I have just said, so good herself, nevertheless I, when I came
to the use of reason, did not derive so much good from her as I
ought to have done--almost none at all; and the evil I learned
did me much harm.  She was very fond of books of chivalry; but
this pastime did not hurt her so much as it hurt me, because she
never wasted her time on them; only we, her children, were left
at liberty to read them; and perhaps she did this to distract her
thoughts from her great sufferings, and occupy her children, that
they might not go astray in other ways.  It annoyed my father so
much, that we had to be careful he never saw us.  I contracted a
habit of reading these books; and this little fault which I
observed in my mother was the beginning of lukewarmness in my
good desires, and the occasion of my falling away in other
respects.  I thought there was no harm in it when I wasted many
hours night and day in so vain an occupation, even when I kept it
a secret from my father.  So completely was I mastered by this
passion, that I thought I could never be happy without a
new book.

2. I began to make much of dress, to wish to please others by my
appearance.  I took pains with my hands and my hair, used
perfumes, and all vanities within my reach--and they were many,
for I was very much given to them.  I had no evil intention,
because I never wished any one to offend God for me.
This fastidiousness of excessive neatness [1] lasted some years;
and so also did other practices, which I thought then were not at
all sinful; now, I see how wrong all this must have been.

3. I had some cousins; for into my father's house no others were
allowed an entrance.  In this he was very cautious; and would to
God he had been cautious about them!--for I see now the danger of
conversing, at an age when virtue should begin to grow, with
persons who, knowing nothing themselves of the vanity of the
world, provoke others to throw themselves into the midst of it.
These cousins were nearly of mine own age--a little older,
perhaps.  We were always together; and they had a great affection
for me.  In everything that gave them pleasure, I kept the
conversation alive,--listened to the stories of their affections
and childish follies, good for nothing; and, what was still
worse, my soul began to give itself up to that which was the
cause of all its disorders.  If I were to give advice, I would
say to parents that they ought to be very careful whom they allow
to mix with their children when young; for much mischief thence
ensues, and our natural inclinations are unto evil rather than
unto good.

4. So it was with me; for I had a sister much older than
myself, [2] from whose modesty and goodness, which were great, I
learned nothing; and learned every evil from a relative who was
often in the house.  She was so light and frivolous, that my
mother took great pains to keep her out of the house, as if she
foresaw the evil I should learn from her; but she could not
succeed, there being so many reasons for her coming.  I was very
fond of this person's company, gossiped and talked with her; for
she helped me in all the amusements I liked, and, what is more,
found some for me, and communicated to me her own conversations
and her vanities.  Until I knew her, I mean, until she became
friendly with me, and communicated to me her own affairs--I was
then about fourteen years old, a little more, I think--I do not
believe that I turned away from God in mortal sin, or lost the
fear of Him, though I had a greater fear of disgrace.
This latter fear had such sway over me, that I never wholly
forfeited my good name--and, as to that, there was nothing in the
world for which I would have bartered it, and nobody in the world
I liked well enough who could have persuaded me to do it.  Thus I
might have had the strength never to do anything against the
honour of God, as I had it by nature not to fail in that wherein
I thought the honour of the world consisted; and I never observed
that I was failing in many other ways.  In vainly seeking after
it I was extremely careful; but in the use of the means necessary
for preserving it I was utterly careless. I was anxious only not
to be lost altogether.

5. This friendship distressed my father and sister exceedingly.
They often blamed me for it; but, as they could not hinder that
person from coming into the house, all their efforts were in
vain; for I was very adroit in doing anything that was wrong.
Now and then, I am amazed at the evil one bad companion can
do,--nor could I believe it if I did not know it by
experience,--especially when we are young: then is it that the
evil must be greatest.  Oh, that parents would take warning by
me, and look carefully to this! So it was; the conversation of
this person so changed me, that no trace was left of my soul's
natural disposition to virtue, and I became a reflection of her
and of another who was given to the same kind of amusements.

6. I know from this the great advantage of good companions; and I
am certain that if at that tender age I had been thrown among
good people, I should have persevered in virtue; for if at that
time I had found any one to teach me the fear of God, my soul
would have grown strong enough not to fall away. Afterwards, when
the fear of God had utterly departed from me, the fear of
dishonour alone remained, and was a torment to me in all I did.
When I thought that nobody would ever know, I ventured upon many
things that were neither honourable nor pleasing unto God.

7. In the beginning, these conversations did me harm--I believe
so.  The fault was perhaps not hers, but mine; for afterwards my
own wickedness was enough to lead me astray, together with the
servants about me, whom I found ready enough for all evil.
If any one of these had given me good advice, I might perhaps
have profited by it; but they were blinded by interest, as I was
by passion.  Still, I was never inclined to much evil,--for I
hated naturally anything dishonourable,--but only to the
amusement of a pleasant conversation.  The occasion of sin,
however, being present, danger was at hand, and I exposed to it
my father and brothers.  God delivered me out of it all, so that
I should not be lost, in a manner visibly against my will, yet
not so secretly as to allow me to escape without the loss of my
good name and the suspicions of my father.

8. I had not spent, I think, three months in these vanities, when
they took me to a monastery [3] in the city where I lived, in
which children like myself were brought up, though their way of
life was not so wicked as mine.  This was done with the utmost
concealment of the true reason, which was known only to myself
and one of my kindred.  They waited for an opportunity which
would make the change seem nothing out of the way; for, as my
sister was married, it was not fitting I should remain alone,
without a mother, in the house.

9. So excessive was my father's love for me, and so deep my
dissembling, that he never would believe me to be so wicked as I
was; and hence I was never in disgrace with him.  Though some
remarks were made, yet, as the time had been short, nothing could
be positively asserted; and, as I was so much afraid about my
good name, I had taken every care to be secret; and yet I never
considered that I could conceal nothing from Him Who seeth all
things.  O my God, what evil is done in the world by disregarding
this, and thinking that anything can be kept secret that is done
against Thee!  I am quite certain that great evils would be
avoided if we clearly understood that what we have to do is, not
to be on our guard against men, but on our guard against
displeasing Thee.

10. For the first eight days, I suffered much; but more from the
suspicion that my vanity was known, than from being in the
monastery; for I was already weary of myself--and, though I
offended God, I never ceased to have a great fear of Him, and
contrived to go to confession as quickly as I could.  I was very
uncomfortable; but within eight days, I think sooner, I was much
more contented than I had been in my father's house.  All the
nuns were pleased with me; for our Lord had given me the grace to
please every one, wherever I might be.  I was therefore made much
of in the monastery.  Though at this time I hated to be a nun,
yet I was delighted at the sight of nuns so good; for they were
very good in that house--very prudent, observant of the rule,
and recollected.

11. Yet, for all this, the devil did not cease to tempt me; and
people in the world sought means to trouble my rest with messages
and presents.  As this could not be allowed, it was soon over,
and my soul began to return to the good habits of my earlier
years; and I recognized the great mercy of God to those whom He
places among good people.  It seems as if His Majesty had sought
and sought again how to convert me to Himself.  Blessed be Thou,
O Lord, for having borne with me so long!  Amen.

12. Were it not for my many faults, there was some excuse for me,
I think, in this: that the conversation I shared in was with one
who, I thought, would do well in the estate of matrimony; [4] and
I was told by my confessors, and others also, whom in many points
I consulted, used to say, that I was not offending God.  One of
the nuns [5] slept with us who were seculars, and through her it
pleased our Lord to give me light, as I shall now explain.


1. The Saint throughout her life was extremely careful of
cleanliness.  In one of her letters to Father Jerome Gratian of
the Mother of God (No. 323, Letter 28, vol. iii. ed. Doblado),
she begs him, for the love of God, to see that the Fathers had
clean cells and table; and the Ven. Mother Anne of
St. Bartholomew, in her life (Bruxelles, 1708, p. 40), says that
she changed the Saint's linen on the day of her death, and was
thanked by her for her carefulness.  "Her soul was so pure," says
the Ven. Mother, "that she could not bear anything that was
not clean."

2. Maria de Cepeda, half-sister of the Saint.  She was married to
Don Martin de Guzman y Barrientos; and the contract for the dowry
was signed January 11, 1531 (Reforma de los Descalços
lib. i. ch. vii. § 4).

3. The Augustinian Monastery of Our Lady of Grace.  It was
founded in 1509 by the venerable Fra Juan of Seville,
Vicar-General of the Order (Reforma de los Descalços
lib. i. ch. vii. n. 2).  There were forty nuns in the house at
this time (De la Fuente).

4. Some have said that the Saint at this time intended, or
wished, to be married; and Father Bouix translates the passage
thus: "une alliance honorable pour moi."  But it is more probable
that the Saint had listened only to the story of her cousin's
intended marriage; for in ch. v. § 11, she says that our Lord had
always kept her from seeking to be loved of men.

5. Doña Maria Brizeño, mistress of the secular children who were
educated in the monastery (Reforma, lib. i. ch. vii. § 3).



Chapter III.


The Blessing of Being with Good People.  How Certain Illusions
Were Removed.


1. I began gradually to like the good and holy conversation of
this nun.  How well she used to speak of God! for she was a
person of great discretion and sanctity.  I listened to her with
delight.  I think there never was a time when I was not glad to
listen to her.  She began by telling me how she came to be a nun
through the mere reading of the words of the Gospel "Many are
called, and few are chosen." [1]  She would speak of the reward
which our Lord gives to those who forsake all things for His
sake.  This good companionship began to root out the habits which
bad companionship had formed, and to bring my thoughts back to
the desire of eternal things, as well as to banish in some
measure the great dislike I had to be a nun, which had been very
great; and if I saw any one weep in prayer, or devout in any
other way, I envied her very much; for my heart was now so hard,
that I could not shed a tear, even if I read the Passion through.
This was a grief to me.

2. I remained in the monastery a year and a half, and was very
much the better for it.  I began to say many vocal prayers, and
to ask all the nuns to pray for me, that God would place me in
that state wherein I was to serve Him; but, for all this, I
wished not to be a nun, and that God would not be pleased I
should be one, though at the same time I was afraid of marriage.
At the end of my stay there, I had a greater inclination to be a
nun, yet not in that house, on account of certain devotional
practices which I understood prevailed there, and which I thought
overstrained.  Some of the younger ones encouraged me in this my
wish; and if all had been of one mind, I might have profited by
it.  I had also a great friend [2] in another monastery; and this
made me resolve, if I was to be a nun, not to be one in any other
house than where she was.  I looked more to the pleasure of sense
and vanity than to the good of my soul.  These good thoughts of
being a nun came to me from time to time.  They left me very
soon; and I could not persuade myself to become one.

3. At this time, though I was not careless about my own good, our
Lord was much more careful to dispose me for that state of life
which was best for me.  He sent me a serious illness, so that I
was obliged to return to my father's house.

4. When I became well again, they took me to see my sister [3] in
her house in the country village where she dwelt. Her love for me
was so great, that, if she had had her will, I should never have
left her.  Her husband also had a great affection for me--at
least, he showed me all kindness.  This too I owe rather to our
Lord, for I have received kindness everywhere; and all my service
in return is, that I am what I am.

5. On the road lived a brother of my father [4]--a prudent and
most excellent man, then a widower.  Him too our Lord was
preparing for Himself.  In his old age, he left all his
possessions and became a religious.  He so finished his course,
that I believe him to have the vision of God.  He would have me
stay with him some days.  His practice was to read good books in
Spanish; and his ordinary conversation was about God and the
vanity of the world.  These books he made me read to him; and,
though I did not much like them, I appeared as if I did; for in
giving pleasure to others I have been most particular, though it
might be painful to myself--so much so, that what in others might
have been a virtue was in me a great fault, because I was often
extremely indiscreet.  O my God, in how many ways did His Majesty
prepare me for the state wherein it was His will I should serve
Him!--how, against my own will, He constrained me to do violence
to myself!  May He be blessed for ever!  Amen.

6. Though I remained here but a few days, yet, through the
impression made on my heart by the words of God both heard and
read, and by the good conversation of my uncle, I came to
understand the truth I had heard in my childhood, that all things
are as nothing, the world vanity, and passing rapidly away.
I also began to be afraid that, if I were then to die, I should
go down to hell.  Though I could not bend my will to be a nun, I
saw that the religious state was the best and the safest.
And thus, by little and little, I resolved to force myself
into it.

7. The struggle lasted three months.  I used to press this reason
against myself: The trials and sufferings of living as a nun
cannot be greater than those of purgatory, and I have well
deserved to be in hell.  It is not much to spend the rest of my
life as if I were in purgatory, and then go straight to
Heaven--which was what I desired.  I was more influenced by
servile fear, I think, than by love, to enter religion.

8. The devil put before me that I could not endure the trials of
the religious life, because of my delicate nurture.  I defended
myself against him by alleging the trials which Christ endured,
and that it was not much for me to suffer something for His sake;
besides, He would help me to bear it.  I must have thought so,
but I do not remember this consideration.  I endured many
temptations during these days.  I was subject to fainting-fits,
attended with fever,--for my health was always weak.  I had
become by this time fond of good books, and that gave me life.
I read the Epistles of St. Jerome, which filled me with so much
courage, that I resolved to tell my father of my purpose,--which
was almost like taking the habit; for I was so jealous of my
word, that I would never, for any consideration, recede from a
promise when once my word had been given.

9. My father's love for me was so great, that I could never
obtain his consent; nor could the prayers of others, whom I
persuaded to speak to him, be of any avail.  The utmost I could
get from him was that I might do as I pleased after his death.
I now began to be afraid of myself, and of my own weakness--for I
might go back.  So, considering that such waiting was not safe
for me, I obtained my end in another way, as I shall now relate.


1. St. Matt. xx. 16: "Multi enim sunt vocati, pauci vero electi."

2. Juana Suarez, in the Monastery of the incarnation, Avila
(Reforma, lib. i. ch. vii. § 7).

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

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



Chapter IV.


Our Lord Helps Her to Become a Nun.  Her Many Infirmities.


1. In those days, when I was thus resolved, I had persuaded one
of my brothers, [1] by speaking to him of the vanity of the
world, to become a friar; and we agreed together to set out one
day very early in the morning for the monastery where that friend
of mine lived for whom I had so great an affection: [2] though I
would have gone to any other monastery, if I thought I should
serve God better in it, or to any one my father liked, so strong
was my resolution now to become a nun--for I thought more of the
salvation of my soul now, and made no account whatever of mine
own ease.  I remember perfectly well, and it is quite true, that
the pain I felt when I left my father's house was so great, that
I do not believe the pain of dying will be greater--for it seemed
to me as if every bone in my body were wrenched asunder; [3] for,
as I had no love of God to destroy my love of father and of
kindred, this latter love came upon me with a violence so great
that, if our Lord had not been my keeper, my own resolution to go
on would have failed me.  But He gave me courage to fight against
myself, so that I executed my purpose. [4]

2. When I took the habit, [5] our Lord at once made me understand
how He helps those who do violence to themselves in order to
serve Him.  No one observed this violence in me; they saw nothing
but the greatest good will.  At that moment, because I was
entering on that state, I was filled with a joy so great, that it
has never failed me to this day; and God converted the aridity of
my soul into the greatest tenderness.  Everything in religion was
a delight unto me; and it is true that now and then I used to
sweep the house during those hours of the day which I had
formerly spent on my amusements and my dress; and, calling to
mind that I was delivered from such follies, I was filled with a
new joy that surprised me, nor could I understand whence it came.

3. Whenever I remember this, there is nothing in the world,
however hard it may be, that, if it were proposed to me, I would
not undertake without any hesitation whatever; for I know now, by
experience in many things, that if from the first I resolutely
persevere in my purpose, even in this life His Majesty rewards it
in a way which he only understands who has tried it.  When the
act is done for God only, it is His will before we begin it that
the soul, in order to the increase of its merits, should be
afraid; and the greater the fear, if we do but succeed, the
greater the reward, and the sweetness thence afterwards
resulting.  I know this by experience, as I have just said, in
many serious affairs; and so, if I were a person who had to
advise anybody, I would never counsel any one, to whom good
inspirations from time to time may come, to resist them through
fear of the difficulty of carrying them into effect; for if a
person lives detached for the love of God only, that is no reason
for being afraid of failure, for He is omnipotent.  May He be
blessed for ever!  Amen.

4. O supreme Good, and my Rest, those graces ought to have been
enough which Thou hadst given me hitherto, seeing that Thy
compassion and greatness had drawn me through so many windings to
a state so secure, to a house where there are so many servants of
God, from whom I might learn how I may advance in Thy service.
I know not how to go on, when I call to mind the circumstances of
my profession, the great resolution and joy with which I made it,
and my betrothal unto Thee.  I cannot speak of it without tears;
and my tears ought to be tears of blood, my heart ought to break,
and that would not be much to suffer because of the many offences
against Thee which I have committed since that day.  It seems to
me now that I had good reasons for not wishing for this dignity,
seeing that I have made so sad a use of it.  But Thou, O my Lord,
hast been willing to bear with me for almost twenty years of my
evil using of Thy graces, till I might become better.  It seems
to me, O my God, that I did nothing but promise never to keep any
of the promises then made to Thee.  Yet such was not my
intention: but I see that what I have done since is of such a
nature, that I know not what my intention was.  So it was and so
it happened, that it may be the better known, O my Bridegroom,
Who Thou art and what I am.

5. It is certainly true that very frequently the joy I have in
that the multitude of Thy mercies is made known in me, softens
the bitter sense of my great faults.  In whom, O Lord, can they
shine forth as they do in me, who by my evil deeds have shrouded
in darkness Thy great graces, which Thou hadst begun to work in
me?  Woe is me, O my Maker!  If I would make an excuse, I have
none to offer; and I only am to blame.  For if I could return to
Thee any portion of that love which Thou hadst begun to show unto
me, I would give it only unto Thee, and then everything would
have been safe.  But, as I have not deserved this, nor been so
happy as to have done it, let Thy mercy, O Lord, rest upon me.

6. The change in the habits of my life, and in my food, proved
hurtful to my health; and though my happiness was great, that was
not enough.  The fainting-fits began to be more frequent; and my
heart was so seriously affected, that every one who saw it was
alarmed; and I had also many other ailments.  And thus it was I
spent the first year, having very bad health, though I do not
think I offended God in it much.  And as my illness was so
serious--I was almost insensible at all times, and frequently
wholly so--my father took great pains to find some relief; and as
the physicians who attended me had none to give, he had me taken
to a place which had a great reputation for the cure of other
infirmities.  They said I should find relief there. [6]
That friend of whom I have spoken as being in the house went with
me. She was one of the elder nuns.  In the house where I was a
nun, there was no vow of enclosure. [7]

7. I remained there nearly a year, for three months of it
suffering most cruel tortures--effects of the violent remedies
which they applied.  I know not how I endured them; and indeed,
though I submitted myself to them, they were, as I shall
relate, [8] more than my constitution could bear.

8. I was to begin the treatment in the spring, and went thither
when winter commenced.  The intervening time I spent with my
sister, of whom I spoke before, [9] in her house in the country,
waiting for the month of April, which was drawing near, that I
might not have to go and return.  The uncle of whom I have made
mention before, [10] and whose house was on our road, gave me a
book called Tercer Abecedario, [11] which treats of the prayer of
recollection.  Though in the first year I had read good
books--for I would read no others, because I understood now the
harm they had done me--I did not know how to make my prayer, nor
how to recollect myself.  I was therefore much pleased with the
book, and resolved to follow the way of prayer it described with
all my might.  And as our Lord had already bestowed upon me the
gift of tears, and I found pleasure in reading, I began to spend
a certain time in solitude, to go frequently to confession, and
make a beginning of that way of prayer, with this book for my
guide; for I had no master--I mean, no confessor--who understood
me, though I sought for such a one for twenty years afterwards:
which did me much harm, in that I frequently went backwards, and
might have been even utterly lost; for, anyhow, a director would
have helped me to escape the risks I ran of sinning against God.

9. From the very beginning, God was most gracious unto me.
Though I was not so free from sin as the book required, I passed
that by; such watchfulness seemed to me almost impossible.  I was
on my guard against mortal sin--and would to God I had always
been so!--but I was careless about venial sins, and that was my
ruin.  Yet, for all this, at the end of my stay there--I spent
nearly nine months in the practice of solitude--our Lord began to
comfort me so much in this way of prayer, as in His mercy to
raise me to the prayer of quiet, and now and then to that of
union, though I understood not what either the one or the other
was, nor the great esteem I ought to have had of them.  I believe
it would have been a great blessing to me if I had understood the
matter.  It is true that the prayer of union lasted but a short
time: I know not if it continued for the space of an Ave Maria;
but the fruits of it remained; and they were such that, though I
was then not twenty years of age, I seemed to despise the world
utterly; and so I remember how sorry I was for those who followed
its ways, though only in things lawful.

10. I used to labour with all my might to imagine Jesus Christ,
our Good and our Lord, present within me.  And this was the way I
prayed.  If I meditated on any mystery of His life, I represented
it to myself as within me, though the greater part of my time I
spent in reading good books, which was all my comfort; for God
never endowed me with the gift of making reflections with the
understanding, or with that of using the imagination to any good
purpose: my imagination is so sluggish, [12] that even if I would
think of, or picture to myself, as I used to labour to picture,
our Lord's Humanity, I never could do it.

11. And though men may attain more quickly to the state of
contemplation, if they persevere, by this way of inability to
exert the intellect, yet is the process more laborious and
painful; for if the will have nothing to occupy it, and if love
have no present object to rest on, the soul is without support
and without employment--its isolation and dryness occasion great
pain, and the thoughts assail it most grievously.  Persons in
this condition must have greater purity of conscience than those
who can make use of their understanding; for he who can use his
intellect in the way of meditation on what the world is, on what
he owes to God, on the great sufferings of God for him, his own
scanty service in return, and on the reward God reserves for
those who love Him, learns how to defend himself against his own
thoughts, and against the occasions and perils of sin.  On the
other hand, he who has not that power is in greater danger, and
ought to occupy himself much in reading, seeing that he is not in
the slightest degree able to help himself.

12. This way of proceeding is so exceedingly painful, that if the
master who teaches it insists on cutting off the succours which
reading gives, and requires the spending of much time in prayer,
then, I say, it will be impossible to persevere long in it: and
if he persists in his plan, health will be ruined, because it is
a most painful process.  Reading is of great service towards
procuring recollection in any one who proceeds in this way; and
it is even necessary for him, however little it may be that he
reads, if only as a substitute for the mental prayer which is
beyond his reach.

13. Now I seem to understand that it was the good providence of
our Lord over me that found no one to teach me.  If I had, it
would have been impossible for me to persevere during the
eighteen years of my trial and of those great aridities because
of my inability to meditate.  During all this time, it was only
after Communion that I ever ventured to begin my prayer without a
book--my soul was as much afraid to pray without one, as if it
had to fight against a host.  With a book to help me--it was like
a companion, and a shield whereon to receive the blows of many
thoughts--I found comfort; for it was not usual with me to be in
aridity: but I always was so when I had no book; for my soul was
disturbed, and my thoughts wandered at once.  With one, I began
to collect my thoughts, and, using it as a decoy, kept my soul in
peace, very frequently by merely opening a book--there was no
necessity for more.  Sometimes, I read but little; at other
times, much--according as our Lord had pity on me.

14. It seemed to me, in these beginnings of which I am speaking,
that there could be no danger capable of withdrawing me from so
great a blessing, if I had but books, and could have remained
alone; and I believe that, by the grace of God, it would have
been so, if I had had a master or any one to warn me against
those occasions of sin in the beginning, and, if I fell, to bring
me quickly out of them.  If the devil had assailed me openly
then, I believe I should never have fallen into any grievous sin;
but he was so subtle, and I so weak, that all my good resolutions
were of little service--though, in those days in which I served
God, they were very profitable in enabling me, with that patience
which His Majesty gave me, to endure the alarming illnesses which
I had to bear.  I have often thought with wonder of the great
goodness of God; and my soul has rejoiced in the contemplation of
His great magnificence and mercy.  May He be blessed for
ever!--for I see clearly that He has not omitted to reward me,
even in this life, for every one of my good desires.  My good
works, however wretched and imperfect, have been made better and
perfected by Him Who is my Lord: He has rendered them
meritorious.  As to my evil deeds and my sins, He hid them at
once.  The eyes of those who saw them, He made even blind; and He
has blotted them out of their memory.  He gilds my faults, makes
virtue to shine forth, giving it to me Himself, and compelling me
to possess it, as it were, by force.

15. I must now return to that which has been enjoined me.  I say,
that if I had to describe minutely how our Lord dealt with me in
the beginning, it would be necessary for me to have another
understanding than that I have: so that I might be able to
appreciate what I owe to Him, together with my own ingratitude
and wickedness; for I have forgotten it all.

May He be blessed for ever Who has borne with me so long!  Amen.


1. Antonio de Ahumada; who, according to the most probable
opinion, entered the Dominican monastery of St. Thomas, Avila.
It is said that he died before he was professed.  Some said he
joined the Hieronymites; but this is not so probable (De la
Fuente).  Ribera, however, says that he did enter the novitiate
of the Hieronymites. but died before he was out of it
(lib. i. ch. vi.).

2. Juana Suarez, in the Monastery of the Incarnation, Avila.

3. See Relation, vi. § 3.

4. The nuns sent word to the father of his child's escape, and of
her desire to become a nun, but without any expectation of
obtaining his consent.  He came to the monastery forthwith, and
"offered up his Isaac on Mount Carmel" (Reforma,
lib. i. ch. viii. § 5).

5. The Saint entered the Monastery of the Incarnation Nov. 2,
1533, and made her profession Nov. 3, 1534 (Bollandists and
Bouix).  Ribera says she entered November 2, 1535; and the
chronicler of the Order, relying on the contract by which her
father bound himself to the monastery, says that she took the
habit Nov. 2, 1536, and that Ribera had made a mistake.

6. Her father took her from the monastery in the autumn of 1535,
according to the Bollandists, but of 1538, according to the
chronicler, who adds, that she was taken to her uncle's
house--Pedro Sanchez de Cepeda--in Hortigosa, and then to
Castellanos de la Cañada, to the house of her sister, Doña Maria,
where she remained till the spring, when she went to Bezadas for
her cure (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi. § 2).

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

8. Ch. v. § 15.

9. Ch. iii. § 4.

10. Ch. iii. § 5.

11. By Fray Francisco de Osuna, of the Order of St. Francis
(Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi. § 2).

12. See ch. ix. §§ 4, 7.



Chapter V.


Illness and Patience of the Saint.  The Story of a Priest Whom
She Rescued from a Life of Sin.


1. I forgot to say how, in the year of my novitiate, I suffered
much uneasiness about things in themselves of no importance; but
I was found fault with very often when I was blameless.  I bore
it painfully and with imperfection; however, I went through it
all, because of the joy I had in being a nun.  When they saw me
seeking to be alone, and even weeping over my sins at times, they
thought I was discontented, and said so.

2. All religious observances had an attraction for me, but I
could not endure any which seemed to make me contemptible.
I delighted in being thought well of by others, and was very
exact in everything I had to do.  All this I thought was a
virtue, though it will not serve as any excuse for me, because I
knew what it was to procure my own satisfaction in everything,
and so ignorance does not blot out the blame.  There may be some
excuse in the fact that the monastery was not founded in great
perfection.  I, wicked as I was, followed after that which I saw
was wrong, and neglected that which was good.

3. There was then in the house a nun labouring under a most
grievous and painful disorder, for there were open ulcers in her
body, caused by certain obstructions, through which her food was
rejected.  Of this sickness she soon died.  All the sisters, I
saw, were afraid of her malady.  I envied her patience very much;
I prayed to God that He would give me a like patience; and then,
whatever sickness it might be His pleasure to send, I do not
think I was afraid of any, for I was resolved on gaining eternal
good, and determined to gain it by any and by every means.

4. I am surprised at myself, because then I had not, as I
believe, that love of God which I think I had after I began to
pray.  Then, I had only light to see that all things that pass
away are to be lightly esteemed, and that the good things to be
gained by despising them are of great price, because they are for
ever.  His Majesty heard me also in this, for in less than two
years I was so afflicted myself that the illness which I had,
though of a different kind from that of the sister, was, I really
believe, not less painful and trying for the three years it
lasted, as I shall now relate.

5. When the time had come for which I was waiting in the place I
spoke of before [1]--I was in my sister's house, for the purpose
of undergoing the medical treatment--they took me away with the
utmost care of my comfort; that is, my father, my sister, and the
nun, my friend, who had come from the monastery with me,--for her
love for me was very great.  At that moment, Satan began to
trouble my soul; God, however, brought forth a great blessing out
of that trouble.

6. In the place to which I had gone for my cure lived a priest of
good birth and understanding, with some learning, but not much.
I went to confession to him, for I was always fond of learned
men, although confessors indifferently learned did my soul much
harm; for I did not always find confessors whose learning was as
good as I could wish it was.  I know by experience that it is
better, if the confessors are good men and of holy lives, that
they should have no learning at all, than a little; for such
confessors never trust themselves without consulting those who
are learned--nor would I trust them myself: and a really learned
confessor never deceived me. [2]  Neither did the others
willingly deceive me, only they knew no better; I thought they
were learned, and that I was not under any other obligation than
that of believing them, as their instructions to me were lax, and
left me more at liberty--for if they had been strict with me, I
am so wicked, I should have sought for others. That which was a
venial sin, they told me was no sin at all; of that which was
most grievously mortal, they said it was venial. [3]

7. This did me so much harm, that it is no wonder I should speak
of it here as a warning to others, that they may avoid an evil so
great; for I see clearly that in the eyes of God I was without
excuse, that the things I did being in themselves not good, this
should have been enough to keep me from them.  I believe that
God, by reason of my sins, allowed those confessors to deceive
themselves and to deceive me.  I myself deceived many others by
saying to them what had been said to me.

8. I continued in this blindness, I believe, more than seventeen
years, till a most learned Dominican Father [4] undeceived me in
part, and those of the Company of Jesus made me altogether so
afraid, by insisting on the erroneousness of these principles, as
I shall hereafter show. [5]

9. I began, then, by going to confession to that priest of whom I
spoke before. [6]  He took an extreme liking to me, because I had
then but little to confess in comparison with what I had
afterwards; and I had never much to say since I became a nun.
There was no harm in the liking he had for me, but it ceased to
be good, because it was in excess.  He clearly understood that I
was determined on no account whatever to do anything whereby God
might be seriously offended.  He, too, gave me a like assurance
about himself, and accordingly our conferences were many.  But at
that time, through the knowledge and fear of God which filled my
soul, what gave me most pleasure in all my conversations with
others was to speak of God; and, as I was so young, this made him
ashamed; and then, out of that great goodwill he bore me, he
began to tell me of his wretched state.  It was very sad, for he
had been nearly seven years in a most perilous condition, because
of his affection for, and conversation with, a woman of that
place; and yet he used to say Mass.  The matter was so public,
that his honour and good name were lost, and no one ventured to
speak to him about it.  I was extremely sorry for him, because I
liked him much.  I was then so imprudent and so blind as to think
it a virtue to be grateful and loyal to one who liked me.
Cursed be that loyalty which reaches so far as to go against the
law of God.  It is a madness common in the world, and it makes me
mad to see it.  We are indebted to God for all the good that men
do to us, and yet we hold it to be an act of virtue not to break
a friendship of this kind, though it lead us to go against Him.
Oh, blindness of the world!  Let me, O Lord, be most ungrateful
to the world; never at all unto Thee.  But I have been altogether
otherwise through my sins.

10. I procured further information about the matter from members
of his household; I learned more of his ruinous state, and saw
that the poor man's fault was not so grave, because the miserable
woman had had recourse to enchantments, by giving him a little
image made of copper, which she had begged him to wear for love
of her around his neck; and this no one had influence enough to
persuade him to throw away.  As to this matter of enchantments, I
do not believe it to be altogether true; but I will relate what I
saw, by way of warning to men to be on their guard against women
who will do things of this kind.  And let them be assured of
this, that women--for they are more bound to purity than men--if
once they have lost all shame before God, are in nothing whatever
to be trusted; and that in exchange for the gratification of
their will, and of that affection which the devil suggests, they
will hesitate at nothing.

11. Though I have been so wicked myself, I never fell into
anything of this kind, nor did I ever attempt to do evil; nor, if
I had the power, would I have ever constrained any one to like
me, for our Lord kept me from this.  But if He had abandoned me,
I should have done wrong in this, as I did in other things--for
there is nothing in me whereon anyone may rely.

12. When I knew this, I began to show him greater affection: my
intention was good, but the act was wrong, for I ought not to do
the least wrong for the sake of any good, how great soever it may
be.  I spoke to him most frequently of God; and this must have
done him good--though I believe that what touched him most was
his great affection for me, because, to do me a pleasure, he gave
me that little image of copper, and I had it at once thrown into
a river.  When he had given it up, like a man roused from deep
sleep, he began to consider all that he had done in those years;
and then, amazed at himself, lamenting his ruinous state, that
woman came to be hateful in his eyes.  Our Lady must have helped
him greatly, for he had a very great devotion to her Conception,
and used to keep the feast thereof with great solemnity.
In short, he broke off all relations with that woman utterly, and
was never weary of giving God thanks for the light He had given
him; and at the end of the year from the day I first saw him,
he died.

13. He had been most diligent in the service of God; and as for
that great affection he had for me, I never observed anything
wrong in it, though it might have been of greater purity.
There were also occasions wherein he might have most grievously
offended, if he had not kept himself in the near presence of God.
As I said before, [7] I would not then have done anything I knew
was a mortal sin.  And I think that observing this resolution in
me helped him to have that affection for me; for I believe that
all men must have a greater affection for those women whom they
see disposed to be good; and even for the attainment of earthly
ends, women must have more power over men because they are good,
as I shall show hereafter.  I am convinced that the priest is in
the way of salvation.  He died most piously, and completely
withdrawn from that occasion of sin.  It seems that it was the
will of our Lord he should be saved by these means.

14. I remained three months in that place, in the most grievous
sufferings; for the treatment was too severe for my constitution.
In two months--so strong were the medicines--my life was nearly
worn out; and the severity of the pain in the heart, [8] for the
cure of which I was there was much more keen: it seemed to me,
now and then, as if it had been seized by sharp teeth.  So great
was the torment, that it was feared it might end in madness.
There was a great loss of strength, for I could eat nothing
whatever, only drink.  I had a great loathing for food, and a
fever that never left me.  I was so reduced, for they had given
me purgatives daily for nearly a month, and so parched up, that
my sinews began to shrink.  The pains I had were unendurable, and
I was overwhelmed in a most deep sadness, so that I had no rest
either night or day.

15. This was the result; and thereupon my father took me back.
Then the physicians visited me again.  All gave me up; they said
I was also consumptive.  This gave me little or no concern; what
distressed me were the pains I had--for I was in pain from my
head down to my feet.  Now, nervous pains, according to the
physicians, are intolerable; and all my nerves were shrunk.
Certainly, if I had not brought this upon myself by my sins, the
torture would have been unendurable.

16. I was not more than three months in this cruel distress, for
it seemed impossible that so many ills could be borne together.
I now am astonished at myself, and the patience His Majesty gave
me--for it clearly came from Him--I look upon as a great mercy of
our Lord.  It was a great help to me to be patient, that I had
read the story of Job, in the Morals of St. Gregory (our Lord
seems to have prepared me thereby); and that I had begun the
practice of prayer, so that I might bear it all, conforming my
will to the will of God.  All my conversation was with God.
I had continually these words of Job in my thoughts and in my
mouth: "If we have received good things of the hand of our Lord,
why should we not receive evil things?" [9]  This seemed to give
me courage.

17. The feast of our Lady, in August, came round; from April
until then I had been in great pain, but more especially during
the last three months.  I made haste to go to confession, for I
had always been very fond of frequent confession.  They thought I
was driven by the fear of death; and so my father, in order to
quiet me, would not suffer me to go.  Oh, the unreasonable love
of flesh and blood!  Though it was that of a father so Catholic
and so wise--he was very much so, and this act of his could not
be the effect of any ignorance on his part--what evil it might
have done me!

18. That very night my sickness became so acute, that for about
four days I remained insensible.  They administered the Sacrament
of the last Anointing, and every hour, or rather every moment,
thought I was dying; they did nothing but repeat the Credo, as if
I could have understood anything they said.  They must have
regarded me as dead more than once, for I found afterwards drops
of wax on my eyelids.  My father, because he had not allowed me
to go to confession, was grievously distressed.  Loud cries and
many prayers were made to God: blessed be He Who heard them.

19. For a day-and-a-half the grave was open in my monastery,
waiting for my body; [10] and the Friars of our Order, in a house
at some distance from this place, performed funeral solemnities.
But it pleased our Lord I should come to myself.  I wished to go
to confession at once.  I communicated with many tears; but I do
not think those tears had their source in that pain and sorrow
only for having offended God, which might have sufficed for my
salvation--unless, indeed, the delusion which I laboured under
were some excuse for me, and into which I had been led by those
who had told me that some things were not mortal sins which
afterwards I found were so certainly.

20. Though my sufferings were unendurable, and my perceptions
dull, yet my confession, I believe, was complete as to all
matters wherein I understood myself to have offended God. This
grace, among others, did His Majesty bestow on me, that ever
since my first Communion never in confession have I failed to
confess anything I thought to be a sin, though it might be only a
venial sin.  But I think that undoubtedly my salvation was in
great peril, if I had died at that time--partly because my
confessors were so unlearned, and partly because I was so very
wicked.  It is certainly true that when I think of it, and
consider how our Lord seems to have raised me up from the dead, I
am so filled with wonder, that I almost tremble with fear. [11]

21. And now, O my soul, it were well for thee to look that danger
in the face from which our Lord delivered thee; and if thou dost
not cease to offend Him out of love thou shouldst do so out of
fear.  He might have slain thee a thousand times, and in a far
more perilous state.  I believe I exaggerate nothing if I say a
thousand times again, though he may rebuke me who has commanded
me to restrain myself in recounting my sins; and they are glossed
over enough. I pray him, for the love of God, not to suppress one
of my faults, because herein shines forth the magnificence of
God, as well as His long-suffering towards souls.  May He be
blessed for evermore, and destroy me utterly, rather than let me
cease to love Him any more!


1. Ch. iv. § 6.  The person to whom she was taken was a woman
famous for certain cures she had wrought, but whose skill proved
worse than useless to the Saint (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi. § 2).

2. Schram, Theolog. Mystic., § 483.  "Magni doctores scholastici,
si non sint spirituales, vel omni rerum spiritualium experientia
careant, non solent esse magistri spirituales idonei--nam
theologia scholastica est perfectio intellectus; mystica,
perfectio intellectus et voluntatis: unde bonus theologus
scholasticus potest esse malus theologus mysticus.  In rebus
tamen difficilibus, dubiis, spiritualibus, præstat mediocriter
spiritualem theologum consulere quam spiritualem idiotam."

3. See Way of Perfection, ch. viii. § 2; but
ch. v. Dalton's edition.

4. F. Vicente Barron (Bouix).

5. See ch. xxiii.

6. § 6.

7. § 9.

8. Ch. iv. § 6.

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

10. Some of the nuns of the Incarnation were in the house, sent
thither from the monastery; and, but for the father's disbelief
in her death, would have taken her home for burial (Ribera,
lib. i. ch. iv.).

