



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 "Quae praeparavit Deus
iis qui" to "Quae praeparavit 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., Sec. 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. Sec. 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 Descalcos)
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. Gregoire 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. Sec. 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 be
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, Sec. 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 dona 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 Descalcos 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 Ibanez 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 Banez
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 Banez 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 Ibanez, reader of Divinity at Avila.  She afterwards
completed and recast this book."  These two passages of Banez
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 Dona 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 Ibanez 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 Ibanez, 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 Dona
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. Secs. 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. Sec. 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 Banez, 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 (Ibanez); 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 Ibanez 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 Banez, 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 Banez
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, dona
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, dona Maria Enriquez, and is now, I think, in the hands
of her daughter-in-law, dona 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 be seen that Banez,
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 Therese d'apres 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-Jeronyme-Zoe-Marie du Sacre-Coeur).

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

Sainte Therese, 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. Gregoire de S. Joseph: La
pretendue Hysterie de Sainte Therese. Lyons.

The Bibliographie Theresienne, 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
Therese, Lettres au R. P. Bouix, by the Abbe 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. Sec. 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 Sec. 9.

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

7. Chap. xxxvi. Sec. 10.  The date of this part of the Life can be
easily ascertained from the two following chapters.  In xxxvii. Sec.
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. Sec. 15, she speaks
of the death of Father Pedro Ibanez, which appears to have taken
place on 2nd February.  This, at least, is the date under which
his name appears in the Annee 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. Sec. 11.

11. Chap. v. Sec. 2.

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

13. Chap. xxiii. Sec. 17.

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

15. See the notes to chapters vii. Sec. 11; xvi. Sec. 10; xx. Sec. 6;
xxiv. Sec. 4; xxvii. Sec. 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. Gregoire. 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. Sec. 7.

21. Chap. xxxiv. Sec. 8.

22. Chap. xvi. Sec. 2.

23. Chap. xvii. Sec. 7.

24. Chap. xxviii. Sec. 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 Ibanez and Banez may be included in the
number. See also ch. xxx. Sec. 27.

26. Chap. xviii. Sec. 11.

27. Chap. xiii. Sec. 22.  In chap. xvi. Sec. 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 Ibanez, 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. Sec. 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. Secs. 11 and 12.

29. This is the second reason why the letter could not have been
addressed to Father Ibanez 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. Gregoire,
ii., p. 65.  P. Bertholde-Ignace, Vie de la Mere Anne de Jesus,
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. Sec. 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 Senor" is everywhere translated by "God" in distinction to
"Nuestro Senor," "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 Dona
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 Dona 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]  Dona 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.

Dona 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 Ibanez, [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
Dona 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 Ibanez 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 Dona 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 Banes was one,
were delegated censors of it by the Inquisition. [18]

Fra Banes 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 Banes, 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 Banes, state that the
copy given up by the latter was sent to the Inquisition in
Madrid, and Fra Banes says so twice in his deposition.
The Inquisitor Soto returned the copy to Fra Banes, desiring him
to read it, and give his opinion thereon.  Fra Banes 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.  Banes 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 Banes 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 Banes."

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. Sec. 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. Sec. 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 Sec. 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 Sec. 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 Descalcos. lib. i. ch. vii. Sec. 3.

3. Ch. iii. Sec. 2.

4. Ch. iii. Sec. 9.

5. Ch. i. Sec. 3.

6. Ch. xxiii. Sec. 2.

7. Ch. xxiii. Sec. 8.

8. Id. Sec. 12.

9. Ch. xxiv. Sec. 1.

10. Id. Sec. 4.

11. Ch. xxix. Sec. 4.

12. Ch. xxxiii. Sec. 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. Sec. 6.

15. Rel. vii. Sec. 9.

16. Reforma de los Descalcos, lib. ii. c. xxviii. Sec. 6.

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

18. Jerome Gratian, Lucidario, c. iv.

19. Life, ch. xxxvi. Sec. 15.

20. The Saint says of herself, Rel. vii. Sec. 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. Sec. 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
Banes, to examine the "Life."

25. This took place in the year 1580, according to the Chronicler
of the Order (Reforma de los Descalcos, lib. v. c. xxxv. Sec. 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 Descalcos, lib. v. c. xxxiv. Sec. 4: "Relaciones
de su espiritu."

27. Rel. ii. Sec. 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 Canada, 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. Sec. 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. Sec. 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. Sec. 7].  The vision of
Hell [ch. xxxii. Sec. 1].  Father Alvarez ordained priest.

1559.  She takes F. Alvarez for her confessor.  The transpiercing
of her heart [ch. xxix. Sec. 17].  Vision of our Lord risen from the
dead [ch. xxvii. Sec. 3, ch. xxviii. Sec. 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
Dona Juana comes to Avila from Alba de Tormes to help the Saint
in the new foundation [ch. xxxiii. Sec. 13].  Restores her nephew to
Life [ch. xxxv. Sec. 14, note].  Fra Ibanez 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 Dona Luisa de la Cerda,
and finishes the account of her Life.  Makes the acquaintance of
Fra Banes, afterwards her principal director, and Fra Garcia of
Toledo, both Dominicans.  Receives a visit from Maria of Jesus.
Has a revelation that her sister, Dona Maria, will die suddenly
[ch. xxxiv. Sec. 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. Sec. 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. Sec. 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, Dona Teresa Sanchez
Cepeda Davila y Ahumada.  In the Monastery of the Incarnation,
where she was a professed nun for twenty-eight years, she was
known as Dona Teresa; but in the year 1563, when she left her
monastery for the new foundation of St. Joseph, of the Reform of
the Carmelites, she took for the first time the name of Teresa of
Jesus (De la Fuente).  The Saint was born March 28, 1515, and
baptized on the 4th of April, in the church of St. John; on which
day Mass was said for the first time in the Monastery of the
Incarnation, where the Saint made her profession.  Her godfather
was Vela Nunez, and her godmother Dona Maria del Aguila.
The Bollandists and Father Bouix say that she was baptized on the
very day of her birth.  But the testimony of Dona Maria de Pinel,
a nun in the Monastery of the Incarnation, is clear: and Don
Vicente de La Fuente, quoting it, vol. i. p. 549, says that this
delay of baptism was nothing singular in those days, provided
there was no danger of death.

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 Descalcos, vol. i. lib. i. ch. iii. Sec. 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 Descalcos, lib. i. ch. v. Sec. 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. Sec. 24.)

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

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 Descalcos
lib. i. ch. vii. Sec. 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 Descalcos
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. Sec. 11, she says that our Lord had
always kept her from seeking to be loved of men.

5. Dona Maria Brizeno, mistress of the secular children who were
educated in the monastery (Reforma, lib. i. ch. vii. Sec. 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. Sec. 7).

3. Maria de Cepeda, married to Don Martin Guzman y Barrientos.
They lived in Castellanos de la Canada, where they had
considerable property; but in the later years of their lives they
were in straitened circumstances (De la Fuente).  See below,
ch. xxxiv. Sec. 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. Sec. 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. Sec. 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 Canada, to the house of her sister, Dona Maria,
where she remained till the spring, when she went to Bezadas for
her cure (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi. Sec. 2).

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

8. Ch. v. Sec. 15.

9. Ch. iii. Sec. 4.

10. Ch. iii. Sec. 5.

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

12. See ch. ix. Secs. 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. Sec. 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. Sec. 2).

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

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

4. F. Vicente Barron (Bouix).

5. See ch. xxiii.

6. Sec. 6.

7. Sec. 9.

8. Ch. iv. Sec. 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 Banes, in a
sermon, say that the Saint told him she had, during these four
days, seen hell in a vision.  And the chronicler says that though
there was bodily illness, yet it was a trance of the soul at the
same time (vol. i. lib. i. ch. xii. Sec. 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. Sec. 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. Sec. 18.

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

4. See ch. xxvii. Sec. 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. Sec. 4.

7. See Inner Fortress, v. iii. Sec. 1.

8. Ch. i. Sec. i.

9. Ch. xix. Secs. 9, 17.

10. See Sec. 2, above.

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

12. Sec. 16.

13. See Inner Fortress, v. iii. Sec. 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. Sec. 1.

17. See ch. xix. Sec. 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. Secs. 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. Sec. 10.

2. Sec. 1, above.

3. Ch. vii. Sec. 17; ch. xix. Sec. 8.

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

5. See ch. x. Sec. 2, and ch. xi. Sec. 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. Sec. 10; ch. x. Sec. 1.

3. See Relation, i. Sec. 12.

4. See ch. iv. Sec. 11.

5. Ch. ii. Sec. 8.

6. In the Prologue.

7. Sec. 1.

8. Ch. iv. Sec. 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 be consistent with the truths of our
holy Catholic faith; if it be not, your reverence must burn it at
once--for I give my consent.  I will recount my experience, in
order that, if it be consistent with those truths, your reverence
may make some use of it; if not, you will deliver my soul from
delusion, so that Satan may gain nothing there where I seemed to
be gaining myself.  Our Lord knows well that I, as I shall show
hereafter, [9] have always laboured to find out those who could
give me light.

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

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


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

2. Ch. ix. Sec. 4.

3. Ch. xxx. Secs. 10 and 11.

4. See ch. xiii. Sec. 5.

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

6. See ch. xxxi. Sec. 17.

7. See ch. xv. Sec. 12.

8. See ch. xiv. Sec. 12.

9. See ch. xxiv. Sec. 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. Sec. 1.

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

3. Ch. xiii. Sec. 23.

4. See ch. xv. Sec. 17.

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

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

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

8. Sec. 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. Secs. 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. Sec. 10.

5. Ch. xxxiv. Sec. 9.

6. Ch. x. Sec. 1.

7. Ch. xvi. Sec. 4.

8. "En un credo."

9. Sec. 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. Sec. 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. Secs. 27, 31.

6. Ch. vii. Sec. 16.

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

8. Ch. xii. Sec. 3.

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

10. See ch. xv. Sec. 20.

11. Sec. 18.

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

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

14. Sec. 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. Sec. 12; Way of Perfection, ch. liii., but xxxi. of
the old editions.