11. Ribera, lib. i. ch. iv., says he heard Fra Bañes, in a
sermon, say that the Saint told him she had, during these four
days, seen hell in a vision.  And the chronicler says that though
there was bodily illness, yet it was a trance of the soul at the
same time (vol. i. lib. i. ch. xii. § 3).



Chapter VI.


The Great Debt She Owed to Our Lord for His Mercy to Her.
She Takes St. Joseph for Her Patron.


1. After those four days, during which I was insensible, so great
was my distress, that our Lord alone knoweth the intolerable
sufferings I endured.  My tongue was bitten to pieces; there was
a choking in my throat because I had taken nothing, and because
of my weakness, so that I could not swallow even a drop of water;
all my bones seemed to be out of joint, and the disorder of my
head was extreme.  I was bent together like a coil of ropes--for
to this was I brought by the torture of those days--unable to
move either arm, or foot, or hand, or head, any more than if I
had been dead, unless others moved me; I could move, however, I
think, one finger of my right hand.  Then, as to touching me,
that was impossible, for I was so bruised that I could not endure
it.  They used to move me in a sheet, one holding one end, and
another the other.  This lasted till Palm Sunday. [1]

2. The only comfort I had was this--if no one came near me, my
pains frequently ceased; and then, because I had a little rest, I
considered myself well, for I was afraid my patience would fail:
and thus I was exceedingly happy when I saw myself free from
those pains which were so sharp and constant, though in the cold
fits of an intermittent fever, which were most violent, they were
still unendurable.  My dislike of food was very great.

3. I was now so anxious to return to my monastery, that I had
myself conveyed thither in the state I was in.  There they
received alive one whom they had waited for as dead; but her body
was worse than dead: the sight of it could only give pain.  It is
impossible to describe my extreme weakness, for I was nothing but
bones.  I remained in this state, as I have already said, [2]
more than eight months; and was paralytic, though getting better,
for about three years.  I praised God when I began to crawl on my
hands and knees.  I bore all this with great resignation, and, if
I except the beginning of my illness, with great joy; for all
this was as nothing in comparison with the pains and tortures I
had to bear at first.  I was resigned to the will of God, even if
He left me in this state for ever.  My anxiety about the recovery
of my health seemed to be grounded on my desire to pray in
solitude, as I had been taught; for there were no means of doing
so in the infirmary.  I went to confession most frequently, spoke
much about God, and in such a way as to edify everyone; and they
all marvelled at the patience which our Lord gave me--for if it
had not come from the hand of His Majesty, it seemed impossible
to endure so great an affliction with so great a joy.

4. It was a great thing for me to have had the grace of prayer
which God had wrought in me; it made me understand what it is to
love Him.  In a little while, I saw these virtues renewed within
me; still they were not strong, for they were not sufficient to
sustain me in justice.  I never spoke ill in the slightest degree
whatever of any one, and my ordinary practice was to avoid all
detraction; for I used to keep most carefully in mind that I
ought not to assent to, nor say of another, anything I should not
like to have said of myself.  I was extremely careful to keep
this resolution on all occasions though not so perfectly, upon
some great occasions that presented themselves, as not to break
it sometimes.  But my ordinary practice was this: and thus those
who were about me, and those with whom I conversed, became so
convinced that it was right, that they adopted it as a habit.
It came to be understood that where I was, absent persons were
safe; so they were also with my friends and kindred, and with
those whom I instructed.  Still, for all this, I have a strict
account to give unto God for the bad example I gave in other
respects. May it please His Majesty to forgive me, for I have
been the cause of much evil; though not with intentions as
perverse as were the acts that followed.

5. The longing for solitude remained, and I loved to discourse
and speak of God; for if I found any one with whom I could do so,
it was a greater joy and satisfaction to me than all the
refinements--or rather to speak more correctly, the real
rudeness--of the world's conversation.  I communicated and
confessed more frequently still, and desired to do so; I was
extremely fond of reading good books; I was most deeply penitent
for having offended God; and I remember that very often I did not
dare to pray, because I was afraid of that most bitter anguish
which I felt for having offended God, dreading it as a great
chastisement.  This grew upon me afterwards to so great a degree,
that I know of no torment wherewith to compare it; and yet it was
neither more nor less because of any fear I had at any time, for
it came upon me only when I remembered the consolations of our
Lord which He gave me in prayer, the great debt I owed Him, the
evil return I made: I could not bear it.  I was also extremely
angry with myself on account of the many tears I shed for my
faults, when I saw how little I improved, seeing that neither my
good resolutions, nor the pains I took, were sufficient to keep
me from falling whenever I had the opportunity.  I looked on my
tears as a delusion; and my faults, therefore, I regarded as the
more grievous, because I saw the great goodness of our Lord to me
in the shedding of those tears, and together with them such
deep compunction.

6. I took care to go to confession as soon as I could; and, as I
think, did all that was possible on my part to return to a state
of grace.  But the whole evil lay in my not thoroughly avoiding
the occasions of sin, and in my confessors, who helped me so
little.  If they had told me that I was travelling on a dangerous
road, and that I was bound to abstain from those conversations, I
believe, without any doubt, that the matter would have been
remedied, because I could not bear to remain even for one day in
mortal sin, if I knew it.

7. All these tokens of the fear of God came to me through prayer;
and the greatest of them was this, that fear was swallowed up of
love--for I never thought of chastisement.  All the time I was so
ill, my strict watch over my conscience reached to all that is
mortal sin.

8. O my God! I wished for health, that I might serve Thee better;
that was the cause of all my ruin.  For when I saw how helpless I
was through paralysis, being still so young, and how the
physicians of this world had dealt with me, I determined to ask
those of heaven to heal me--for I wished, nevertheless, to be
well, though I bore my illness with great joy.  Sometimes, too, I
used to think that if I recovered my health, and yet were lost
for ever, I was better as I was.  But, for all that, I thought I
might serve God much better if I were well.  This is our
delusion; we do not resign ourselves absolutely to the
disposition of our Lord, Who knows best what is for our good.

9. I began by having Masses and prayers said for my
intention--prayers that were highly sanctioned; for I never liked
those other devotions which some people, especially women, make
use of with a ceremoniousness to me intolerable, but which move
them to be devout.  I have been given to understand since that
they were unseemly and superstitious; and I took for my patron
and lord the glorious St. Joseph, and recommended myself
earnestly to him.  I saw clearly that both out of this my present
trouble, and out of others of greater importance, relating to my
honour and the loss of my soul, this my father and lord delivered
me, and rendered me greater services than I knew how to ask for.
I cannot call to mind that I have ever asked him at any time for
anything which he has not granted; and I am filled with amazement
when I consider the great favours which God hath given me through
this blessed Saint; the dangers from which he hath delivered me,
both of body and of soul.  To other Saints, our Lord seems to
have given grace to succour men in some special necessity; but to
this glorious Saint, I know by experience, to help us in all: and
our Lord would have us understand that as He was Himself subject
to him upon earth--for St. Joseph having the title of father, and
being His guardian, could command Him--so now in heaven He
performs all his petitions.  I have asked others to recommend
themselves to St. Joseph, and they too know this by experience;
and there are many who are now of late devout to him, [3] having
had experience of this truth.

10. I used to keep his feast with all the solemnity I could, but
with more vanity than spirituality, seeking rather too much
splendour and effect, and yet with good intentions.  I had this
evil in me, that if our Lord gave me grace to do any good, that
good became full of imperfections and of many faults; but as for
doing wrong, the indulgence of curiosity and vanity, I was very
skilful and active therein.  Our Lord forgive me!

11. Would that I could persuade all men to be devout to this
glorious Saint; for I know by long experience what blessings he
can obtain for us from God.  I have never known any one who was
really devout to him, and who honoured him by particular
services, who did not visibly grow more and more in virtue; for
he helps in a special way those souls who commend themselves to
him.  It is now some years since I have always on his feast asked
him for something, and I always have it.  If the petition be in
any way amiss, he directs it aright for my greater good.

12. If I were a person who had authority to write, it would be a
pleasure to me to be diffusive in speaking most minutely of the
graces which this glorious Saint has obtained for me and for
others.  But that I may not go beyond the commandment that is
laid upon me, I must in many things be more brief than I could
wish, and more diffusive than is necessary in others; for, in
short, I am a person who, in all that is good, has but little
discretion.  But I ask, for the love of God, that he who does not
believe me will make the trial for himself--when he will see by
experience the great good that results from commending oneself to
this glorious patriarch, and being devout to him.  Those who give
themselves to prayer should in a special manner have always a
devotion to St. Joseph; for I know not how any man can think of
the Queen of the angels, during the time that she suffered so
much with the Infant Jesus, without giving thanks to St. Joseph
for the services he rendered them then.  He who cannot find any
one to teach him how to pray, let him take this glorious Saint
for his master, and he will not wander out of the way.

13. May it please our Lord that I have not done amiss in
venturing to speak about St. Joseph; for, though I publicly
profess my devotion to him, I have always failed in my service to
him and imitation of him.  He was like himself when he made me
able to rise and walk, no longer a paralytic; and I, too, am like
myself when I make so bad a use of this grace.

14. Who could have said that I was so soon to fall, after such
great consolations from God--after His Majesty had implanted
virtues in me which of themselves made me serve Him--after I had
been, as it were, dead, and in such extreme peril of eternal
damnation--after He had raised me up, soul and body, so that all
who saw me marvelled to see me alive?  What can it mean, O my
Lord?  The life we live is so full of danger!  While I am writing
this--and it seems to me, too, by Thy grace and mercy--I may say
with St. Paul, though not so truly as he did: "It is not I who
live now, but Thou, my Creator, livest in me." [4]  For some
years past, so it seems to me, Thou hast held me by the hand; and
I see in myself desires and resolutions--in some measure tested
by experience, in many ways, during that time--never to do
anything, however slight it may be, contrary to Thy will, though
I must have frequently offended Thy Divine Majesty without being
aware of it; and I also think that nothing can be proposed to me
that I should not with great resolution undertake for Thy love.
In some things Thou hast Thyself helped me to succeed therein.
I love neither the world, nor the things of the world; nor do I
believe that anything that does not come from Thee can give me
pleasure; everything else seems to me a heavy cross.

15. Still, I may easily deceive myself, and it may be that I am
not what I say I am; but Thou knowest, O my Lord, that, to the
best of my knowledge, I lie not.  I am afraid, and with good
reason, lest Thou shouldst abandon me; for I know now how far my
strength and little virtue can reach, if Thou be not ever at hand
to supply them, and to help me never to forsake Thee.  May His
Majesty grant that I be not forsaken of Thee even now, when I am
thinking all this of myself!

16. I know not how we can wish to live, seeing that everything is
so uncertain.  Once, O Lord, I thought it impossible to forsake
Thee so utterly; and now that I have forsaken Thee so often, I
cannot help being afraid; for when Thou didst withdraw but a
little from me, I fell down to the ground at once.  Blessed for
ever be Thou!  Though I have forsaken Thee, Thou hast not
forsaken me so utterly but that Thou hast come again and raised
me up, giving me Thy hand always.  Very often, O Lord, I would
not take it: very often I would not listen when Thou wert calling
me again, as I am going to show.


1. March 25, 1537.

2. Ch. v. § 17.  The Saint left her monastery in 1535; and in the
spring of 1536 went from her sister's house to Bezadas; and in
July of that year was brought back to her father's house in
Avila, wherein she remained till Palm Sunday, 1537, when she
returned to the Monastery of the Incarnation.  She had been
seized with paralysis there, and laboured under it nearly three
years, from 1536 to 1539, when she was miraculously healed
through the intercession of St. Joseph (Bolland, n. 100, 101).
The dates of the Chronicler are different from these.

3. Of the devotion to St. Joseph, F. Faber (The Blessed
Sacrament, bk. ii. p. 199, 3rd ed.) says that it took its rise in
the West, in a confraternity in Avignon.  "Then it spread over
the church. Gerson was raised up to be its doctor and theologian,
and St. Teresa to be its Saint, and St. Francis of Sales to be
its popular teacher and missionary.  The houses of Carmel were
like the holy house of Nazareth to it; and the colleges of the
Jesuits, its peaceful sojourns in dark Egypt."

4. Galat. ii. 20: "Vivo autem, jam non ego; vivit vero in
me Christus."



Chapter VII.


Lukewarmness.  The Loss of Grace.  Inconvenience of Laxity in
Religious Houses.


1. So, then, going on from pastime to pastime, from vanity to
vanity, from one occasion of sin to another, I began to expose
myself exceedingly to the very greatest dangers: my soul was so
distracted by many vanities, that I was ashamed to draw near unto
God in an act of such special friendship as that of prayer. [1]
As my sins multiplied, I began to lose the pleasure and comfort I
had in virtuous things: and that loss contributed to the
abandonment of prayer.  I see now most clearly, O my Lord, that
this comfort departed from me because I had departed from Thee.

2. It was the most fearful delusion into which Satan could plunge
me--to give up prayer under the pretence of humility.  I began to
be afraid of giving myself to prayer, because I saw myself so
lost.  I thought it would be better for me, seeing that in my
wickedness I was one of the most wicked, to live like the
multitude--to say the prayers which I was bound to say, and that
vocally: not to practise mental prayer nor commune with God so
much; for I deserved to be with the devils, and was deceiving
those who were about me, because I made an outward show of
goodness; and therefore the community in which I dwelt is not to
be blamed; for with my cunning I so managed matters, that all had
a good opinion of me; and yet I did not seek this deliberately by
simulating devotion; for in all that relates to hypocrisy and
ostentation--glory be to God!--I do not remember that I ever
offended Him, [2] so far as I know.  The very first movements
herein gave me such pain, that the devil would depart from me
with loss, and the gain remained with me; and thus, accordingly,
he never tempted me much in this way.  Perhaps, however, if God
had permitted Satan to tempt me as sharply herein as he tempted
me in other things, I should have fallen also into this; but His
Majesty has preserved me until now.  May He be blessed for
evermore!  It was rather a heavy affliction to me that I should
be thought so well of; for I knew my own secret.

3. The reason why they thought I was not so wicked was this: they
saw that I, who was so young, and exposed to so many occasions of
sin, withdrew myself so often into solitude for prayer, read
much, spoke of God, that I liked to have His image painted in
many places, to have an oratory of my own, and furnish it with
objects of devotion, that I spoke ill of no one, and other things
of the same kind in me which have the appearance of virtue.  Yet
all the while--I was so vain--I knew how to procure respect for
myself by doing those things which in the world are usually
regarded with respect.

4. In consequence of this, they gave me as much liberty as they
did to the oldest nuns, and even more, and had great confidence
in me; for as to taking any liberty for myself, or doing anything
without leave--such as conversing through the door, or in secret,
or by night--I do not think I could have brought myself to speak
with anybody in the monastery in that way, and I never did it;
for our Lord held me back.  It seemed to me--for I considered
many things carefully and of set purpose--that it would be a very
evil deed on my part, wicked as I was, to risk the credit of so
many nuns, who were all good--as if everything else I did was
well done!  In truth, the evil I did was not the result of
deliberation, as this would have been, if I had done it, although
it was too much so.

5. Therefore, I think that it did me much harm to be in a
monastery not enclosed.  The liberty which those who were good
might have with advantage--they not being obliged to do more than
they do, because they had not bound themselves to
enclosure--would certainly have led me, who am wicked, straight
to hell, if our Lord, by so many remedies and means of His most
singular mercy, had not delivered me out of that danger--and it
is, I believe, the very greatest danger--namely, a monastery of
women unenclosed--yea, more, I think it is, for those who will be
wicked, a road to hell, rather than a help to their weakness.
This is not to be understood of my monastery; for there are so
many there who in the utmost sincerity, and in great perfection,
serve our Lord, so that His Majesty, according to His goodness,
cannot but be gracious unto them; neither is it one of those
which are most open for all religious observances are kept in it;
and I am speaking only of others which I have seen and known.

6. I am exceedingly sorry for these houses, because our Lord must
of necessity send His special inspirations not merely once, but
many times, if the nuns therein are to be saved, seeing that the
honours and amusements of the world are allowed among them, and
the obligations of their state are so ill-understood.  God grant
they may not count that to be virtue which is sin, as I did so
often!  It is very difficult to make people understand this; it
is necessary our Lord Himself should take the matter seriously
into His own hands.

7. If parents would take my advice, now that they are at no pains
to place their daughters where they may walk in the way of
salvation without incurring a greater risk than they would do if
they were left in the world, let them look at least at that which
concerns their good name.  Let them marry them to persons of a
much lower degree, rather than place them in monasteries of this
kind, unless they be of extremely good inclinations, and God
grant that these inclinations may come to good! or let them keep
them at home.  If they will be wicked at home, their evil life
can be hidden only for a short time; but in monasteries it can be
hidden long, and, in the end, it is our Lord that discovers it.
They injure not only themselves, but all the nuns also.  And all
the while the poor things are not in fault; for they walk in the
way that is shown them.  Many of them are to be pitied; for they
wished to withdraw from the world, and, thinking to escape from
the dangers of it, and that they were going to serve our Lord,
have found themselves in ten worlds at once, without knowing what
to do, or how to help themselves.  Youth and sensuality and the
devil invite them and incline them to follow certain ways which
are of the essence of worldliness.  They see these ways, so to
speak, considered as safe there.

8. Now, these seem to me to be in some degree like those wretched
heretics who will make themselves blind, and who will consider
that which they do to be good, and so believe, but without really
believing; for they have within themselves something that tells
them it is wrong.

9. Oh, what utter ruin! utter ruin of religious persons--I am not
speaking now more of women than of men--where the rules of the
Order are not kept; where the same monastery offers two roads:
one of virtue and observance, the other of inobservance, and both
equally frequented!  I have spoken incorrectly: they are not
equally frequented; for, on account of our sins, the way of the
greatest imperfection is the most frequented; and because it is
the broadest, it is also the most in favour.  The way of
religious observance is so little used, that the friar and the
nun who would really begin to follow their vocation thoroughly
have reason to fear the members of their communities more than
all the devils together.  They must be more cautious, and
dissemble more, when they would speak of that friendship with God
which they desire to have, than when they would speak of those
friendships and affections which the devil arranges in
monasteries.  I know not why we are astonished that the Church is
in so much trouble, when we see those, who ought to be an example
of every virtue to others, so disfigure the work which the spirit
of the Saints departed wrought in their Orders.  May it please
His Divine Majesty to apply a remedy to this, as He sees it to be
needful!  Amen.

10. So, then, when I began to indulge in these conversations, I
did not think, seeing they were customary, that my soul must be
injured and dissipated, as I afterwards found it must be, by such
conversations.  I thought that, as receiving visits was so common
in many monasteries, no more harm would befall me thereby than
befell others, whom I knew to be good.  I did not observe that
they were much better than I was, and that an act which was
perilous for me was not so perilous for them; and yet I have no
doubt there was some danger in it, were it nothing else but a
waste of time.

11. I was once with a person--it was at the very beginning of my
acquaintance with her when our Lord was pleased to show me that
these friendships were not good for me: to warn me also, and in
my blindness, which was so great, to give me light.  Christ stood
before me, stern and grave, giving me to understand what in my
conduct was offensive to Him.  I saw Him with the eyes of the
soul more distinctly than I could have seen Him with the eyes of
the body.  The vision made so deep an impression upon me, that,
though it is more than twenty-six years ago, [3] I seem to see
Him present even now.  I was greatly astonished and disturbed,
and I resolved not to see that person again.

12. It did me much harm that I did not then know it was possible
to see anything otherwise than with the eyes of the body; [4] so
did Satan too, in that he helped me to think so: he made me
understand it to be impossible, and suggested that I had imagined
the vision--that it might be Satan himself--and other
suppositions of that kind.  For all this, the impression remained
with me that the vision was from God, and not an imagination;
but, as it was not to my liking, I forced myself to lie to
myself; and as I did not dare to discuss the matter with any one,
and as great importunity was used, I went back to my former
conversation with the same person, and with others also, at
different times; for I was assured that there was no harm in
seeing such a person, and that I gained, instead of losing,
reputation by doing so.  I spent many years in this pestilent
amusement; for it never appeared to me, when I was engaged in it,
to be so bad as it really was, though at times I saw clearly it
was not good.  But no one caused me the same distraction which
that person did of whom I am speaking; and that was because I had
a great affection for her.

13. At another time, when I was with that person, we saw, both of
us, and others who were present also saw, something like a great
toad crawling towards us, more rapidly than such a creature is in
the habit of crawling.  I cannot understand how a reptile of that
kind could, in the middle of the day, have come forth from that
place; it never had done so before, [5] but the impression it
made on me was such, that I think it must have had a meaning;
neither have I ever forgotten it.  Oh, the greatness of God! with
what care and tenderness didst Thou warn me in every way! and how
little I profited by those warnings!

14. There was in that house a nun, who was related to me, now
grown old, a great servant of God, and a strict observer of the
rule.  She too warned me from time to time; but I not only did
not listen to her, but was even offended, thinking she was
scandalized without cause.  I have mentioned this in order that
my wickedness and the great goodness of God might be understood,
and to show how much I deserved hell for ingratitude so great,
and, moreover, if it should be our Lord's will and pleasure that
any nun at any time should read this, that she might take warning
by me.  I beseech them all, for the love of our Lord, to flee
from such recreations as these.

15. May His Majesty grant I may undeceive some one of the many I
led astray when I told them there was no harm in these things,
and assured them there was no such great danger therein. I did so
because I was blind myself; for I would not deliberately lead
them astray.  By the bad example I set before them--I spoke of
this before [6]--I was the occasion of much evil, not thinking I
was doing so much harm.

16. In those early days, when I was ill, and before I knew how to
be of use to myself, I had a very strong desire to further the
progress of others: [7] a most common temptation of beginners.
With me, however, it had good results.  Loving my father so much,
I longed to see him in the possession of that good which I seemed
to derive myself from prayer.  I thought that in this life there
could not be a greater good than prayer; and by roundabout ways,
as well as I could, I contrived make him enter upon it; I gave
him books for that end.  As he was so good--I said so
before [8]--this exercise took such a hold upon him, that in five
or six years, I think it was, he made so great a progress that I
used to praise our Lord for it.  It was a very great consolation
to me. He had most grievous trials of diverse kinds; and he bore
them all with the greatest resignation.  He came often to see me;
for it was a comfort to him to speak of the things of God.

17. And now that I had become so dissipated, and had ceased to
pray, and yet saw that he still thought I was what I used to be,
I could not endure it, and so undeceived him.  I had been a year
and more without praying, thinking it an act of greater humility
to abstain.  This--I shall speak of it again [9]--was the
greatest temptation I ever had, because it very nearly wrought my
utter ruin; [10] for, when I used to pray, if I offended God one
day, on the following days I would recollect myself, and withdraw
farther from the occasions of sin.

18. When that blessed man, having that good opinion of me, came
to visit me, it pained me to see him so deceived as to think that
I used to pray to God as before.  So I told him that I did not
pray; but I did not tell him why.  I put my infirmities forward
as an excuse; for though I had recovered from that which was so
troublesome, I have always been weak, even very much so; and
though my infirmities are somewhat less troublesome now than they
were, they still afflict me in many ways; specially, I have been
suffering for twenty years from sickness every morning, [11] so
that I could not take any food till past mid-day, and even
occasionally not till later; and now, since my Communions have
become more frequent, it is at night, before I lie down to rest,
that the sickness occurs, and with greater pain; for I have to
bring it on with a feather, or other means.  If I do not bring it
on, I suffer more; and thus I am never, I believe, free from
great pain, which is sometimes very acute, especially about the
heart; though the fainting-fits are now but of rare occurrence.
I am also, these eight years past, free from the paralysis, and
from other infirmities of fever, which I had so often.  These
afflictions I now regard so lightly, that I am even glad of them,
believing that our Lord in some degree takes His pleasure
in them.

19. My father believed me when I gave him that for a reason, as
he never told a lie himself; neither should I have done so,
considering the relation we were in.  I told him, in order to be
the more easily believed, that it was much for me to be able to
attend in choir, though I saw clearly that this was no excuse
whatever; neither, however, was it a sufficient reason for giving
up a practice which does not require, of necessity, bodily
strength, but only love and a habit thereof; yet our Lord always
furnishes an opportunity for it, if we but seek it.  I say
always; for though there may be times, as in illness, and from
other causes, when we cannot be much alone, yet it never can be
but there must be opportunities when our strength is sufficient
for the purpose; and in sickness itself, and amidst other
hindrances, true prayer consists, when the soul loves, in
offering up its burden, and in thinking of Him for Whom it
suffers, and in the resignation of the will, and in a thousand
ways which then present themselves.  It is under these
circumstances that love exerts itself for it is not necessarily
prayer when we are alone; and neither is it not prayer when we
are not.

20. With a little care, we may find great blessings on those
occasions when our Lord, by means of afflictions, deprives us of
time for prayer; and so I found it when I had a good conscience.
But my father, having that opinion of me which he had, and
because of the love he bore me, believed all I told him;
moreover, he was sorry for me; and as he had now risen to great
heights of prayer himself, he never remained with me long; for
when he had seen me, he went his way, saying that he was wasting
his time.  As I was wasting it in other vanities, I cared little
about this.

21. My father was not the only person whom I prevailed upon to
practise prayer, though I was walking in vanity myself.  When I
saw persons fond of reciting their prayers, I showed them how to
make a meditation, and helped them and gave them books; for from
the time I began myself to pray, as I said before, [12] I always
had a desire that others should serve God.  I thought, now that I
did not myself serve our Lord according to the light I had, that
the knowledge His Majesty had given me ought not to be lost, and
that others should serve Him for me. [13]  I say this in order to
explain the great blindness I was in: going to ruin myself, and
labouring to save others.

22. At this time, that illness befell my father of which he
died; [14] it lasted some days.  I went to nurse him, being more
sick in spirit than he was in body, owing to my many
vanities--though not, so far as I know, to the extent of being in
mortal sin--through the whole of that wretched time of which I am
speaking; for, if I knew myself to be in mortal sin, I would not
have continued in it on any account.  I suffered much myself
during his illness.  I believe I rendered him some service in
return for what he had suffered in mine.  Though I was very ill,
I did violence to myself; and though in losing him I was to lose
all the comfort and good of my life--he was all this to me--I was
so courageous, that I never betrayed my sorrows, concealing them
till he was dead, as if I felt none at all.  It seemed as if my
very soul were wrenched when I saw him at the point of death--my
love for him was so deep.

23. It was a matter for which we ought to praise our Lord--the
death that he died, and the desire he had to die; so also was the
advice he gave us after the last anointing, how he charged us to
recommend him to God, and to pray for mercy for him, how he bade
us serve God always, and consider how all things come to an end.
He told us with tears how sorry he was that he had not served Him
himself; for he wished he was a friar--I mean, that he had been
one in the Strictest Order that is.  I have a most assured
conviction that our Lord, some fifteen days before, had revealed
to him he was not to live; for up to that time, though very ill,
he did not think so; but now, though he was somewhat better, and
the physicians said so, he gave no heed to them, but employed
himself in the ordering of his soul.

24. His chief suffering consisted in a most acute pain of the
shoulders, which never left him: it was so sharp at times, that
it put him into great torture.  I said to him, that as he had so
great a devotion to our Lord carrying His cross on His shoulders,
he should now think that His Majesty wished him to feel somewhat
of that pain which He then suffered Himself. This so comforted
him, that I do not think I heard him complain afterwards.

25. He remained three days without consciousness; but on the day
he died, our Lord restored him so completely, that we were
astonished: he preserved his understanding to the last; for in
the middle of the creed, which he repeated himself, he died.
He lay there like an angel--such he seemed to me, if I may say
so, both in soul and disposition: he was very good.

26. I know not why I have said this, unless it be for the purpose
of showing how much the more I am to be blamed for my wickedness;
for after seeing such a death, and knowing what his life had
been, I, in order to be in any wise like unto such a father,
ought to have grown better.  His confessor, a most learned
Dominican, [15] used to say that he had no doubt he went straight
to heaven. [16]  He had heard his confession for some years, and
spoke with praise of the purity of his conscience.

27. This Dominican father, who was a very good man, fearing God,
did me a very great service; for I confessed to him.  He took
upon himself the task of helping my soul in earnest, and of
making me see the perilous state I was in. [17]  He sent me to
Communion once a fortnight; [18] and I, by degrees beginning to
speak to him, told him about my prayer.  He charged me never to
omit it: that, anyhow, it could not do me anything but good.
I began to return to it--though I did not cut off the occasions
of sin--and never afterwards gave it up.  My life became most
wretched, because I learned in prayer more and more of my faults.
On one side, God was calling me; on the other, I was following
the world.  All the things of God gave me great pleasure; and I
was a prisoner to the things of the world.  It seemed as if I
wished to reconcile two contradictions, so much at variance one
with another as are the life of the spirit and the joys and
pleasures and amusements of sense. [19]

28. I suffered much in prayer; for the spirit was slave, and not
master; and so I was not able to shut myself up within
myself--that was my whole method of prayer--without shutting up
with me a thousand vanities at the same time.  I spent many years
in this way; and I am now astonished that any one could have
borne it without abandoning either the one or the other.  I know
well that it was not in my power then to give up prayer, because
He held me in His hand Who sought me that He might show me
greater mercies.

29. O my God! if I might, I would speak of the occasions from
which God delivered me, and how I threw myself into them again;
and of the risks I ran of losing utterly my good name, from which
He delivered me.  I did things to show what I was; and our Lord
hid the evil, and revealed some little virtue--if so be I had
any--and made it great in the eyes of all, so that they always
held me in much honour.  For although my follies came
occasionally into light, people would not believe it when they
saw other things, which they thought good.  The reason is, that
He Who knoweth all things saw it was necessary it should be so,
in order that I might have some credit given me by those to whom
in after years I was to speak of His service.  His supreme
munificence regarded not my great sins, but rather the desires I
frequently had to please Him, and the pain I felt because I had
not the strength to bring those desires to good effect.

30. O Lord of my soul! how shall I be able to magnify the graces
which Thou, in those years, didst bestow upon me?  Oh, how, at
the very time that I offended Thee most, Thou didst prepare me in
a moment, by a most profound compunction, to taste of the
sweetness of Thy consolations and mercies!  In truth, O my King,
Thou didst administer to me the most delicate and painful
chastisement it was possible for me to bear; for Thou knewest
well what would have given me the most pain.  Thou didst chastise
my sins with great consolations.  I do not believe I am saying
foolish things, though it may well be that I am beside myself
whenever I call to mind my ingratitude and my wickedness.

31. It was more painful for me, in the state I was in, to receive
graces, when I had fallen into grievous faults, than it would
have been to receive chastisement; for one of those faults, I am
sure, used to bring me low, shame and distress me, more than many
diseases, together with many heavy trials, could have done.
For, as to the latter, I saw that I deserved them; and it seemed
to me that by them I was making some reparation for my sins,
though it was but slight, for my sins are so many.  But when I
see myself receive graces anew, after being so ungrateful for
those already received, that is to me--and, I believe, to all who
have any knowledge or love of God--a fearful kind of torment.  We
may see how true this is by considering what a virtuous mind must
be. Hence my tears and vexation when I reflected on what I felt,
seeing myself in a condition to fall at every moment, though my
resolutions and desires then--I am speaking of that
time--were strong.

32. It is a great evil for a soul to be alone in the midst of
such great dangers; it seems to me that if I had had any one with
whom I could have spoken of all this, it might have helped me not
to fall.  I might, at least, have been ashamed before him--and
yet I was not ashamed before God.

33. For this reason, I would advise those who give themselves to
prayer, particularly at first, to form friendships; and converse
familiarly, with others who are doing the same thing.  It is a
matter of the last importance, even if it lead only to helping
one another by prayer: how much more, seeing that it has led to
much greater gain!  Now, if in their intercourse one with
another, and in the indulgence of human affections even not of
the best kind, men seek friends with whom they may refresh
themselves, and for the purpose of having greater satisfaction in
speaking of their empty joys, I know no reason why it should not
be lawful for him who is beginning to love and serve God in
earnest to confide to another his joys and sorrows; for they who
are given to prayer are thoroughly accustomed to both.

34. For if that friendship with God which he desires be real, let
him not be afraid of vain-glory; and if the first movements
thereof assail him, he will escape from it with merit; and I
believe that he who will discuss the matter with this intention
will profit both himself and those who hear him, and thus will
derive more light for his own understanding, as well as for the
instruction of his friends.  He who in discussing his method of
prayer falls into vain-glory will do so also when he hears Mass
devoutly, if he is seen of men, and in doing other good works,
which must be done under pain of being no Christian; and yet
these things must not be omitted through fear of vain-glory.

35. Moreover, it is a most important matter for those souls who
are not strong in virtue; for they have so many people, enemies
as well as friends, to urge them the wrong way, that I do not see
how this point is capable of exaggeration.  It seems to me that
Satan has employed this artifice--and it is of the greatest
service to him--namely, that men who really wish to love and
please God should hide the fact, while others, at his suggestion,
make open show of their malicious dispositions; and this is so
common, that it seems a matter of boasting now, and the offences
committed against God are thus published abroad.

36. I do not know whether the things I am saying are foolish or
not.  If they be so, your reverence will strike them out.
I entreat you to help my simplicity by adding a good deal to
this, because the things that relate to the service of God are so
feebly managed, that it is necessary for those who would serve
Him to join shoulder to shoulder, if they are to advance at all;
for it is considered safe to live amidst the vanities and
pleasures of the world, and few there be who regard them with
unfavourable eyes.  But if any one begins to give himself up to
the service of God, there are so many to find fault with him,
that it becomes necessary for him to seek companions, in order
that he may find protection among them till he grows strong
enough not to feel what he may be made to suffer.  If he does
not, he will find himself in great straits.

37. This, I believe, must have been the reason why some of the
Saints withdrew into the desert.  And it is a kind of humility in
man not to trust to himself, but to believe that God will help
him in his relations with those with whom he converses; and
charity grows by being diffused; and there are a thousand
blessings herein which I would not dare to speak of, if I had not
known by experience the great importance of it.  It is very true
that I am the most wicked and the basest of all who are born of
women; but I believe that he who, humbling himself, though
strong, yet trusteth not in himself, and believeth another who in
this matter has had experience, will lose nothing.  Of myself I
may say that, if our Lord had not revealed to me this truth, and
given me the opportunity of speaking very frequently to persons
given to prayer, I should have gone on falling and rising till I
tumbled into hell.  I had many friends to help me to fall; but as
to rising again, I was so much left to myself, that I wonder now
I was not always on the ground.  I praise God for His mercy; for
it was He only Who stretched out His hand to me.  May He be
blessed for ever!  Amen.


1. See Way of Perfection, ch. xl.; but ch. xxvii. of the
former editions.

2. See Relation, i. § 18.

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

4. See ch. xxvii. § 3.

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

6. Ch. vi. § 4.

7. See Inner Fortress, v. iii. § 1.

8. Ch. i. § i.

9. Ch. xix. §§ 9, 17.

10. See § 2, above.

11. See ch. xi. § 23: Inner Fortress, vi. i. § 8.

12. § 16.

13. See Inner Fortress, v. iii. § 1.

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

15. F. Vicente Barron (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xv.).

16. See ch. xxxviii. § 1.

17. See ch. xix. § 19.

18. The Spanish editor calls attention to this as a proof of
great laxity in those days--that a nun like St. Teresa should be
urged to communicate as often as once in a fortnight.

19. See ch. xiii. §§ 7, 8.



Chapter VIII.


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


1. It is not without reason that I have dwelt so long on this
portion of my life.  I see clearly that it will give no one
pleasure to see anything so base; and certainly I wish those who
may read this to have me in abhorrence, as a soul so obstinate
and so ungrateful to Him Who did so much for me.  I could wish,
too, I had permission to say how often at this time I failed in
my duty to God, because I was not leaning on the strong pillar of
prayer.  I passed nearly twenty years on this stormy sea, falling
and rising, but rising to no good purpose, seeing that I went and
fell again.  My life was one of perfection; but it was so mean,
that I scarcely made any account whatever of venial sins; and
though of mortal sins I was afraid, I was not so afraid of them
as I ought to have been, because I did not avoid the perilous
occasions of them.  I may say that it was the most painful life
that can be imagined, because I had no sweetness in God, and no
pleasure in the world.

2. When I was in the midst of the pleasures of the world, the
remembrance of what I owed to God made me sad; and when I was
praying to God, my worldly affections disturbed me.  This is so
painful a struggle, that I know not how I could have borne it for
a month, let alone for so many years.  Nevertheless, I can trace
distinctly the great mercy of our Lord to me, while thus immersed
in the world, in that I had still the courage to pray.  I say
courage, because I know of nothing in the whole world which
requires greater courage than plotting treason against the King,
knowing that He knows it, and yet never withdrawing from His
presence; for, granting that we are always in the presence of
God, yet it seems to me that those who pray arc in His presence
in a very different sense; for they, as it were, see that He is
looking upon them; while others may be for days together without
even once recollecting that God sees them.

3. It is true, indeed, that during these years there were many
months, and, I believe, occasionally a whole year, in which I so
kept guard over myself that I did not offend our Lord, gave
myself much to prayer, and took some pains, and that
successfully, not to offend Him.  I speak of this now, because
all I am saying is strictly true; but I remember very little of
those good days, and so they must have been few, while my evil
days were many.  Still, the days that passed over without my
spending a great part of them in prayer were few, unless I was
very ill, or very much occupied.

4. When I was ill, I was well with God.  I contrived that those
about me should be so, too, and I made supplications to our Lord
for this grace, and spoke frequently of Him.  Thus, with the
exception of that year of which I have been speaking, during
eight-and-twenty years of prayer, I spent more than eighteen in
that strife and contention which arose out of my attempts to
reconcile God and the world.  As to the other years, of which I
have now to speak, in them the grounds of the warfare, though it
was not slight, were changed; but inasmuch as I was--at least, I
think so--serving God, and aware of the vanity of the world, all
has been pleasant, as I shall show hereafter. [1]

5. The reason, then, of my telling this at so great a length is
that, as I have just said, [2] the mercy of God and my
ingratitude, on the one hand, may become known; and, on the
other, that men may understand how great is the good which God
works in a soul when He gives it a disposition to pray in
earnest, though it may not be so well prepared as it ought to be.
If that soul perseveres in spite of sins, temptations, and
relapses, brought about in a thousand ways by Satan, our Lord
will bring it at last--I am certain of it--to the harbour of
salvation, as He has brought me myself; for so it seems to me
now.  May His Majesty grant I may never go back and be lost!
He who gives himself to prayer is in possession of a great
blessing, of which many saintly and good men have written--I am
speaking of mental prayer--glory be to God for it; and, if they
had not done so, I am not proud enough, though I have but little
humility, to presume to discuss it.

6. I may speak of that which I know by experience; and so I say,
let him never cease from prayer who has once begun it, be his
life ever so wicked; for prayer is the way to amend it, and
without prayer such amendment will be much more difficult.
Let him not be tempted by Satan, as I was, to give it up, on the
pretence of humility; [3] let him rather believe that His words
are true Who says that, if we truly repent, and resolve never to
offend Him, He will take us into His favour again, [4] give us
the graces He gave us before, and occasionally even greater, if
our repentance deserve it.  And as to him who has not begun to
pray, I implore him by the love of our Lord not to deprive
himself of so great a good.