3. See Relation, i. Sec. 12.

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

5. See ch. x. Sec. 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. Sec. 12, that the nuns occasionally quitted
the monastery for a time, because of its poverty.

6. See ch. xviii. Sec. 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: "Deliciae meae esse cum filiis hominum."



Chapter XV.


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


1. Let us now go back to the subject.  This quiet and
recollection of the soul makes itself in great measure felt in
the satisfaction and peace, attended with very great joy and
repose of the faculties, and most sweet delight, wherein the soul
is established. [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. Sec. 6.

4. Ch. x. Sec. 1.

5. Ch. xiv. Secs. 3, 4.

6. Ch. x. Sec. 9.

7. Ch. xviii. Sec. 4, and ch. xxi. Sec. 9.

8. Sec. 3.

9. Sec. 5.

10. Ch. x. Sec. 1.

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

12. Ch. xii. Sec. 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. Sec. 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. Sec. 16.

15. Ch. xiii. Sec. 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. Sec. 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. Sec. 9.

5. The Saint herself (De la Fuente).

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

7. See Sec. 3, above.

8. St. John x. 20: "Daemonium 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 Banes wrote here on the margin of the Saint's MS,
"Legant praedicatores" (De la Fuente).



Chapter XVII.


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


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

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

3. In one of these visits, how brief soever it may be, the
Gardener, being who He is,--in a word, the Creator of the
water,--pours the water without stint; and what the poor soul,
with the labour, perhaps, of twenty years in fatiguing the
understanding, could not bring about, that the heavenly Gardener
accomplishes in an instant, causing the fruit both to grow and
ripen; so that the soul, such being the will of our Lord, may
derive its sustenance from its garden.  But He allows it not to
divide the fruit with others, until by eating thereof, it is
strong enough not to waste it in the mere tasting of it,--giving
to Him none of the produce, nor making any compensation for it to
Him who supplies it,--lest it should be maintaining others,
feeding them at its own cost, and itself perhaps dying of
hunger. [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. Sec. 4.

2. Ch. xv. Sec. 1.

3. See Relation, viii. Sec. 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. Sec. 17.

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

6. Ch. xiv. Sec. 6.

7. Sec. 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. Sec. 11.

2. Ch. xvi. Secs. 7, 8.

3. Ch. xvii. Sec. 5.

4. Sec. 3.

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

6. See ch. xiv. Sec. 12.

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

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

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

9. Ch. x. Sec. 1, and ch. xviii. Sec. 16.

10. See Inner Fortress, v. ch. i. Sec. 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. Sec. 2.

2. See ch. xvii. Sec. 3.

3. Ch. vii. Sec. 17, and ch. viii. Sec. 5.

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

5. See ch. xxv.

6. See ch. viii. Sec. 1.

7. Ch. vii. Sec. 17.

8. Ch. vii. Sec. 27.

9. Ch. xxxi. Sec. 21.

10. Ch. xx. Sec. 33, and ch. xxv. Sec. 24.

11. Ch. xix. Sec. 4.

12. See Sec. 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; "Haec oratio
raptus superior est praecedentibus orationis gradibus, etiam
oratione unionis ordinariae, 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
ecstaticae est in corpore, quod ita remanet, ac si per animam non
informaretur, infrigidatur enim calore naturali deficiente,
clauduntur suaviter oculi, et alii sensus amittuntur: contingit
tamen quod corpus infirmum in hac oratione sanitatem recuperat."
Anton. a Spirit. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iv. d. 2, Sec. 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 meae."  (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. Sec. 21.

10. Sec. 9, supra.

11. Sec. 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. Secs. 9 and 12.

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

17. Ch. v. Sec. 18.

18. Sec. 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 Sec. 11.

21. See Relation, viii. Sec. 8.

22. Ch. xviii. Sec. 16.

23. Ch. xviii. Sec. 17.

24. Avila.

25. Ch. xxv. Sec. 18.

26. Sec. 9.

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

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 columbae?"

30. Job iv. 17: "Numquid <DW25> 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. Sec. 30.

2. Ch. xx. Sec. 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. Sec. 1.

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

7. Inner Fortress, iv. ch. i. Sec. 11.

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

9. Ch. xvi. Sec. 7.

10. 1 Cor. ii. 9: "Quae praeparavit Deus his qui diligunt Illum."



Chapter XXII.


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


1. There is one thing I should like to say--I think it important:
and if you, my father, approve, it will serve for a lesson that
possibly may be necessary; for in some books on prayer the
writers say that the soul, though it cannot in its own strength
attain to this state,--because it is altogether a supernatural
work wrought in it by our Lord,--may nevertheless succeed, by
lifting up the spirit above all created things, and raising it
upwards in humility, after some years spent in a purgative life,
and advancing in the illuminative.  I do not very well know what
they mean by illuminative: I understand it to mean the life of
those who are making progress.  And they advise us much to
withdraw from all bodily imagination, and draw near to the
contemplation of the Divinity; for they say that those who have
advanced so far would be embarrassed or hindered in their way to
the highest contemplation, if they regarded even the Sacred
Humanity itself. [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, Sec. 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 praesentia Christi in duobus poterat esse nociva.
Primo, quantum ad fidem, quia videntes Eum in forma in qua erat
minor Patre, non ita de facili crederent Eum aequalem Patri, ut
dicit glossa super Joannem.  Secundo, quantum ad dilectionem,
quia Eum non solum spiritualiter, sed etiam carnaliter
diligeremus, conversantes cum Ipso corporaliter, et hoc est de
imperfectione dilectionis."