7. Herein there is nothing to be afraid of, but everything to
hope for.  Granting that such a one does not advance, nor make an
effort to become perfect, so as to merit the joys and
consolations which the perfect receive from God, yet he will by
little and little attain to a knowledge of the road which leads
to heaven.  And if he perseveres, I hope in the mercy of God for
him, seeing that no one ever took Him for his friend that was not
amply rewarded; for mental prayer is nothing else, in my opinion,
but being on terms of friendship with God, frequently conversing
in secret with Him Who, we know, loves us.  Now, true love and
lasting friendship require certain dispositions: those of our
Lord, we know, are absolutely perfect; ours, vicious, sensual,
and thankless; and you cannot therefore, bring yourselves to love
Him as He loves you, because you have not the disposition to do
so; and if you do not love Him, yet, seeing how much it concerns
you to have His friendship, and how great is His love for you,
rise above that pain you feel at being much with Him Who is so
different from you.

8. O infinite goodness of my God!  I seem to see Thee and myself
in this relation to one another.  O Joy of the angels! when I
consider it, I wish I could wholly die of love!  How true it is
that Thou endurest those who will not endure Thee!  Oh, how good
a friend art Thou, O my Lord! how Thou comfortest and endurest,
and also waitest for them to make themselves like unto Thee, and
yet, in the meanwhile, art Thyself so patient of the state they
are in!  Thou takest into account the occasions during which they
seek Thee, and for a moment of penitence forgettest their
offences against Thyself.

9. I have seen this distinctly in my own case, and I cannot tell
why the whole world does not labour to draw near to Thee in this
particular friendship.  The wicked, who do not resemble Thee,
ought to do so, in order that Thou mayest make them good, and for
that purpose should permit Thee to remain with them at least for
two hours daily, even though they may not remain with Thee but,
as I used to do, with a thousand distractions, and with worldly
thoughts.  In return for this violence which they offer to
themselves for the purpose of remaining in a company so good as
Thine--for at first they can do no more, and even afterwards at
times--Thou, O Lord, defendest them against the assaults of evil
spirits, whose power Thou restrainest, and even lessenest daily,
giving to them the victory over these their enemies.  So it is, O
Life of all lives, Thou slayest none that put their trust in
Thee, and seek Thy friendship; yea, rather, Thou sustainest their
bodily life in greater vigour, and makest their soul to live.

10. I do not understand what there can be to make them afraid who
are afraid to begin mental prayer, nor do I know what it is they
dread.  The devil does well to bring this fear upon us, that he
may really hurt us by putting me in fear, he can make me cease
from thinking of my offences against God, of the great debt I owe
Him, of the existence of heaven and hell, and of the great
sorrows and trials He underwent for me.  That was all my prayer,
and had been, when I was in this dangerous state, and it was on
those subjects I dwelt whenever I could; and very often, for some
years, I was more occupied with the wish to see the end of the
time I had appointed for myself to spend in prayer, and in
watching the hour-glass, than with other thoughts that were good.
If a sharp penance had been laid upon me, I know of none that I
would not very often have willingly undertaken, rather than
prepare myself for prayer by self-recollection.  And certainly
the violence with which Satan assailed me was so irresistible, or
my evil habits were so strong, that I did not betake myself to
prayer; and the sadness I felt on entering the oratory was so
great, that it required all the courage I had to force myself in.
They say of me that my courage is not slight, and it is known
that God has given me a courage beyond that of a woman; but I
have made a bad use of it.  In the end, our Lord came to my help;
and then, when I had done this violence to myself, I found
greater peace and joy than I sometimes had when I had a desire
to pray.

11. If, then, our Lord bore so long with me, who was so
wicked--and it is plain that it was by prayer all my evil was
corrected--why should any one, how wicked soever he may be, have
any fear? Let him be ever so wicked, he will not remain in his
wickedness so many years as I did, after receiving so many graces
from our Lord.  Is there any one who can despair, when He bore so
long with me, only because I desired and contrived to find some
place and some opportunities for Him to be alone with me--and
that very often against my will? for I did violence to myself, or
rather our Lord Himself did violence to me.

12. If, then, to those who do not serve God, but rather offend
Him, prayer be all this, and so necessary, and if no one can
really find out any harm it can do him, and if the omission of it
be not a still greater harm, why, then, should they abstain from
it who serve and desire to serve God?  Certainly I cannot
comprehend it, unless it be that men have a mind to go through
the troubles of this life in greater misery, and to shut the door
in the face of God, so that He shall give them no comfort in it.
I am most truly sorry for them, because they serve God at their
own cost; for of those who pray, God Himself defrays the charges,
seeing that for a little trouble He gives sweetness, in order
that, by the help it supplies, they may bear their trials.

13. But because I have much to say hereafter of this sweetness,
which our Lord gives to those who persevere in prayer, [5] I do
not speak of it here; only this will I say: prayer is the door to
those great graces which our Lord bestowed upon me.  If this door
be shut, I do not see how He can bestow them; for even if He
entered into a soul to take His delight therein, and to make that
soul also delight in Him, there is no way by which He can do so;
for His will is, that such a soul should be lonely and pure, with
a great desire to receive His graces.  If we put many hindrances
in the way, and take no pains whatever to remove them, how can He
come to us, and how can we have any desire that He should show us
His great mercies?

14. I will speak now--for it is very important to understand
it--of the assaults which Satan directs against a soul for the
purpose of taking it, and of the contrivances and compassion
wherewith our Lord labours to convert it to Himself, in order
that men may behold His mercy, and the great good it was for me
that I did not give up prayer and spiritual reading, and that
they may be on their guard against the dangers against which I
was not on my guard myself.  And, above all, I implore them for
the love of our Lord, and for the great love with which He goeth
about seeking our conversion to Himself, to beware of the
occasions of sin; for once placed therein, we have no ground to
rest on--so many enemies then assail us, and our own weakness is
such, that we cannot defend ourselves.

15. Oh, that I knew how to describe the captivity of my soul in
those days!  I understood perfectly that I was in captivity, but
I could not understand the nature of it; neither could I entirely
believe that those things which my confessors did not make so
much of were so wrong as I in my soul felt them to be. One of
them--I had gone to him with a scruple--told me that, even if I
were raised to high contemplation, those occasions and
conversations were not unfitting for me.  This was towards the
end, when, by the grace of God, I was withdrawing more and more
from those great dangers, but not wholly from the occasions
of them.

16. When they saw my good desires, and how I occupied myself in
prayer, I seemed to them to have done much; but my soul knew that
this was not doing what I was bound to do for Him to Whom I owed
so much.  I am sorry for my poor soul even now, because of its
great sufferings, and the little help it had from any one except
God, and for the wide door that man opened for it, that it might
go forth to its pastimes and pleasures, when they said that these
things were lawful.

17. Then there was the torture of sermons, and that not a slight
one; for I was very fond of them.  If I heard any one preach well
and with unction, I felt, without my seeking it, a particular
affection for him, neither do I know whence it came.  Thus, no
sermon ever seemed to me so bad, but that I listened to it with
pleasure; though, according to others who heard it, the preaching
was not good.  If it was a good sermon, it was to me a most
special refreshment.  To speak of God, or to hear Him spoken of,
never wearied me.  I am speaking of the time after I gave myself
to prayer.  At one time I had great comfort in sermons, at
another they distressed me, because they made me feel that I was
very far from being what I ought to have been.

18. I used to pray to our Lord for help; but, as it now seems to
me, I must have committed the fault of not putting my whole trust
in His Majesty, and of not thoroughly distrusting myself.
I sought for help, took great pains; but it must be that I did
not understand how all is of little profit if we do not root out
all confidence in ourselves, and place it wholly in God. I wished
to live, but I saw clearly that I was not living, but rather
wrestling with the shadow of death; there was no one to give me
life, and I was not able to take it.  He Who could have given it
me had good reasons for not coming to my aid, seeing that He had
brought me back to Himself so many times, and I as often had
left Him.


1. Ch. ix. § 10.

2. § 1, above.

3. Ch. vii. § 17; ch. xix. § 8.

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

5. See ch. x. § 2, and ch. xi. § 22.



Chapter IX.


The Means Whereby Our Lord Quickened Her Soul, Gave Her Light in
Her Darkness, and Made Her Strong in Goodness.


1. My soul was now grown weary; and the miserable habits it had
contracted would not suffer it to rest, though it was desirous of
doing so.  It came to pass one day, when I went into the oratory,
that I saw a picture which they had put by there, and which had
been procured for a certain feast observed in the house.  It was
a representation of Christ most grievously wounded; and so
devotional, that the very sight of it, when I saw it, moved
me--so well did it show forth that which He suffered for us.
So keenly did I feel the evil return I had made for those wounds,
that I thought my heart was breaking.  I threw myself on the
ground beside it, my tears flowing plenteously, and implored Him
to strengthen me once for all, so that I might never offend Him
any more.

2. I had a very great devotion to the glorious Magdalene, and
very frequently used to think of her conversion--especially when
I went to Communion.  As I knew for certain that our Lord was
then within me, I used to place myself at His feet, thinking that
my tears would not be despised.  I did not know what I was
saying; only He did great things for me, in that He was pleased I
should shed those tears, seeing that I so soon forgot that
impression.  I used to recommend myself to that glorious Saint,
that she might obtain my pardon.

3. But this last time, before that picture of which I am
speaking, I seem to have made greater progress; for I was now
very distrustful of myself, placing all my confidence in God.
It seems to me that I said to Him then that I would not rise up
till He granted my petition.  I do certainly believe that this
was of great service to me, because I have grown better
ever since. [1]

4. This was my method of prayer: as I could not make reflections
with my understanding, I contrived to picture Christ as within
me; [2] and I used to find myself the better for thinking of
those mysteries of His life during which He was most lonely.
It seemed to me that the being alone and afflicted, like a person
in trouble, must needs permit me to come near unto Him.

5. I did many simple things of this kind; and in particular I
used to find myself most at home in the prayer in the Garden,
whither I went in His company.  I thought of the bloody sweat,
and of the affliction He endured there; I wished, if it had been
possible, to wipe away that painful sweat from His face; but I
remember that I never dared to form such a resolution--my sins
stood before me so grievously.  I used to remain with Him there
as long as my thoughts allowed me, and I had many thoughts to
torment me.  For many years, nearly every night before I fell
asleep, when I recommended myself to God, that I might sleep in
peace, I used always to think a little of this mystery of the
prayer in the Garden--yea, even before I was a nun, because I had
been told that many indulgences were to be gained thereby.
For my part, I believe that my soul gained very much in this way,
because I began to practise prayer without knowing what it was;
and now that it had become my constant habit, I was saved from
omitting it, as I was from omitting to bless myself with the sign
of the cross before I slept.

6. And now to go back to what I was saying of the torture which
my thoughts inflicted upon me.  This method of praying, in which
the understanding makes no reflections, hath this property: the
soul must gain much, or lose.  I mean, that those who advance
without meditation, make great progress, because it is done by
love.  But to attain to this involves great labour, except to
those persons whom it is our Lord's good pleasure to lead quickly
to the prayer of quiet.  I know of some.  For those who walk in
this way, a book is profitable, that by the help thereof they may
the more quickly recollect themselves.  It was a help to me also
to look on fields, water, and flowers. [3] In them I saw traces
of the Creator--I mean, that the sight of these things was as a
book unto me; it roused me, made me recollected, and reminded me
of my ingratitude and of my sins.  My understanding was so dull,
that I could never represent in the imagination either heavenly
or high things in any form whatever until our Lord placed them
before me in another way. [4]

7. I was so little able to put things before me by the help of my
understanding, that, unless I saw a thing with my eyes, my
imagination was of no use whatever.  I could not do as others do,
who can put matters before themselves so as to become thereby
recollected.  I was able to think of Christ only as man.  But so
it was; and I never could form any image of Him to myself, though
I read much of His beauty, and looked at pictures of Him.  I was
like one who is blind, or in the dark, who, though speaking to a
person present, and feeling his presence, because he knows for
certain that he is present--I mean, that he understands him to be
present, and believes it--yet does not see him.  It was thus with
me when I used to think of our Lord.  This is why I was so fond
of images.  Wretched are they who, through their own fault, have
lost this blessing; it is clear enough that they do not love our
Lord--for if they loved Him, they would rejoice at the sight of
His picture, just as men find pleasure when they see the portrait
of one they love.

8. At this time, the Confessions of St. Augustine were given me.
Our Lord seems to have so ordained it, for I did not seek them
myself, neither had I ever seen them before.  I had a very great
devotion to St. Augustine, because the monastery in which I lived
when I was yet in the world was of his Order; [5] and also
because he had been a sinner--for I used to find great comfort in
those Saints whom, after they had sinned, our Lord converted to
Himself.  I thought they would help me, and that, as our Lord had
forgiven them, so also He would forgive me.  One thing, however,
there was that troubled me--I have spoken of it before [6]--our
Lord had called them but once, and they never relapsed; while my
relapses were now so many.  This it was that vexed me.
But calling to mind the love that He bore me, I took courage
again. Of His mercy I never doubted once, but I did very often
of myself.

9. O my God, I amazed at the hardness of my heart amidst so many
succours from Thee.  I am filled with dread when I see how little
I could do with myself, and how I was clogged, so that I could
not resolve to give myself entirely to God.  When I began to read
the Confessions, I thought I saw myself there described, and
began to recommend myself greatly to this glorious Saint. When I
came to his conversion, and read how he heard that voice in the
garden, it seemed to me nothing less than that our Lord had
uttered it for me: I felt so in my heart.  I remained for some
time lost in tears, in great inward affliction and distress. O my
God, what a soul has to suffer because it has lost the liberty it
had of being mistress over itself! and what torments it has to
endure!  I wonder now how I could live in torments so great: God
be praised Who gave me life, so that I might escape from so fatal
a death!  I believe that my soul obtained great strength from His
Divine Majesty, and that He must have heard my cry, and had
compassion upon so many tears.

10. A desire to spend more time with Him began to grow within me,
and also to withdraw from the occasions of sin: for as soon as I
had done so, I turned lovingly to His Majesty at once.
I understood clearly, as I thought, that I loved Him; but I did
not understand, as I ought to have understood it, wherein the
true love of God consists.  I do not think I had yet perfectly
disposed myself to seek His service when His Majesty turned
towards me with His consolations.  What others strive after with
great labour, our Lord seems to have looked out for a way to make
me willing to accept--that is, in these later years to give me
joy and comfort.  But as for asking our Lord to give me either
these things or sweetness in devotion, I never dared to do it;
the only thing I prayed Him to give me was the grace never to
offend Him, together with the forgiveness of my great sins.
When I saw that my sins were so great, I never ventured
deliberately to ask for consolation or for sweetness.  He had
compassion enough upon me, I think--and, in truth, He dealt with
me according to His great mercy--when He allowed me to stand
before Him, and when He drew me into His presence; for I saw
that, if He had not drawn me, I should not have come at all.

11. Once only in my life do I remember asking for consolation,
being at the time in great aridities.  When I considered what I
had done, I was so confounded, that the very distress I suffered
from seeing how little humility I had, brought me that which I
had been so bold as to ask for.  I knew well that it was lawful
to pray for it; but it seemed to me that it is lawful only for
those who are in good dispositions, who have sought with all
their might to attain to true devotion--that is, not to offend
God, and to be disposed and resolved for all goodness.  I looked
upon those tears of mine as womanish and weak, seeing that I did
not obtain my desires by them; nevertheless, I believe that they
did me some service; for, specially after those two occasions of
great compunction and sorrow of heart, [7] accompanied by tears,
of which I am speaking, I began in an especial way to give myself
more to prayer, and to occupy myself less with those things which
did me harm--though I did not give them up altogether.  But God
Himself, as I have just said, came to my aid, and helped me to
turn away from them.  As His Majesty was only waiting for some
preparation on my part, the spiritual graces grew in me as I
shall now explain.  It is not the custom of our Lord to give
these graces to any but to those who keep their consciences in
greater pureness. [8]


1. In the year 1555 (Bouix).

2. See ch. iv. § 10; ch. x. § 1.

3. See Relation, i. § 12.

4. See ch. iv. § 11.

5. Ch. ii. § 8.

6. In the Prologue.

7. § 1.

8. Ch. iv. § 11.



Chapter X.


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


1. I used to have at times, as I have said, [1] though it used to
pass quickly away--certain commencements of that which I am going
now to describe.  When I formed those pictures within myself of
throwing myself at the feet of Christ, as I said before, [2] and
sometimes even when I was reading, a feeling of the presence of
God would come over me unexpectedly, so that I could in no wise
doubt either that He was within me, or that I was wholly absorbed
in Him.  It was not by way of vision; I believe it was what is
called mystical theology.   The soul is suspended in such a way
that it seems to be utterly beside itself.  The will loves; the
memory, so it seems to me, is as it were lost; and the
understanding, so I think, makes no reflections--yet is not lost:
as I have just said, it is not at work, but it stands as if
amazed at the greatness of the things it understands; for God
wills it to understand that it understands nothing whatever of
that which His Majesty places before it.

2. Before this, I had a certain tenderness of soul which was very
abiding, partially attainable, I believe, in some measure, by our
own efforts: a consolation which is not wholly in the senses, nor
yet altogether in the spirit, but is all of it the gift of God.
However, I think we can contribute much towards the attaining of
it by considering our vileness and our ingratitude towards
God--the great things He has done for us--His Passion, with its
grievous pains--and His life, so full of sorrows; also, by
rejoicing in the contemplation of His works, of His greatness,
and of the love that He bears us.  Many other considerations
there are which he who really desires to make progress will often
stumble on, though he may not be very much on the watch for them.
If with this there be a little love, the soul is comforted, the
heart is softened, and tears flow.  Sometimes it seems that we do
violence to ourselves and weep; at other times, our Lord seems to
do so, so that we have no power to resist Him.  His Majesty seems
to reward this slight carefulness of ours with so grand a gift as
is this consolation which He ministers to the soul of seeing
itself weeping for so great a Lord.  I am not surprised; for the
soul has reason enough, and more than enough, for its joy.  Here
it comforts itself--here it rejoices.

3. The comparison which now presents itself seems to me to be
good.  These joys in prayer are like what those of heaven must
be.  As the vision of the saints, which is measured by their
merits there, reaches no further than our Lord wills, and as the
blessed see how little merit they had, every one of them is
satisfied with the place assigned him: there being the very
greatest difference between one joy and another in heaven, and
much greater than between one spiritual joy and another on
earth--which is, however, very great.  And in truth, in the
beginning, a soul in which God works this grace thinks that now
it has scarcely anything more to desire, and counts itself
abundantly rewarded for all the service it has rendered Him.
And there is reason for this: for one of those tears--which, as I
have just said, are almost in our own power, though without God
nothing can be done--cannot, in my opinion, be purchased with all
the labours of the world, because of the great gain it brings us.
And what greater gain can we have than some testimony of our
having pleased God?  Let him, then, who shall have attained to
this, give praise unto God--acknowledge himself to be one of His
greatest debtors; because it seems to be His will to take him
into His house, having chosen him for His kingdom, if he does not
turn back.

4. Let him not regard certain kinds of humility which exist, and
of which I mean to speak. [3]  Some think it humility not to
believe that God is bestowing His gifts upon them.  Let us
clearly understand this, and that it is perfectly clear God
bestows His gifts without any merit whatever on our part; and let
us be grateful to His Majesty for them; for if we do not
recognize the gifts received at His hands, we shall never be
moved to love Him.  It is a most certain truth, that the richer
we see ourselves to be, confessing at the same time our poverty,
the greater will be our progress, and the more real our humility.

5. An opposite course tends to take away all courage; for we
shall think ourselves incapable of great blessings, if we begin
to frighten ourselves with the dread of vain-glory when our Lord
begins to show His mercy upon us. [4]  Let us believe that He Who
gives these gifts will also, when the devil begins to tempt us
herein, give us the grace to detect him, and the strength to
resist him--that is, He will do so if we walk in simplicity
before God, aiming at pleasing Him only, and not men.  It is a
most evident truth, that our love for a person is greater, the
more distinctly we remember the good he has done us.

6. If, then, it is lawful, and so meritorious, always to remember
that we have our being from God, that He has created us out of
nothing, that He preserves us, and also to remember all the
benefits of His death and Passion, which He suffered long before
He made us for every one of us now alive--why should it not be
lawful for me to discern, confess, and consider often that I was
once accustomed to speak of vanities, and that now our Lord has
given me the grace to speak only of Himself?

7. Here, then, is a precious pearl, which, when we remember that
it is given us, and that we have it in possession, powerfully
invites us to love.  All this is the fruit of prayer founded on
humility.  What, then, will it be when we shall find ourselves in
possession of other pearls of greater price, such as contempt of
the world and of self, which some servants of God have already
received?  It is clear that such souls must consider themselves
greater debtors--under greater obligations to serve Him: we must
acknowledge that we have nothing of ourselves, and confess the
munificence of our Lord, Who, on a soul so wretched and poor, and
so utterly undeserving, as mine is,--for whom the first of these
pearls was enough, and more than enough,--would bestow greater
riches than I could desire.

8. We must renew our strength to serve Him, and strive not to be
ungrateful, because it is on this condition that our Lord
dispenses His treasures; for if we do not make a good use of
them, and of the high estate to which He raises us, He will
return and take them from us, and we shall be poorer than ever.
His Majesty will give the pearls to him who shall bring them
forth and employ them usefully for himself and others.  For how
shall he be useful, and how shall he spend liberally, who does
not know that he is rich?  It is not possible, I think, our
nature being what it is, that he can have the courage necessary
for great things who does not know that God is on his side; for
so miserable are we, so inclined to the things of this world,
that he can hardly have any real abhorrence of, with great
detachment from, all earthly things who does not see that he
holds some pledges for those things that are above.  It is by
these gifts that our Lord gives us that strength which we through
our sins have lost.

9. A man will hardly wish to be held in contempt and abhorrence,
nor will he seek after the other great virtues to which the
perfect attain, if he has not some pledges of the love which God
bears him, together with a living faith.  Our nature is so dead,
that we go after that which we see immediately before us; and it
is these graces, therefore, that quicken and strengthen our
faith.  It may well be that I, who am so wicked, measure others
by myself, and that others require nothing more than the verities
of the faith, in order to render their works most perfect; while
I, wretched that I am! have need of everything.

10. Others will explain this.  I speak from my own experience, as
I have been commanded; and if what I say be not correct, let
him [5] to whom I send it destroy it; for he knows better than I
do what is wrong in it.  I entreat him, for the love of our Lord,
to publish abroad what I have thus far said of my wretched life,
and of my sins.  I give him leave to do so; and to all my
confessors, also,--of whom he is one--to whom this is to be sent,
if it be their pleasure, even during my life, so that I may no
longer deceive people who think there must be some good in
me.  [6] Certainly, I speak in all sincerity, so far as I
understand myself.  Such publication will give me great comfort.

11. But as to that which I am now going to say, I give no such
leave; nor, if it be shown to any one, do I consent to its being
said who the person is whose experience it describes, nor who
wrote it.  This is why I mention neither my own name, nor that of
any other person whatever.  I have written it in the best way I
could, in order not to be known; and this I beg of them for the
love of God.  Persons so learned and grave as they are [7] have
authority enough to approve of whatever right things I may say,
should our Lord give me the grace to do so; and if I should say
anything of the kind, it will be His, and not mine--because I am
neither learned nor of good life, and I have no person of
learning or any other to teach me; for they only who ordered me
to write know that I am writing, and at this moment they are not
here.  I have, as it were, to steal the time, and that with
difficulty, because my writing hinders me from spinning.  I am
living in a house that is poor, and have many things to do. [8]
If, indeed, our Lord had given me greater abilities and a better
memory, I might then profit by what I have seen and read; but my
abilities are very slight.  If, then, I should say anything that
is right, our Lord will have it said for some good purpose; that
which may be wrong will be mine, and your reverence will strike
it out.

12. In neither case will it be of any use to publish my name:
during my life, it is clear that no good I may have done ought to
be told; after death, there is no reason against it, except that
it will lose all authority and credit, because related of a
person so vile and so wicked as I am.  And because I think your
reverence and the others who may see this writing will do this
that I ask of you, for the love of our Lord, I write with
freedom.  If it were not so, I should have great scruples, except
in declaring my sins: and in that matter I should have none at
all.  For the rest, it is enough that I am a woman to make my
sails droop: how much more, then, when I am a woman, and a
wicked one?

13. So, then, everything here beyond the simple story of my life
your reverence must take upon yourself--since you have so pressed
me to give some account of the graces which our Lord bestowed
upon me in prayer--if it 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, [9] have always laboured to find out those who could
give me light.

14. How clear soever I may wish to make my account of that which
relates to prayer, it will be obscure enough for those who are
without experience.  I shall speak of certain hindrances, which,
as I understand it, keep men from advancing on this road--and of
other things which are dangerous, as our Lord has taught me by
experience.  I have also discussed the matter with men of great
learning, with persons who for many years had lived spiritual
lives, who admit that, in the twenty-seven years only during
which I have given myself to prayer--though I walked so ill, and
stumbled so often on the road--His Majesty granted me that
experience which others attain to in seven-and-thirty, or
seven-and-forty, years; and they, too, being persons who ever
advanced in the way of penance and of virtue.

15. Blessed be God for all, and may His infinite Majesty make use
of me!  Our Lord knoweth well that I have no other end in this
than that He may be praised and magnified a little, when men
shall see that on a dunghill so foul and rank He has made a
garden of flowers so sweet.  May it please His Majesty that I may
not by my own fault root them out, and become again what I was
before.  And I entreat your reverence, for the love of our Lord,
to beg this of Him for me, seeing that you have a clearer
knowledge of what I am than you have allowed me to give of
myself here.


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

2. Ch. ix. § 4.

3. Ch. xxx. §§ 10 and 11.

4. See ch. xiii. § 5.

5. F. Pedro Ybañez, of the Order of St. Dominic.

6. See ch. xxxi. § 17.

7. See ch. xv. § 12.

8. See ch. xiv. § 12.

9. See ch. xxiv. § 5.



Chapter XI.


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


1. I speak now of those who begin to be the servants of love;
that seems to me to be nothing else but to resolve to follow Him
in the way of prayer, who has loved us so much.  It is a dignity
so great, that I have a strange joy in thinking of it; for
servile fear vanishes at once, if we are, as we ought to be, in
the first degree.  O Lord of my soul, and my good, how is it
that, when a soul is determined to love Thee--doing all it can,
by forsaking all things, in order that it may the better occupy
itself with the love of God--it is not Thy will it should have
the joy of ascending at once to the possession of perfect love?
I have spoken amiss; I ought to have said, and my complaint
should have been, why is it we do not? for the fault is wholly
our own that we do not rejoice at once in a dignity so great,
seeing that the attaining to the perfect possession of this true
love brings all blessings with it.

2. We think so much of ourselves, and are so dilatory in giving
ourselves wholly to God, that, as His Majesty will not let us
have the fruition of that which is so precious but at a great
cost, so neither do we perfectly prepare ourselves for it.  I see
plainly that there is nothing by which so great a good can be
procured in this world.  If, however, we did what we could, not
clinging to anything upon earth, but having all our thoughts and
conversation in Heaven, I believe that this blessing would
quickly be given us, provided we perfectly prepared ourselves for
it at once, as some of the saints have done.  We think we are
giving all to God; but, in fact, we are offering only the revenue
or the produce, while we retain the fee-simple of the land in our
own possession.

3. We resolve to become poor, and it is a resolution of great
merit; but we very often take great care not to be in want, not
simply of what is necessary, but of what is superfluous: yea, and
to make for ourselves friends who may supply us; and in this way
we take more pains, and perhaps expose ourselves to greater
danger, in order that we may want nothing, than we did formerly,
when we had our own possessions in our own power.

4. We thought, also, that we gave up all desire of honour when we
became religious, or when we began the spiritual life, and
followed after perfection; and yet, when we are touched on the
point of honour, we do not then remember that we had given it up
to God.  We would seize it again, and take it, as they say, out
of His Hands, even after we had made Him, to all appearance, the
Lord of our own will.  So is it in every thing else.

5. A pleasant way this of seeking the love of God! we retain our
own affections, and yet will have that love, as they say, by
handfuls.  We make no efforts to bring our desires to good
effect, or to raise them resolutely above the earth; and yet,
with all this, we must have many spiritual consolations.  This is
not well, and we are seeking things that are incompatible one
with the other.  So, because we do not give ourselves up wholly
and at once, this treasure is not given wholly and at once to us.
May it be the good pleasure of our Lord to give it us drop by
drop, though it may cost us all the trials in the world.

6. He showeth great mercy unto him to whom He gives the grace and
resolution to strive for this blessing with all his might; for
God withholds Himself from no one who perseveres.  He will by
little and little strengthen that soul, so that it may come forth
victorious.  I say resolution, because of the multitude of those
things which Satan puts before it at first, to keep it back from
beginning to travel on this road; for he knoweth what harm will
befall him thereby--he will lose not only that soul, but many
others also.  If he who enters on this road does violence to
himself, with the help of God, so as to reach the summit of
perfection, such a one, I believe, will never go alone to Heaven;
he will always take many with him: God gives to him, as to a good
captain, those who shall be of his company.

7. Thus, then, the dangers and difficulties which Satan puts
before them are so many, that they have need, not of a little,
but of a very great, resolution, and great grace from God, to
save them from falling away.

8. Speaking, then, of their beginnings who are determined to
follow after this good, and to succeed in their enterprise--what
I began to say [1] of mystical theology--I believe they call it
by that name--I shall proceed with hereafter--I have to say that
the labour is greatest at first; for it is they who toil, our
Lord, indeed, giving them strength.  In the other degrees of
prayer, there is more of fruition; although they who are in the
beginning, the middle, and the end, have their crosses to carry:
the crosses, however, are different.  They who would follow
Christ, if they do not wish to be lost, must walk in the way He
walked Himself.  Blessed labours! even here, in this life, so
superabundantly rewarded!

9. I shall have to make use of a comparison; I should like to
avoid it, because I am a woman, and write simply what I have been
commanded.  But this language of spirituality is so difficult of
utterance for those who are not learned, and such am I.  I have
therefore to seek for some means to make the matter plain.
It may be that the comparison will very rarely be to the
purpose--your reverence will be amused when you see my stupidity.
I think, now, I have either read or heard of this comparison; but
as my memory is bad, I know not where, nor on what occasion;
however, I am satisfied with it for my present purpose. [2]

10. A beginner must look upon himself as making a garden, wherein
our Lord may take His delight, but in a soil unfruitful, and
abounding in weeds.  His Majesty roots up the weeds, and has to
plant good herbs.  Let us, then, take for granted that this is
already done when a soul is determined to give itself to prayer,
and has begun the practice of it.  We have, then, as good
gardeners, by the help of God, to see that the plants grow, to
water them carefully, that they may not die, but produce
blossoms, which shall send forth much fragrance, refreshing to
our Lord, so that He may come often for His pleasure into this
garden, and delight Himself in the midst of these virtues.

11. Let us now see how this garden is to be watered, that we may
understand what we have to do: how much trouble it will cost us,
whether the gain be greater than the trouble, or how long a time
it will take us.  It seems to me that the garden may be watered
in four ways: by water taken out of a well, which is very
laborious; or with water raised by means of an engine and
buckets, drawn by a windlass--I have drawn it this way
sometimes--it is a less troublesome way than the first, and gives
more water; or by a stream or brook, whereby the garden is
watered in a much better way--for the soil is more thoroughly
saturated, and there is no necessity to water it so often, and
the labour of the gardener is much less; or by showers of rain,
when our Lord Himself waters it, without labour on our part--and
this way is incomparably better than all the others of which I
have spoken.

12. Now, then, for the application of these four ways of
irrigation by which the garden is to be maintained; for without
water it must fail.  The comparison is to my purpose, and it
seems to me that by the help of it I shall be able to explain, in
some measure, the four degrees of prayer to which our Lord, of
His goodness, has occasionally raised my soul.  May He graciously
grant that I may so speak as to be of some service to one of
those who has commanded me to write, whom our Lord has raised in
four months to a greater height than I have reached in seventeen
years!  He prepared himself better than I did, and therefore is
his garden without labour on his part, irrigated by these four
waters--though the last of them is only drop by drop; but it is
growing in such a way, that soon, by the help of our Lord, he
will be swallowed up therein, and it will be a pleasure to me, if
he finds my explanation absurd, that he should laugh at it.

13. Of those who are beginners in prayer, we may say, that they
are those who draw the water up out of the well--a process which,
as I have said, is very laborious; for they must be wearied in
keeping the senses recollected, and this is a great labour,
because the senses have been hitherto accustomed to distractions.
It is necessary for beginners to accustom themselves to disregard
what they hear or see, and to put it away from them during the
time of prayer; they must be alone, and in retirement think over
their past life.  Though all must do this many times, beginners
as well as those more advanced; all, however, must not do so
equally, as I shall show hereafter. [3] Beginners at first suffer
much, because they are not convinced that they are penitent for
their sins; and yet they are, because they are so sincerely
resolved on serving God.  They must strive to meditate on the
life of Christ, and the understanding is wearied thereby.
Thus far we can advance of ourselves--that is, by the grace of
God--for without that, as every one knows, we never can have one
good thought.

14. This is beginning to draw water up out of the well.
God grant there may be water in it!  That, however, does not
depend on us; we are drawing it, and doing what we can towards
watering the flowers.  So good is God, that when, for reasons
known to His Majesty--perhaps for our greater good--it is His
will the well should be dry, He Himself preserves the flowers
without water--we, like good gardeners, doing what lies in our
power--and makes our virtues grow.  By water here I mean tears,
and if there be none, then tenderness and an inward feeling
of devotion.

15. What, then, will he do here who sees that, for many days, he
is conscious only of aridity, disgust, dislike, and so great an
unwillingness to go to the well for water, that he would give it
up altogether, if he did not remember that he has to please and
serve the Lord of the garden; if he did not trust that his
service was not in vain, and did not hope for some gain by a
labour so great as that of lowering the bucket into the well so
often, and drawing it up without water in it?  It will happen
that he is often unable to move his arms for that purpose, or to
have one good thought: working with the understanding is drawing
water out of the well.

16. What, then, once more, will the gardener do now?  He must
rejoice and take comfort, and consider it as the greatest favour
to labour in the garden of so great an Emperor; and as he knows
that he is pleasing Him in the matter--and his purpose must not
be to please himself, but Him--let him praise Him greatly for the
trust He has in him--for He sees that, without any recompense, he
is taking so much care of that which has been confided to him;
let him help Him to carry the Cross, and let him think how He
carried it all His life long; let him not seek his kingdom here,
nor ever intermit his prayer; and so let him resolve, if this
aridity should last even his whole life long, never to let Christ
fall down beneath the Cross. [4]

17. The time will come when he shall be paid once for all.
Let him have no fear that his labour is in vain: he serves a good
Master, Whose eyes are upon him.  Let him make no account of evil
thoughts, but remember that Satan suggested them to St. Jerome
also in the desert. [5]  These labours have their reward, I know
it; for I am one who underwent them for many years.  When I drew
but one drop of water out of this blessed well, I considered it
was a mercy of God.  I know these labours are very great, and
require, I think, greater courage than many others in this world;
but I have seen clearly that God does not leave them without a
great recompense, even in this life; for it is very certain that
in one hour, during which our Lord  gave me to taste His
sweetness, all the anxieties which I had to bear when persevering
in prayer seem to me ever afterwards perfectly rewarded.

18. I believe that it is our Lord's good pleasure frequently in
the beginning, and at times in the end, to send these torments,
and many other incidental temptations, to try those who love Him,
and to ascertain if they will drink the chalice, [6] and help Him
to carry the Cross, before He intrusts them with His great
treasures.  I believe it to be for our good that His Majesty
should lead us by this way, so that we may perfectly understand
how worthless we are; for the graces which He gives afterwards
are of a dignity so great, that He will have us by experience
know our wretchedness before He grants them, that it may not be
with us as it was with Lucifer.

19. What canst Thou do, O my Lord, that is not for the greater
good of that soul which Thou knowest to be already Thine, and
which gives itself up to Thee to follow Thee whithersoever Thou
goest, even to the death of the Cross; and which is determined to
help Thee to carry that Cross, and not to leave Thee alone with
it?  He who shall discern this resolution in himself has nothing
to fear: no, no; spiritual people have nothing to fear.  There is
no reason why he should be distressed who is already raised to so
high a degree as this is of wishing to converse in solitude with
God, and to abandon the amusements of the world.  The greater
part of the work is done; give praise to His Majesty for it, and
trust in His goodness who has never failed those who love Him.
Close the eyes of your imagination, and do not ask why He gives
devotion to this person in so short a time, and none to me after
so many years.  Let us believe that all is for our greater good;
let His Majesty guide us whithersoever He will: we are not our
own, but His.  He shows us mercy enough when it is His pleasure
we should be willing to dig in His garden, and to be so near the
Lord of it: He certainly is near to us.  If it be His will that
these plants and flowers should grow--some of them when He gives
water we may draw from the well, others when He gives none--what
is that to me?  Do Thou, O Lord, accomplish Thy will; let me
never offend Thee, nor let my virtues perish; if Thou hast given
me any, it is out of Thy mere goodness.  I wish to suffer,
because Thou, O Lord, hast suffered; do Thou in every way fulfil
Thy will in me, and may it never be the pleasure of Thy Majesty
that a gift of so high a price as that of Thy love, be given to
people who serve Thee only because of the sweetness they
find thereby.

20. It is much to be observed, and I say so because I know by
experience, that the soul which, begins to walk in the way of
mental prayer with resolution, and is determined not to care
much, neither to rejoice nor to be greatly afflicted, whether
sweetness and tenderness fail it, or our Lord grants them, has
already travelled a great part of the road.  Let that soul, then,
have no fear that it is going back, though it may frequently
stumble; for the building is begun on a firm foundation.  It is
certain that the love of God does not consist in tears, nor in
this sweetness and tenderness which we for the most part desire,
and with which we console ourselves; but rather in serving Him in
justice, fortitude, and humility.  That seems to me to be a
receiving rather than a giving of anything on our part.

21. As for poor women, such as I am, weak and infirm of purpose,
it seems to me to be necessary that I should be led on through
consolations, as God is doing now, so that I might be able to
endure certain afflictions which it has pleased His Majesty I
should have.  But when the servants of God, who are men of
weight, learning, and sense, make so much account, as I see they
do, whether God gives them sweetness in devotion or not, I am
disgusted when I listen to them.  I do not say that they ought
not to accept it, and make much of it, when God gives
it--because, when He gives it, His Majesty sees it to be
necessary for them--but I do say that they ought not to grow
weary when they have it not.  They should then understand that
they have no need of it, and be masters of themselves, when His
Majesty does not give it.  Let them be convinced of this, there
is a fault here; I have had experience of it, and know it to be
so.  Let them believe it as an imperfection: they are not
advancing in liberty of spirit, but shrinking like cowards from
the assault.

22. It is not so much to beginners that I say this--though I do
insist upon it, because it is of great importance to them that
they should begin with this liberty and resolution--as to others,
of whom there are many, who make a beginning, but never come to
the end; and that is owing, I believe, in great measure, to their
not having embraced the Cross from the first.  They are
distressed, thinking they are doing nothing; the understanding
ceases from its acts, and they cannot bear it.  Yet, perhaps, at
that very time, the will is feeding and gathering strength, and
they know it not.

23. We must suppose that our Lord does not regard these things;
for though they seem to us to be faults, yet they are not.
His Majesty knoweth our misery and natural vileness better than
we do ourselves.  He knoweth that these souls long to be always
thinking of Him and loving Him.  It is this resolution that He
seeks in us; the other anxieties which we inflict upon ourselves
serve to no other end but to disquiet the soul--which, if it be
unable to derive any profit in one hour, will by them be disabled
for four.  This comes most frequently from bodily
indisposition--I have had very great experience in the matter,
and I know it is true; for I have carefully observed it and
discussed it afterwards with spiritual persons--for we are so
wretched, that this poor prisoner of a soul shares in the
miseries of the body. The changes of the seasons, and the
alterations of the humours, very often compel it, without fault
of its own, not to do what it would, but rather to suffer in
every way.  Meanwhile, the more we force the soul on these
occasions, the greater the mischief, and the longer it lasts.
Some discretion must be used, in order to ascertain whether
ill-health be the occasion or not.  The poor soul must not be
stifled.  Let those who thus suffer understand that they are ill;
a change should be made in the hour of prayer, and oftentimes
that change should be continued for some days. Let souls pass out
of this desert as they can, for it is very often the misery of
one that loves God to see itself living in such wretchedness,
unable to do what it would, because it has to keep so evil a
guest as the body.

24. I spoke of discretion, because sometimes the devil will do
the same work; and so it is not always right to omit prayer when
the understanding is greatly distracted and disturbed, nor to
torment the soul to the doing of that which is out of its power.
There are other things then to be done--exterior works, as of
charity and spiritual reading--though at times the soul will not
be able to do them.  Take care, then, of the body, for the love
of God, because at many other times the body must serve the soul;
and let recourse be had to some recreations--holy ones--such as
conversation, or going out into the fields, as the confessor
shall advise.  Altogether, experience is a great matter, and it
makes us understand what is convenient for us. Let God be served
in all things--His yoke is sweet; [7] and it is of great
importance that the soul should not be dragged, as they say, but
carried gently, that it may make greater progress.

25. So, then, I come back to what I advised before [8]--and
though I repeat it often, it matters not; it is of great
importance that no one should distress himself on account of
aridities, or because his thoughts are restless and distracted;
neither should he be afflicted thereat, if he would attain to
liberty of spirit, and not be always in trouble.  Let him begin
by not being afraid of the Cross, and he will see how our Lord
will help him to carry it, how joyfully he will advance, and what
profit he will derive from it all.  It is now clear, if there is
no water in the well, that we at least can put none into it.
It is true we must not be careless about drawing it when there is
any in it, because at that time it is the will of God to multiply
our virtues by means thereof.

NOTES

1. Ch. x. § 1.

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

3. Ch. xiii. § 23.

4. See ch. xv. § 17.

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

6. St. Matt. xx. 22: "Potestis bibere calicem?"

7. St. Matt. xi. 30: "Jugum enim meum suave est."

8. § 18.



Chapter XII.


What We Can Ourselves Do.  The Evil of Desiring to Attain to
Supernatural States Before Our Lord Calls Us.


1. My aim in the foregoing chapter--though I digressed to many
other matters, because they seemed to me very necessary--was to
explain how much we may attain to of ourselves; and how, in these
beginnings of devotion, we are able in some degree to help
ourselves: because thinking of, and pondering on, the sufferings
of our Lord for our sakes moves us to compassion, and the sorrow
and tears which result therefrom are sweet.  The thought of the
blessedness we hope for, of the love our Lord bore us, and of His
resurrection, kindle within us a joy which is neither wholly
spiritual nor wholly sensual; but the joy is virtuous, and the
sorrow is most meritorious.

2. Of this kind are all those things which produce a devotion
acquired in part by means of the understanding, though it can
neither be merited nor had, if God grants it not.  It is best for
a soul which God has not raised to a higher state than this not
to try to rise of itself.  Let this be well considered, because
all the soul will gain in that way will be a loss.  In this state
it can make many acts of good resolutions to do much for God, and
enkindle its love; other acts also, which may help the growth of
virtues, according to that which is written in a book called The
Art of Serving God, [1] a most excellent work, and profitable for
those who are in this state, because the understanding is
active now.

3. The soul may also place itself in the presence of Christ, and
accustom itself to many acts of love directed to His sacred
Humanity, and remain in His presence continually, and speak to
Him, pray to Him in its necessities, and complain to Him of its
troubles; be merry with Him in its joys, and yet not forget Him
because of its joys.  All this it may do without set prayers, but
rather with words befitting its desires and its needs.

4. This is an excellent way whereby to advance, and that very
quickly.  He that will strive to have this precious
companionship, and will make much of it, and will sincerely love
our Lord, to whom we owe so much, is one, in my opinion, who has
made some progress.  There is therefore no reason why we should
trouble ourselves because we have no sensible devotion, as I said
before. [2]  But let us rather give thanks to our Lord, who
allows us to have a desire to please Him, though our works be
poor. This practice of the presence of Christ is profitable in
all states of prayer, and is a most safe way of advancing in the
first state, and of attaining quickly to the second; and as for
the last states, it secures us against those risks which the
devil may occasion.

5. This, then, is what we can do.  He who would pass out of this
state, and upraise his spirit, in order to taste consolations
denied him, will, in my opinion, lose both the one and the
other. [3]  These consolations being supernatural, and the
understanding inactive, the soul is then left desolate and in
great aridity.  As the foundation of the whole building is
humility, the nearer we draw unto God the more this virtue should
grow; if it does not, everything is lost.  It seems to be a kind
of pride when we seek to ascend higher, seeing that God descends
so low, when He allows us, being what we are, to draw near
unto Him.

6. It must not be supposed that I am now speaking of raising our
thoughts to the consideration of the high things of heaven and of
its glory, or unto God and His great wisdom.  I never did this
myself, because I had not the capacity for it--as I said
before; [4] and I was so worthless, that, as to thinking even of
the things of earth, God gave me grace to understand this truth:
that in me it was no slight boldness to do so.  How much more,
then, the thinking of heavenly things?  Others, however, will
profit in that way, particularly those who are learned; for
learning, in my opinion, is a great treasury in the matter of
this exercise, if it be accompanied with humility.  I observed
this a few days ago in some learned men who had shortly before
made a beginning, and had made great progress.  This is the
reason why I am so very anxious that many learned men may become
spiritual. I shall speak of this by and by. [5]

7. What I am saying--namely, let them not rise if God does not
raise them--is the language of spirituality.  He will understand
me who has had any experience; and I know not how to explain it,
if what I have said does not make it plain.

8. In mystical theology--of which I spoke before [6]--the
understanding ceases from its acts, because God suspends it--as I
shall explain by and by, if I can; [7] and God give me the grace
to do so.  We must neither imagine nor think that we can of
ourselves bring about this suspension.  That is what I say must
not be done; nor must we allow the understanding to cease from
its acts; for in that case we shall be stupid and cold, and the
result will be neither the one nor the other.  For when our Lord
suspends the understanding, and makes it cease from its acts, He
puts before it that which astonishes and occupies it: so that
without making any reflections, it shall comprehend in a
moment [8] more than we could comprehend in many years with all
the efforts in the world.

9. To have the powers of the mind occupied, and to think that you
can keep them at the same time quiet, is folly.  I repeat it,
though it be not so understood, there is no great humility in
this; and, if it be blameless, it is not left unpunished--it is
labour thrown away, and the soul is a little disgusted: it feels
like a man about to take a leap, and is held back.  Such a one
seems to have used up his strength already, and finds himself
unable to do that which he wished to have done: so here, in the
scanty gain that remains, he who will consider the matter will
trace that slight want of humility of which I have spoken; [9]
for that virtue has this excellence: there is no good work
attended by humility that leaves the soul disgusted.  It seems to
me that I have made this clear enough; yet, after all, perhaps
only for myself.  May our Lord open their eyes who read this, by
giving them experience; and then however slight that experience
may be, they will immediately understand it.

10. For many years I read much, and understood nothing; and for a
long time, too, though God gave me understanding herein, I never
could utter a word by which I might explain it to others.
This was no little trouble to me.  When His Majesty pleases, He
teaches everything in a moment, so that I am lost in wonder.
One thing I can truly say: though I conversed with many spiritual
persons, who sought to make me understand what our Lord was
giving me, in order that I might be able to speak of it, the fact
is, that my dulness was so great, that I derived no advantage
whatever, much or little, from their teaching.

11. Or it may be, as His Majesty has always been my Master--may
He be blessed for ever! for I am ashamed of myself that I can say
so with truth--that it was His good pleasure I should meet with
no one to whom I should be indebted in this matter.  So, without
my wishing or asking it--I never was careful about this, for that
would have been a virtue in me, but only about vanity--God gave
me to understand with all distinctness in a moment, and also
enabled me to express myself, so that my confessors were
astonished but I more than they, because I knew my own dulness
better.  It is not long since this happened.  And so that which
our Lord has not taught me, I seek not to know it, unless it be a
matter that touches my conscience.

12. Again I repeat my advice: it is of great moment not to raise
our spirit ourselves, if our Lord does not raise it for us; and
if He does, there can be no mistaking it.  For women, it is
specially wrong, because the devil can delude them--though I am
certain our Lord will never allow him to hurt any one who labours
to draw near unto God in humility.  On the contrary, such a one
will derive more profit and advantage out of that attack by which
Satan intended to hurt him.

13. I have dwelt so long upon this matter because this way of
prayer is the most common with beginners, and because the advice
I have given is very important.  It will be found much better
given elsewhere: that I admit; and I admit, also, that in writing
it I am ashamed of myself, and covered with confusion--though not
so much so as I ought to be.  Blessed for ever be our Lord, of
whose will and pleasure it is that I am allowed, being what I am,
to speak of things which are His, of such a nature, and so deep.


1. Arte de servir a Dios, by Rodrigue de Solis, friar of the
Augustinian Order (Bouix).  Arte para servir a Dios, by
Fra. Alonso de Madrid (De la Fuente).

2. Ch. xi. §§ 20, 25.

3. That is, he will lose the prayer of acquired quiet, because he
voluntarily abandons it before the time; and will not attain to
the prayer of infused quiet, because he attempts to rise into it
before he is called (Francis. de Sancto Thoma, Medulla Mystica,
tr. iv. ch. xi. n. 69).

4. Ch. iv. § 10.

5. Ch. xxxiv. § 9.

6. Ch. x. § 1.

7. Ch. xvi. § 4.

8. "En un credo."

9. § 5.



Chapter XIII.


Of Certain Temptations of Satan.  Instructions Relating Thereto.


1. I have thought it right to speak of certain temptations I have
observed to which beginners are liable--some of them I have had
myself--and to give some advice about certain things which to me
seem necessary.  In the beginning, then, we should strive to be
cheerful and unconstrained; for there are people who think it is
all over with devotion if they relax themselves ever so little.
It is right to be afraid of self; so that, having no confidence
in ourselves, much or little, we may not place ourselves in those
circumstances wherein men usually sin against God; for it is a
most necessary fear, till we become very perfect in virtue.
And there are not many who are so perfect as to be able to relax
themselves on those occasions which offer temptations to their
natural temper; for always while we live, were it only to
preserve humility, it is well we should know our own miserable
nature; but there are many occasions on which it is permitted
us--as I said just now [1]--to take some recreation, in order
that we may with more vigour resume our prayer.

2. Discretion is necessary throughout.  We must have great
confidence; because it is very necessary for us not to contract
our desires, but put our trust in God; for, if we do violence to
ourselves by little and little, we shall, though not at once,
reach that height which many Saints by His grace have reached.
If they had never resolved to desire, and had never by little and
little acted upon that resolve, they never could have ascended to
so high a state.

3. His Majesty seeks and loves courageous souls; but they must be
humble in their ways, and have no confidence in themselves.
I never saw one of those lag behind on the road; and never a
cowardly soul, though aided by humility, make that progress in
many years which the former makes in a few.  I am astonished at
the great things done on this road by encouraging oneself to
undertake great things, though we may not have the strength for
them at once; the soul takes a flight upwards and ascends high,
though, like a little bird whose wings are weak, it grows weary
and rests.

4. At one time I used often to think of those words of St. Paul:
"That all things are possible in God." [2]  I saw clearly that of
myself I could do nothing.  This was of great service to me.
So also was the saying of St. Augustine: "Give me, O Lord, what
Thou commandest, and command what Thou wilt." [3]  I was often
thinking how St. Peter lost nothing by throwing himself into the
sea, though he was afterwards afraid. [4]  These first
resolutions are a great matter--although it is necessary in the
beginning that we should be very reserved, controlled by the
discretion and authority of a director; but we must take care
that he be one who does not teach us to crawl like toads, nor one
who may be satisfied when the soul shows itself fit only to catch
lizards.  Humility must always go before: so that we may know
that this strength can come out of no strength of our own.

5. But it is necessary we should understand what manner of
humility this should be, because Satan, I believe, does great
harm; for he hinders those who begin to pray from going onwards,
by suggesting to them false notions of humility.  He makes them
think it is pride to have large desires, to wish to imitate the
Saints, and to long for martyrdom.  He tells us forthwith, or he
makes us think, that the actions of the Saints are to be admired,
not to be imitated, by us who are sinners.  I, too, say the same
thing; but we must see what those actions are which we are to
admire, and what those are which we are to imitate; for it would
be wrong in a person who is weak and sickly to undertake much
fasting and sharp penances to retire into the desert, where he
could not sleep, nor find anything to eat; or, indeed, to
undertake any austerities of this kind.

6. But we ought to think that we can force ourselves, by the
grace of God, to hold the world in profound contempt--to make
light of honour, and be detached from our possessions.
Our hearts, however, are so mean that we think the earth would
fail us under our feet, if we were to cease to care even for a
moment for the body, and give ourselves up to spirituality.
Then we think that to have all we require contributes to
recollection, because anxieties disturb prayer.  It is painful to
me that our confidence in God is so scanty, and our self-love so
strong, as that any anxiety about our own necessities should
disturb us. But so it is; for when our spiritual progress is so
slight, a mere nothing will give us as much trouble as great and
important matters will give to others.  And we think
ourselves spiritual!

7. Now, to me, this way of going on seems to betray a disposition
to reconcile soul and body together, in order that we may not
miss our ease in this world, and yet have the fruition of God in
the next; and so it will be if we walk according to justice,
clinging to virtue; but it is the pace of a hen--it will never
bring us to liberty of spirit.  It is a course of proceeding, as
it seems to me, most excellent for those who are in the married
state, and who must live according to their vocation; but for the
other state, I by no means wish for such a method of progress,
neither can I be made to believe it to be sound; for I have tried
it, and I should have remained in that way, if our Lord in His
goodness had not taught me another and a shorter road.

8. Though, in the matter of desires, I always had generous ones;
but I laboured, as I said before, [5] to make my prayer, and, at
the same time, to live at my ease.  If there had been any one to
rouse me to a higher flight, he might have brought me, so I
think, to a state in which these desires might have had their
effects; but, for our sins, so few and so rare are they whose
discretion in that matter is not excessive.  That, I believe, is
reason enough why those who begin do not attain more quickly to
great perfection; for our Lord never fails us, and it is not His
fault; the fault and the wretchedness of this being all our own.

9. We may also imitate the Saints by striving after solitude and
silence, and many other virtues that will not kill these wretched
bodies of ours, which insist on being treated so orderly, that
they may disorder the soul; and Satan, too, helps much to make
them unmanageable.  When he sees us a little anxious about them,
he wants nothing more to convince us that our way of life must
kill us, and destroy our health; even if we weep, he makes us
afraid of blindness.  I have passed through this, and therefore I
know it; but I know of no better sight or better health that we
can desire, than the loss of both in such a cause. Being myself
so sickly, I was always under constraint, and good for nothing,
till I resolved to make no account of my body nor of my health;
even now I am worthless enough.

10. But when it pleased God to let me find out this device of
Satan, I used to say to the latter, when he suggested to me that
I was ruining my health, that my death was of no consequence;
when he suggested rest, I replied that I did not want rest, but
the Cross.  His other suggestions I treated in the same way.
I saw clearly that in most things, though I was really very
sickly, it was either a temptation of Satan, or a weakness on my
part. My health has been much better since I have ceased to look
after my ease and comforts.  It is of great importance not to let
our own thoughts frighten us in the beginning, when we set
ourselves to pray.  Believe me in this, for I know it by
experience.  As a warning to others, it may be that this story of
my failures may be useful.

11. There is another temptation, which is very common: when
people begin to have pleasure in the rest and the fruit of
prayer, they will have everybody else be very spiritual also.
Now, to desire this is not wrong, but to try to bring it about
may not be right, except with great discretion and with much
reserve, without any appearance of teaching.  He who would do any
good in this matter ought to be endowed with solid virtues, that
he may not put temptation in the way of others.  It happened to
me--that is how I know it--when, as I said before, [6] I made
others apply themselves to prayer, to be a source of temptation
and disorder; for, on the one hand, they heard me say great
things of the blessedness of prayer, and, on the other, saw how
poor I was in virtue, notwithstanding my prayer.  They had good
reasons on their side, and afterwards they told me of it; for
they knew not how these things could be compatible one with the
other.  This it was that made them not to regard that as evil
which was really so in itself, namely, that they saw me do it
myself, now and then, during the time that they thought well of
me in some measure.

12. This is Satan's work: he seems to take advantage of the
virtues we may have, for the purpose of giving a sanction, so far
as he can, to the evil he aims at; how slight soever that evil
may be, his gain must be great, if it prevail in a religious
house.  How much, then, must his gain have been, when the evil I
did was so very great!  And thus, during many years, only three
persons were the better for what I said to them; but now that our
Lord has made me stronger in virtue, in the course of two or
three years many persons have profited, as I shall
show hereafter. [7]

13. There is another great inconvenience in addition to this: the
loss to our own soul; for the utmost we have to do in the
beginning is to take care of our own soul only, and consider that
in the whole world there is only God and our soul.  This is a
point of great importance.

14. There is another temptation--we ought to be aware of it, and
be cautious in our conduct: persons are carried away by a zeal
for virtue, through the pain which the sight of the sins and
failings of others occasions them.  Satan tells them that this
pain arises only out of their desire that God may not be
offended, and out of their anxiety about His honour; so they
immediately seek to remedy the evil.  This so disturbs them, that
they cannot pray.  The greatest evil of all is their thinking
this an act of virtue, of perfection, and of a great zeal for
God.  I am not speaking of the pain which public sins occasion,
if they be habitual in any community, nor of wrongs done to the
Church, nor of heresies by which so many souls are visibly lost;
for this pain is most wholesome, and being wholesome is no source
of disquiet.  The security, therefore, of that soul which would
apply itself to prayer lies in casting away from itself all
anxiety about persons and things, in taking care of itself, and
in pleasing God.  This is the most profitable course.

15. If I were to speak of the mistakes which I have seen people
make, in reliance on their own good intentions, I should never
come to an end.  Let us labour, therefore, always to consider the
virtues and the good qualities which we discern in others, and
with our own great sins cover our eyes, so that we may see none
of their failings.  This is one way of doing our work; and though
we may not be perfect in it at once, we shall acquire one great
virtue--we shall look upon all men as better than ourselves; and
we begin to acquire that virtue in this way, by the grace of God,
which is necessary in all things--for when we have it not, all
our endeavours are in vain--and by imploring Him to give us this
virtue; for He never fails us, if we do what we can.

16. This advice, also, they must take into their consideration
who make much use of their understanding, eliciting from one
subject many thoughts and conceptions.  As to those who, like
myself, cannot do it, I have no advice to give, except that they
are to have patience, until our Lord shall send them both matter
and light; for they can do so little of themselves, that their
understanding is a hindrance to them rather than a help.

17. To those, then, who can make use of their understanding, I
say that they are not to spend the whole time in that way; for
though it be most meritorious, yet they must not, when prayer is
sweet, suppose that there never will be a Sunday or a time when
no work ought to be done.  They think it lost time to do
otherwise; but I think that loss their greatest gain.  Let them
rather, as I have said, [8] place themselves in the presence of
Christ, and, without fatiguing the understanding, converse with
Him, and in Him rejoice, without wearying themselves in searching
out reasons; but let them rather lay their necessities before
Him, and the just reasons there are why He should not suffer us
in His presence: at one time this, at another time that, lest the
soul should be wearied by always eating of the same food.  These
meats are most savoury and wholesome, if the palate be accustomed
to them; they will furnish a great support for the life of the
soul, and they have many other advantages also.

18. I will explain myself further; for the doctrine of prayer is
difficult, and, without a director, very hard to understand.
Though I would willingly be concise, and though a mere hint is
enough for his clear intellect who has commanded me to write on
the subject of prayer, yet so it is, my dulness does not allow me
to say or explain in a few words that which it is so important to
explain well.  I, who have gone through so much, am sorry for
those who begin only with books; for there is a strange
difference between that which we learn by reading, and that which
we learn by experience.

19. Going back, then, to what I was saying.  We set ourselves to
meditate upon some mystery of the Passion: let us say, our Lord
at the pillar.  The understanding goeth about seeking for the
sources out of which came the great dolours and the bitter
anguish which His Majesty endured in that desolation.
It considers that mystery in many lights, which the intellect, if
it be skilled in its work, or furnished with learning, may there
obtain.  This is a method of prayer which should be to everyone
the beginning, the middle, and the end: a most excellent and safe
way, until our Lord shall guide them to other supernatural ways.

20. I say to all, because there are many souls who make greater
progress by meditation on other subjects than on the Sacred
Passion; for as there are many mansions in heaven, so there are
also many roads leading thither.  Some persons advance by
considering themselves in hell, others in heaven--and these are
distressed by meditations on hell.  Others meditate on death;
some persons, if tender-hearted, are greatly fatigued by
continual meditations on the Passion; but are consoled and make
progress when they meditate on the power and greatness of God in
His creatures, and on His love visible in all things.  This is an
admirable method--not omitting, however, from time to time, the
Passion and Life of Christ, the Source of all good that ever
came, and that ever shall come.

21. He who begins is in need of instruction, whereby he may
ascertain what profits him most.  For this end it is very
necessary he should have a director, who ought to be a person of
experience; for if he be not, he will make many mistakes, and
direct a soul without understanding its ways, or suffering it to
understand them itself; for such a soul, knowing that obedience
to a director is highly meritorious, dares not transgress the
commandments it receives.  I have met with souls cramped and
tormented, because he who directed them had no experience: that
made me sorry for them.  Some of them knew not what to do with
themselves; for directors who do not understand the spirit of
their penitents afflict them soul and body, and hinder
their progress. [9]

22. One person I had to do with had been kept by her director for
eight years, as it were, in prison; he would not allow her to
quit the subject of self-knowledge; and yet our Lord had already
raised her to the prayer of quiet; so she had much to suffer.

23. Although this matter of self-knowledge must never be put
aside--for there is no soul so great a giant on this road but has
frequent need to turn back, and be again an infant at the breast;
and this must never be forgotten.  I shall repeat it, [10]
perhaps, many times, because of its great importance--for among
all the states of prayer, however high they may be, there is not
one in which it is not often necessary to go back to the
beginning.  The knowledge of our sins, and of our own selves, is
the bread which we have to eat with all the meats, however
delicate they may be, in the way of prayer; without this bread,
life cannot be sustained, though it must be taken by measure.
When a soul beholds itself resigned, and clearly understands that
there is no goodness in it--when it feels itself abashed in the
presence of so great a King, and sees how little it pays of the
great debt it owes Him--why should it be necessary for it to
waste its time on this subject?  Why should it not rather proceed
to other matters which our Lord places before it, and for
neglecting which there is no reason?  His Majesty surely knows
better than we do what kind of food is proper for us.

24. So, then, it is of great consequence that the director should
be prudent--I mean, of sound understanding--and a man of
experience.  If, in addition to this, he is a learned man, it is
a very great matter.  But if these three qualities cannot be had
together, the first two are the most important, because learned
men may be found with whom we can communicate when it is
necessary.  I mean, that for beginners learned men are of little
use, if they are not men of prayer.  I do not say that they are
to have nothing to do with learned men, because a spirituality,
the foundations of which are not resting on the truth, I would
rather were not accompanied with prayer.  Learning is a great
thing, for it teaches us who know so little, and enlightens us;
so when we have come to the knowledge of the truths contained in
the holy writings, we do what we ought to do.  From silly
devotions, God deliver us!

25. I will explain myself further, for I am meddling, I believe,
with too many matters.  It has always been my failing that I
could never make myself understood--as I said before [11]--but at
the cost of many words.  A nun begins to practise prayer; if her
director be silly, and if he should take it into his head, he
will make her feel that it is better for her to obey him than her
own superior.  He will do all this without any evil purpose,
thinking that he is doing right.  For if he be not a religious
himself, he will think this right enough.  If his penitent be a
married woman, he will tell her that it is better for her to give
herself unto prayer, when she ought to attend to her house,
although she may thereby displease her husband.  And so it is, he
knows not how to make arrangements for time and business, so that
everything may be done as it ought to be done; he has no light
himself, and can therefore give none to others, however much he
may wish to do so.

26. Though learning does not seem necessary for discretion, my
opinion has always been, and will be, that every Christian should
continue to be guided by a learned director if he can, and the
more learned the better.  They who walk in the way of prayer have
the greater need of learning; and the more spiritual they are the
greater is that need.  Let them not say that learned men not
given to prayer are not fit counsellors for those who pray: that
is a delusion.  I have conversed with many; and now for some
years I have sought them the more, because of my greater need of
them.  I have always been fond of them; for though some of them
have no experience, they do not dislike spirituality, neither are
they ignorant of what it is, because in the sacred writings with
which they are familiar they always find the truth about
spirituality.  I am certain myself that a person given to prayer,
who treats of these matters with learned men, unless he is
deceived with his own consent, will never be carried away by any
illusions of the devil.  I believe that the evil spirits are
exceedingly afraid of learned men who are humble and virtuous,
knowing that they will be found out and defeated by them.

27. I have said this because there are opinions held to the
effect that learned men, if they are not spiritual, are not
suited for persons given to prayer.  I have just said that a
spiritual director is necessary; but if he be not a learned man,
he is a great hindrance.  It will help us much if we consult
those who are learned, provided they be virtuous; even if they be
not spiritual, they will be of service to me, and God will enable
them to understand what they should teach; He will even make them
spiritual, in order that they may help us on.  I do not say this
without having had experience of it; and I have met with more
than two.

28. I say, then, that a person who shall resign his soul to be
wholly subject to one director will make a great mistake, if he
is in religion, unless he finds a director of this kind, because
of the obedience due to his own superior.  His director may be
deficient in the three requisites I speak of, [12] and that will
be no slight cross, without voluntarily subjecting the
understanding to one whose understanding is none of the best.
At least, I have never been able to bring myself to do it,
neither does it seem to me to be right.

29. But if he be a person living in the world, let him praise God
for the power he has of choosing whom he will obey, and let him
not lose so excellent a liberty; yea, rather let him be without a
director till he finds him--for our Lord will give him one, if he
is really humble, and has a desire to meet with the right person.
I praise God greatly--we women, and those who are unlearned,
ought always to render Him unceasing thanks--because there are
persons who, by labours so great, have attained to the truth, of
which we unlearned people are ignorant. I often wonder at learned
men--particularly those who are in religion--when I think of the
trouble they have had in acquiring that which they communicate to
me for my good, and that without any more trouble to me than the
asking for it.  And yet there are people who will not take
advantage of their learning: God grant it may not be so!

30. I see them undergo the poverty of the religious life, which
is great, together with its penances, its meagre food, the yoke
of obedience, which makes me ashamed of myself at times; and with
all this, interrupted sleep, trials everywhere, everywhere the
Cross.  I think it would be a great evil for any one to lose so
great a good by his own fault.  It may be some of us, who are
exempted from these burdens--who have our food put into our
mouths, as they say, and live at our ease--may think, because we
give ourselves a little more to prayer, that we are raised above
the necessity of such great hardships.  Blessed be Thou, O Lord,
who hast made me so incapable and so useless; but I bless Thee
still more for this--that Thou quickenest so many to quicken us.
Our prayer must therefore be very earnest for those who give us
light.  What should we be without them in the midst of these
violent storms which now disturb the Church?  If some have
fallen, the good will shine more and more. [13]  May it please
our Lord to hold them in His hand, and help them, that they may
help us.

31. I have gone far away from the subject I began to speak of;
but all is to the purpose for those who are beginners, that they
may begin a journey which is so high in such a way as that they
shall go on by the right road.  Coming back, then, to what I
spoke of before, [14] the meditation on Christ bound to the
pillar, it is well we should make reflections for a time, and
consider the sufferings He there endured, for whom He endured
them, who He is who endured them, and the love with which He bore
them.  But a person should not always fatigue himself in making
these reflections, but rather let him remain there with Christ,
in the silence of the understanding.

32. If he is able, let him employ himself in looking upon Christ,
who is looking upon him; let him accompany Him, and make his
petitions to Him; let him humble himself, and delight himself in
Christ, and keep in mind that he never deserved to be there.
When he shall be able to do this, though it may be in the
beginning of his prayer, he will find great advantage; and this
way of prayer brings great advantages with it--at least, so my
soul has found it.  I do not know whether I am describing it
aright; you, my father, will see to it.  May our Lord grant me to
please Him rightly for ever!  Amen.


1. Ch. xi. § 24.

2. Philipp. iv. 13; "Omnia possum in Eo."

3. Confess. x. ch. 29: "Da quod jubes, et jube quod vis."

4. St. Matt. xiv. 30: "Videns vero ventum validum, timuit."

5. Ch. vii. §§ 27, 31.

6. Ch. vii. § 16.

7. See ch. xxxi. § 7, and ch. xxxix. § 14.

8. Ch. xii. § 3.

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

10. See ch. xv. § 20.

11. § 18.

12. Prudence, experience, and learning; see § 24.

13. Dan. xii. 3: "Qui autem docti fuerint, fulgebunt quasi
splendor firmamenti."

14. § 19.



Chapter XIV.


The Second State of Prayer.  Its Supernatural Character.


1. Having spoken of the toilsome efforts and of the strength
required for watering the garden when we have to draw the water
out of the well, let us now speak of the second manner of drawing
the water, which the Lord of the vineyard has ordained; of the
machine of wheel and buckets whereby the gardener may draw more
water with less labour, and be able to take some rest without
being continually at work.  This, then, is what I am now going to
describe; and I apply it to the prayer called the prayer
of quiet.

2. Herein the soul begins to be recollected; it is now touching
on the supernatural--for it never could by any efforts of its own
attain to this.  True, it seems at times to have been wearied at
the wheel, labouring with the understanding, and filling the
buckets; but in this second degree the water is higher, and
accordingly the labour is much less than it was when the water
had to be drawn up out of the well; I mean, that the water is
nearer to it, for grace reveals itself more distinctly to
the soul.

3. This is a gathering together of the faculties of the soul
within itself, in order that it may have the fruition of that
contentment in greater sweetness; but the faculties are not lost,
neither are they asleep: the will alone is occupied in such a way
that, without knowing how it has become a captive, it gives a
simple consent to become the prisoner of God; for it knows well
what is to be the captive of Him it loves.  O my Jesus and my
Lord, how pressing now is Thy love! [1]  It binds our love in
bonds so straitly, that it is not in its power at this moment to
love anything else but Thee.

4. The other two faculties help the will, that it may render
itself capable of the fruition of so great a good; nevertheless,
it occasionally happens, even when the will is in union, that
they hinder it very much: but then it should never heed them at
all, simply abiding in its fruition and quiet. [2]  For if it
tried to make them recollected, it would miss its way together
with them, because they are at this time like doves which are not
satisfied with the food the master of the dovecot gives them
without any labouring for it on their part, and which go forth in
quest of it elsewhere, and so hardly find it that they come back.
And so the memory and the understanding come and go, seeking
whether the will is going to give them that into the fruition of
which it has entered itself.

5. If it be our Lord's pleasure to throw them any food, they
stop; if not, they go again to seek it.  They must be thinking
that they are of some service to the will; and now and then the
memory or the imagination, seeking to represent to it that of
which it has the fruition, does it harm.  The will, therefore,
should be careful to deal with them as I shall explain.
Everything that takes place now in this state brings the very
greatest consolation; and the labour is so slight, that prayer,
even if persevered in for some time, is never wearisome.
The reason is, that the understanding is now working very gently,
and is drawing very much more water than it drew out of the well.
The tears, which God now sends, flow with joy; though we feel
them, they are not the result of any efforts of our own.

6. This water of grand blessings and graces, which our Lord now
supplies, makes the virtues thrive much more, beyond all
comparison, than they did in the previous state of prayer; for
the soul is already ascending out of its wretched state, and some
little knowledge of the blissfulness of glory is communicated to
it.  This, I believe, is it that makes the virtues grow the more,
and also to draw nearer to essential virtue, God Himself, from
Whom all virtues proceed; for His Majesty has begun to
communicate Himself to this soul, and will have it feel how He is
communicating Himself.

7. As soon as the soul has arrived thus far, it begins to lose
the desire of earthly things, [3] and no wonder; for it sees
clearly that, even for a moment, this joy is not to be had on
earth; that there are no riches, no dominion, no honours, no
delights, that can for one instant, even for the twinkling of an
eye, minister such a joy; for it is a true satisfaction, and the
soul sees that it really does satisfy.  Now, we who are on earth,
as it seems to me, scarcely ever understand wherein our
satisfaction lies, for it is always liable to disappointment; but
in this, at that time, there is none: the disappointment cometh
afterwards, when the soul sees that all is over, and that it has
no power to recover it, neither does it know how; for if it cut
itself in pieces by penance and prayer, and every other kind of
austerities, all would be of little use, if our Lord did not
grant it.  God, in His great mercy, will have the soul comprehend
that His Majesty is so near to it, that it need not send
messengers to Him, but may speak to Him itself, and not with a
loud crying, because so near is He already, that He understands
even the movements of its lips.

8. It seems absurd to say this, seeing that we know that God
understands us always, and is present with us.  It is so, and
there can be no doubt of it; but our Emperor and Lord will have
us now understand that He understands us; and also have us
understand what His presence bringeth about, and that He means in
a special way to begin a work in the soul, which is manifested in
the great joy, inward and outward, which He communicates, and in
the difference there is, as I said just now, between this joy and
delight and all the joys of earth; for He seems to be filling up
the void in our souls occasioned by our sins.

9. This satisfaction lies in the innermost part of the soul, and
the soul knows not whence, nor how, it came, very often it knows
not what to do, or wish, or pray for.  It seems to find all this
at once, and knoweth not what it hath found; nor do I know how to
explain it, because learning is necessary for many things.  Here,
indeed, learning would be very much to the purpose, in order to
explain the general and particular helps of grace; for there are
many who know nothing about them.  Learning would serve to show
how our Lord now will have the soul to see, as it were, with the
naked eye, as men speak, this particular help of grace, and be
also useful in many other ways wherein I am likely to go astray.
But as what I write is to be seen by those who have the learning
to discover whether I make mistakes or not, I go on without
anxiety; for I know I need have none whatever about either the
letter or the spirit, because it is in their power to whom it is
to be sent to do with it as they will: they will understand it,
and blot out whatever may be amiss.

10. I should like them to explain this, because it is a principal
point, and because a soul, when our Lord begins to bestow these
graces upon it, does not understand them, and does not know what
to do with itself; for if God leads it by the way of fear, as He
led me, its trial will be heavy, if there be no one who
understands the state it is in; and to see itself as in a picture
is a great comfort; and then it sees clearly that it is
travelling on that road.  The knowledge of what it has to do is a
great blessing for it, so that it may advance forwards in every
one of these degrees of prayer; for I have suffered greatly, and
lost much time, because I did not know what to do; and I am very
sorry for those souls who find themselves alone when they come to
this state; for though I read many spiritual books, wherein this
very matter is discussed, they threw very little light upon it.
And if it be not a soul much exercised in prayer, it will find it
enough to understand its state, be the books ever so clear.

11. I wish much that our Lord would help me to describe the
effects on the soul of these things, now that they begin to be
supernatural, so that men might know by these effects whether
they come from the Spirit of God.  I mean, known as things are
known here below--though it is always well to live in fear, and
on our guard; for even if they do come from God, now and then the
devil will be able to transform himself into an angel of
light; [4] and the soul, if not experienced herein, will not
understand the matter; and it must have so much experience for
the understanding thereof, that it is necessary it should have
attained to the highest perfection of prayer.

12. The little time I have helps me but little, and it is
therefore necessary His Majesty should undertake it Himself; for
I have to live in community, and have very many things to employ
me, as I am in a house which is newly founded--as will appear
hereafter; [5] and so I am writing, with very many interruptions,
by little and little at a time.  I wish I had leisure; for when
our Lord gives the spirit, it is more easily and better done; it
is then as with a person working embroidery with the pattern
before her; but if the spirit be wanting, there is no more
meaning in the words than in gibberish, so to speak, though many
years may have been spent in prayer.  And thus I think it a very
great advantage to be in this state of prayer when I am writing
this; for I see clearly that it is not I who speak, nor is it I
who with her understanding has arranged it; and afterwards I do
not know how I came to speak so accurately. [6]  It has often
happened to me thus.

13. Let us now return to our orchard, or flower-garden, and
behold now how the trees begin to fill with sap for the bringing
forth of the blossoms, and then of the fruit--the flowers and the
plants, also, their fragrance.  This illustration pleases me; for
very often, when I was beginning--and our Lord grant that I have
really begun to serve His Majesty--I mean, begun in relation to
what I have to say of my life,--it was to me a great joy to
consider my soul as a garden, and our Lord as walking in it.
I used to beseech Him to increase the fragrance of the little
flowers of virtues--which were beginning, as it seemed to
bud--and preserve them, that they might be to His glory; for I
desired nothing for myself.  I prayed Him to cut those He liked,
because I already knew that they would grow the better.

14. I say cut; for there are times in which the soul has no
recollection of this garden--everything seems parched, and there
is no water to be had for preserving it--and in which it seems as
if the soul had never possessed any virtue at all.  This is the
season of heavy trials; for our Lord will have the poor gardener
suppose all the trouble he took in maintaining and watering the
garden to have been taken to no purpose.  Then is the time really
for weeding and rooting out every plant, however small it may be,
that is worthless, in the knowledge that no efforts of ours are
sufficient, if God withholds from us the waters of His grace; and
in despising ourselves as being nothing, and even less than
nothing.  In this way we gain great humility--the flowers
grow afresh.

15. O my Lord and my Good!  I cannot utter these words without
tears, and rejoicing in my soul; for Thou wilt be thus with us,
and art with us, in the Sacrament.  We may believe so most truly;
for so it is, and the comparison I make is a great truth; and, if
our sins stand not in the way, we may rejoice in Thee, because
Thou rejoicest in us; for Thou hast told us that Thy delight is
to be with the children of men. [7]  O my Lord, what does it
mean?  Whenever I hear these words, they always give me great
consolation, and did so even when I was most wicked.