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. Sec. 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. Secs. 5, 7.

11. Ch. xv. Sec. 21.

12. Ch. xx. Sec. 2.

13. St. Luke v. 8: "Exi a me, quia <DW25> peccator sum, Domine."

14. Ch. xii. Sec. 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. Sec. 15.

19. St. Luke xvii. 10: "Servi inutiles sumus."

20. Ch. xi. Sec. 11.

21. St. Luke xiv. 8: "Non discumbas in primo loco."  See Way of
Perfection, ch. xxvi. Sec. 1; but ch. xvii. of the old editions.

22. Ch. xi. Sec. 23, ch. xviii. Sec. 6.

23. Os. ii. 14: "Ducam eam in solitudinem."

24. St. Matt. xix. 29: "Qui reliquerit domum, . . .
centuplum accipiet."

25. Ch. xii. Sec. 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
Descalcos, vol. i. lib. i. c. xix. Sec. 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. Sec. 37.

5. Ch. xix. Secs. 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. Dona Mencia del Aguila (De la Fuente, in a note on letter 10,
vol. ii. p. 9, where he corrects himself,--having previously
called her Mencia de Avila).

9. Sec. 4.

10. Subida del Monte Sion, by a Franciscan friar, Bernardino de
Laredo (Reforma, vol. i. lib. i. c. xix. Sec. 7).

11. Sec. 6.

12. See ch. xxv. Sec. 18.

13. See ch. xxviii. Sec. 18.

14. See Relation, vii. Sec. 17.

15. See ch. iv. Sec. 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. Sec. 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. Sec. 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. Sec. 11, that he kept secret the names of
herself and all others.

3. Ch. xxiii. Sec. 6.

4. See Relation, viii. Sec. 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 Dona
Guiomar, as it is stated in the next paragraph,--unless the
confessor there mentioned was F. Ferdinand.

6. Dona Guiomar de Ulloa.  See below, ch. xxxii. Sec. 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. Sec. 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 anything at all, and the
imagination is, as it were, suspended?

7. But it is to be observed, that if we see visions and hear
words it never is as at the time when the soul is in union in the
very rapture itself,--so it seems to me.  At that moment, as I
have shown,--I think it was when I was speaking of the second
water, [6]--all the faculties of the soul are suspended; and, as
I think, neither vision, nor understanding, nor hearing, is
possible at that time.  The soul is then wholly in the power of
another; and in that instant--a very brief one, in my
opinion--our Lord leaves it free for nothing whatever; but when
this instant is passed, the soul continuing still entranced, then
is the time of which I am speaking; for the faculties, though not
completely suspended, are so disposed that they are scarcely
active, being, as it were, absorbed, and incapable of making
any reflections.

8. There are so many ways of ascertaining the nature of these
locutions, that if a person be once deceived, he will not be
deceived often.  I mean, that a soul accustomed to them, and on
its guard, will most clearly see what they are; for, setting
other considerations aside which prove what I have said, the
human locution produces no effect, neither does the soul accept
it,--though it must admit the other, whether we like it or
not,--nor does it believe it; on the contrary, it is known to be
a delusion of the understanding, and is therefore put away as we
would put away the ravings of a lunatic.

9. But as to the divine locution, we listen to that as we do to a
person of great holiness, learning, or authority, whom we know to
be incapable of uttering a falsehood.  And yet this is an
inadequate illustration; for these locutions proceed occasionally
in such great majesty that, without our recollecting who it is
that utters them, they make us tremble if they be words of
reproof, and die of love if words of love.  They are also, as I
have said, [7] matters of which the memory has not the least
recollection; and expressions so full are uttered so rapidly,
that much time must have been spent in arranging them, if we
formed them ourselves; and so it seems to me that we cannot
possibly be ignorant at the time that we have never formed them
ourselves at all.

10. There is no reason, therefore, why I should dwell longer on
this matter.  It is a wonder to me that any experienced person,
unless he deliberately chooses to do so, can fall into delusions.
It has often happened to me, when I had doubts, to distrust what
I had heard, and to think that it was all imagination,--but this
I did afterwards: for at the moment that is impossible,--and at a
later time to see the whole fulfilled; for our Lord makes the
words dwell in the memory so that they cannot be forgotten.
Now, that which comes forth from our understanding is, as it
were, the first movement of thought, which passes away and is
forgotten; but the divine locution is a work done; and though
some of it may be forgotten, and time have lapsed, yet is not so
wholly forgotten that the memory loses all traces of what was
once spoken,--unless, indeed, after very long time, or unless the
locution were words of grace or of instruction.  But as to
prophetic words, they are never forgotten, in my opinion; at
least, I have never forgotten any,--and yet my memory is weak.