16. Is it possible, 0 Lord, that there can be a soul which, after
attaining to this state wherein Thou bestowest upon it the like
graces and consolations, and wherein it understands that Thou
delightest to be with it, can yet fall back and offend Thee after
so many favours, and such great demonstrations of the love Thou
bearest it, and of which there cannot be any doubt, because the
effect of it is so visible?  Such a soul there certainly is; for
I have done so, not once, but often.  May it please Thy goodness,
O Lord, that I may be alone in my ingratitude--the only one who
has committed so great an iniquity, and whose ingratitude has
been so immeasurable!  But even out of my ingratitude Thine
infinite goodness has brought forth some good; and the greater my
wickedness, the greater the splendour of the great mercy of Thy
compassions.  Oh, what reasons have I to magnify them for ever!

17. May it be so, I beseech Thee, O my God, and may I sing of
them for ever, now that Thou hast been pleased to show mercies so
great unto me that they who see them are astonished, mercies
which draw me out of myself continually, that I may praise Thee
more and more! for, remaining in myself, without Thee, I could do
nothing, O my Lord, but be as the withered flowers of the garden;
so that this miserable earth of mine becomes a heap of refuse, as
it was before.  Let it not be so, O Lord!--let not a soul which
Thou hast purchased with so many labours be lost, one which Thou
hast so often ransomed anew, and delivered from between the teeth
of the hideous dragon!

18. You, my father, must forgive me for wandering from the
subject; and, as I am speaking to the purpose I have in view, you
must not be surprised.  What I write is what my soul has
understood; and it is very often hard enough to abstain from the
praises of God when, in the course of writing, the great debt I
owe Him presents itself before me.  Nor do I think that it can be
disagreeable to you; because both of us, I believe, may sing the
same song, though in a different way; for my debt is much the
greater, seeing that God has forgiven me more, as you, my
father, know.


1. 2 Cor. v. 14: "Charitas enim Christi urget nos."

2. See ch. xvii. § 12; Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but xxxi. of
the old editions.

3. See Relation, i. § 12.

4. 2 Cor. xi. 14: "Ipse enim Satanas transfigurat se in
angelum lucis."

5. See ch. x. § 11.  As that passage refers probably to the
monastery of the Incarnation, this must refer to that of
St. Joseph, newly founded in Avila; for that of the Incarnation
was founded a short time before the Saint was born; and she could
hardly say of it, now that she was at least in her forty-seventh
year, that it was newly founded.  The house, however, was poor;
for she says, ch. xxxii. § 12, that the nuns occasionally quitted
the monastery for a time, because of its poverty.

6. See ch. xviii. § 10.  In the second Report of the Rota,
p. 477--quoted by Benedict XIV., De Canoniz. iii. 26, n. 12, and
by the Bollandists in the Acta, 1315--we have these words, and
they throw great light on the text: "Sunt et alli testes de visu
affirmantes quod quando beata Teresa scribebat libros, facies
ejus resplendebat."  In the information taken in Granada, the
Mother Anne of the Incarnation says she saw the Saint one night,
while writing the Fortress of the Soul, with her face shining;
and Mary of St. Francis deposes to the same effect in the
informations taken in Medina (De la Fuente,
vol. ii. pp. 389, 392).

7. Prov. viii. 31: "Deliciæ meæ esse cum filiis hominum."



Chapter XV.


Instructions for Those Who Have Attained to the Prayer of Quiet.
Many Advance So Far, but Few Go Farther.


1. Let us now go back to the subject.  This quiet and
recollection of the soul makes itself in great measure felt in
the satisfaction and peace, attended with very great joy and
repose of the faculties, and most sweet delight, wherein the soul
is established. [1]  It thinks, because it has not gone beyond
it, that there is nothing further to wish for, but that its abode
might be there, and it would willingly say so with St. Peter. [2]
It dares not move nor stir, because it thinks that this blessing
it has received must then escape out of its hands; now and then,
it could wish it did not even breathe. [3]  The poor little soul
is not aware that, as of itself it could do nothing to draw down
this blessing on itself, it is still less able to retain it a
moment longer than our Lord wills it should remain.

2. I have already said that, in the prior recollection and
quiet, [4] there is no failure of the powers of the soul; but the
soul is so satisfied in God that, although two of its powers be
distracted, yet, while the recollection lasts, as the will abides
in union with God, so its peace and quiet are not disturbed; on
the contrary, the will by degrees brings the understanding and
the memory back again; for though the will is not yet altogether
absorbed, it continues still occupied without knowing how, so
that, notwithstanding all the efforts of the memory and the
understanding, they cannot rob it of its delight and
joy [5]--yea, rather, it helps without any labour at all to keep
this little spark of the love of God from being quenched.

3. Oh, that His Majesty would be gracious unto me, and enable me
to give a clear account of the matter; for many are the souls who
attain to this state, and few are they who go farther: and I know
not who is in fault; most certainly it is not God; for when His
Majesty shows mercy unto a soul, so that it advances so far, I
believe that He will not fail to be more merciful still, if there
be no shortcomings on our part.

4. And it is of great importance for the soul that has advanced
so far as this to understand the great dignity of its state, the
great grace given it by our Lord, and how in all reason it should
not belong to earth; because He, of His goodness, seems to make
it here a denizen of heaven, unless it be itself in fault.
And miserable will that soul be if it turns back; it will go
down, I think so, even to the abyss, as I was going myself, if
the mercy of our Lord had not brought me back; because, for the
most part, it must be the effect of grave faults--that is my
opinion: nor is it possible to forsake so great a good otherwise
than through the blindness occasioned by much evil.

5. Therefore, for the love of our Lord, I implore those souls to
whom His Majesty has given so great a grace--the attainment of
this state--to know and make much of themselves, with a humble
and holy presumption, in order that they may never return to the
flesh-pots of Egypt.  And if through weakness and wickedness, and
a mean and wretched nature, they should fall, as I did, let them
always keep in mind the good they have lost; let them suspect and
fear--they have reason to do so--that, if they do not resume
their prayer, they may go on from bad to worse.  I call that a
real fall which makes us hate the way by which so great a good
was obtained.  I address myself to those souls; but I am not
saying that they will never offend God, nor fall into
sin,--though there are good reasons why those who have received
these graces should keep themselves carefully from sin; but we
are miserable creatures.  What I earnestly advise is this: let
there be no giving up of prayer; it is by prayer they will
understand what they are doing, and obtain from our Lord the
grace to repent, and strength to rise again; they must believe
and believe again that, if they cease from praying, they run--so
I think--into danger.  I know not if I understand what I am
saying; for, as I said before, I measure others by myself. [6]

6. The prayer of quiet, then, is a little spark of the true love
of Himself, which our Lord begins to enkindle in the soul; and
His will is, that the soul should understand what this love is by
the joy it brings.  This quiet and recollection and little spark,
if it is the work of the Spirit of God, and not a sweetness
supplied by Satan, or brought about by ourselves, produces great
results.  A person of experience, however, cannot possibly fail
to understand at once that it is not a thing that can be
acquired, were it not that our nature is so greedy of sweetness,
that it seeks for it in every way.  But it becomes cold very
soon; for, however much we try to make the fire burn, in order to
obtain this sweetness, it does not appear that we do anything
else but throw water on it, to put it out.  This spark, then,
given of God, however slight it may be, causes a great crackling;
and if men do not quench it by their faults, it is the beginning
of the great fire, which sends forth--I shall speak of it in the
proper place [7]--the flames of that most vehement love of God
which His Majesty will have perfect souls to possess.

7. This little spark is a sign or pledge which God gives to a
soul, in token of His having chosen it for great things, if it
will prepare to receive them.  It is a great gift, much too great
for me to be able to speak of it.  It is a great sorrow to me;
because, as I said before, [8] I know that many souls come thus
far, and that those who go farther, as they ought to go, are so
few, that I am ashamed to say it.  I do not mean that they are
absolutely few: there must be many, because God is patient with
us, for some reasons; I speak of what I have seen.

8. I should like much to recommend these souls to take care that
they do not hide their talent; for it may be that God has chosen
them to be the edification of many others, especially in these
days, when the friends of God should be strong, in order that
they may support the weak.  Those who discern in themselves this
grace, must look upon themselves as such friends, if they would
fulfil the law which even the honourable friendship of the world
respects; if not, as I said just now, [9] let them fear and
tremble, lest they should be doing mischief to themselves--and
God grant it be to themselves only!

9. What the soul has to do at those seasons wherein it is raised
to the prayer of quiet is nothing more than to be gentle and
without noise.  By noise, I mean going about with the
understanding in search of words and reflections whereby to give
God thanks for this grace, and heaping up its sins and
imperfections together to show that it does not deserve it.
All this commotion takes place now, and the understanding comes
forward, and the memory is restless, and certainly to me these
powers bring much weariness at times; for, though my memory is
not strong, I cannot control it.  Let the will quietly and wisely
understand that it is not by dint of labour on our part that we
can converse to any good purpose with God, and that our own
efforts are only great logs of wood, laid on without discretion
to quench this little spark; and let it confess this, and in
humility say, O Lord, what can I do here? what has the servant to
do with her Lord, and earth with heaven? or words of love that
suggest themselves now, firmly grounded in the conviction that
what it says is truth; and let it make no account of the
understanding, which is simply tiresome.

10. And if the will wishes to communicate to the understanding
any portion of that the fruition of which itself has entered on,
or if it labours to make the understanding recollected, it shall
not succeed; for it will often happen that the will is in union
and at rest, while the understanding is in extreme disorder.
It is better for it to leave it alone, and not to run after it--I
am speaking of the will; for the will should abide in the
fruition of that grace, recollected itself, like the prudent bee;
for if no bees entered the hive, and each of them wandered abroad
in search of the rest, the honey would hardly be made.  In the
same way, the soul will lose much if it be not careful now,
especially if the understanding be acute; for when it begins to
make reflections and search for reasons, it will think at once
that it is doing something if its reasons and reflections
are good.

11. The only reason that ought to be admitted now is to
understand clearly that there is no reason whatever, except His
mere goodness, why God should grant us so great a grace, and to
be aware that we are so near Him, and to pray to His Majesty for
mercies, to make intercession for the Church, for those who had
been recommended to us, and for the souls in purgatory,--not,
however, with noise of words, but with a heartfelt desire to be
heard.  This is a prayer that contains much, and by it more is
obtained than by many reflections of the understanding.  Let the
will stir up some of those reasons, which proceed from reason
itself, to quicken its love, such as the fact of its being in a
better state, and let it make certain acts of love, as what it
will do for Him to whom it owes so much,--and that, as I said
just now, without any noise of the understanding, in the search
after profound reflections.  A little straw,--and it will be less
than straw, if we bring it ourselves,--laid on with humility,
will be more effectual here, and will help to kindle a fire more
than many fagots of most learned reasons, which, in my opinion,
will put it out in a moment.

12. This is good for those learned men who have commanded me to
write, [10] and who all, by the goodness of God, have come to
this state; for it may be that they spend the time in making
applications of passages of the Scriptures.  And though learning
could not fail to be of great use to them, both before and after
prayer, still, in the very time of prayer itself, there is little
necessity for it, in my opinion, unless it be for the purpose of
making the will tepid; for the understanding then, because of its
nearness to the light, is itself illuminated; so that even I, who
am what I am, seem to be a different person.  And so it is; for
it has happened to me, who scarcely understand a word of what I
read in Latin, and specially in the Psalms, when in the prayer of
quiet, not only to understand the Latin as if it were Spanish,
but, still more, to take a delight in dwelling on the meaning of
that I knew through the Spanish.  We must make an exception: if
these learned men have to preach or to teach, they will do well
to take advantage of their learning, that they may help poor
people of little learning, of whom I am one.  Charity is a great
thing; and so always is ministering unto souls, when done simply
for God.

13. So, then, when the soul is in the prayer of quiet, let it
repose in its rest--let learning be put on one side.  The time
will come when they may make use of it in the service of our
Lord--when they that possess it will appreciate it so highly as
to be glad that they had not neglected it even for all the
treasures of the world, simply because it enables them to serve
His Majesty; for it is a great help.  But in the eyes of Infinite
Wisdom, believe me, a little striving after humility, and a
single act thereof, are worth more than all the science in the
world.  This is not the time for discussing, but for
understanding plainly what we are, and presenting ourselves in
simplicity before God, who will have the soul make itself as a
fool--as, indeed, it is--in His presence, seeing that His Majesty
so humbles Himself as to suffer it to be near Him, we being what
we are.

14. Moreover, the understanding bestirs itself to make its
thanksgiving in phrases well arranged; but the will, in peace,
not daring to lift up its eyes with the publican, [11] makes
perhaps a better act of thanksgiving than the understanding, with
all the tropes of its rhetoric.  In a word, mental prayer is not
to be abandoned altogether now, nor even vocal prayer, if at any
time we wish, or can, to make use of either of them; for if the
state of quiet be profound, it becomes difficult to speak, and it
can be done only with great pain.

15. I believe myself that we know whether this proceeds from the
Spirit of God, or is brought about by endeavours of our own, in
the commencement of devotion which God gives; and we seek of
ourselves, as I said before, [12] to pass onwards to this quiet
of the will.  Then, no effect whatever is produced; it is quickly
over, and aridity is the result.  If it comes from Satan, the
practised soul, in my opinion, will detect it, because it leaves
trouble behind, and scant humility and poor dispositions for
those effects which are wrought if it comes from God; it leaves
neither light in the understanding nor steadiness in
the truth. [13]

16. Here Satan can do little or no harm, if the soul directs unto
God the joy and sweetness it then feels; and if it fixes the
thoughts and desires on Him, according to the advice already
given, the devil can gain nothing whatever--on the contrary, by
the permission of God, he will lose much by that very joy which
he causes in the soul, because that joy will help the soul,
inasmuch as it thinks the joy comes from God, to betake itself
often to prayer in its desire for it.  And if the soul is humble,
indifferent to, and detached from, all joy, however spiritual,
and if it loves the cross, it will make no account of the
sweetness which Satan sends.  But it cannot so deal with that
which comes from the Spirit of God; of that it will make much.
Now, when Satan sends it, as he is nothing but a lie, and when he
sees that the soul humbles itself through that joy and
sweetness--and here, in all things relating to prayer and
sweetness, we must be very careful to endeavour to make ourselves
humble,--Satan will not often repeat his work, when he sees that
he loses by it.

17. For this and for many other reasons, when I was speaking of
the first degree of prayer, and of the first method of drawing
the water, [14] I insisted upon it that the great affair of souls
is, when they begin to pray, to begin also to detach themselves
from every kind of joy, and to enter on it resolved only on
helping to carry the cross of Christ like good soldiers, willing
to serve their King without present pay, because they are sure of
it at last, having their eyes directed to the true and
everlasting kingdom at the conquest of which we are aiming.

18. It is a very great matter to have this always before our
eyes, especially in the beginning; afterwards, it becomes so
clear, that it is rather a matter of necessity to forget it, in
order to live on.  Now, labouring to keep in mind that all things
here below are of short duration, that they are all nothing, that
the rest we have here is to be accounted as none,--all this, I
say, seems to be exceedingly low; and so, indeed, it is,--because
those who have gone on to greater perfection would look upon it
as a reproach, and be ashamed of themselves, if they thought that
they were giving up the goods of this world because they are
perishable, or that they would not be glad to give them up for
God--even if they were to last for ever.  The greater the
perfection of these persons, the greater their joy, and the
greater also would that joy be if the duration of these worldly
goods were greater.

19. In these persons, thus far advanced, love is already grown,
and love is that which does this work.  But as to beginners, to
them it is of the utmost importance, and they must not regard
this consideration as unbecoming, for the blessings to be gained
are great,--and that is why I recommend it so much to them; for
they will have need of it--even those who have attained to great
heights of prayer--at certain times, when God will try them, and
when His Majesty seems to have forsaken them.

20. I have said as much already, and I would not have it
forgotten, [15] in this our life on earth, the growth of the soul
is not like that of the body.  We, however, so speak of it--and,
in truth, it does grow.  A youth that is grown up, whose body is
formed, and who is become a man, does not ungrow, nor does his
body lessen in size; but as to the soul, it so is by our Lord's
will, so far as I have seen it in my own experience,--but I know
nothing of it in any other way.  It must be in order to humble us
for our greater good, and to keep us from being careless during
our exile; seeing that he who has ascended the higher has the
more reason to be afraid, and to be less confident in himself.
A time may come when they whose will is so wrapt up in the will
of God--and who, rather than fall into a single imperfection,
would undergo torture and suffer a thousand deaths--will find it
necessary, if they would be delivered from offending God, and
from the commission of sin, to make use of the first armour of
prayer, to call to mind how everything is coming to an end, that
there is a heaven and a hell, and to make use of other
reflections of that nature, when they find themselves assailed by
temptations and persecutions.

21. Let us go back to what I was saying.  The great source of our
deliverance from the cunning devices and the sweetness which
Satan sends is to begin with a resolution to walk in the way of
the Cross from the very first, and not to desire any sweetness at
all, seeing that our Lord Himself has pointed out to us the way
of perfection, saying, "Take up thy cross and follow Me." [16]
He is our example; and whosoever follows His counsels only to
please Him has nothing to fear.  In the improvement which they
detect in themselves, they who do so will see that this is no
work of Satan and if they fall, they have a sign of the presence
of our Lord in their rising again at once.  They have other
signs, also, of which I am going to speak.

22. When it is the work of the Spirit of God, there is no
necessity for going about searching for reasons, on the strength
of which we may elicit acts of humility and of shame, because our
Lord Himself supplies them in a way very different from that by
which we could acquire them by our own poor reflections, which
are as nothing in comparison with that real humility arising out
of the light which our Lord here gives us, and which begets a
confusion of face that undoes us.  The knowledge with which God
supplies us, in order that we may know that of ourselves we have
no good in us, is perfectly apprehended--and the more perfectly,
the greater the graces.  It fills us with a great desire of
advancing in prayer, and of never giving it up, whatever troubles
may arise.  The soul offers to suffer everything.  A certain
security, joined with humility and fear concerning our salvation,
casts out servile fear at once from the soul, and in its place
plants a loyal fear [17] of more perfect growth. [18]  There is a
visible beginning of a love of God, utterly divested of all
self-interest, together with a longing after seasons of solitude,
in order to obtain a greater fruition of this good.

23. In short, not to weary myself, it is the beginning of all
good; the flowers have so thriven, that they are on the point of
budding.  And this the soul sees most clearly, and it is
impossible to persuade it now that God was not with it, till it
turns back upon itself, and beholds its own failings and
imperfections.  Then it fears for everything; and it is well it
should do so--though there are souls whom the certain conviction
that God is with them benefits more than all the fear they may
ever have.  If a soul love greatly, and is thankful naturally,
the remembrance of the mercies of God makes it turn to Him more
effectually than all the chastisements of hell it can ever
picture to itself--at least, it was so with me, though I am
so wicked.

24. As I shall speak at greater length of the signs of a good
spirit [19]--it has cost me much labour to be clear about them--I
do not treat of them here.  I believe, too, that, with the help
of God, I shall be able to speak somewhat to the point,
because--setting aside the experience I have had, and by which I
learned much--I have had the help of some most learned men and
persons of great holiness, whom we may reasonably believe in the
matter. Souls, therefore, are not to weary themselves so much as
I did, when, by the goodness of our Lord, they may have come to
this state.


1. See Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but ch. xxxii of the
old edition.

2. St. Matt. xvii. 4: "Bonum est nos hic esse."

3. See ch. xvii. § 6.

4. Ch. x. § 1.

5. Ch. xiv. §§ 3, 4.

6. Ch. x. § 9.

7. Ch. xviii. § 4, and ch. xxi. § 9.

8. § 3.

9. § 5.

10. Ch. x. § 1.

11. St. Luke xviii. 13: "Nolebat nec oculos ad coelum levare."

12. Ch. xii. § 5.

13. "Firmeza en la verdad."  Francisco de St. Thoma, in his
Medulla Mystica, p. 204, quoting this passage, has, "firmeza en
la voluntad."  Philip a SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic. p. 354,
and his Abbreviator, Anton. a Sp. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iv.
disp. i. § 11, n. 94, seem also to have preferred "voluntad" to
"verdad;" for the words they use are, "nec intellectui lux nec
voluntati firmitas;" and, "defectus lucis in intellectu, et
firmitatis in voluntate."

14. Ch. xi. § 16.

15. Ch. xiii. § 23.

16. St. Matt. xvi. 24: "Tollat crucem suam et sequatur Me."

17. "Fiel temor."  In the previous editions it was filial.

18. Ch. xi. § 1.

19. See ch. xxv.



Chapter XVI.


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


1. Let us now speak of the third water wherewith this garden is
watered,--water running from a river or from a brook,--whereby
the garden is watered with very much less trouble, although there
is some in directing the water. [1]  In this state our Lord will
help the gardener, and in such a way as to be, as it were, the
Gardener Himself, doing all the work.  It is a sleep of the
powers of the soul, which are not wholly lost, nor yet
understanding how they are at work.  The pleasure, sweetness, and
delight are incomparably greater than in the former state of
prayer; and the reason is, that the waters of grace have risen up
to the neck of the soul, so that it can neither advance nor
retreat--nor does it know how to do so; it seeks only the
fruition of exceeding bliss.  It is like a dying man with the
candle in his hand, on the point of dying the death desired.
It is rejoicing in this agony with unutterable joy; to me it
seems to be nothing else but a death, as it were, to all the
things of this world, and a fruition of God.  I know of no other
words whereby to describe it or to explain it; neither does the
soul then know what to do,--for it knows not whether to speak or
be silent, whether it should laugh or weep.  It is a glorious
folly, a heavenly madness, wherein true wisdom is acquired; and
to the soul a kind of fruition most full of delight. [2]

2. It is now some five or six years, I believe, since our Lord
raised me to this state of prayer, in its fulness, and that more
than once,--and I never understood it, and never could explain
it; and so I was resolved, when I should come thus far in my
story, to say very little or nothing at all.  I knew well enough
that it was not altogether the union of all the faculties, and
yet most certainly it was higher than the previous state of
prayer; but I confess that I could not determine and understand
the difference.

3. The humility of your reverence, willing to be helped by a
simplicity so great as mine, has been the cause, I believe, why
our Lord, to-day, after Communion, admitted me to this state of
prayer, without the power of going further, and suggested to me
these comparisons, and taught me how to speak of it, and of what
the soul must do therein.  Certainly, I was amazed, and in a
moment understood it all.  I have often been thus, as it were,
beside myself, drunk with love, and yet never could understand
how it was.  I knew well that it was the work of God, but I never
was able to understand the manner of His working here; for, in
fact, the faculties are almost all completely in union, yet not
so absorbed that they do not act.  I have been singularly
delighted in that I have been able to comprehend the matter at
last.  Blessed be our Lord, who has thus consoled me!

4. The faculties of the soul now retain only the power of
occupying themselves wholly with God; not one of them ventures to
stir, neither can we move one of them without making great
efforts to distract ourselves--and, indeed, I do not think we can
do it at all at this time.  Many words are then uttered in praise
of God--but disorderly, unless it be that our Lord orders them
himself.  At least, the understanding is utterly powerless here;
the soul longs to send forth words of praise, but it has no
control over itself,--it is in a state of sweet restlessness.
The flowers are already opening; they are beginning to send forth
their fragrance.

5. The soul in this state would have all men behold and know of
its bliss, to the praise of God, and help it to praise Him.
It would have them to be partakers of its joy; for its joy is
greater than it can bear.  It seems to me that it is like the
woman in the Gospel, who would, or used to, call in her
neighbours. [3]  The admirable spirit of David, the royal
prophet, must have felt in the same way, so it seems to me, when
he played on the harp, singing the praises of God.  I have a very
great devotion to this glorious king; [4] and I wish all had it,
particularly those who are sinners like myself.

6. O my God, what must that soul be when it is in this state?
It wishes it were all tongue, in order that it may praise our
Lord. It utters a thousand holy follies, striving continually to
please Him by whom it is thus possessed.  I know one [5] who,
though she was no poet, yet composed, without any preparation,
certain stanzas, full of feeling, most expressive of her pain:
they were not the work of her own understanding; but, in order to
have a greater fruition of that bliss which so sweet a pain
occasioned her, she complained of it in that way to God. She was
willing to be cut in pieces, soul and body, to show the delight
she felt in that pain.  To what torments could she be then
exposed, that would not be delicious to endure for her Lord?
She sees clearly that the martyrs did little or nothing, so far
as they were concerned, when they endured their tortures, because
the soul is well aware that its strength is derived from
another source.

7. But what will be its sufferings when it returns to the use of
the senses, to live in the world, and go back to the anxieties
and the fashions thereof?  I do not think that I have exaggerated
in any way, but rather have fallen short, in speaking of that
joy, which our Lord, of His good pleasure, gives to the soul in
this its exile.  Blessed for ever be Thou, O Lord! and may all
created things praise Thee for ever!

8. O my King, seeing that I am now, while writing this, still
under the power of this heavenly madness, an effect of Thy mercy
and goodness,--and it is a mercy I never deserved,--grant, I
beseech Thee, that all those with whom I may have to converse may
become mad through Thy love, or let me converse with none, or so
order it that I may have nothing to do in the world, or take me
away from it.  This Thy servant, O my God, is no longer able to
endure sufferings so great as those are which she must bear when
she sees herself without Thee if she must live, she seeks no
repose in this life,--and do Thou give her none.  This my soul
longs to be free--eating is killing it, and sleep is wearisome;
it sees itself wasting the time of this life in comforts, and
that there is no comfort for it now but in Thee; it seems to be
living contrary to nature--for now, it desires to live not in
itself, but in Thee.

9. O my true Lord and my happiness! what a cross hast Thou
prepared for those who attain to this state!--light and most
heavy at the same time: light, because sweet; heavy, because now
and then there is no patience left to endure it--and yet the soul
never wishes to be delivered from it, unless it be that it may
come to Thee.  When the soul remembers that it has never served
Thee at all, and that by living on it may do Thee some service,
it longs for a still heavier cross, and never to die before the
end of the world.  Its own repose it counts as nothing in
comparison with doing a slight service to Thee.  It knows not
what to desire; but it clearly understands that it desires
nothing else but Thee.

10. O my son, [6] so humble is he to whom this writing is
directed, and who has commanded me to write, that he suffers
himself to be thus addressed,--you, my father, only must see
these things, in which I seem to have transgressed all bounds;
for no reason can keep me reasonable when our Lord draws me out
of myself.  Since my communion this morning, [7] I do not believe
that I am the person who is speaking; I seem to be dreaming the
things I see, and I wish I might never see any but people ill, as
I am now.  I beseech you, my father, let us all be mad, for the
love of Him who for our sakes suffered men to say of Him that He
was mad. [8]

11. You, my father, say that you wish me well.  I wish you would
prove it by disposing yourself so that God may bestow this grace
upon you; for I see very few people who have not too much sense
for everything they have to do: and it may be that I have more
than anybody else.  Your reverence must not allow it; you are my
father, for you are my confessor, and the person to whom I have
trusted my soul; disperse my delusions by telling the truth; for
truths of this sort are very rarely told.

12. I wish we five, who now love one another in our Lord, had
made some such arrangement as this: as others in these times have
met together in secret [9] to plot wickedness and heresies
against His Majesty, so we might contrive to meet together now
and then, in order to undeceive one another, to tell each other
wherein we might improve ourselves, and be more pleasing unto
God; for there is no one that knows himself as well as he is
known of others who see him, if it be with eyes of love and the
wish to do him good. I say; in secret; for language of this kind
is no longer in use; even preachers go about arranging their
sermons so as to displease no one. [10]  They have a good
intention, and their work is good; yet still few amend their
lives.  But how is it that they are not many who, in consequence
of these sermons, abstain from public sins?  Well, I think it is
because the preachers are highly sensible men.  They are not
burning with the great fire of the love of God, as the Apostles
were, casting worldly prudence aside; and so their fire throws
out but little heat.  I do not say that their fire ought to burn
like that of the Apostles, but I do wish it were a stronger fire
than I see it is.  Do you, my father, know wherein much of this
fire consists?  In the hatred of this life, in the desertion of
its honours, in being utterly indifferent whether we lose or gain
anything or everything, provided the truth be told and maintained
for the glory of God; for he who is courageously in earnest for
God, looks upon loss or gain indifferently.  I do not say that I
am a person of this kind, but I wish I was.

13. Oh, grand freedom, to regard it as a captivity to be obliged
to live and converse with men according to the laws of the world!
It is the gift of our Lord; there is not a slave who would not
imperil everything that he might escape and return to his
country; and as this is the true road, there is no reason why we
should linger; for we shall never effectually gain a treasure so
great, so long as this life is not ended.  May our Lord give us
His grace for that end!  You, my father, if it shall seem good to
you, will tear up what I have written, and consider it as a
letter for yourself alone, and forgive me that I have been
very bold.


1. "The third degree, or third water, of the Saint, must begin, I
think, with the prayer of infused recollection, include that of
infused quiet, and end in that of inebriation; because it is not
in our power to draw this water--all we can do is to direct the
stream." (Francis. de St. Thoma, Medulla Mystica,
tr. iv. ch. xii. p. 208).

2. See St. John of the Cross, Spirit. Canticle, stanza
xvii. vol. ii. p. 98, Engl. trans.

3. St. Luke xv. 9: "Convocat amicas et vicinas."

4. Foundations, ch. xxix. § 9.

5. The Saint herself (De la Fuente).

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

7. See § 3, above.

8. St. John x. 20: "Dæmonium habet et insanit."

9. The Saint refers to the secret meetings of heretics in
Valladolid, under the direction of a fallen priest, the Doctor
Agostino Cazalla, whose vanity led him to imitate Luther.
Some nuns in Valladolid were imprisoned, Cazalla strangled, and
his body burnt, in 1559 (De la Fuente).

10. Father Bañes wrote here on the margin of the Saint's MS,
"Legant prædicatores" (De la Fuente).



Chapter XVII.


The Third State of Prayer.  The Effects Thereof.  The Hindrance
Caused by the Imagination and the Memory.


1. Enough has been said of this manner of prayer, and of what the
soul has to do, or rather, to speak more correctly, of what God
is doing within it; for it is He who now takes upon Himself the
gardener's work, and who will have the soul take its ease; except
that the will is consenting to the graces, the fruition of which
it has, and that it must resign itself to all that the True
Wisdom would accomplish in it--for which it is certain it has
need of courage; because the joy is so great, that the soul seems
now and then to be on the very point of going forth out of the
body: and what a blessed death that would be!  Now, I think it is
for the soul's good--as you, my father, have been told--to
abandon itself into the arms of God altogether; if He will take
it to heaven, let it go; if to hell, no matter, as it is going
thither with its sovereign Good.  If life is to come to an end
for ever, so it wills; if it is to last a thousand years, it
wills that also: His Majesty may do with it as with His own
property,--the soul no longer belongs to itself, it has been
given wholly to our Lord; let it cast all care utterly away.

2. My meaning is that, in a state of prayer, so high as this, the
soul understands that God is doing His work without any fatiguing
of the understanding, except that, as it seems to me, it is as if
amazed in beholding our Lord taking upon Himself the work of the
good gardener, refusing to let the soul undergo any labour
whatever, but that of taking its pleasure in the flowers
beginning to send forth their fragrance; for when God raises a
soul up to this state, it can do all this, and much more,--for
these are the effects of it.

3. In one of these visits, how brief soever it may be, the
Gardener, being who He is,--in a word, the Creator of the
water,--pours the water without stint; and what the poor soul,
with the labour, perhaps, of twenty years in fatiguing the
understanding, could not bring about, that the heavenly Gardener
accomplishes in an instant, causing the fruit both to grow and
ripen; so that the soul, such being the will of our Lord, may
derive its sustenance from its garden.  But He allows it not to
divide the fruit with others, until by eating thereof, it is
strong enough not to waste it in the mere tasting of it,--giving
to Him none of the produce, nor making any compensation for it to
Him who supplies it,--lest it should be maintaining others,
feeding them at its own cost, and itself perhaps dying of
hunger. [1]  The meaning of this is perfectly clear for those who
have understanding enough to apply it--much more clear than I can
make it; and I am tired.

4. Finally, the virtues are now stronger than they were during
the preceding prayer of quiet; for the soul sees itself to be
other than it was, and it knows not how it is beginning to do
great things in the odour which the flowers send forth; it being
our Lord's will that the flowers should open, in order that the
soul may believe itself to be in possession of virtue; though it
sees most clearly that it cannot, and never could, acquire them
in many years, and that the heavenly Gardener has given them to
it in that instant.  Now, too, the humility of the soul is much
greater and deeper than it was before; because it sees more
clearly that it did neither much nor little, beyond giving its
consent that our Lord might work those graces in it, and then
accepting them willingly.

5. This state of prayer seems to me to be a most distinct union
of the whole soul with God, but for this, that His Majesty
appears to give the faculties leave to be intent upon, and have
the fruition of, the great work He is doing then.  It happens at
times, and indeed very often, that, the will being in union, the
soul should be aware of it, and see that the will is a captive
and in joy, that the will alone is abiding in great
peace,--while, on the other hand, the understanding and the
memory are so free, that they can be employed in affairs and be
occupied in works of charity.  I say this, that you, my father,
may see it is so, and understand the matter when it shall happen
to yourself; at least, it carried me out of myself, and that is
the reason why I speak of it here.

6. It differs from the prayer of quiet, of which I have
spoken, [2] though it does seem as if it were all one with it.
In that prayer, the soul, which would willingly neither stir nor
move, is delighting in the holy repose of Mary; but in this
prayer it can be like Martha also. [3]  Accordingly, the soul is,
as it were, living the active and contemplative life at once, and
is able to apply itself to works of charity and the affairs of
its state, and to spiritual reading.  Still, those who arrive at
this state, are not wholly masters of themselves, and are well
aware that the better part of the soul is elsewhere.  It is as if
we were speaking to one person, and another speaking to us at the
same time, while we ourselves are not perfectly attentive either
to the one or the other.  It is a state that is most easily
ascertained, and one, when attained to, that ministers great joy
and contentment, and that prepares the soul in the highest
degree, by observing times of solitude, or of freedom from
business, for the attainment of the most tranquil quietude.
It is like the life of a man who is full, requiring no food, with
his appetite satisfied, so that he will not eat of everything set
before him, yet not so full either as to refuse to eat if he saw
any desirable food.  So the soul has no satisfaction in the
world, and seeks no pleasure in it then; because it has in itself
that which gives it a greater satisfaction, greater joys in God,
longings for the satisfaction of its longing to have a deeper joy
in being with Him--this is what the soul seeks.

7. There is another kind of union, which, though not a perfect
union, is yet more so than the one of which I have just spoken;
but not so much so as this spoken of as the third water. You, my
father, will be delighted greatly if our Lord should bestow them
all upon you, if you have them not already, to find an account of
the matter in writing, and to understand it; for it is one grace
that our Lord gives grace; and it is another grace to understand
what grace and what gift it is; and it is another and further
grace to have the power to describe and explain it to others.
Though it does not seem that more than the first of these--the
giving of the grace--is necessary to enable the soul to advance
without confusion and fear, and to walk with the greater courage
in the way of our Lord, trampling under foot all the things of
this world, it is a great advantage and a great grace to
understand it; for every one who has it has great reason to
praise our Lord; and so, also, has he who has it not: because His
Majesty has bestowed it upon some person living who is to make us
profit by it.

8. This union, of which I would now speak, frequently occurs,
particularly to myself.  God has very often bestowed such a grace
upon me, whereby He constrains the will, and even the
understanding, as it seems to me, seeing that it makes no
reflections, but is occupied in the fruition of God: like a
person who looks on, and sees so many things, that he knows not
where to look--one object puts another out of sight, and none of
them leaves any impression behind.

9. The memory remains free, and it must be so, together with the
imagination; and so, when it finds itself alone, it is marvellous
to behold what war it makes on the soul, and how it labours to
throw everything into disorder.  As for me, I am wearied by it,
and I hate it; and very often do I implore our Lord to deprive me
of it on these occasions, if I am to be so much troubled by it.
Now and then, I say to Him: O my God, when shall my soul praise
Thee without distraction, not dissipated in this way, unable to
control itself!  I understand now the mischief that sin has done,
in that it has rendered us unable to do what we desire--to be
always occupied in God. [4]

10. I say that it happens to me from time to time,--it has done
so this very day, and so I remember it well,--to see my soul tear
itself, in order to find itself there where the greater part of
it is, and to see, at the same time, that it is impossible:
because the memory and the imagination assail it with such force,
that it cannot prevail against them; yet, as the other faculties
give them no assistance, they are not able to do it any
harm--none whatever; they do enough when they trouble its rest.
When I say they do no harm, my meaning is, that they cannot
really hurt it, because they have not strength enough, and
because they are too discursive.  As the understanding gives no
help, neither much nor little, in the matters put before the
soul, they never rest anywhere, but hurry to and fro, like
nothing else but gnats at night, troublesome and unquiet: and so
they go about from one subject to another.

11. This comparison seems to me to be singularly to the purpose;
for the memory and the imagination, though they have no power to
do any harm, are very troublesome.  I know of no remedy for it;
and, hitherto, God has told me of none.  If He had, most gladly
would I make use of it; for I am, as I say, tormented very often.
This shows our wretchedness and brings out most distinctly the
great power of God, seeing that the faculty which is free hurts
and wearies us so much; while the others, occupied with His
Majesty, give us rest.

12. The only remedy I have found, after many years of weariness,
is that I spoke of when I was describing the prayer of quiet: [5]
to make no more account of it than of a madman, but let it go
with its subject; for God alone can take it from it,--in short,
it is a slave here.  We must bear patiently with it, as Jacob
bore with Lia; for our Lord showeth us mercy enough when we are
allowed to have Rachel with us.

13. I say that it remains a slave; for, after all, let it do what
it will, it cannot drag the other faculties in its train; on the
contrary, they, without taking any trouble, compel it to follow
after them.  Sometimes God is pleased to take pity on it, when He
sees it so lost and so unquiet, through the longing it has to be
united with the other faculties, and His Majesty consents to its
burning itself in the flame of that divine candle by which the
others are already reduced to ashes, and their nature lost,
being, as it were, supernaturally in the fruition of blessings
so great.

14. In all these states of prayer of which I have spoken, while
explaining this last method of drawing the water out of the well,
so great is the bliss and repose of the soul, that even the body
most distinctly shares in its joy and delight,--and this is most
plain; and the virtues continue to grow, as I said before. [6]
It seems to have been the good pleasure of our Lord to explain
these states of prayer, wherein the soul finds itself, with the
utmost clearness possible, I think, here on earth.

15. Do you, my father, discuss it with any spiritual person who
has arrived at this state, and is learned. If  he says of it, it
is well, you may believe that God has spoken it, and you will
give thanks to His Majesty; for, as I said just now, [7] in the
course of time you will rejoice greatly in that you have
understood it.  Meanwhile, if He does not allow you to understand
what it is, though He does give you the possession of it, yet,
with your intellect and learning, seeing that His Majesty has
given you the first, you will know what it is, by the help of
what I have written here.  Unto Him be praise for ever and
ever!  Amen.


1. See ch. xix. § 4.

2. Ch. xv. § 1.

3. See Relation, viii. § 6; and Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but
ch xxxi. of former editions.  See also Concept. of the Love of
God, ch. vii.

4. See Relation, viii. § 17.

5. Ch. xiv. § 4.  See also Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but
ch. xxxi. of the old editions.

6. Ch. xiv. § 6.

7. § 7.



Chapter XVIII.