11. I repeat it, unless a soul be so wicked as to pretend that it
has these locutions, which would be a great sin, and say that it
hears divine words when it hears nothing of the kind, it cannot
possibly fail to see clearly that itself arranges the words, and
utters them to itself.  That seems to me altogether impossible
for any soul that has ever known the Spirit of God.  If it has
not, it may continue all its life long in this delusion, and
imagine that it hears and understands, though I know not how that
can be.  A soul desires to hear these locutions, or it does not;
if it does not, it is distressed because it hears them, and is
unwilling to listen to them, because of a thousand fears which
they occasion, and for many other reasons it has for being quiet
in prayer without these interruptions.  How is it that the
understanding has time enough to arrange these locutions?
They require time.

12. But, on the other side, the divine locutions instruct us
without loss of time, and we understand matters which seem to
require a month on our part to arrange.  The understanding
itself, and the soul, stand amazed at some of the things we
understand.  So it is; and he who has any experience of it will
see that what I am saying is literally true.  I give God thanks
that I have been able thus to explain it.  I end by saying that,
in my opinion, we may hear the locutions that proceed from the
understanding whenever we like, and think that we hear them
whenever we pray.  But it is not so with the divine locutions:
for many days I may desire to hear them, and I cannot; and at
other times, even when I would not, as I said before, [8] hear
them, I must.  It seems to me that any one disposed to deceive
people by saying that he heard from God that which he has
invented himself, might as easily say that he heard it with his
bodily ears.  It is most certainly true that I never imagined
there was any other way of hearing or understanding till I had
proof of it in myself; and so, as I have said before, [9] it gave
me trouble enough.

13. Locutions that come from Satan not only do not leave any good
effects behind, but do leave evil effects.  This has happened to
me; but not more than two or three times.  Our Lord warned me at
once that they came from Satan.  Over and above the great aridity
which remains in the soul after these evil locutions, there is
also a certain disquiet, such as I have had on many other
occasions, when, by our Lord's permission, I fell into great
temptations and travail of soul in diverse ways; and though I am
in trouble often enough, as I shall show hereafter, [10] yet this
disquiet is such that I know not whence it comes; only the soul
seems to resist, is troubled and distressed, without knowing why;
for the words of Satan are good, and not evil.  I am thinking
whether this may not be so because one spirit is conscious of the
presence of another.

14. The sweetness and joy which Satan gives are, in my opinion,
of a very different kind.  By means of these sweetnesses he may
deceive any one who does not, or who never did, taste of the
sweetness of God,--by which I mean a certain sweet, strong,
impressive, delightsome, and calm refreshing.  Those little,
fervid bursts of tears, and other slight emotions,--for at the
first breath of persecution these flowers wither,--I do not call
devotion, though they are a good beginning, and are holy
impressions; but they are not a test to determine whether these
locutions come from a good or an evil spirit.  It is therefore
best for us to proceed always with great caution; for those
persons who have advanced in prayer only so far as this may most
easily fall into delusions, if they have visions or revelations.
For myself, I never had a single vision or revelation till God
had led me on to the prayer of union,--unless it be on that
occasion, of which I have spoken before, [11] now many years ago,
when I saw our Lord.  Oh, that His Majesty had been pleased to
let me then understand that it was a true vision, as I have since
understood it was! it would have been no slight blessing to me.

15. After these locutions of the evil one, the soul is never
gentle, but is, as it were, terrified, and greatly disgusted.

16. I look upon it as a most certain truth, that the devil will
never deceive, and that God will not suffer him to deceive, the
soul which has no confidence whatever in itself; which is strong
in faith, and resolved to undergo a thousand deaths for any one
article of the creed; which in its love of the faith, infused of
God once for all,--a faith living and strong,--always labours,
seeking for further light on this side and on that, to mould
itself on the teaching of the Church, as one already deeply
grounded in the truth.  No imaginable revelations, not even if it
saw the heavens open, could make that soul swerve in any degree
from the doctrine of the Church.  If, however, it should at any
time find itself wavering even in thought on this point, or
stopping to say to itself, If God says this to me, it may be
true, as well as what He said to the Saints--the soul must not be
sure of it.  I do not mean that it so believes, only that Satan
has taken the first step towards tempting it; and the giving way
to the first movements of a thought like this is evidently most
wrong.  I believe, however, that these first movements will not
take place if the soul is so strong in the matter--as that soul
is to whom our Lord sends these graces--that it seems as if it
could crush the evil spirits in defence of the very least of the
truths which the Church holds.

17. If the soul does not discern this great strength in itself,
and if the particular devotion or vision help it not onwards,
then it must not look upon it as safe.  For though at first the
soul is conscious of no harm, great harm may by degrees ensue;
because, so far as I can see, and by experience understand, that
which purports to come from God is received only in so far as it
corresponds with the sacred writings; but if it varies therefrom
ever so little, I am incomparably more convinced that it comes
from Satan than I am now convinced it comes from God, however
deep that conviction may be.  In this case, there is no need to
ask for signs, nor from what spirit it proceeds, because this
varying is so clear a sign of the devil's presence, that if all
the world were to assure me that it came from God, I would not
believe it.  The fact is, that all good seems to be lost out of
sight, and to have fled from the soul, when the devil has spoken
to it; the soul is thrown into a state of disgust, and is
troubled, able to do no good thing whatever--for if it conceives
good desires, they are not strong; its humility is fictitious,
disturbed, and without sweetness.  Any one who has ever tasted of
the Spirit of God will, I think, understand it.