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


1. May our Lord teach me words whereby I may in some measure
describe the fourth water. [1]  I have great need of His
help--even more than I had while speaking of the last; for in
that the soul still feels that it is not dead altogether.  We may
thus speak, seeing that to the world it is really dead.  But, as
I have said, [2] it retains the sense to see that it is in the
world, and to feel its own loneliness; and it makes use of that
which is outward for the purpose of manifesting its feelings, at
least by signs.  In the whole of the prayer already spoken of,
and in all the states of it, the gardener undergoes some labour:
though in the later states the labour is attended with so much
bliss and comfort of the soul, that the soul would never
willingly pass out of it,--and thus the labour is not felt as
labour, but as bliss.

2. In this the fourth state there is no sense of anything, only
fruition, without understanding what that is the fruition of
which is granted.  It is understood that the fruition is of a
certain good containing in itself all good together at once; but
this good is not comprehended.  The senses are all occupied in
this fruition in such a way that not one of them is at liberty,
so as to be able to attend to anything else, whether outward
or inward.

3. The senses were permitted before, as I have said, [3] to give
some signs of the great joy they feel; but now, in this state,
the joy of the soul is incomparably greater, and the power of
showing it is still less; for there is no power in the body, and
the soul has none, whereby this fruition can be made known.
Everything of that kind would be a great hindrance, a torment,
and a disturbance of its rest.  And I say, if it really be a
union of all the faculties, that the soul, even if it wished,--I
mean, when it is in union,--cannot make it known; and if it can,
then it is not union at all.

4. How this, which we call union, is effected, and what it is, I
cannot tell.  Mystical theology explains it, and I do not know
the terms of that science; nor can I understand what the mind is,
nor how it differs from the soul or the spirit either: all three
seem to me but one; though I do know that the soul sometimes
leaps forth out of itself, like a fire that is burning and is
become a flame; and occasionally this fire increases
violently--the flame ascends high above the fire; but it is not
therefore a different thing: it is still the same flame of the
same fire.  Your learning, my fathers, will enable you to
understand the matter; I can go no further.

5. What I undertake to explain is that which the soul feels when
it is in the divine union.  It is plain enough what union is--two
distinct things becoming one.  O my Lord, how good Thou art!
Blessed be Thou for ever, O my God!  Let all creatures praise
Thee, Who hast so loved us that we can truly speak of this
communication which Thou hast with souls in this our exile!
Yea, even if they be good souls, it is on Thy part great
munificence and magnanimity,--in a word, it is Thy munificence, O
my Lord, seeing that Thou givest like Thyself.  O infinite
Munificence!--how magnificent are Thy works!  Even he whose
understanding is not occupied with the things of earth is amazed
that he is unable to understand these truths.  Why, then, give
graces so high to souls who have been such great sinners?
Truly, this passeth my understanding; and when I come to think of
it, I can get no further.  Is there any way at all for me to go
on which is not a going back?  For, as to giving Thee thanks for
mercies so great, I know not how to do it.  Sometimes I relieve
myself by giving utterance to follies.  It often happens to me,
either when I receive these graces, or when God is about to
bestow them,--for, in the midst of them, I have already said, [4]
I was able to do nothing,--that I would break out into words
like these.

6. O Lord, consider what Thou art doing; forget not so soon the
great evils that I have done.  To forgive me, Thou must already
have forgotten them; yet, in order that there may be some limit
to Thy graces, I beseech Thee remember them.  O my Creator, pour
not a liquor so precious into a vessel so broken; for Thou hast
already seen how on other occasions I allowed it to run waste.
Lay not up treasure like this, where the longing after the
consolations of this life is not so mortified as it ought to be;
for it will be utterly lost.  How canst Thou commit the defence
of the city, and the keys of its fortress to a commander so
cowardly, who at the first assault will let the enemy enter
within?  Oh, let not Thy love be so great, O King Eternal, as to
imperil jewels so precious!  O my Lord, to me it seems that it
becomes a ground for undervaluing them, when Thou puttest them in
the power of one so wretched, so vile, so frail, so miserable,
and so worthless as I am, who, though she may labour not to lose
them, by the help of Thy grace,--and I have need of no little
grace for that end, being what I am,--is not able to win over any
one to Thee,--in short, I am a woman, not good, but wicked.
It seems to me that the talents are not only hidden, but buried,
when they are committed to earth so vile.  It is not Thy wont, O
Lord, to bestow graces and mercies like these upon a soul, unless
it be that it may edify many.

7. Thou, O my God, knowest already that I beg this of Thee with
my whole will, from the bottom of my heart, and that I have done
so more than once, and I account it a blessing to lose the
greatest blessings which may be had on earth, if Thou wouldst but
bestow these graces upon him who will make a better use of them
to the increase of Thy glory.  These, and expressions like these,
it has happened to me often to utter.  I saw afterwards my own
foolishness and want of humility; for our Lord knoweth well what
is expedient, and that there is no strength in my soul to be
saved, if His Majesty did not give it with graces so great.

8. I purpose also to speak of the graces and effects which abide
in the soul, and of that which the soul itself can do, or rather,
if it can do anything of itself towards attaining to a state so
high.  The elevation of the spirit, or union, comes together with
heavenly love but, as I understand it, union is a different thing
from elevation in union itself.  To him who may not have had any
experience of the latter, it must seem that it is not; and,
according to my view of it, even if they are both one, the
operations of our Lord therein are different: there is a growth
of the soul's detachment from creatures more abundantly still in
the flight of the spirit. [5]  I have clearly seen that this is a
particular grace, though, as I say, it may be the same, or seem
to be so, with the other; but a little fire, also, is as much
fire as a great fire--and yet there is a visible difference
between them.  Before a small piece of iron is made red-hot in a
little fire, some time must pass; but if the fire be great, the
iron very quickly, though bulky, loses its nature altogether
in appearance.

9. So, it seems to me, is it with these two kinds of graces which
our Lord bestows.  He who has had raptures will, I am sure,
understand it well; to him who has not had that experience, it
must appear folly.  And, indeed, it may well be so; for if a
person like myself should speak of a matter of this kind, and
give any explanation at all of that for the description of which
no words ever can possibly be found, it is not to be wondered at
that I may be speaking foolishly.

10. But I have this confidence in our Lord, that He will help me
here; for His Majesty knoweth that my object in writing--the
first is to obey--is to inspire souls with a longing after so
high a good.  I will speak of nothing that I do not know by great
experience: and so, when I began to describe the last kind of
water, I thought it more impossible for me to speak of it at all
than to speak Greek.  It is a very difficult matter; so I left
it, and went to Communion.  Blessed be our Lord, who is merciful
to the ignorant!  Oh, virtue of obedience! it can do everything!
God enlightened my understanding--at one time suggesting the
words, at another showing me how to use them; for, as in the
preceding state of prayer, so also now, His Majesty seems to
utter what I can neither speak nor understand. [6]

11. What I am saying is the simple truth; and therefore whatever
is good herein is His teaching; what is erroneous, clearly comes
out of that sea of evil--myself.  If there be any--and there must
be many--who, having attained to these states of prayer whereunto
our Lord in His mercy has brought me--wretch that I am!--and who,
thinking they have missed their way, desire to treat of these
matters with me, I am sure that our Lord will help His servant to
declare the truth more plainly.

12. I am now speaking of the water which cometh down from heaven
to fill and saturate in its abundance the whole of this garden
with water.  If our Lord never ceased to pour it down whenever it
was necessary, the gardener certainly would have plenty of rest;
and if there were no winter, but an ever temperate season, fruits
and flowers would never fail.  The gardener would have his
delight therein; but in this life that is impossible.  We must
always be careful, when one water fails, to obtain another.
This water from heaven comes down very often when the gardener
least expects it.

13. The truth is that, in the beginning, this almost always
happens after much mental prayer.  Our Lord advances step by step
to lay hold of the little bird, and to lay it in the nest where
it may repose.  He observed it fluttering for a long time,
striving with the understanding and the will, and with all its
might, to seek God and to please Him; so now it is His pleasure
to reward it even in this life.  And what a reward!--one moment
is enough to repay all the possible trials of this life.

14. The soul, while thus seeking after God, is conscious, with a
joy excessive and sweet, that it is, as it were, utterly fainting
away in a kind of trance: breathing, and all the bodily strength,
fail it, so that it cannot even move the hands without great
pain; the eyes close involuntarily, and if they are open, they
are as if they saw nothing; nor is reading possible,--the very
letters seem strange, and cannot be distinguished,--the letters,
indeed, are visible, but, as the understanding furnishes no help,
all reading is impracticable, though seriously attempted.
The ear hears; but what is heard is not comprehended.  The senses
are of no use whatever, except to hinder the soul's fruition; and
so they rather hurt it.  It is useless to try to speak, because
it is not possible to conceive a word; nor, if it were conceived,
is there strength sufficient to utter it; for all bodily strength
vanishes, and that of the soul increases, to enable it the better
to have the fruition of its joy.  Great and most perceptible,
also, is the outward joy now felt.

15. This prayer, however long it may last, does no harm--at
least, it has never done any to me; nor do I remember, however
ill I might have been when our Lord had mercy upon me in this
way, that I ever felt the worse for it--on the contrary, I was
always better afterwards.  But so great a blessing, what harm can
it do?  The outward effects are so plain as to leave no doubt
possible that there must have been some great cause, seeing that
it thus robs us of our bodily powers with so much joy, in order
to leave them greater.

16. The truth is, it passes away so quickly in the beginning--at
least, so it was with me--that neither by the outward signs, nor
by the failure of the senses, can it be perceived when it passes
so quickly away.  But it is plain, from the overflowing abundance
of grace, that the brightness of the sun which had shone there
must have been great, seeing that it has thus made the soul to
melt away.  And this is to be considered; for, as it seems to me,
the period of time, however long it may have been, during which
the faculties of the soul were entranced, is very short; if half
an hour, that would be a long time.  I do not think that I have
ever been so long. [7]  The truth of the matter is this: it is
extremely difficult to know how long, because the senses are in
suspense; but I think that at any time it cannot be very long
before some one of the faculties recovers itself.  It is the will
that persists in the work; the other two faculties quickly begin
to molest it.  As the will is calm, it entrances them again; they
are quiet for another moment, and then they recover themselves
once more.

17. In this way, some hours may be, and are, passed in prayer;
for when the two faculties begin to drink deep, and to perceive
the taste of this divine wine, they give themselves up with great
readiness, in order to be the more absorbed: they follow the
will, and the three rejoice together.  But this state of complete
absorption, together with the utter rest of the imagination,--for
I believe that even the imagination is then wholly at
rest,--lasts only for a short time; though the faculties do not
so completely recover themselves as not to be for some hours
afterwards as if in disorder: God, from time to time, drawing
them to Himself.

18. Let us now come to that which the soul feels interiorly.
Let him describe it who knows it; for as it is impossible to
understand it, much more is it so to describe it.  When I
purposed to write this, I had just communicated, and had risen
from the very prayer of which I am speaking.  I am thinking of
what the soul was then doing.  Our Lord said to me: It undoes
itself utterly, My daughter, in order that it may give itself
more and more to Me: it is not itself that then lives, it is I.
As it cannot comprehend what it understands, it understands by
not understanding. [8]

19. He who has had experience of this will understand it in some
measure, for it cannot be more clearly described, because what
then takes place is so obscure.  All I am able to say is, that
the soul is represented as being close to God; and that there
abides a conviction thereof so certain and strong, that it cannot
possibly help believing so.  All the faculties fail now, and are
suspended in such a way that, as I said before, [9] their
operations cannot be traced.  If the soul is making a meditation
on any subject, the memory of it is lost at once, just as if it
had never been thought of.  If it reads, what is read is not
remembered nor dwelt upon; neither is it otherwise with vocal
prayer.  Accordingly, the restless little butterfly of the memory
has its wings burnt now, and it cannot fly.  The will must be
fully occupied in loving, but it understands not how it loves;
the understanding, if it understands, does not understand how it
understands--at least, it can comprehend nothing of that it
understands: it does not understand, as it seems to me, because,
as I said just now, this cannot be understood.  I do not
understand it at all myself.

20. In the beginning, it happened to me that I was ignorant of
one thing--I did not know that God was in all things: [10] and
when He seemed to me to be so near, I thought it impossible.
Not to believe that He was present, was not in my power; for it
seemed to me, as it were, evident that I felt there His very
presence.  Some unlearned men used to say to me, that He was
present only by His grace.  I could not believe that, because, as
I am saying, He seemed to me to be present Himself: so I was
distressed.  A most learned man, of the Order of the glorious
Patriarch St. Dominic, delivered me from this doubt; for he told
me that He was present, and how He communed with us: this was a
great comfort to me.

21. It is to be observed and understood that this water from
heaven,--this greatest grace of our Lord--always leaves in the
soul the greatest fruits, as I shall now show.

1. See ch. xi. § 11.

2. Ch. xvi. §§ 7, 8.

3. Ch. xvii. § 5.

4. § 3.

5. See ch. xx. § 10; and Relation, viii. § 10.

6. See ch. xiv. § 12.

7. See Anton. a Sp. Sancto, Director. Mystic. tr. iv. § 9, n. 72.

8. Thomas à Jesu, De Contemplatione Divina, lib. v. c. xiii.:
"Quasi dicat: cum intellectus non possit Dei immensam illam
claritatem et incomprehensibilem plenitudinem comprehendere, hoc
ipsum est illam conspicere ac intelligere, intelligere se non
posse intellectu cognoscere: quod quidem nihil aliud est quam
Deum sub ratione incomprehensibilitatis videre ac cognoscere."

Philip. à SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic. Disc. Proem. art.
iv. p. 6: "Cum ipsa [S. Teresa] scire vellet, quid in illa
mystica unione operaretur intellectus, respondit [Christus] illi,
cum non possit comprehendere quod intelligit, est non intelligere
intelligendo: tum quia præ claritate nimia quodammodo offuscatur
intellectus, unde præ altissima et supereminentissima Dei
cognitione videtur anima potius Deum ignorare quam cognoscere."

9. Ch. x. § 1, and ch. xviii. § 16.

10. See Inner Fortress, v. ch. i. § 11.



Chapter XIX.


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


1. There remains in the soul, when the prayer of union is over,
an exceedingly great tenderness; so much so, that it would undo
itself--not from pain, but through tears of joy it finds itself
bathed therein, without being aware of it, and it knows not how
or when it wept them.  But to behold the violence of the fire
subdued by the water, which yet makes it burn the more, gives it
great delight.  It seems as if I were speaking an unknown
language.  So it is, however.

2. It has happened to me occasionally, when this prayer was over,
to be so beside myself as not to know whether I had been
dreaming, or whether the bliss I felt had really been mine; and,
on finding myself in a flood of tears--which had painlessly
flowed, with such violence and rapidity that it seemed as if a
cloud from heaven [1] had shed them--to perceive that it was no
dream.  Thus it was with me in the beginning, when it passed
quickly away.  The soul remains possessed of so much courage,
that if it were now hewn in pieces for God, it would be a great
consolation to it.  This is the time of resolutions, of heroic
determinations, of the living energy of good desires, of the
beginning of hatred of the world, and of the most clear
perception of its vanity.  The soul makes greater and higher
progress than it ever made before in the previous states of
prayer; and grows in humility more and more, because it sees
clearly that neither for obtaining nor for retaining this grace,
great beyond all measure, has it ever done, or ever been able to
do, anything of itself. It looks upon itself as most
unworthy--for in a room into which the sunlight enters strongly,
not a cobweb can be hid; it sees its own misery; self-conceit is
so far away, that it seems as if it never could have had any--for
now its own eyes behold how very little it could ever do, or
rather, that it never did anything, that it hardly gave even its
own consent, but that it rather seemed as if the doors of the
senses were closed against its will in order that it might have
more abundantly the fruition of our Lord.  It is abiding alone
with Him: what has it to do but to love Him?  It neither sees nor
hears, unless on compulsion: no thanks to it.  Its past life
stands before it then, together with the great mercy of God, in
great distinctness; and it is not necessary for it to go forth to
hunt with the understanding, because what it has to eat and
ruminate upon, it sees now ready prepared.  It sees, so far as
itself is concerned, that it has deserved hell, and that its
punishment is bliss.  It undoes itself in the praises of God, and
I would gladly undo myself now.

3. Blessed be Thou, O my Lord, who, out of a pool so filthy as I
am, bringest forth water so clean as to be meet for Thy table!
Praised be Thou, O Joy of the Angels, who hast been thus pleased
to exalt so vile a worm!

4. The good effects of this prayer abide in the soul for some
time.  Now that it clearly apprehends that the fruit is not its
own, the soul can begin to share it with others, and that without
any loss to itself.  It begins to show signs of its being a soul
that is guarding the treasures of heaven, and to be desirous of
communicating them to others, [2] and to pray to God that itself
may not be the only soul that is rich in them.  It begins to
benefit its neighbours, as it were, without being aware of it, or
doing anything consciously: its neighbours understand the matter,
because the odour of the flowers has grown so strong as to make
them eager to approach them.  They understand that this soul is
full of virtue: they see the fruit, how delicious it is, and they
wish to help that soul to eat it.

5. If this ground be well dug by troubles, by persecutions,
detractions, and infirmities,--they are few who ascend so high
without this,--if it be well broken up by great detachment from
all self-interest, it will drink in so much water that it can
hardly ever be parched again.  But if it be ground which is mere
waste, and covered with thorns (as I was when I began); if the
occasions of sin be not avoided; if it be an ungrateful soil,
unfitted for so great a grace,--it will be parched up again.
If the gardener become careless,--and if our Lord, out of His
mere goodness, will not send down rain upon it,--the garden is
ruined. Thus has it been with me more than once, so that I am
amazed at it; and if I had not found it so by experience, I could
not have believed it.

6. I write this for the comfort of souls which are weak, as I am,
that they may never despair, nor cease to trust in the power of
God; even if they should fall after our Lord has raised them to
so high a degree of prayer as this is, they must not be
discouraged, unless they would lose themselves utterly.
Tears gain everything, and one drop of water attracts another.

7. One of the reasons that move me, who am what I am, under
obedience to write this, and give an account of my wretched life,
and of the graces our Lord has wrought in me,--though I never
served Him, but offended Him rather,--is what I have just given:
and, certainly, I wish I was a person of great authority, that
people might believe what I say.  I pray to our Lord that His
Majesty would be pleased to grant me this grace.  I repeat it,
let no one who has begun to give himself to prayer be
discouraged, and say: If I fall into sin, it will be worse for me
if I go on now with the practice of prayer.  I think so too, if
he gives up prayer, and does not correct his evil ways; but if he
does not give up prayer, let him be assured of this--prayer will
bring him to the haven of light.

8. In this the devil turned his batteries against me, and I
suffered so much because I thought it showed but little humility
if I persevered in prayer when I was so wicked, that--as I have
already said [3]--I gave it up for a year and a half--at least,
for a year, but I do not remember distinctly the other six
months.  This could not have been, neither was it, anything else
but to throw myself down into hell; there was no need of any
devils to drag me thither.  O my God, was there ever blindness so
great as this?  How well Satan prepares his measures for his
purpose, when he pursues us in this way!  The traitor knows that
he has already lost that soul which perseveres in prayer, and
that every fall which he can bring about helps it, by the
goodness of God, to make greater progress in His service.
Satan has some interest in this.

9. O my Jesus, what a sight that must be--a soul so highly
exalted falling into sin, and raised up again by Thee; who, in
Thy mercy, stretchest forth Thine hand to save!  How such a soul
confesses Thy greatness and compassion and its own wretchedness!
It really looks on itself as nothingness, and confesses Thy
power.  It dares not lift up its eyes; it raises them, indeed,
but it is to acknowledge how much it oweth unto Thee.  It becomes
devout to the Queen of Heaven, that she may propitiate Thee; it
invokes the Saints, who fell after Thou hadst called them, for
succour.  Thou seemest now to be too bountiful in Thy gifts,
because it feels itself to be unworthy of the earth it treads on.
It has recourse to the Sacraments, to a quickened faith, which
abides in it at the contemplation of the power which Thou hast
lodged in them.  It praises Thee because Thou hast left us such
medicines and ointment for our wounds, which not only heal them
on the surface, but remove all traces whatever of them.

10. The soul is amazed at it.  Who is there, O Lord of my soul,
that is not amazed at compassion so great and mercy so
surpassing, after treason so foul and so hateful?  I know not how
it is that my heart does not break when I write this, for I am
wicked.  With these scanty tears which I am now weeping, but yet
Thy gift,--water out of a well, so far as it is mine, so
impure,--I seem to make Thee some recompense for treachery so
great as mine, in that I was always doing evil, labouring to make
void the graces Thou hast given me.  Do Thou, O Lord, make my
tears available; purify the water which is so muddy; at least,
let me not be to others a temptation to rash judgments, as I have
been to myself, when I used to think such thoughts as these.
Why, O Lord, dost Thou pass by most holy persons, who have always
served Thee, and who have been tried; who have been brought up in
religion, and are really religious--not such as I am, having only
the name--so as to make it plain that they are not recipients of
those graces which Thou hast bestowed upon me?

11. I see clearly now, O Thou my Good, Thou hast kept the reward
to give it them all at once: my weakness has need of these
succours.  They, being strong, serve Thee without them, and Thou
dealest with them as with a strong race, free from all
self-interest.  But yet Thou knowest, O my Lord, that I have
often cried unto Thee, making excuses for those who murmured
against me; for I thought they had reason on their side.  This I
did then when Thou of Thy goodness hadst kept me back from
offending Thee so much, and when I was departing from everything
which I thought displeasing unto Thee.  It was when I did this
that Thou, O Lord, didst begin to lay open Thy treasures for Thy
servant.  It seemed as if Thou wert looking for nothing else but
that I should be willing and ready to receive them; accordingly,
Thou didst begin at once, not only to give them, but also to make
others know that Thou wert giving them.

12. When this was known, there began to prevail a good opinion of
her, of whom all had not yet clearly understood how wicked she
was, though much of that wickedness was plain enough. Calumny and
persecution began at once, and, as I think, with good reason; so
I looked on none of them as an enemy, but made my supplications
to Thee, imploring Thee to consider the grounds they had.
They said that I wished to be a saint, and that I invented
novelties; but I had not then attained in many things even to the
observance of my rule; nor had I come near those excellent and
holy nuns who were in the house,--and I do not believe I ever
shall, if God of His goodness will not do that for me Himself; on
the contrary, I was there only to do away with what was good, and
introduce customs which were not good; at least, I did what I
could to bring them in, and I was very powerful for evil.
Thus it was that they were blameless, when they blamed me.  I do
not mean the nuns only, but the others as well: they told me
truths; for it was Thy will.

13. I was once saying the Office,--I had had this temptation for
some time,--and when I came to these words, "Justus es, Domine,
et rectum judicium tuum," [4] I began to think what a deep truth
it was.  Satan never was strong enough to tempt me in any way to
doubt of Thy goodness, or of any article of the faith: on the
contrary, it seems to me that the more these truths were above
nature, the more firmly I held them, and my devotion grew; when I
thought of Thy omnipotence, I accepted all Thy wonderful works,
and I say it again, I never had a doubt.  Then, as I was thinking
how it could be just in Thee to allow so many, who, as I said,
are Thy most faithful servants, to remain without those
consolations and graces which Thou hast given to me, who am what
I am, Thou, O my Lord, didst answer me: Serve thou Me, and meddle
not with this.

14. This was the first word which I ever heard Thee speak to me,
and it made me greatly afraid.  But as I shall speak
hereafter [5] of this way of hearing, and of other matters, I say
nothing here; for to do so would be to digress from my subject,
and I have already made digressions enough.  I scarcely know what
I have said, nor can it be otherwise; but you, my father, must
bear with these interruptions; for when I consider what God must
have borne with from me, and when I see the state I am in, it is
not strange that I should wander in what I am saying, and what I
have still to say.

15. May it please our Lord that my wanderings may be of this
kind, and may His Majesty never suffer me to have strength to
resist Him even in the least; yea, rather than that, may He
destroy me this moment.  It is evidence enough of His great
compassions, that He has forgiven so much ingratitude, not once,
but often.  He forgave St. Peter once; but I have been forgiven
many times.  Satan had good reasons for tempting me: I ought
never to have pretended to a strict friendship with One, my
hatred of whom I made so public.  Was there ever blindness so
great as mine?  Where could I think I should find help but in
Thee?  What folly to run away from the light, to be for ever
stumbling!  What a proud humility was that which Satan devised
for me, when I ceased to lean upon the pillar, and threw the
staff away which supported me, in order that my fall might not
be great! [6]

16. I make the sign of the cross this moment.  I do not think I
ever escaped so great a danger as this device of Satan, which he
would have imposed upon me in the disguise of humility. [7]
He filled me with such thoughts as these: How could I make my
prayer, who was so wicked, and yet had received so many mercies?
It was enough for me to recite the Office, as all others did; but
as I did not that much well, how could I desire to do more?
I was not reverential enough, and made too little of the mercies
of God.  There was no harm in these thoughts and feelings in
themselves; but to act upon them, that was an exceedingly great
wickedness.  Blessed be Thou, O Lord; for Thou camest to my help.
This seems to me to be in principle the temptation of Judas, only
that Satan did not dare to tempt me so openly.  But he might have
led me by little and little, as he led Judas, to the same pit
of destruction.

17. Let all those who give themselves to prayer, for the love of
God, look well to this.  They should know that when I was
neglecting it, my life was much worse than it had ever been; let
them reflect on the excellent help and the pleasant humility
which Satan provided for me: it was a grave interior disquietude.
But how could my spirit be quiet?  It was going away in its
misery from its true rest.  I remembered the graces and mercies I
had received, and felt that the joys of this world were
loathsome.  I am astonished that I was able to bear it.  It must
have been the hope I had; for, as well as I can remember now, it
is more than twenty-one years ago.  I do not think I ever gave up
my purpose of resuming my prayer; but I was waiting to be very
free from sin first.

18. Oh, how deluded I was in this expectation!  The devil would
have held it out before me till the day of judgment, that he
might then take me with him to hell.  Then, when I applied myself
to prayer and to spiritual reading,--whereby I might perceive
these truths, and the evil nature of the way I was walking in,
and was often importunate with our Lord in tears,--I was so
wicked, that it availed me nothing; when I gave that up, and
wasted my time in amusing myself, in great danger of falling into
sin, and with scanty helps,--and I may venture to say no help at
all, unless it was a help to my ruin,--what could I expect but
that of which I have spoken?

19. I believe that a certain Dominican friar, a most learned man,
has greatly merited in the eyes of God; for it was he who roused
me from this slumber.  He made me--I think I said so
before [8]--go to Communion once a fortnight, and be less given
to evil; I began to be converted, though I did not cease to
offend our Lord all at once: however, as I had not lost my way, I
walked on in it, though slowly, falling and rising again; and he
who does not cease to walk and press onwards, arrives at last,
even if late.  To lose one's way is--so it seems to me--nothing
else but the giving up of prayer.  God, of His mercy, keeps us
from this!

20. It is clear from this,--and, for the love of God, consider it
well,--that a soul, though it may receive great graces from God
in prayer, must never rely on itself, because it may fall, nor
expose itself in any way whatever to any risks of sin.  This
should be well considered because much depends on it; for the
delusion here, wherein Satan is able to entangle us afterwards,
though the grace be really from God, lies in the traitor's making
use of that very grace, so far as he can, for his own purpose,
and particularly against persons not grown strong in virtues, who
are neither mortified nor detached; for these are not at present
strong enough--as I shall explain hereafter [9]--to expose
themselves to dangerous occasions, notwithstanding the noble
desires and resolutions they may have.

21. This doctrine is excellent, and not mine, but the teaching of
God, and accordingly I wish ignorant people like myself knew it;
for even if a soul were in this state, it must not rely so much
upon itself as to go forth to the battle, because it will have
enough to do in defending itself.  Defensive armour is the
present necessity; the soul is not yet strong enough to assail
Satan, and to trample him under foot, as those are who are in the
state of which I shall speak further on. [10]

22. This is the delusion by which Satan prevails: when a soul
sees itself so near unto God, when it sees the difference there
is between the things of heaven and those of earth, and when it
sees the love which our Lord bears it, there grows out of that
love a certain trust and confidence that there is to be no
falling away from that the fruition of which it then possesses.
It seems to see the reward distinctly, as if it were impossible
for it to abandon that which, even in this life, is so delicious
and sweet, for anything so mean and impure as worldly joy.
Through this confidence, Satan robs it of that distrust which it
ought to have in itself; and so, as I have just said, [11] the
soul exposes itself to dangers, and begins, in the fulness of its
zeal, to give away without discretion the fruit of its garden,
thinking that now it has no reason to be afraid for itself.
Yet this does not come out of pride; for the soul clearly
understands that of itself it can do no good thing; but rather
out of an excessive confidence in God, without discretion:
because the soul does not see itself to be unfledged.  It can go
forth out of its nest, and God Himself may take it out, but still
it cannot fly, because the virtues are not strong, and itself has
no experience wherewith to discern the dangers; nor is it aware
of the evil which trusting to itself may do it.

23. This it was that ruined me.  Now, to understand this, and
everything else in the spiritual life, we have great need of a
director, and of conference with spiritual persons.  I fully
believe, with respect to that soul which God raises to this
state, that He will not cease to be gracious to it, nor suffer it
to be lost, if it does not utterly forsake His Majesty.  But when
that soul--as I said--falls, let it look to it again and again,
for the love of our Lord, that Satan deceive it not by tempting
it to give up prayer, as he tempted me, through that false
humility of which I have spoken before, [12] and would gladly
speak of again and again.  Let it rely on the goodness of God,
which is greater than all the evil we can do.  When we,
acknowledging our own vileness, desire to return into His grace,
He remembers our ingratitude no more,--no, not even the graces He
has given us, for the purpose of chastising us, because of our
misuse of them; yea, rather, they help to procure our pardon the
sooner, as of persons who have been members of His household, and
who, as they say, have eaten of His bread.

24. Let them remember His words, and behold what He hath done
unto me, who grew weary of sinning before He grew weary of
forgiving.  He is never weary of giving, nor can His compassion
be exhausted.  Let us not grow weary ourselves of receiving.
May He be blessed for ever, Amen; and may all created things
praise Him!


1. See ch. xx. § 2.

2. See ch. xvii. § 3.

3. Ch. vii. § 17, and ch. viii. § 5.

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

5. See ch. xxv.

6. See ch. viii. § 1.

7. Ch. vii. § 17.

8. Ch. vii. § 27.

9. Ch. xxxi. § 21.

10. Ch. xx. § 33, and ch. xxv. § 24.

11. Ch. xix. § 4.

12. See § 16.



Chapter XX.


The Difference Between Union and Rapture.  What Rapture Is.
The Blessing It Is to the Soul.  The Effects of It.


1. I wish I could explain, with the help of God, wherein union
differs from rapture, or from transport, or from flight of the
spirit, as they speak, or from a trance, which are all one. [1]
I mean, that all these are only different names for that one and
the same thing, which is also called ecstasy. [2]  It is more
excellent than union, the fruits of it are much greater, and its
other operations more manifold; for union is uniform in the
beginning, the middle, and the end, and is so also interiorly.
But as raptures have ends of a much higher kind, they produce
effects both within and without. [3]  As our Lord has explained
the other matters, so also may He explain this; for certainly, if
He had not shown me in what way and by what means this
explanation was in some measure possible, I should never have
been able to do it.

2. Consider we now that this last water, of which I am speaking,
is so abundant that, were it not that the ground refuses to
receive it, we might suppose that the cloud of His great Majesty
is here raining down upon us on earth.  And when we are giving
Him thanks for this great mercy, drawing near to Him in earnest,
with all our might, then it is our Lord draws up the soul, as the
clouds, so to speak, gather the mists from the face of the earth,
and carries it away out of itself,--I have heard it said that the
clouds, or the sun, draw the mists together, [4]--and as a cloud,
rising up to heaven, takes the soul with Him, and begins to show
it the treasures of the kingdom which He has prepared for it.
I know not whether the comparison be accurate or not; but the
fact is, that is the way in which it is brought about.
During rapture, the soul does not seem to animate the body, the
natural heat of which is perceptibly lessened; the coldness
increases, though accompanied with exceeding joy
and sweetness. [5]

3. A rapture is absolutely irresistible; whilst union, inasmuch
as we are then on our own ground, may be hindered, though that
resistance be painful and violent; it is, however, almost always
impossible.  But rapture, for the most part, is irresistible.
It comes, in general, as a shock, quick and sharp, before you can
collect your thoughts, or help yourself in any way, and you see
and feel it as a cloud, or a strong eagle rising upwards, and
carrying you away on its wings.

4. I repeat it: you feel and see yourself carried away, you know
not whither.  For though we feel how delicious it is, yet the
weakness of our nature makes us afraid at first, and we require a
much more resolute and courageous spirit than in the previous
states, in order to risk everything, come what may, and to
abandon ourselves into the hands of God, and go willingly whither
we are carried, seeing that we must be carried away, however
painful it may be; and so trying is it, that I would very often
resist, and exert all my strength, particularly at those times
when the rapture was coming on me in public.  I did so, too, very
often when I was alone, because I was afraid of delusions.
Occasionally I was able, by great efforts, to make a slight
resistance; but afterwards I was worn out, like a person who had
been contending with a strong giant; at other times it was
impossible to resist at all: my soul was carried away, and almost
always my head with it,--I had no power over it,--and now and
then the whole body as well, so that it was lifted up from
the ground.

5. This has not happened to me often: once, however, it took
place when we were all together in choir, and I, on my knees, on
the point of communicating.  It was a very sore distress to me;
for I thought it a most extraordinary thing, and was afraid it
would occasion much talk; so I commanded the nuns--for it
happened after I was made Prioress--never to speak of it.  But at
other times, the moment I felt that our Lord was about to repeat
the act, and once, in particular, during a sermon,--it was the
feast of our house, some great ladies being present,--I threw
myself on the ground; then the nuns came around me to hold me;
but still the rapture was observed.

6. I made many supplications to our Lord, that He would be
pleased to give me no more of those graces which were outwardly
visible; for I was weary of living under such great restraint,
and because His Majesty could not bestow such graces on me
without their becoming known.  It seems that, of His goodness, He
has been pleased to hear my prayer; for I have never been
enraptured since.  It is true that it was not long ago. [6]

7. It seemed to me, when I tried to make some resistance, as if a
great force beneath my feet lifted me up.  I know of nothing with
which to compare it; but it was much more violent than the other
spiritual visitations, and I was therefore as one ground to
pieces; for it is a great struggle, and, in short, of little use,
whenever our Lord so wills it.  There is no power against
His power.

8. At other times He is pleased to be satisfied when He makes us
see that He is ready to give us this grace, and that it is not He
that withholds it.  Then, when we resist it out of humility, He
produces those very effects which would have resulted if we had
fully consented to it.

9. The effects of rapture are great: one is that the mighty power
of our Lord is manifested; and as we are not strong enough, when
His Majesty wills it, to control either soul or body, so neither
have we any power over it; but, whether we like it or not, we see
that there is one mightier than we are, that these graces are His
gifts, and that of ourselves we can do nothing whatever; and
humility is deeply imprinted in us.  And further, I confess that
it threw me into great fear, very great indeed at first; for when
I saw my body thus lifted up from the earth, how could I help it?
Though the spirit draws it upwards after itself, and that with
great sweetness, if unresisted, the senses are not lost; at
least, I was so much myself as to be able to see that I was being
lifted up.  The majesty of Him who can effect this so manifests
itself, that the hairs of my head stand upright, [7] and a great
fear comes upon me of offending God, who is so mighty.  This fear
is bound up in exceedingly great love, which is acquired anew,
and directed to Him, who, we see, bears so great a love to a worm
so vile, and who seems not to be satisfied with attracting the
soul to Himself in so real a way, but who will have the body
also, though it be mortal and of earth so foul, such as it is
through our sins, which are so great.

10. Rapture leaves behind a certain strange detachment also,
which I shall never be able to describe; I think I can say that
it is in some respects different from--yea, higher than--the
other graces, which are simply spiritual; for though these effect
a complete detachment in spirit from all things, it seems that in
this of rapture our Lord would have the body itself to be
detached also: and thus a certain singular estrangement from the
things of earth is wrought, which makes life much more
distressing.  Afterwards it causes a pain, which we can never
inflict of ourselves, nor remove when once it has come.

11. I should like very much to explain this great pain, and I
believe I shall not be able; however, I will say something if I
can.  And it is to be observed that this is my present state, and
one to which I have been brought very lately, after all the
visions and revelations of which I shall speak, and after that
time, wherein I gave myself to prayer, in which our Lord gave me
so much sweetness and delight. [8]  Even now I have that
sweetness occasionally; but it is the pain of which I speak that
is the most frequent and the most common.  It varies in its
intensity.  I will now speak of it when it is sharpest; for I
shall speak later on [9] of the great shocks I used to feel when
our Lord would throw me into those trances, and which are, in my
opinion, as different from this pain as the most corporeal thing
is from the most spiritual; and I believe that I am not
exaggerating much. For though the soul feels that pain, it is in
company with the body; [10] both soul and body apparently share
it, and it is not attended with that extremity of abandonment
which belongs to this.

12. As I said before, [11] we have no part in causing this pain;
but very often there springs up a desire unexpectedly,--I know
not how it comes,--and because of this desire, which pierces the
soul in a moment, the soul begins to be wearied, so much so that
it rises upwards above itself, and above all created things. God
then so strips it of everything, that, do what it may, there is
nothing on earth that can be its companion.  Neither, indeed,
would it wish to have any; it would rather die in that
loneliness.  If people spoke to it, and if itself made every
effort possible to speak, it would be of little use: the spirit,
notwithstanding all it may do, cannot be withdrawn from that
loneliness; and though God seems, as it were, far away from the
soul at that moment, yet He reveals His grandeurs at times in the
strangest way conceivable.  That way is indescribable; I do not
think any one can believe or comprehend it who has not previously
had experience of it.  It is a communication made, not to
console, but to show the reason why the soul must be weary;
because it is far away from the Good which in itself comprehends
all good.

13. In this communication the desire grows, so also does the
bitterness of that loneliness wherein the soul beholds itself,
suffering a pain so sharp and piercing that, in that very
loneliness in which it dwells, it may literally say of
itself,--and perhaps the royal prophet said so, being in that
very loneliness himself, except that our Lord may have granted to
him, being a saint, to feel it more deeply,--"Vigilavi, et factus
sum sicut passer solitarius in tecto." [12]  These words
presented themselves to me in such a way that I thought I saw
them fulfilled in myself.  It was a comfort to know that others
had felt this extreme loneliness; how much greater my comfort,
when these persons were such as David was!  The soul is then--so
I think--not in itself, but on the house-top, or on the roof,
above itself, and above all created things; for it seems to me to
have its dwelling higher than even in the highest part of itself.

14. On other occasions, the soul seems to be, as it were, in the
utmost extremity of need, asking itself, and saying, "Where is
Thy God?" [13]  And it is to be remembered, that I did not know
how to express in Spanish the meaning of those words.
Afterwards, when I understood what it was, I used to console
myself with the thought, that our Lord, without any effort of
mine, had made me remember them.  At other times, I used to
recollect a saying of St. Paul's, to the effect that he was
crucified to the world. [14] I do not mean that this is true of
me: I know it is not; but I think it is the state of the
enraptured soul.  No consolation reaches it from heaven, and it
is not there itself; it wishes for none from earth, and it is not
there either; but it is, as it were, crucified between heaven and
earth, enduring its passion: receiving no succour from either.

15. Now, the succour it receives from heaven--which, as I have
said, [15] is a most marvellous knowledge of God, above all that
we can desire--brings with it greater pain; for the desire then
so grows, that, in my opinion, its intense painfulness now and
then robs the soul of all sensation; only, it lasts but for a
short time after the senses are suspended.  It seems as if it
were the point of death; only, the agony carries with it so great
a joy, that I know of nothing wherewith to compare it.  It is a
sharp martyrdom, full of sweetness; for if any earthly thing be
then offered to the soul, even though it may be that which it
habitually found most sweet, the soul will have none of it; yea,
it seems to throw it away at once.  The soul sees distinctly that
it seeks nothing but God; yet its love dwells not on any
attribute of Him in particular; it seeks Him as He is, and knows
not what it seeks.  I say that it knows not, because the
imagination forms no representation whatever; and, indeed, as I
think, during much of that time the faculties are at rest.
Pain suspends them then, as joy suspends them in union and in
a trance.

16. O Jesus! oh, that some one would clearly explain this to you,
my father, were it only that you may tell me what it means,
because this is the habitual state of my soul!  Generally, when I
am not particularly occupied, I fall into these agonies of death,
and I tremble when I feel them coming on, because they are not
unto death.  But when I am in them, I then wish to spend therein
all the rest of my life, though the pain be so very great, that I
can scarcely endure it.  Sometimes my pulse ceases, as it were,
to beat at all,--so the sisters say, who sometimes approach me,
and who now understand the matter better,--my bones are racked,
and my hands become so rigid, that I cannot always join them.
Even on the following day I have a pain in my wrists, and over my
whole body, as if my bones were out of joint. [16]  Well, I think
sometimes, if it continues as at present, that it will end, in
the good pleasure of our Lord, by putting an end to my life; for
the pain seems to me sharp enough to cause death; only, I do not
deserve it.

17. All my anxiety at these times is that I should die: I do not
think of purgatory, nor of the great sins I have committed, and
by which I have deserved hell.  I forget everything in my
eagerness to see God; and this abandonment and loneliness seem
preferable to any company in the world.  If anything can be a
consolation in this state, it is to speak to one who has passed
through this trial, seeing that, though the soul may complain of
it, no one seems disposed to believe in it.

18. The soul is tormented also because the pain has increased so
much, that it seeks solitude no longer, as it did before, nor
companionship, unless it be that of those to whom it may make its
complaint.  It is now like a person, who, having a rope around
his neck, and being strangled, tries to breathe. This desire of
companionship seems to me to proceed from our weakness; for, as
pain brings with it the risk of death,--which it certainly does;
for I have been occasionally in danger of death, in my great
sickness and infirmities, as I have said before, [17] and I think
I may say that this pain is as great as any,--so the desire not
to be parted, which possesses soul and body, is that which raises
the cry for succour in order to breathe, and by speaking of it,
by complaining, and distracting itself, causes the soul to seek
means of living very much against the will of the spirit, or the
higher part of the soul, which would not wish to be delivered
from this pain.

19. I am not sure that I am correct in what I say, nor do I know
how to express myself, but to the best of my knowledge it comes
to pass in this way.  See, my father, what rest I can have in
this life, now that what I once had in prayer and
loneliness--therein our Lord used to comfort me--has become in
general a torment of this kind; while, at the same time, it is so
full of sweetness, that the soul, discerning its inestimable
worth, prefers it to all those consolations which it formerly
had.  It seems also to be a safer state, because it is the way of
the cross; and involves, in my opinion, a joy of exceeding worth,
because the state of the body in it is only pain.  It is the soul
that suffers and exults alone in that joy and contentment which
suffering supplies.

20. I know not how this can be, but so it is; it comes from the
hand of our Lord, and, as I said before, [18] is not anything
that I have acquired myself, because it is exceedingly
supernatural, and I think I would not barter it for all the
graces of which I shall speak further on: I do not say for all of
them together, but for any one of them separately.  And it must
not be forgotten that, as I have just said, these impetuosities
came upon me after I had received those graces from our Lord [19]
which I am speaking of now, and all those described in this book,
and it is in this state our Lord keeps me at this moment. [20]

21. In the beginning I was afraid--it happens to me to be almost
always so when our Lord leads me by a new way, until His Majesty
reassures me as I proceed--and so our Lord bade me not to fear,
but to esteem this grace more than all the others He had given
me; for the soul was purified by this pain--burnished, or refined
as gold in the crucible, so that it might be the better enamelled
with His gifts, and the dross burnt away in this life, which
would have to be burnt away in purgatory.

22. I understood perfectly that this pain was a great grace; but
I was much more certain of it now and my confessor tells me I did
well.  And though I was afraid, because I was so wicked, I never
could believe it was anything wrong: on the other hand, the
exceeding greatness of the blessing made me afraid, when I called
to mind how little I had deserved it.  Blessed be our Lord, who
is so good!  Amen.

23. I have, it seems, wandered from my subject; for I began by
speaking of raptures, and that of which I have been speaking is
even more than a rapture, and the effects of it are what I have
described.  Now let us return to raptures, and speak of their
ordinary characteristics.  I have to say that, when the rapture
was over, my body seemed frequently to be buoyant, as if all
weight had departed from it; so much so, that now and then I
scarcely knew that my feet touched the ground.  But during the
rapture itself the body is very often as if it were dead,
perfectly powerless.  It continues in the position it was in when
the rapture came upon it--if sitting, sitting; if the hands were
open, or if they were shut, they will remain open or shut. [21]
For though the senses fail but rarely, it has happened to me
occasionally to lose them wholly--seldom, however, and then only
for a short time.  But in general they are in disorder; and
though they have no power whatever to deal with outward things,
there remains the power of hearing and seeing; but it is as if
the things heard and seen were at a great distance, far away.

24. I do not say that the soul sees and hears when the rapture is
at the highest,--I mean by at the highest, when the faculties are
lost, because profoundly united with God,--for then it neither
sees, nor hears, nor perceives, as I believe; but, as I said of
the previous prayer of union, [22] this utter transformation of
the soul in God continues only for an instant; yet while it
continues no faculty of the soul is aware of it, or knows what is
passing there.  Nor can it be understood while we are living on
the earth--at least, God will not have us understand it, because
we must be incapable of understanding it.  I know it
by experience.

25. You, my father, will ask me: How comes it, then, that a
rapture occasionally lasts so many hours?  What has often
happened to me is this,--I spoke of it before, when writing of
the previous state of prayer, [23]--the rapture is not
continuous, the soul is frequently absorbed, or, to speak more
correctly, our Lord absorbs it in Himself; and when He has held
it thus for a moment, the will alone remains in union with Him.
The movements of the two other faculties seem to me to be like
those of the needle of sun-dials, which is never at rest; yet
when the Sun of Justice will have it so, He can hold it still.

26. This I speak of lasts but a moment; yet, as the impulse and
the upraising of the spirit were vehement, and though the other
faculties bestir themselves again, the will continues absorbed,
and causes this operation in the body, as if it were the absolute
mistress; for now that the two other faculties are restless, and
attempt to disturb it, it takes care--for if it is to have
enemies, the fewer the better--that the senses also shall not
trouble it: and thus it comes to pass that the senses are
suspended; for so our Lord wills it.  And for the most part the
eyes are closed, though we may not wish to close them; and if
occasionally they remain open, as I said just now, the soul
neither discerns nor considers what it sees.

27. What the body then can do here is still less in order that,
when the faculties come together again, there may not be so much
to do.  Let him, therefore, to whom our Lord has granted this
grace, be not discouraged when he finds himself in this
state--the body under constraint for many hours, the
understanding and the memory occasionally astray.  The truth is
that, in general, they are inebriated with the praises of God, or
with searching to comprehend or understand that which has passed
over them.  And yet even for this they are not thoroughly awake,
but are rather like one who has slept long, and dreamed, and is
hardly yet awake.

28. I dwell so long on this point because I know that there are
persons now, even in this place, [24] to whom our Lord is
granting these graces; and if their directors have had no
experience in the matter, they will think, perhaps, that they
must be as dead persons during the trance--and they will think so
the more if they have no learning.  It is piteous to see what
those confessors who do not understand this make people suffer.
I shall speak of it by and by. [25]  Perhaps I do not know what I
am saying.  You, my father, will understand it, if I am at all
correct; for our Lord has admitted you to the experience of it:
yet, because that experience is not very great, it may be,
perhaps, that you have not considered the matter so much as I
have done.

29. So then, though I do all I can, my body has no strength to
move for some time; the soul took it all away.  Very often, too,
he who was before sickly and full of pain remains healthy, and
even stronger; for it is something great that is given to the
soul in rapture; and sometimes, as I have said already, [26] our
Lord will have the body rejoice, because it is obedient in that
which the soul requires of it.  When we recover our
consciousness, the faculties may remain, if the rapture has been
deep, for a day or two, and even for three days, so absorbed, or
as if stunned,--so much so, as to be in appearance no
longer themselves.

30. Here comes the pain of returning to this life; here it is the
wings of the soul grew, to enable it to fly so high: the weak
feathers are fallen off.  Now the standard of Christ is raised up
aloft, which seems to be nothing else but the going up, or the
carrying up, of the Captain of the fort to the highest tower of
it, there to raise up the standard of God.  The soul, as in a
place of safety, looks down on those below; it fears no dangers
now--yea, rather, it courts them, as one assured beforehand of
victory.  It sees most clearly how lightly are the things of this
world to be esteemed, and the nothingness thereof. The soul now
seeks not, and possesses not, any other will but that of doing
our Lord's will, [27] and so it prays Him to let it be so; it
gives to Him the keys of its own will.  Lo, the gardener is now
become the commander of a fortress!  The soul will do nothing but
the will of our Lord; it will not act as the owner even of
itself, nor of anything, not even of a single apple in the
orchard; only, if there be any good thing in the garden, it is at
His Majesty's disposal; for from henceforth the soul will have
nothing of its own,--all it seeks is to do everything for His
glory, and according to His will.

31. This is really the way in which these things come to pass; if
the raptures be true raptures, the fruits and advantages spoken
of abide in the soul; but if they did not, I should have great
doubts about their being from God--yea, rather, I should be
afraid they were those frenzies of which St. Vincent speaks. [28]
I have seen it myself, and I know it by experience, that the soul
in rapture is mistress of everything, and acquires such freedom
in one hour, and even in less, as to be unable to recognize
itself.  It sees distinctly that all this does not belong to it,
neither knows it how it came to possess so great a good; but it
clearly perceives the very great blessing which every one of
these raptures always brings.  No one will believe this who has
not had experience of it, and so they do not believe the poor
soul: they saw it lately so wicked, and now they see it pretend
to things of so high an order; for it is not satisfied with
serving our Lord in the common way,--it must do so forthwith in
the highest way it can.  They consider this a temptation and a
folly; yet they would not be astonished, if they knew that it
comes not from the soul, but from our Lord, to whom it has given
up the keys of its will.

32. For my part, I believe that a soul which has reached this
state neither speaks nor acts of itself, but rather that the
supreme King takes care of all it has to do.  O my God, how clear
is the meaning of those words, and what good reason the Psalmist
had, and all the world will ever have, to pray for the wings of a
dove! [29]  It is plain that this is the flight of the spirit
rising upwards above all created things, and chiefly above
itself: but it is a sweet flight, a delicious flight--a flight
without noise.

33. Oh, what power that soul possesses which our Lord raises to
this state! how it looks down upon everything, entangled by
nothing! how ashamed it is of the time when it was entangled! how
it is amazed at its own blindness! how it pities those who are
still in darkness, especially if they are men of prayer, and have
received consolations from God!  It would like to cry out to
them, that they might be made to see the delusions they are in:
and, indeed, it does so now and then; and then a thousand
persecutions fall upon it as a shower.  People consider it
wanting in humility, and think it means to teach those from whom
it should learn, particularly if it be a woman.  Hence its
condemnation; and not without reason; because they know not how
strong the influence is that moves it.  The soul at times cannot
help itself; nor can it refrain from undeceiving those it loves,
and whom it longs to see delivered out of the prison of this
life; for that state in which the soul itself had been before
neither is, nor seems to be, anything else but a prison.

34. The soul is weary of the days during which it respected
points of honour, and the delusion which led it to believe that
to be honour which the world calls by that name; now it sees it
to be the greatest lie, and that we are all walking therein.
It understands that true honour is not delusive, but real,
esteeming that which is worthy of esteem, and despising that
which is despicable; for everything is nothing, and less than
nothing, whatever passeth away, and is not pleasing unto God.
The soul laughs at itself when it thinks of the time in which it
regarded money, and desired to possess it,--though, as to this, I
verily believe that I never had to confess such a fault; it was
fault enough to have regarded money at all.  If I could purchase
with money the blessings which I possess, I should make much of
it; but it is plain that these blessings are gained by abandoning
all things.

35. What is there that is procurable by this money which we
desire?  Is it anything of worth, and anything lasting?
Why, then, do we desire it?  A dismal resting place it provides,
which costs so dear!  Very often it obtains for us hell itself,
fire everlasting, and torments without end.  Oh, if all men would
but regard it as profitless dross, how peaceful the world would
be! how free from bargaining!  How friendly all men would be one
with another, if no regard were paid to honour and money!
I believe it would be a remedy for everything.

36. The soul sees how blind men are to the nature of
pleasure--how by means of it they provide for themselves trouble
and disquietude even in this life.  What restlessness! how little
satisfaction! what labour in vain!  It sees, too, not only the
cobwebs that cover it, and its great faults, but also the specks
of dirt, however slight they may be; for the sun shines most
clearly; and thus, however much the soul may have laboured at its
own perfection, it sees itself to be very unclean, if the rays of
the sun fall really upon it.  The soul is like water in a vessel,
which appears pellucid when the sun does not shine through it;
but if it does, the water then is found to be full of motes.

37. This comparison is literally correct.  Before the soul fell
into the trance, it thought itself to be careful about not
offending God, and that it did what it could in proportion to its
strength; but now that it has attained to this state, in which
the Sun of Justice shines upon it, and makes it open its eyes, it
beholds so many motes, that it would gladly close them again.
It is not so truly the child of the noble eagle, that it can gaze
upon the sun; but, for the few instants it can keep them open, it
beholds itself wholly unclean.  It remembers the words: "Who
shall be just in Thy presence?" [30]  When it looks on this
Divine Sun, the brightness thereof dazzles it,--when it looks on
itself, its eyes are blinded by the dust: the little dove is
blind.  So it happens very often: the soul is utterly blinded,
absorbed, amazed, dizzy at the vision of so much grandeur.

38. It is in rapture that true humility is acquired--humility
that will never say any good of self, nor suffer others to do so.
The Lord of the garden, not the soul, distributes the fruit
thereof, and so none remains in its hands; all the good it has,
it refers to God; if it says anything about itself, it is for His
glory.  It knows that it possesses nothing here; and even if it
wished, it cannot continue ignorant of that.  It sees this, as it
were, with the naked eye; for, whether it will or not, its eyes
are shut against the things of this world, and open to see
the truth.


1. See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. v.; Philippus a SS. Trinitate,
Theolog. Mystic. par. iii. tr. i, disp. iii., art. 3; "Hæc oratio
raptus superior est præcedentibus orationis gradibus, etiam
oratione unionis ordinariæ, et habet effectus multo
excellentiores et multas alias operationes."

2. "She says that rapture is more excellent than union; that is,
that the soul in a rapture has a greater fruition of God, and
that God takes it then more into His own hands.  That is
evidently so; because in a rapture the soul loses the use of its
exterior and interior faculties.  When she says that union is the
beginning, middle, and end, she means that pure union is almost
always uniform; but that there are degrees in rapture, of which
some are, as it were, the beginning, some the middle, others the
end.  That is the reason why it is called by different names;
some of which denote the least, others the most, perfect form of
it, as it will appear hereafter."--Note in the Spanish edition of
Lopez (De la Fuente).

3. Anton. a Spirit. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. 4, d. i. n. 95:
"Licet oratio raptus idem sit apud mysticos ac oratio volatus,
seu elevationis spiritus seu extasis; reipsa tamen raptus aliquid
addit super extasim; nam extasis importat simplicem excessum
mentis in seipso secundum quem aliquis extra suam cognitionem
ponitur.  Raptus vero super hoc addit violentiam quandam ab
aliquo extrinseco."

4. The words between the dashes are in the handwriting of the
Saint--not however, in the text, but on the margin (De
la Fuente).

5. See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. v.  "Primus effectus orationis
ecstaticæ est in corpore, quod ita remanet, ac si per animam non
informaretur, infrigidatur enim calore naturali deficiente,
clauduntur suaviter oculi, et alii sensus amittuntur: contingit
tamen quod corpus infirmum in hac oratione sanitatem recuperat."
Anton. a Spirit. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iv. d. 2, § 4,
n. 150.

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

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

8. See ch. xxix.

9. See ch. xx. § 21.

10. § 9, supra.

11. § 10.

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

13. Psalm xli. 4: "Ubi est Deus tuus?"

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

15. §§ 9 and 12.

16. Daniel x. 16: "In visione tua dissolutæ sunt compages meæ."
See St. John of the Cross, Spiritual Canticle, st. 14,
vol. ii. p. 84, Engl. trans.; and also Relation, viii. § 13,
where this is repeated.

17. Ch. v. § 18.

18. § 12.

19. The words from "I have just said" to "our Lord" are in the
margin of the text, but in the handwriting of the Saint (De
la Fuente).

20. See § 11.

21. See Relation, viii. § 8.

22. Ch. xviii. § 16.

23. Ch. xviii. § 17.

24. Avila.

25. Ch. xxv. § 18.

26. § 9.

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

28. St. Vincent. Ferrer, Instruct. de Vit. Spirit. c. xiv. p. 14:
"Si dicerent tibi aliquid quod sit contra fidem, et contra
Scripturam Sacram, aut contra bonos mores, ahhorreas earum
visionem et judicia, tanquam stultas dementias, et earum raptus,
sicut rabiamenta"--which word the Saint translates
by "rabiamientos."

29. Psalm liv. 7: "Quis dabit mihi pennas sicut columbæ?"

30. Job iv. 17: "Numquid homo Dei comparatione justificabitur?"



Chapter XXI.


Conclusion of the Subject.  Pain of the Awakening.
Light Against Delusions.


1. To bring this matter to an end, I say that it is not necessary
for the soul to give its consent here; it is already given: the
soul knows that it has given up its will into His hands, [1] and
that it cannot deceive Him, because He knoweth all things.  It is
not here as it is in the world, where all life is full of deceit
and double-dealing.  When you think you have gained one man's
good will, because of the outward show he makes, you afterwards
learn that all was a lie.  No one can live in the midst of so
much scheming, particularly if there be any interests at stake.

2. Blessed, then, is that soul which our Lord draws on to the
understanding of the truth!  Oh, what a state for kings!
How much better it would be for them if they strove for this,
rather than for great dominions!  How justice would prevail under
their rule!  What evils would be prevented, and might have been
prevented already!  Here no man fears to lose life or honour for
the love of God.  What a grand thing this would be to him who is
more bound than those beneath him to regard the honour of our
Lord!--for it is kings whom the crowd must follow.  To make one
step in the propagation of the faith, and to give one ray of
light to heretics, I would forfeit a thousand kingdoms.  And with
good reason: for it is another thing altogether to gain a kingdom
that shall never end, because one drop of the water of that
kingdom, if the soul but tastes it, renders the things of this
world utterly loathsome.

3. If, then, the soul should be wholly engulfed, what then?
O Lord, if Thou wert to give me the right to publish this abroad,
people would not believe me--as they do not believe many who are
able to speak of it in a way very different from mine; but I
should satisfy myself, at least.  I believe I should count my
life as nothing, if I might make others understand but one of
these truths.  I know not what I shall do afterwards, for I
cannot trust myself; though I am what I am, I have a violent
desire, which is wasting me, to say this to those who are in
authority.  And now that I can do no more, I betake myself to
Thee, O my Lord, to implore a remedy for all.  Thou knowest well
that I would gladly divest myself of all the graces which Thou
hast given me,--provided I remained in a condition never to
offend Thee,--and give them up to those who are kings; for I know
it would then be impossible for them to allow what they allow
now, or fail to receive the very greatest blessings.

4. O my God, make kings to understand how far their obligations
reach!  Thou hast been pleased to distinguish them on earth in
such a way that--so I have heard--Thou showest signs in the
heavens when Thou takest any of them away.  Certainly, when I
think of this, my devotion is stirred, because Thou wilt have
them learn, O my King, even from this, that they must imitate
Thee in their lives, seeing that, when they die, signs are
visible in the heavens, as it was when Thou wert dying Thyself.

5. I am very bold; if it be wrong, you, my father, will tear this
out: only believe that I should speak much more to the purpose in
the presence of kings,--if I might, or thought they would listen
to me,--for I recommend them greatly to God, and I wish I might
be of service to them.  All this makes one risk life; for I long
frequently to lose mine,--and that would be to lose a little for
the chance of gaining much; for surely it is not possible to
live, when we see with our eyes the great delusion wherein we are
walking, and the blindness in which we are living.

6. A soul that has attained to this is not limited to the desires
it has to serve God; for His Majesty gives it strength to bring
those desires to good effect.  Nothing can be put before it into
which it will not throw itself, if only it thinks that God may be
served thereby: and yet it is doing nothing, because, as I said
before, [2] it sees clearly that all is nothing, except pleasing
God.  The trial is, that those who are so worthless as I am, have
no trial of the kind.  May it be Thy good pleasure, O my God,
that the time may come in which I may be able to pay one farthing
at least, of the heavy debt I owe Thee!  Do Thou, O Lord, so
dispose matters according to Thy will, that this Thy servant may
do Thee some service.  Other women there have been who did heroic
deeds for Thee; I am good only to talk; and so it has not been
Thy pleasure, O my God, that I should do any thing: all ends in
talk and desires--that is all my service.  And yet even in this I
am not free, because it is possible I might fail altogether.

7. Strengthen Thou my soul, and prepare it, O Good of all good;
and, my Jesus, then ordain Thou the means whereby I may do
something for Thee, so that there may be not even one who can
bear to receive so much, and make no payment in return.  Cost
what it may, O Lord, let me not come before Thee with hands so
empty, [3] seeing that the reward of every one will be according
to his works. [4]  Behold my life, behold my good name and my
will; I have given them all to Thee; I am Thine: dispose of me
according to Thy will.  I see well enough, O Lord, how little I
can do; but now, having drawn near to Thee,--having ascended to
this watchtower, from which the truth may be seen,--and while
Thou departest not from me, I can do all things; but if Thou
departest from me, were it but for a moment, I shall go thither
where I was once--that is, to hell. [5]

8. Oh, what it is for a soul in this state to have to return to
the commerce of the world, to see and look on the farce of this
life, [6] so ill-ordered; to waste its time in attending to the
body by sleeping and eating! [7]  All is wearisome; it cannot run
away,--it sees itself chained and imprisoned; it feels then most
keenly the captivity into which the body has brought us, and the
wretchedness of this life.  It understands the reason why
St. Paul prayed to God to deliver him from it. [8]  The soul
cries with the Apostle, and calls upon God to deliver it, as I
said on another occasion. [9]  But here it often cries with so
much violence, that it seems as if it would go out of the body in
search of its freedom, now that they do not take it away.  It is
as a slave sold into a strange land; and what distresses it most
is, that it cannot find many who make the same complaint and the
same prayer: the desire of life is more common.

9. Oh, if we were utterly detached,--if we never placed our
happiness in anything of this world,--how the pain, caused by
living always away from God, would temper the fear of death with
the desire of enjoying the true life!  Sometimes I consider, if a
person like myself--because our Lord has given this light to me,
whose love is so cold, and whose true rest is so uncertain, for I
have not deserved it by my works--frequently feels her banishment
so much, what the feelings of the Saints must have been.
What must St. Paul and the Magdalene, and others like them, have
suffered, in whom the fire of the love of God has grown so
strong?  Their life must have been a continual martyrdom.
It seems to me that they who bring me any comfort, and whose
conversation is any relief, are those persons in whom I find
these desires--I mean, desires with acts.  I say with acts, for
there are people who think themselves detached, and who say so of
themselves,--and it must be so, for their vocation demands it, as
well as the many years that are passed since some of them began
to walk in the way of perfection,--but my soul distinguishes
clearly, and afar off, between those who are detached in words,
and those who make good those words by deeds.  The little
progress of the former, and the great progress of the latter,
make it plain.  This is a matter which a person of any experience
can see into most clearly.

10. So far, then, of the effects of those raptures which come
from the Spirit of God.  The truth is, that these are greater or
less.  I say less, because in the beginning, though the effects
are wrought, they are not tested by works, and so it cannot be
clear that a person has them; and perfection, too, is a thing of
growth, and of labouring after freedom from the cobwebs of
memory; and this requires some time.  Meanwhile, the greater the
growth of love and humility in the soul, the stronger the perfume
of the flowers of virtues is for itself and for others. The truth
is, that our Lord can so work in the soul in an instant during
these raptures, that but little remains for the soul to do in
order to attain to perfection.  No one, who has not had
experience of it, will ever be able to believe what our Lord now
bestows on the soul.  No effort of ours--so I think--can ever
reach so far.

11. However, I do not mean to say that those persons who during
many years make use of the method prescribed by writers on
prayer,--who discuss the principles thereof, and the means
whereby it may be acquired,--will not, by the help of our Lord,
attain to perfection and great detachment with much labour; but
they will not attain to it so rapidly as by the way of raptures,
in which our Lord works independently of us, draws the soul
utterly away from earth, and gives it dominion over all things
here below, though the merits of that soul may not be greater
than mine were: I cannot use stronger language, for my merits are
as nothing.  Why His Majesty doeth this is, because it is His
pleasure, and He doeth it according to His pleasure; even if the
soul be without the fitting disposition, He disposes it for the
reception of that blessing which He is giving to it.  Although it
be most certain that He never fails to comfort those who do well,
and strive to be detached, still He does not always give these
effects because they have deserved them at His hands by
cultivating the garden, but because it is His will to show His
greatness at times in a soil which is most worthless, as I have
just said, and to prepare it for all good: and all this in such a
way that it seems as if the soul was now, in a manner, unable to
go back and live in sin against God, as it did before.

12. The mind is now so inured to the comprehension of that which
is truth indeed, that everything else seems to it to be but
child's play.  It laughs to itself, at times, when it sees grave
men--men given to prayer, men of religion--make much of points of
honour, which itself is trampling beneath its feet.  They say
that discretion, and the dignity of their callings, require it of
them as a means to do more good; but that soul knows perfectly
well that they would do more good in one day by preferring the
love of God to this their dignity, than they will do in ten years
by considering it.

13. The life of this soul is a life of trouble: the cross is
always there, but the progress it makes is great.  When those who
have to do with it think it has arrived at the summit of
perfection, within a little while they see it much more advanced;
for God is ever giving it grace upon grace.  God is the soul of
that soul now; it is He who has the charge of it; and so He
enlightens it; for He seems to be watching over it, always
attentive to it, that it may not offend Him,--giving it grace,
and stirring it up in His service.  When my soul reached this
state, in which God showed me mercy so great, my wretchedness
came to an end, and our Lord gave me strength to rise above it.
The former occasions of sin, as well as the persons with whom I
was accustomed to distract myself, did me no more harm than if
they had never existed; on the contrary, that which ordinarily
did me harm, helped me on.  Everything contributed to make me
know God more, and to love Him; to make me see how much I owed
Him, as well as to be sorry for being what I had been.

14. I saw clearly that this did not come from myself, that I had
not brought it about by any efforts of my own, and that there was
not time enough for it.  His Majesty, of His mere goodness, had
given me strength for it.  From the time our Lord began to give
me the grace of raptures, until now, this strength has gone on
increasing.  He, of His goodness, hath held me by the hand, that
I might not go back.  I do not think that I am doing anything
myself--certainly I do not; for I see distinctly that all this is
the work of our Lord.  For this reason, it seems to me that the
soul in which our Lord worketh these graces,--if it walks in
humility and fear, always acknowledging the work of our Lord, and
that we ourselves can do, as it were, nothing,--may be thrown
among any companions, and, however distracted and wicked these
may be, will neither be hurt nor disturbed in any way; on the
contrary, as I have just said, that will help it on, and be a
means unto it whereby it may derive much greater profit.

15. Those souls are strong which are chosen by our Lord to do
good to others; still, this their strength is not their own.
When our Lord brings a soul on to this state, He communicates to
it of His greatest secrets by degrees.  True revelations--the
great gifts and visions--come by ecstasies, all tending to make
the soul humble and strong, to make it despise the things of this
world, and have a clearer knowledge of the greatness of the
reward which our Lord has prepared for those who serve Him. [10]

16. May it please His Majesty that the great munificence with
which He hath dealt with me, miserable sinner that I am, may have
some weight with those who shall read this, so that they may be
strong and courageous enough to give up everything utterly for
God.  If His Majesty repays us so abundantly, that even in this
life the reward and gain of those who serve Him become visible,
what will it be in the next?


1. Ch. xx. § 30.

2. Ch. xx. § 34.

3. Exod. xxiii. 15: "Non apparebis in conspectu meo vacuus."

4. Apoc. ii. 23: "Dabo unicuique vestrum secundum opera sua."

5. See ch. xxxii. § 1.

6. "Farsa de esta vida tan mal concertada."

7. Inner Fortress, iv. ch. i. § 11.

8. Rom. vii. 24: "Quis me liberabit de corpore mortis hujus?"

9. Ch. xvi. § 7.

10. 1 Cor. ii. 9: "Quæ præparavit Deus his qui diligunt Illum."



Chapter XXII.


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


1. There is one thing I should like to say--I think it important:
and if you, my father, approve, it will serve for a lesson that
possibly may be necessary; for in some books on prayer the
writers say that the soul, though it cannot in its own strength
attain to this state,--because it is altogether a supernatural
work wrought in it by our Lord,--may nevertheless succeed, by
lifting up the spirit above all created things, and raising it
upwards in humility, after some years spent in a purgative life,
and advancing in the illuminative.  I do not very well know what
they mean by illuminative: I understand it to mean the life of
those who are making progress.  And they advise us much to
withdraw from all bodily imagination, and draw near to the
contemplation of the Divinity; for they say that those who have
advanced so far would be embarrassed or hindered in their way to
the highest contemplation, if they regarded even the Sacred
Humanity itself. [1]  They defend their opinion [2] by bringing
forward the words [3] of our Lord to the Apostles, concerning the
coming of the Holy Ghost; I mean that Coming which was after the
Ascension.  If the Apostles had believed, as they believed after
the Coming of the Holy Ghost, that He is both God and Man, His
bodily Presence would, in my opinion, have been no hindrance; for
those words were not said to the Mother of God, though she loved
Him more than all. [4]  They think that, as this work of
contemplation is wholly spiritual, any bodily object whatever can
disturb or hinder it.  They say that the contemplative should
regard himself as being within a definite space, God everywhere
around, and himself absorbed in Him.  This is what we should
aim at.

2. This seems to me right enough now and then; but to withdraw
altogether from Christ, and to compare His divine Body with our
miseries or with any created thing whatever, is what I cannot
endure.  May God help me to explain myself!  I am not
contradicting them on this point, for they are learned and
spiritual persons, understanding what they say: God, too, is
guiding souls by many ways and methods, as He has guided mine.
It is of my own soul that I wish to speak now,--I do not
intermeddle with others,--and of the danger I was in because I
would comply with the directions I was reading.  I can well
believe that he who has attained to union, and advances no
further,--that is, to raptures, visions, and other graces of God
given to souls,--will consider that opinion to be best, as I did
myself: and if I had continued in it, I believe I should never
have reached the state I am in now.  I hold it to be a delusion:
still, it may be that it is I who am deluded.  But I will tell
you what happened to me.

3. As I had no director, I used to read these books, where, by
little and little, I thought I might understand something.
I found out afterwards that, if our Lord had not shown me the
way, I should have learned but little from books; for I
understood really nothing till His Majesty made me learn by
experience: neither did I know what I was doing.  So, in the
beginning, when I attained to some degree of supernatural
prayer,--I speak of the prayer of quiet,--I laboured to remove
from myself every thought of bodily objects; but I did not dare
to lift up my soul, for that I saw would be presumption in me,
who was always so wicked. I thought, however, that I had a sense
of the presence of God: this was true, and I contrived to be in a
state of recollection before Him.  This method of prayer is full
of sweetness, if God helps us in it, and the joy of it is great.
And so, because I was conscious of the profit and delight which
this way furnished me, no one could have brought me back to the
contemplation of the Sacred Humanity; for that seemed to me to be
a real hindrance to prayer.

4. O Lord of my soul, and my Good!  Jesus Christ crucified!
I never think of this opinion, which I then held, without pain; I
believe it was an act of high treason, though done in ignorance.
Hitherto, I had been all my life long so devout to the Sacred
Humanity--for this happened but lately; I mean by lately, that it
was before our Lord gave me the grace of raptures and visions.
I did not continue long of this opinion, [5] and so I returned to
my habit of delighting in our Lord, particularly at Communion.
I wish I could have His picture and image always before my eyes,
since I cannot have Him graven in my soul as deeply as I wish.

5. Is it possible, O my Lord, that I could have had the thought,
if only for an hour, that Thou couldst be a hindrance to my
greatest good?  Whence are all my blessings? are they not from
Thee?  I will not think that I was blamable, for I was very sorry
for it, and it was certainly done in ignorance.  And so it
pleased Thee, in Thy goodness, to succour me, by sending me one
who has delivered me from this delusion; and afterwards by
showing Thyself to me so many times, as I shall relate
hereafter, [6] that I might clearly perceive how great my
delusion was, and also tell it to many persons; which I have
done, as well as describe it as I am doing now.  I believe myself
that this is the reason why so many souls, after advancing to the
prayer of union, make no further progress, and do not attain to
very great liberty of spirit.

6. It seems to me, that there are two considerations on which I
may ground this opinion.  Perhaps I am saying nothing to the
purpose, yet what I say is the result of experience; for my soul
was in a very evil plight, till our Lord enlightened it: all its
joys were but sips; and when it had come forth therefrom, it
never found itself in that company which afterwards it had in
trials and temptations.

7. The first consideration is this: there is a little absence of
humility--so secret and so hidden, that we do not observe it.
Who is there so proud and wretched as I, that, even after
labouring all his life in penances and prayers and persecutions,
can possibly imagine himself not to be exceedingly rich, most
abundantly rewarded, when our Lord permits him to stand with
St. John at the foot of the cross?  I know not into whose head it
could have entered to be not satisfied with this, unless it be
mine, which has gone wrong in every way where it should have gone
right onwards.

8. Then, if our constitution--or perhaps sickness--will not
permit us always to think of His Passion, because it is so
painful, who is to hinder us from thinking of Him risen from the
grave, seeing that we have Him so near us in the Sacrament, where
he is glorified, and where we shall not see Him in His great
weariness--scourged, streaming with blood, faint by the way,
persecuted by those to whom He had done good, and not believed in
by the Apostles?  Certainly it is not always that one can bear to
meditate on sufferings so great as were those He underwent.
Behold Him here, before His ascension into heaven, without pain,
all-glorious, giving strength to some and courage to others.
In the most Holy Sacrament, He is our companion, as if it was not
in His power to withdraw Himself for a moment from us.  And yet
it was in my power to withdraw from Thee, O my Lord, that I might
serve Thee better!  It may be that I knew Thee not when I sinned
against Thee; but how could I, having once known Thee, ever think
I should gain more in this way?  O Lord, what an evil way I took!
and I was going out of the way, if Thou hadst not brought me back
to it.  When I see Thee near me, I see all good things together.
No trial befalls me that is not easy to bear, when I think of
Thee standing before those who judged Thee.

9. With so good a Friend and Captain ever present, Himself the
first to suffer, everything can be borne.  He helps, He
strengthens, He never fails, He is the true Friend.  I see
clearly, and since then have always seen, that if we are to
please God, and if He is to give us His great graces, everything
must pass through the hands of His most Sacred Humanity, in whom
His Majesty said that He is well pleased. [7]  I know this by
repeated experience: our Lord has told it me.  I have seen
clearly that this is the door [8] by which we are to enter, if we
would have His supreme Majesty reveal to us His great secrets.

10. So, then, I would have your reverence seek no other way, even
if you were arrived at the highest contemplation.  This way is
safe.  Our Lord is He by whom all good things come to us; He will
teach you.  Consider His life; that is the best example. What
more can we want than so good a Friend at our side, who will not
forsake us when we are in trouble and distress, as they do who
belong to this world!  Blessed is he who truly loves Him, and who
always has Him near him!  Let us consider the glorious St. Paul,
who seems as if Jesus was never absent from his lips, as if he
had Him deep down in his heart.  After I had heard this of some
great Saints given to contemplation, I considered the matter
carefully; and I see that they walked in no other way.
St. Francis with the stigmata proves it, St. Antony of Padua with
the Infant Jesus; St. Bernard rejoiced in the Sacred Humanity; so
did St. Catherine of Siena, and many others, as your reverence
knows better than I do.

11. This withdrawing from bodily objects must no doubt be good,
seeing that it is recommended by persons who are so spiritual;
but, in my opinion, it ought to be done only when the soul has
made very great progress; for until then it is clear that the
Creator must be sought for through His creatures.  All this
depends on the grace which our Lord distributes to every soul.
I do not intermeddle here.  What I would say is, that the most
Sacred Humanity of Christ is not to be counted among the objects
from which we have to withdraw.  Let this be clearly understood.
I wish I knew how to explain it. [9]

12. When God suspends all the powers of the soul,--as we see He
does in the states of prayer already described,--it is clear
that, whether we wish it or not, this presence is withdrawn.
Be it so, then.  The loss is a blessed one, because it takes
place in order that we may have a deeper fruition of what we seem
to have lost; for at that moment the whole soul is occupied in
loving Him whom the understanding has toiled to know; and it
loves what it has not comprehended, and rejoices in what it could
not have rejoiced in so well, if it had not lost itself, in
order, as I am saying, to gain itself the more.  But that we
should carefully and laboriously accustom ourselves not to strive
with all our might to have always--and please God it be
always!--the most Sacred Humanity before our eyes,--this, I say,
is what seems to me not to be right: it is making the soul, as
they say, to walk in the air; for it has nothing to rest on, how
full soever of God it may think itself to be.

13. It is a great matter for us to have our Lord before us as Man
while we are living and in the flesh.  This is that other
inconvenience which I say must be met with.  The first--I have
already begun to describe it--is a little failure in humility, in
that the soul desires to rise of itself before our Lord raises
it, and is not satisfied with meditation on so excellent a
subject,--seeking to be Mary before it has laboured with Martha.
If our Lord will have a soul to be Mary, even on the first day,
there is nothing to be afraid of; but we must not be self-invited
guests, as I think I said on another occasion. [10]  This little
mote of want of humility, though in appearance a mere nothing,
does a great deal of harm to those who wish to advance
in contemplation.