18. Nevertheless, Satan has many devices; and so there is nothing
more certain than that it is safer to be afraid, and always on
our guard, under a learned director, from whom nothing is
concealed.  If we do this, no harm can befall us, though much has
befallen me through the excessive fears which possessed some
people.  For instance, it happened so once to me, when many
persons in whom I had great confidence, and with good reason, had
assembled together,--five or six in number, I think,--and all
very great servants of God.  It is true, my relations were with
one of them only; but by his orders made my state known to the
others.  They had many conferences together about my necessities;
for they had great affection for me, and were afraid I was under
a delusion.  I, too, was very much afraid whenever I was not
occupied in prayer; but when I prayed, and our Lord bestowed His
graces upon me, I was instantly reassured.  My confessor told me
they were all of opinion that I was deceived by Satan; that I
must communicate less frequently, and contrive to distract myself
in such a way as to be less alone.

19. I was in great fear myself, as I have just said, and my
disease of the heart [12] contributed thereto, so that very often
I did not dare to remain alone in my cell during the day.  When I
found so many maintain this, and myself unable to believe them, I
had at once a most grievous scruple; for it seemed to me that I
had very little humility, especially as they all led lives
incomparably better than mine: they were also learned men.
Why should I not believe them?  I did all I could to believe
them.  I reflected on my wicked life, and therefore what they
said to me must be true.

20. In this distress, I quitted the church, [13] and entered an
oratory.  I had not been to Communion for many days, nor had I
been alone, which was all my comfort.  I had no one to speak to,
for every one was against me.  Some, I thought, made a mock of me
when I spoke to them of my prayer, as if I were a person under
delusions of the imagination; others warned my confessor to be on
his guard against me; and some said it was clear the whole was an
operation of Satan.  My confessor, though he agreed with them for
the sake of trying me, as I understood afterwards, always
comforted me: and he alone did so.  He told me that, if I did not
offend God, my prayer, even if it was the work of Satan, could do
me no harm; that I should be delivered from it.  He bade me pray
much to God: he himself, and all his penitents, and many others
did so earnestly; I, too, with all my might, and as many as I
knew to be servants of God, prayed that His Majesty would be
pleased to lead me by another way.  This lasted, I think, about
two years; and this was the subject of my continual prayer to
our Lord.

21. But there was no comfort for me when I thought of the
possibility that Satan could speak to me so often.  Now that I
was never alone for prayer, our Lord made me recollected even
during conversation: He spoke what He pleased,--I could not avoid
it; and, though it distressed me, I was forced to listen.  I was
by myself, having no one in whom I could find any comfort; unable
to pray or read, like a person stunned by heavy trials, and by
the dread that the evil one had deluded me; utterly disquieted
and wearied, not knowing what would become of me.  I have been
occasionally--yea, very often--in distress, but never before in
distress so great.  I was in this state for four or five hours;
there was no comfort for me, either from heaven or on earth--only
our Lord left me to suffer, afraid of a thousand dangers.

22. O my Lord, how true a friend art Thou! how powerful!
Thou showest Thy power when Thou wilt; and Thou dost will it
always, if only we will it also.  Let the whole creation praise
Thee, O Thou Lord of the world!  Oh, that a voice might go forth
over all the earth, proclaiming Thy faithfulness to those who
love Thee! All things fail; but Thou, Lord of all, never failest!
They who love Thee, oh, how little they have to suffer! oh, how
gently, how tenderly, how sweetly Thou, O my Lord, dealest with
them! Oh, that no one had ever been occupied with any other love
than Thine!  It seems as if Thou didst subject those who love
Thee to a severe trial: but it is in order that they may learn,
in the depths of that trial, the depths of Thy love.  O my God,
oh, that I had understanding and learning, and a new language, in
order to magnify Thy works, according to the knowledge of them
which my soul possesses!  Everything fails me, O my Lord; but if
Thou wilt not abandon me, I will never fail Thee.  Let all the
learned rise up against me,--let the whole creation persecute
me,--let the evil spirits torment me,--but do Thou, O Lord, fail
me not; for I know by experience now the blessedness of that
deliverance which Thou dost effect for those who trust only in
Thee.  In this distress,--for then I had never had a single
vision,--these Thy words alone were enough to remove it, and give
me perfect peace: "Be not afraid, my daughter: it is I; and I
will not abandon thee.  Fear not." [14]

23. It seems to me that, in the state I was in then, many hours
would have been necessary to calm me, and that no one could have
done it.  Yet I found myself, through these words alone, tranquil
and strong, courageous and confident, at rest and enlightened; in
a moment, my soul seemed changed, and I felt I could maintain
against all the world that my prayer was the work of God.
Oh, how good is God! how good is our Lord, and how powerful!
He gives not counsel only, but relief as well.  His words are
deeds. O my God! as He strengthens our faith, love grows.  So it
is, in truth; for I used frequently to recollect how our Lord,
when the tempest arose, commanded the winds to be still over the
sea. [15] So I said to myself: Who is He, that all my faculties
should thus obey Him?  Who is He, that gives light in such
darkness in a moment; who softens a heart that seemed to be made
of stone; who gives the waters of sweet tears, where for a long
time great dryness seems to have prevailed; who inspires these
desires; who bestows this courage?  What have I been thinking of?
what am I afraid of? what is it?  I desire to serve this my Lord;
I aim at nothing else but His pleasure; I seek no joy, no rest,
no other good than that of doing His will.  I was so confident
that I had no other desire, that I could safely assert it.