14. I now come back to the second consideration.  We are not
angels, for we have a body; to seek to make ourselves angels
while we are on the earth, and so much on the earth as I was, is
an act of folly.  In general, our thoughts must have something to
rest on, though the soul may go forth out of itself now and then,
or it may be very often so full of God as to be in need of no
created thing by the help of which it may recollect itself.
But this is not so common a case; for when we have many things to
do, when we are persecuted and in trouble, when we cannot have
much rest, and when we have our seasons of dryness, Christ is our
best Friend; for we regard Him as Man, and behold Him faint and
in trouble, and He is our Companion; and when we shall have
accustomed ourselves in this way, it is very easy to find Him
near us, although there will be occasions from time to time when
we can do neither the one nor the other.

15. For this end, that is useful which I spoke of before: [11] we
must not show ourselves as labouring after spiritual
consolations; come what may, to embrace the cross is the great
thing.  The Lord of all consolation was Himself forsaken: they
left Him alone in His sorrows.  Do not let us forsake Him; for
His hand will help us to rise more than any efforts we can make;
and He will withdraw Himself when He sees it be expedient for us,
and when He pleaseth will also draw the soul forth out of itself,
as I said before. [12]

16. God is greatly pleased when He beholds a soul in its humility
making His Son a Mediator between itself and Him, and yet loving
Him so much as to confess its own unworthiness, even when He
would raise it up to the highest contemplation, and saying with
St. Peter: [13] "Go Thou away from me, O Lord, for I am a sinful
man."  I know this by experience: it was thus that God directed
my soul.  Others may walk, as I said before, [14] by another and
a shorter road.  What I have understood of the matter is this:
that the whole foundation of prayer must be laid in humility, and
that the more a soul humbles itself in prayer, the more God lifts
it up.  I do not remember that He ever showed me any of those
marvellous mercies, of which I shall speak hereafter, [15] at any
other time than when I was as one brought to nothing, [16] by
seeing how wicked I was.  Moreover, His Majesty contrived to make
me understand matters that helped me to know myself, but which I
could never have even imagined of myself.

17. I believe myself that if a soul makes any efforts of its own
to further itself in the way of the prayer of union, and though
it may seem to make immediate progress, it will quickly fall
back, because the foundations were not duly laid.  I fear, too,
that such a soul will never attain to true poverty of spirit,
which consists in seeking consolation or sweetness, not in
prayer,--the consolations of the earth are already
abandoned,--but rather in sorrows, for the love of Him who always
lived in sorrows Himself; [17] and in being calm in the midst of
sorrows and aridities.  Though the soul may feel it in some
measure, there is no disquiet, nor any of that pain which some
persons suffer, who, if they are not always labouring with the
understanding and with a sense of devotion, think everything
lost,--as if their efforts merited so great a blessing!

18. I am not saying that men should not seek to be devout, nor
that they should not stand with great reverence in the presence
of God, but only that they are not to vex themselves if they
cannot find even one good thought, as I said in another
place; [18] for we are unprofitable servants. [19]  What do we
think we can do?  Our Lord grant that we understand this, and
that we may be those little asses who drive the windlass I spoke
of: [20] these, though their eyes are bandaged, and they do not
understand what they are doing, yet draw up more water than the
gardener can draw with all his efforts.  We must walk in liberty
on this road, committing ourselves into the hands of God.  If it
be His Majesty's good pleasure to raise us and place us among His
chamberlains and secret councillors, we must go willingly; if
not, we must serve Him in the lower offices of His house, and not
sit down on the upper seats. [21]  As I have sometimes said, [22]
God is more careful of us than we are ourselves, and knows what
each one of us is fit for.

19. What use is there in governing oneself by oneself, when the
whole will has been given up to God? I think this less endurable
now than in the first state of prayer, and it does much greater
harm; for these blessings are supernatural.  If a man has a bad
voice, let him force himself ever so much to sing, he will never
improve it; but if God gives him a good voice, he has no need to
try it twice.  Let us, then, pray Him always to show His mercy
upon us, with a submissive spirit, yet trusting in the goodness
of God.  And now that the soul is permitted to sit at the feet of
Christ, let it contrive not to quit its place, but keep it
anyhow.  Let it follow the example of the Magdalene; and when it
shall be strong enough, God will lead it into
the wilderness. [23]

20. You, then, my father, must be content with this until you
meet with some one of more experience and better knowledge than I
am.  If you see people who are beginning to taste of God, do not
trust them if they think that they advance more, and have a
deeper fruition of God, when they make efforts of their own.
Oh, when God wills it, how He discovers Himself without these
little efforts of ours!  We may do what we like, but He throws
the spirit into a trance as easily as a giant takes up a straw;
no resistance is possible.  What a thing to believe, that God
will wait till the toad shall fly of itself, when He has already
willed it should do so!  Well, it seems to me still more
difficult and hard for our spirit to rise upwards, if God does
not raise it, seeing that it is burdened with earth, and hindered
in a thousand ways.  Its willingness to rise is of no service to
it; for, though an aptness for flying be more natural to it than
to a toad, yet is it so sunk in the mire as to have lost it by
its own fault.

21. I come, then, to this conclusion: whenever we think of
Christ, we should remind ourselves of the love that made Him
bestow so many graces upon us, and also how great that love is
which our Lord God has shown us, in giving us such a pledge of
the love He bears us; for love draws forth love.  And though we
are only at the very beginning, and exceedingly wicked, yet let
us always labour to keep this in view, and stir ourselves up to
love; for if once our Lord grants us this grace, of having this
love imprinted in our hearts, everything will be easy, and we
shall do great things in a very short time, and with very little
labour.  May His Majesty give us that love,--He knows the great
need we have of it,--for the sake of that love which He bore us,
and of His glorious Son, to whom it cost so much to make it known
to us!  Amen.

22. There is one thing I should like to ask you, my father.
How is it that, when our Lord begins to bestow upon a soul a
grace so great as this of perfect contemplation, it is not, as it
ought to be, perfect at once?  Certainly, it seems it should be
so; for he who receives a grace so great ought never more to seek
consolations on earth.  How is it, I ask, that a soul which has
ecstasies and so far is more accustomed to receive graces, should
yet seem to bring forth fruits still higher and higher,--and the
more so, the more it is detached,--when our Lord might have
sanctified it at once, the moment He came near it?  How is it, I
ask again, that the same Lord brings it to the perfection of
virtue only in the course of time?  I should be glad to learn the
reason, for I know it not.  I do know, however, that in the
beginning, when a trance lasts only the twinkling of an eye, and
is almost imperceptible but for the effects it produces, the
degree of strength which God then gives is very different from
that which He gives when this grace is a trance of
longer duration.

23. Very often, when thinking of this, have I imagined the reason
might be, that the soul does not despise itself all at once, till
our Lord instructs it by degrees, and makes it resolute, and
gives it the strength of manhood, so that it may trample utterly
upon everything.  He gave this strength to the Magdalene in a
moment.  He gives the same grace to others, according to the
measure of their abandonment of themselves into the hands of His
Majesty, that He may do with them as He will. We never thoroughly
believe that God rewards a hundredfold even in this life. [24]

24. I also thought of this comparison: supposing grace given to
those who are far advanced to be the same with that given to
those who are but beginners, we may then liken it to a certain
food of which many persons partake: they who eat a little retain
the savour of it for a moment, they who eat more are nourished by
it, but those who eat much receive life and strength.  Now, the
soul may eat so frequently and so abundantly of this food of life
as to have no pleasure in eating any other food, because it sees
how much good it derives from it.  Its taste is now so formed
upon it, that it would rather not live than have to eat any other
food; for all food but this has no other effect than to take away
the sweet savour which this good food leaves behind.

25. Further, the conversation of good people does not profit us
in one day as much as it does in many; and we may converse with
them long enough to become like them, by the grace of God.
In short, the whole matter is as His Majesty wills.  He gives His
grace to whom He pleases; but much depends on this: he who begins
to receive this grace must make a firm resolution to detach
himself from all things, and esteem this grace according
to reason.

26. It seems also to me as if His Majesty were going about to try
those who love Him,--now one, now another,--revealing Himself in
supreme joy, so as to quicken our belief, if it should be dead,
in what He will give us, saying, Behold! this is but a drop of
the immense sea of blessings; for He leaves nothing undone for
those He loves; and as He sees them receive it, so He gives, and
He gives Himself.  He loves those who love Him.  Oh, how dear He
is!--how good a Friend!  O my soul's Lord, who can find words to
describe what Thou givest to those who trust in Thee, and what
they lose who come to this state, and yet dwell in themselves!
Oh, let not this be so, O my Lord! for Thou doest more than this
when Thou comest to a lodging so mean as mine.  Blessed be Thou
for ever and ever!

27. I now humbly ask you, my father, if you mean to discuss what
I have written on prayer with spiritual persons, to see that they
are so really; for if they be persons who know only one way, or
who have stood still midway, they will not be able to understand
the matter.  There are also some whom God leads at once by the
highest way; these think that others might advance in the same
manner--quiet the understanding, and make bodily objects none of
their means; but these people will remain dry as a stick.
Others, also, there are who, having for a moment attained to the
prayer of quiet, think forthwith that, as they have had the one,
so they may have the other.  These instead of advancing, go back,
as I said before. [25]  So, throughout, experience and discretion
are necessary.  May our Lord, of His goodness, bestow them on us!


1. See Inner Fortress, vi. 7, § 4.

2. This opinion is supposed to be justified by the words of
St. Thomas, 3 Sent. dist. 22, qu. 3, art. 1, ad quintum.
"Corporalis præsentia Christi in duobus poterat esse nociva.
Primo, quantum ad fidem, quia videntes Eum in forma in qua erat
minor Patre, non ita de facili crederent Eum æqualem Patri, ut
dicit glossa super Joannem.  Secundo, quantum ad dilectionem,
quia Eum non solum spiritualiter, sed etiam carnaliter
diligeremus, conversantes cum Ipso corporaliter, et hoc est de
imperfectione dilectionis."

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

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

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

6. Ch. xxviii. § 4.

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

8. St. John x. 7, 9: "Ego sum ostium."

9. See St. John of the Cross, Mount Carmel,
bk. iii. ch. i. p. 212.

10. Ch. xii. §§ 5, 7.

11. Ch. xv. § 21.

12. Ch. xx. § 2.

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

14. Ch. xii. § 6.

15. Ch. xxviii.

16. Psalm lxxii. 22: "Et ego ad nihilum redactus sum,
et nescivi."

17. Isaias liii. 3: "Virum dolorum, et scientem infirmitatem."

18. Ch. xi. § 15.

19. St. Luke xvii. 10: "Servi inutiles sumus."

20. Ch. xi. § 11.

21. St. Luke xiv. 8: "Non discumbas in primo loco."  See Way of
Perfection, ch. xxvi. § 1; but ch. xvii. of the old editions.

22. Ch. xi. § 23, ch. xviii. § 6.

23. Os. ii. 14: "Ducam eam in solitudinem."

24. St. Matt. xix. 29: "Qui reliquerit domum, . . .
centuplum accipiet."

25. Ch. xii. § 5.



Chapter XXIII.


The Saint Resumes the History of Her Life.  Aiming at Perfection.
Means Whereby It May Be Gained.  Instructions for Confessors.


1. I shall now return to that point in my life where I broke
off, [1] having made, I believe, a longer digression than I need
have made, in order that what is still to come may be more
clearly understood.  Henceforth, it is another and a new book,--I
mean, another and a new life.  Hitherto, my life was my own; my
life, since I began to explain these methods of prayer, is the
life which God lived in me,--so it seems to me; for I feel it to
be impossible that I should have escaped in so short a time from
ways and works that were so wicked.  May our Lord be praised, who
has delivered me from myself!

2. When, then, I began to avoid the occasions of sin, and to give
myself more unto prayer, our Lord also began to bestow His graces
upon me, as one who desired, so it seemed, that I too should be
willing to receive them.  His Majesty began to give me most
frequently the grace of the prayer of quiet, and very often that
of union, which lasted some time.  But as, in these days, women
have fallen into great delusions and deceits of Satan, [2] I
began to be afraid, because the joy and sweetness which I felt
were so great, and very often beyond my power to avoid.  On the
other hand, I felt in myself a very deep conviction that God was
with me, especially when I was in prayer.  I saw, too, that I
grew better and stronger thereby.

3. But if I was a little distracted, I began to be afraid, and to
imagine that perhaps it was Satan that suspended my
understanding, making me think it to be good, in order to
withdraw me from mental prayer, hinder my meditation on the
Passion, and debar me the use of my understanding: this seemed to
me, who did not comprehend the matter, to be a grievous loss but,
as His Majesty was pleased to give me light to offend Him no
more, and to understand how much I owed Him, this fear so grew
upon me, that it made me seek diligently for spiritual persons
with whom I might treat of my state.  I had already heard of
some; for the Fathers of the Society of Jesus had come
hither; [3] and I, though I knew none of them, was greatly
attracted by them, merely because I had heard of their way of
life and of prayer; but I did not think myself fit to speak to
them, or strong enough to obey them; and this made me still more
afraid; for to converse with them, and remain what I was, seemed
to me somewhat rude.

4. I spent some time in this state, till, after much inward
contention and fear, I determined to confer with some spiritual
person, to ask him to tell me what that method of prayer was
which I was using, and to show me whether I was in error.  I was
also resolved to do everything I could not to offend God; for the
want of courage of which I was conscious, as I said before, [4]
made me so timid.  Was there ever delusion so great as mine, O my
God, when I withdrew from good in order to become good!
The devil must lay much stress on this in the beginning of a
course of virtue; for I could not overcome my repugnance.
He knows that the whole relief of the soul consists in conferring
with the friends of God.  Hence it was that no time was fixed in
which I should resolve to do this.  I waited to grow better
first, as I did before when I ceased to pray, [5]--and perhaps I
never should have become better; for I had now sunk so deeply
into the petty ways of an evil habit,--I could not convince
myself that they were wrong,--that I needed the help of others,
who should hold out a hand to raise me up.  Blessed be Thou, O
Lord!--for the first hand outstretched to me was Thine.

5. When I saw that my fear was going so far, it struck
me--because I was making progress in prayer--that this must be a
great blessing, or a very great evil; for I understood perfectly
that what had happened was something supernatural, because at
times I was unable to withstand it; to have it when I would was
also impossible.  I thought to myself that there was no help for
it, but in keeping my conscience pure, avoiding every occasion
even of venial sins; for if it was the work of the Spirit of God,
the gain was clear; and if the work of Satan, so long as I strove
to please, and did not offend, our Lord, Satan could do me little
harm; on the contrary, he must lose in the struggle.
Determined on this course, and always praying God to help me,
striving also after purity of conscience for some days, I saw
that my soul had not strength to go forth alone to a perfection
so great.  I had certain attachments to trifles, which, though
not very wrong in themselves, were yet enough to ruin all.

6. I was told of a learned ecclesiastic, [6] dwelling in this
city, whose goodness and pious life our Lord was beginning to
make known to the world.  I contrived to make his acquaintance
through a saintly nobleman [7] living in the same place.
This latter is a married man; but his life is so edifying and
virtuous, so given to prayer, and so full of charity, that the
goodness and perfection of it shine forth in all he does: and
most justly so; for many souls have been greatly blessed through
him, because of his great gifts, which, though his condition of a
layman be a hindrance to him, never lie idle.  He is a man of
great sense, and very gentle with all people; his conversation is
never wearisome, but so sweet and gracious, as well as upright
and holy, that he pleases everybody very much with whom he has
any relations.  He directs it all to the great good of those
souls with whom he converses and he seems to have no other end in
view but to do all he may be permitted to do for all men, and
make them content.

7. This blessed and holy man, then, seems to me, by the pains he
took, to have been the beginning of salvation to my soul.
His humility in his relations with me makes me wonder; for he had
spent, I believe, nearly forty years in prayer,--it may be two or
three years less,--and all his life was ordered with that
perfection which his state admitted.  His wife is so great a
servant of God, and so full of charity, that nothing is lost to
him on her account, [8]--in short, she was the chosen wife of one
who God knew would serve Him so well.  Some of their kindred are
married to some of mine.  Besides, I had also much communication
with another great servant of God, married to one of my
first cousins.

8. It was thus I contrived that the ecclesiastic I speak of, who
was so great a servant of God, and his great friend, should come
to speak to me, intending to confess to him, and to take him for
my director.  When he had brought him to speak to me, I, in the
greatest confusion at finding myself in the presence of so holy a
man, revealed to him the state of my soul, and my way of prayer.
He would not be my confessor; he said that he was very much
occupied: and so, indeed, he was.  He began with a holy
resolution to direct me as if I was strong,--I ought to have been
strong, according to the method of prayer which he saw I
used,--so that I should in nothing offend God.  When I saw that
he was resolved to make me break off at once with the petty ways
I spoke of before, [9] and that I had not the courage to go forth
at once in the perfection he required of me, I was distressed;
and when I perceived that he ordered the affairs of my soul as if
I ought to be perfect at once, I saw that much more care was
necessary in my case.  In a word, I felt that the means he would
have employed were not those by which my soul could be helped
onwards; for they were fitted for a soul more perfect than mine;
and though the graces I had received from God were very many, I
was still at the very beginning in the matter of virtue and
of mortification.

9. I believe certainly, if I had only had this ecclesiastic to
confer with, that my soul would have made no progress; for the
pain it gave me to see that I was not doing--and, as I thought,
could not do--what he told me, was enough to destroy all hope,
and make me abandon the matter altogether.  I wonder at times how
it was that he, being one who had a particular grace for the
direction of beginners in the way of God, was not permitted to
understand my case, or to undertake the care of my soul.  I see
it was all for my greater good, in order that I might know and
converse with persons so holy as the members of the Society
of Jesus.

10. After this, I arranged with that saintly nobleman that he
should come and see me now and then.  It shows how deep his
humility was; for he consented to converse with a person so
wicked as I was.  He began his visits, he encouraged me, and told
me that I ought not to suppose I could give up everything in one
day; God would bring it about by degrees: he himself had for some
years been unable to free himself from some very slight
imperfections.  O humility! what great blessings thou bringest to
those in whom thou dwellest, and to them who draw near to those
who possess thee!  This holy man--for I think I may justly call
him so--told me of weaknesses of his own, in order to help me.
He, in his humility, thought them weaknesses; but, if we consider
his state, they were neither faults nor imperfections; yet, in my
state, it was a very great fault to be subject to them.

11. I am not saying this without a meaning, though I seem to be
enlarging on trifles; but these trifles contribute so much
towards the beginning of the soul's progress and its flight
upwards, though it has no wings, as they say; and yet no one will
believe it who has not had experience of it; but, as I hope in
God that your reverence will help many a soul, I speak of it
here.  My whole salvation depended on his knowing how to treat
me, on his humility, on the charity with which he conversed with
me, and on his patient endurance of me when he saw that I did not
mend my ways at once.  He went on discreetly, by degrees showing
me how to overcome Satan.  My affection for him so grew upon me,
that I never was more at ease than on the day I used to see him.
I saw him, however, very rarely.  When he was long in coming, I
used to be very much distressed, thinking that he would not see
me because I was so wicked.

12. When he found out my great imperfections, they might well
have been sins, though since I conversed with him I am somewhat
improved,--and when I recounted to him, in order to obtain light
from him, the great graces which God had bestowed upon me, he
told me that these things were inconsistent one with another;
that these consolations were given to people who had made great
progress, and led mortified lives; that he could not help being
very much afraid--he thought that the evil spirit might have
something to do in my case; he would not decide that question,
however, but he would have me carefully consider my whole method
of prayer, and then tell him of it.  That was the difficulty: I
did not understand it myself, and so I could tell him nothing of
my prayer; for the grace to understand it--and, understanding it,
to describe it--has only lately been given me of God.
This saying of his, together with the fear I was in, distressed
me exceedingly, and I cried; for certainly I was anxious to
please God, and I could not persuade myself that Satan had
anything to do with it.  But I was afraid, on account of my great
sins, that God might leave me blind, so that I should
understand nothing.

13. Looking into books to see if I could find anything there by
which I might recognise the prayer I practised, I found in one of
them, called the Ascent of the Mount, [10] and in that part of it
which relates to the union of the soul with God, all those marks
which I had in myself, in that I could not think of anything.
This is what I most dwelt on--that I could think of nothing when
I was in prayer.  I marked that passage, and gave him the book,
that he, and the ecclesiastic mentioned before, [11] saint and
servant of God, might consider it, and tell me what I should do.
If they thought it right, I would give up that method of prayer
altogether; for why should I expose myself to danger, when, at
the end of nearly twenty years, during which I had used it, I had
gained nothing, but had fallen into a delusion of the devil?
It was better for me to give it up.  And yet this seemed to me
hard; for I had already discovered what my soul would become
without prayer.  Everything seemed full of trouble.  I was like a
person in the middle of a river, who, in whatever direction he
may turn, fears a still greater danger, and is well-nigh drowned.
This is a very great trial, and I have gone through many like it,
as I shall show hereafter; [12] and though it does not seem to be
of any importance, it will perhaps be advantageous to understand
how the spirit is to be tried.

14. And certainly the affliction to be borne is great, and
caution is necessary, particularly in the case of women,--for our
weakness is great,--and much evil may be the result of telling
them very distinctly that the devil is busy with them; yea,
rather, the matter should be very carefully considered, and they
should be removed out of reach of the dangers that may arise.
They should be advised to keep things secret; and it is
necessary, also, that their secret should be kept.  I am speaking
of this as one to whom it has been a sore trouble; for some of
those with whom I spoke of my prayer did not keep my secret, but,
making inquiries one of another, for a good purpose, did me much
harm; for they made things known which might well have remained
secret, because not intended for every one and it seemed as if I
had made them public myself. [13]

15. I believe that our Lord permitted [14] this to be done
without sin on their part, in order that I might suffer.  I do
not say that they revealed anything I discussed with them in
confession; still, as they were persons to whom, in my fears, I
gave a full account of myself, in order that they might give me
light, I thought they ought to have been silent.  Nevertheless, I
never dared to conceal anything from such persons.  My meaning,
then, is, that women should be directed with much discretion;
their directors should encourage them, and bide the time when our
Lord will help them, as He has helped me.  If He had not, the
greatest harm would have befallen me, for I was in great fear and
dread; and as I suffered from disease of the heart, [15] I am
astonished that all this did not do me a great deal of harm.

16. Then, when I had given him the book, and told the story of my
life and of my sins, the best way I could in general,--for I was
not in confession, because he was a layman; yet I gave him
clearly to understand how wicked I was,--those two servants of
God, with great charity and affection, considered what was best
for me.  When they had made up their minds what to say,--I was
waiting for it in great dread, having begged many persons to pray
to God for me, and I too had prayed much during those days,--the
nobleman came to me in great distress, and said that, in the
opinion of both, I was deluded by an evil spirit; that the best
thing for me to do was to apply to a certain father of the
Society of Jesus, who would come to me if I sent for him, saying
I had need of him; that I ought, in a general confession, to give
him an account of my whole life, and of the state I was in,--and
all with great clearness: God would, in virtue of the Sacrament
of Confession, give him more light concerning me; for those
fathers were very experienced men in matters of spirituality.
Further, I was not to swerve in a single point from the counsels
of that father; for I was in great danger, if I had no one to
direct me.

17. This answer so alarmed and distressed me, that I knew not
what to do--I did nothing but cry.  Being in an oratory in great
affliction, not knowing what would become of me, I read in a
book--it seemed as if our Lord had put it into my hands--that
St. Paul said, God is faithful; [16] that He will never permit
Satan to deceive those who love Him.  This gave me great
consolation. I began to prepare for my general confession, and to
write out all the evil and all the good: a history of my life, as
clearly as I understood it, and knew how to make it, omitting
nothing whatever.  I remember, when I saw I had written so much
evil, and scarcely anything that was good, that I was exceedingly
distressed and sorrowful.  It pained me, also, that the nuns of
the community should see me converse with such holy persons as
those of the Society of Jesus; for I was afraid of my own
wickedness, and I thought I should be obliged to cease from it,
and give up my amusements; and that if I did not do so, I should
grow worse: so I persuaded the sacristan and the portress to tell
no one of it.  This was of little use, after all; for when I was
called down there was one at the door, as it happened, who told
it to the whole convent.  But what difficulties and what terrors
Satan troubles them with who would draw near unto God!

18. I communicated the whole state of my soul to that servant of
God [17] and he was a great servant of His, and very prudent.
He understood all I told him, explained it to me, and encouraged
me greatly.  He said that all was very evidently the work of the
Spirit of God; only it was necessary for me to go back again to
my prayer, because I was not well grounded, and had not begun to
understand what mortification meant,--that was true, for I do not
think I knew it even by name,--that I was by no means to give up
prayer; on the contrary, I was to do violence to myself in order
to practise it, because God had bestowed on me such special
graces as made it impossible to say whether it was, or was not,
the will of our Lord to do good to many through me. He went
further, for he seems to have prophesied of that which our Lord
afterwards did with me, and said that I should be very much to
blame if I did not correspond with the graces which God bestowed
upon me.  It seems to me that the Holy Ghost was speaking by his
mouth in order to heal my soul, so deep was the impression he
made.  He made me very much ashamed of myself, and directed me by
a way which seemed to change me altogether.  What a grand thing
it is to understand a soul!  He told me to make my prayer every
day on some mystery of the Passion, and that I should profit by
it, and to fix my thoughts on the Sacred Humanity only, resisting
to the utmost of my power those recollections and delights, to
which I was not to yield in any way till he gave me further
directions in the matter.

19. He left me consoled and fortified: our Lord came to my
succour and to his, so that he might understand the state I was
in, and how he was to direct me.  I made a firm resolution not to
swerve from anything he might command me, and to this day I have
kept it.  Our Lord be praised, who has given me grace to be
obedient to my confessors, [18] however imperfectly!--and they
have almost always been those blessed men of the Society of
Jesus; though, as I said, I have but imperfectly obeyed them.
My soul began to improve visibly, as I am now going to say.


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

2. She refers to Magdalene of the Cross (Reforma de los
Descalços, vol. i. lib. i. c. xix. § 2).

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

4. Ch. vii. § 37.

5. Ch. xix. §§ 7, 8.

6. Gaspar Daza had formed a society of priests in Avila, and was
a very laborious and holy man.  It was he who said the first Mass
in the monastery of St. Joseph, founded by 5t. Teresa, whom he
survived, dying Nov. 24, 1592.  He committed the direction of his
priests to F. Baltasar Alvarez (Bouix).  Juan of Avila acted much
in the same way when the Jesuits settled in Avila (De la Fuente).

7. Don Francisco de Salcedo.  After the death of his wife, he
became a priest, and was chaplain and confessor of the Carmelite
nuns of St. Joseph.  For twenty years of his married life he
attended regularly the theological lectures of the Dominicans, in
the house of St. Thomas.  His death took place Sept. 12, 1580,
when he had been a priest for ten years (St. Teresa's Letters,
vol. iv. letter 43, note 13: letter 368, ed. of De la Fuente).

8. Doña Mencia del Aguila (De la Fuente, in a note on letter 10,
vol. ii. p. 9, where he corrects himself,--having previously
called her Mencia de Avila).

9. § 4.

10. Subida del Monte Sion, by a Franciscan friar, Bernardino de
Laredo (Reforma, vol. i. lib. i. c. xix. § 7).

11. § 6.

12. See ch. xxv. § 18.

13. See ch. xxviii. § 18.

14. See Relation, vii. § 17.

15. See ch. iv. § 6.

16. 1 Cor. x. 13: "Fidelis autem Deus est, qui non patietur vos
tentari supra id quod potestis."

17. F. Juan de Padranos, whom St. Francis de Borja had sent in
1555, with F. Fernando Alvarez del Aguila, to found the house of
the Society in Avila (De la Fuente).  Ribera, i. 5, says he heard
that F. Juan de Padranos gave in part the Exercises of
St. Ignatius to the Saint.

18. See Relation, i. § 9.



Chapter XXIV.


Progress Under Obedience.  Her Inability to Resist the Graces
of God.  God Multiplies His Graces.


1. After this my confession, my soul was so docile that, as it
seems to me, there was nothing in the world I was not prepared to
undertake.  I began at once to make a change in many things,
though my confessor never pressed me--on the contrary, he seemed
to make light of it all.  I was the more influenced by this,
because he led me on by the way of the love of God; he left me
free, and did not press me, unless I did so myself, out of love.
I continued thus nearly two months, doing all I could to resist
the sweetness and graces that God sent.  As to my outward life,
the change was visible; for our Lord gave me courage to go
through with certain things, of which those who knew me--and even
those in the community--said that they seemed to them extreme;
and, indeed, compared with what I had been accustomed to do, they
were extreme: people, therefore, had reason to say so.  Yet, in
those things which were of obligation, considering the habit I
wore, and the profession I had made, I was still deficient.
By resisting the sweetness and joys which God sent me, I gained
this, that His Majesty taught me Himself; for, previously, I used
to think that, in order to obtain sweetness in prayer, it was
necessary for me to hide myself in secret places, and so I
scarcely dared to stir.  Afterwards, I saw how little that was to
the purpose; for the more I tried to distract myself, the more
our Lord poured over me that sweetness and joy which seemed to me
to be flowing around me, so that I could not in any way escape
from it: and so it was.  I was so careful about this resistance,
that it was a pain to me.  But our Lord was more careful to show
His mercies, and during those two months to reveal Himself more
than before, so that I might the better comprehend that it was no
longer in my power to resist Him.

2. I began with a renewed love of the most Sacred Humanity; my
prayer began to be solid, like a house, the foundations of which
are strong; and I was inclined to practise greater penance,
having been negligent in this matter hitherto because of my great
infirmities.  The holy man who heard my confession told me that
certain penances would not hurt me, and that God perhaps sent me
so much sickness because I did no penance; His Majesty would
therefore impose it Himself.  He ordered me to practise certain
acts of mortification not very pleasant for me. [1] I did so,
because I felt that our Lord was enjoining it all, and giving him
grace to command me in such a way as to make me obedient
unto him.

3. My soul was now sensitive to every offence I committed against
God, however slight it might be; so much so, that if I had any
superfluity about me, I could not recollect myself in prayer till
I had got rid of it.  I prayed earnestly that our Lord would hold
me by the hand, and not suffer me to fall again, now that I was
under the direction of His servants.  I thought that would be a
great evil, and that they would lose their credit through me.

4. At this time, Father Francis, who was Duke of Gandia, [2] came
here; he had left all he possessed some years before, and had
entered the Society of Jesus.  My confessor, and the nobleman of
whom I spoke before, [3] contrived that he should visit me, in
order that I might speak to him, and give him an account of my
way of prayer; for they knew him to be greatly favoured and
comforted of God: he had given up much, and was rewarded for it
even in this life.  When he had heard me, he said to me that it
was the work of the Spirit of God, [4] and that he thought it was
not right now to prolong that resistance; that hitherto it had
been safe enough,--only, I should always begin my prayer by
meditating on some part of the Passion and that if our Lord
should then raise up my spirit, I should make no resistance, but
suffer His Majesty to raise it upwards, I myself not seeking it.
He gave both medicine and advice, as one who had made great
progress himself; for experience is very important in these
matters.  He said that further resistance would be a mistake.
I was exceedingly consoled; so, too, was the nobleman, who
rejoiced greatly when he was told that it was the work of God.
He always helped me and gave me advice according to his
power,--and that power was great.

5. At this time, they changed my confessor's residence.  I felt
it very much, for I thought I should go back to my wickedness,
and that it was not possible to find another such as he.  My soul
was, as it were, in a desert, most sorrowful and afraid.  I knew
not what to do with myself.  One of my kinswomen contrived to get
me into her house, and I contrived at once to find another
confessor, [5] in the Society of Jesus.  It pleased our Lord that
I should commence a friendship with a noble lady, [6] a widow,
much given to prayer, who had much to do with the fathers.
She made her own confessor [7] hear me, and I remained in her
house some days.  She lived near, and I delighted in the many
conferences I had with the fathers; for merely by observing the
holiness of their way of life, I felt that my soul
profited exceedingly.

6. This father began by putting me in the way of greater
perfection.  He used to say to me, that I ought to leave nothing
undone that I might be wholly pleasing unto God.  He was,
however, very prudent and very gentle at the same time; for my
soul was not at all strong, but rather very weak, especially as
to giving up certain friendships, though I did not offend God by
them: there was much natural affection in them, and I thought it
would be an act of ingratitude if I broke them off.  And so, as I
did not offend God, I asked him if I must be ungrateful.  He told
me to lay the matter before God for a few days, and recite the
hymn, "Veni, Creator," that God might enlighten me as to the
better course.  One day, having prayed for some time, and
implored our Lord to help me to please Him in all things, I began
the hymn; and as I was saying it, I fell into a trance--so
suddenly, that I was, as it were, carried out of myself.  I could
have no doubt about it, for it was most plain.

7. This was the first time that our Lord bestowed on me the grace
of ecstasy.  I heard these words: "I will not have thee converse
with men, but with angels."  This made me wonder very much; for
the commotion of my spirit was great, and these words were
uttered in the very depth of my soul.  They made me
afraid,--though, on the other hand, they gave me great comfort,
which, when I had lost the fear,--caused, I believe, by the
strangeness of the visitation,--remained with me.

8. Those words have been fulfilled; for I have never been able to
form friendship with, nor have any comfort in, nor any particular
love for, any persons whatever except those who, as I believe,
love God, and who strive to serve Him.  It has not been in my
power to do it.  It is nothing to me that they are my kindred, or
my friends, if I do not know them to be lovers of God, or persons
given to prayer.  It is to me a painful cross to converse with
any one.  This is the truth, so far as I can judge. [8]
From that day forth, I have had courage so great as to leave all
things for God, who in one moment--and it seems to me but a
moment--was pleased to change His servant into another person.
Accordingly, there was no necessity for laying further commands
upon me in this matter.  When my confessor saw how much I clung
to these friendships, he did not venture to bid me distinctly to
give them up.  He must have waited till our Lord did the work--as
He did Himself.  Nor did I think myself that I could succeed; for
I had tried before, and the pain it gave me was so great that I
abandoned the attempt, on the ground that there was nothing
unseemly in those attachments.  Now our Lord set me at liberty,
and gave me strength also to use it.

9. So I told my confessor of it, and gave up everything,
according to his advice.  It did a great deal of good to those
with whom I used to converse, to see my determination.  God be
blessed for ever! Who in one moment set me free, while I had been
for many years making many efforts, and had never succeeded, very
often also doing such violence to myself as injured my health;
but, as it was done by Him Who is almighty, and the true Lord of
all, it gave me no pain whatever.


1. The Saint now treated her body with extreme severity,
disciplining herself even unto blood (Reforma, vol. i. lib. i. c.
xx. § 4).

2. St. Francis de Borja came to Avila, where St. Teresa lived, in
1557 (De la Fuente).  This passage must have been written after
the foundation of St. Joseph, for it was not in the first Life,
as the Saint says, ch. x. § 11, that he kept secret the names of
herself and all others.

3. Ch. xxiii. § 6.

4. See Relation, viii. § 6.

5. Who he was is not certainly known.  The Bollandists decline to
give an opinion: but F. Bouix thinks it was F. Ferdinand Alvarez,
who became her confessor on the removal of F. Juan de Padranos,
and that it was to him she confessed till she placed herself
under the direction of F. Baltasar Alvarez, the confessor of Doña
Guiomar, as it is stated in the next paragraph,--unless the
confessor there mentioned was F. Ferdinand.

6. Doña Guiomar de Ulloa.  See below, ch. xxxii. § 13.

7. If this confessor was F. Baltasar Alvarez, the Saint, F. Bouix
observes, passes rapidly over the history of the year 1557, and
the greater part, perhaps, of 1558; for F. Baltasar was ordained
priest only in the latter year.

8. See Relation, i. § 6.



Chapter XXV.


Divine Locutions.  Discussions on That Subject.


1. It will be as well, I think, to explain these locutions of
God, and to describe what the soul feels when it receives them,
in order that you, my father, may understand the matter; for ever
since that time of which I am speaking, when our Lord granted me
that grace, it has been an ordinary occurrence until now, as will
appear by what I have yet to say. [1]

2. The words are very distinctly formed; but by the bodily ear
they are not heard.  They are, however, much more clearly
understood than they would be if they were heard by the ear.
It is impossible not to understand them, whatever resistance we
may offer.  When we wish not to hear anything in this world, we
can stop our ears, or give attention to something else: so that,
even if we do hear, at least we can refuse to understand.
In this locution of God addressed to the soul there is no escape,
for in spite of ourselves we must listen; and the understanding
must apply itself so thoroughly to the comprehension of that
which God wills we should hear, that it is nothing to the purpose
whether we will it or not; for it is His will, Who can do all
things.  We should understand that His will must be done; and He
reveals Himself as our true Lord, having dominion over us.
I know this by much experience; for my resistance lasted nearly
two years, [2] because of the great fear I was in: and even now I
resist occasionally; but it is of no use.

3. I should like to explain the delusions which may happen here,
though he who has had much experience will run little or no risk,
I think; but the experience must be great.  I should like to
explain also how those locutions which come from the Good Spirit
differ from those which come from an evil spirit; and, further,
how they may be but an apprehension of the understanding,--for
that is possible,--or even words which the mind addressed to
itself.  I do not know if it be so but even this very day I
thought it possible.  I know by experience in many ways, when
these locutions come from God.  I have been told things two or
three years beforehand, which have all come to pass; and in none
of them have I been hitherto deceived.  There are also other
things in which the Spirit of God may be clearly traced, as I
shall relate by and by. [3]

4. It seems to me that a person commending a matter to God with
great love and earnestness may think that he hears in some way or
other whether his prayer will be granted or not, and this is
quite possible; but he who has heard the divine locution will see
clearly enough what this is, because there is a great difference
between the two.  If it be anything which the understanding has
fashioned, however cunningly it may have done so, he sees that it
is the understanding which has arranged that locution, and that
it is speaking of itself.  This is nothing else but a word
uttered by one, and listened to by another: in that case, the
understanding will see that it has not been listening only, but
also forming the words; and the words it forms are something
indistinct, fantastic, and not clear like the divine locutions.
It is in our power to turn away our attention from these
locutions of our own, just as we can be silent when we are
speaking; but, with respect to the former, that cannot be done.

5. There is another test more decisive still.  The words formed
by the understanding effect nothing; but, when our Lord speaks,
it is at once word and work; and though the words may not be
meant to stir up our devotion, but are rather words of reproof,
they dispose a soul at once, strengthen it, make it tender, give
it light, console and calm it; and if it should be in dryness, or
in trouble and uneasiness, all is removed, as if by the action of
a hand, and even better; for it seems as if our Lord would have
the soul understand that He is all-powerful, and that His words
are deeds.

6. It seems to me that there is as much difference between these
two locutions as there is between speaking and listening, neither
more nor less; for when I speak, as I have just said, [4] I go on
with my understanding arranging what I am saying; but if I am
spoken to by others, I do nothing else but listen, without any
labour.  The human locution is as something which we cannot well
make out, as if we were half asleep; but the divine locution is a
voice so clear that not a syllable of its utterance is lost.
It may occur, too, when the understanding and the soul are so
troubled and distracted that they cannot form one sentence
correctly; and yet grand sentences, perfectly arranged, such as
the soul in its most recollected state never could have formed,
are uttered, and at the first word, as I said, [5] change it
utterly.  Still less could it have formed them if they are
uttered in an ecstasy, when the faculties of the soul are
suspended; for how should the soul then comprehend anything, when
it remembers nothing?--yea, rather, how can it remember them
then, when the memory can hardly do any