24. Seeing, then, that our Lord is so powerful,--as I see and
know He is,--and that the evil spirits are His slaves, of which
there can be no doubt, because it is of faith,--and I a servant
of this our Lord and King,--what harm can Satan do unto me?
Why have I not strength enough to fight against all hell?  I took
up the cross in my hand,--I was changed in a moment into another
person, and it seemed as if God had really given me courage
enough not to be afraid of encountering all the evil spirits.
It seemed to me that I could, with the cross, easily defeat them
altogether.  So I cried out, Come on, all of you; I am the
servant of our Lord: I should like to see what you can do
against me.

25. And certainly they seemed to be afraid of me, for I was left
in peace: I feared them so little, that the terrors, which until
now oppressed me, quitted me altogether; and though I saw them
occasionally,--I shall speak of this by and by, [16]--I was never
again afraid of them--on the contrary, they seemed to be afraid
of me. [17]  I found myself endowed with a certain authority over
them, given me by the Lord of all, so that I cared no more for
them than for flies.  They seem to be such cowards; for their
strength fails them at the sight of any one who despises them.
These enemies have not the courage to assail any but those whom
they see ready to give in to them, or when God permits them to do
so, for the greater good of His servants, whom they may try
and torment.

26. May it please His Majesty that we fear Him whom we ought to
fear, [18] and understand that one venial sin can do us more harm
than all hell together; for that is the truth.  The evil spirits
keep us in terror, because we expose ourselves to the assaults of
terror by our attachments to honours, possessions, and pleasures.
For then the evil spirits, uniting themselves with us,--we become
our own enemies when we love and seek what we ought to hate,--do
us great harm.  We ourselves put weapons into their hands, that
they may assail us; those very weapons with which we should
defend ourselves.  It is a great pity.  But if, for the love of
God, we hated all this, and embraced the cross, and set about His
service in earnest, Satan would fly away before such realities,
as from the plague.  He is the friend of lies, and a lie
himself. [19]  He will have nothing to do with those who walk in
the truth.  When he sees the understanding of any one obscured,
he simply helps to pluck out his eyes; if he sees any one already
blind, seeking peace in vanities,--for all the things of this
world are so utterly vanity, that they seem to be but the
playthings of a child,--he sees at once that such a one is a
child; he treats him as a child, and ventures to wrestle with
him--not once, but often.

27. May it please our Lord that I be not one of these; and may
His Majesty give me grace to take that for peace which is really
peace, that for honour which is really honour, and that for
delight which is really a delight.  Let me never mistake one
thing for another--and then I snap my fingers at all the devils,
for they shall be afraid of me.  I do not understand those
terrors which make us cry out, Satan, Satan! when we may say,
God, God! and make Satan tremble.  Do we not know that he cannot
stir without the permission of God?  What does it mean?  I am
really much more afraid of those people who have so great a fear
of the devil, than I am of the devil himself.  Satan can do me no
harm whatever, but they can trouble me very much, particularly if
they be confessors.  I have spent some years of such great
anxiety, that even now I am amazed that I was able to bear it.
Blessed be our Lord, who has so effectually helped me!


1. Philip. a SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic. par. 2,
tr. iii. disc. iv. art. v.: "Tres sunt modi divinae locutionis;
completur enim divina locutio vel verbis successivis, vel verbis
formalibus, vel verbis substantialibus.  Completur verbis
successivis cum anima in semetipsa multum collecta quosdam
discursus internos de Deo vel de aliis divina format directione;
hujusmodi quippe discursus, quamvis ab ipsa sibi formati, a Deo
tamen dirigente procedunt.  Completur verbis formalibus cum anima
vel in se collecta, vel aliis occupata, percipit quaedam verba
formaliter ac distincte divinitus expressa, ad quorum formationem
anima passive penitus se habet.  Completur verbis substantialibus
cum anima vel in se collecta, vel etiam distracta, percipit
quaedam verba viva et efficacia, divinitus ad se directa, quae
virtutem aut substantialem effectum per ipsa significatum
fortiter ac infallibiliter causant."  See also St. John of the
Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel, b. ii. ch. xxviii. and the
following, p. 188.

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

3. See ch. xxvii. Sec. 4.

4. Sec. 4.

5. Sec. 5.

6. The doctrine here laid down is not that of the second
water,--chs. xiv. and xv.,--but that of the third, ch. xvi.
The Saint herself speaks doubtfully; and as she had but little
time for writing, she could not correct nor read again what she
had written (De la Fuente).

7. Sec. 6.

8. Sec. 2.

9. Ch. vii. Sec. 12.

10. Ch. xxviii. Sec. 6, ch. xxx. Sec. 10.

11. Ch. vii. Sec. 11.

12. Ch. iv. Sec. 6, ch. v. Sec. 14.

13. It was the church of the Jesuits (Bouix).

14. See Inner Fortress, vi. 3, Sec. 5.

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

16. Ch. xxxi. Sec. 2.

17. St. John of the Cross, Spiritual Canticle, st. 24, p. 128,
Eng. trans.

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

19. St. John viii. 44: "Mendax est, et pater ejus."



Chapter XXVI.


How the Fears of the Saint Vanished.  How She Was Assured That
Her Prayer Was the Work of the Holy Spirit.


1. I look upon the courage which our Lord has implanted in me
against evil spirits as one of the greatest mercies which He has
bestowed upon me; for a cowardly soul, afraid of anything but sin
against God, is a very unseemly thing, when we have on our side
the King omnipotent, our Lord most high, who can do all things,
and subjects all things to Himself.  There is nothing to be
afraid of if we walk, as I said before, [1] in the truth, in the
sight of His Majesty, with a pure conscience.  And for this end,
as I said in the same place, I would have myself all fears, that
I may not for one instant offend Him who in that instant is able
to destroy us.  If His Majesty is pleased with us, whoever
resists us--be he who he may--will be utterly disappointed.

2. It may be so, you will say; but, then, where is that soul so
just as to please Him in everything?--and that is the reason why
we are afraid.  Certainly it is not my soul, which is most
wretched, unprofitable, and full of misery.  God is not like man
in His ways; He knows our weakness.  But the soul perceives, by
the help of certain great signs, whether it loves God of a truth;
for the love of those souls who have come to this state is not
hidden as it was at first, but is full of high impulses, and of
longings for the vision of God, as I shall show hereafter--or
rather, as I have shown already. [2]  Everything wearies,
everything distresses, everything torments the soul, unless it be
suffered with God, or for God.  There is no rest which is not a
weariness, because the soul knows itself to be away from its true
rest; and so love is made most manifest, and, as I have just
said, impossible to hide.

3. It happened to me, on another occasion to be grievously tried,
and much spoken against on account of a certain affair,--of which
I will speak hereafter, [3]--by almost everybody in the place
where I am living, and by the members of my Order.  When I was in
this distress, and afflicted by many occasions of disquiet
wherein I was placed, our Lord spoke to me, saying: "What art
thou afraid of? knowest thou not that I am almighty?  I will do
what I have promised thee."  And so, afterwards, was it done.
I found myself at once so strong, that I could have undertaken
anything, so it seemed, immediately, even if I had to endure
greater trials for His service, and had to enter on a new state
of suffering.  These locutions are so frequent, that I cannot
count them; many of them are reproaches, and He sends them when I
fall into imperfections.  They are enough to destroy a soul.
They correct me, however; for His Majesty--as I said
before [4]--gives both counsel and relief.  There are others
which bring my former sins into remembrance,--particularly when
He is about to bestow upon me some special grace,--in such a way
that the soul beholds itself as being really judged; for those
reproaches of God put the truth before it so distinctly, that it
knows not what to do with itself.  Some are warnings against
certain dangers to myself or others; many of them are prophecies
of future things, three or four years beforehand; and all of them
have been fulfilled: some of them I could mention.  Here, then,
are so many reasons for believing that they come from God, as
make it impossible, I believe, for anybody to mistake them.

4. The safest course in these things is to declare, without fail,
the whole state of the soul, together with the graces our Lord
gives me, to a confessor who is learned, and obey him.  I do so;
and if I did not, I should have no peace.  Nor is it right that
we women, who are unlearned, should have any: there can be no
danger in this, but rather great profit.  This is what our Lord
has often commanded me to do, and it is what I have often done.
I had a confessor [5] who mortified me greatly, and now and then
distressed me: he tried me heavily, for he disquieted me
exceedingly; and yet he was the one who, I believe, did me the
most good.  Though I had a great affection for him, I was
occasionally tempted to leave him; I thought that the pain he
inflicted on me disturbed my prayer.  Whenever I was resolved on
leaving him, I used to feel instantly that I ought not to do so;
and one reproach of our Lord would press more heavily upon me
than all that my confessor did.  Now and then, I was worn
out--torture on the one hand, reproaches on the other.
I required it all, for my will was but little subdued.  Our Lord
said to me once, that there was no obedience where there was no
resolution to suffer; that I was to think of His sufferings, and
then everything would be easy.

5. One of my confessors, to whom I went in the beginning, advised
me once, now that my spiritual state was known to be the work of
God, to keep silence, and not speak of these things to any one,
on the ground that it was safer to keep these graces secret.
To me, the advice seemed good, because I felt it so much whenever
I had to speak of them to my confessor; [6] I was also so ashamed
of myself, that I felt it more keenly at times to speak of them
than I should have done in confessing grave sins, particularly
when the graces I had to reveal were great.  I thought they did
not believe me, and that they were laughing at me.  I felt it so
much,--for I look on this as an irreverent treatment of the
marvels of God,--that I was glad to be silent. I learned then
that I had been ill-advised by that confessor, because I ought
never to hide anything from my confessor; for I should find great
security if I told everything; and if I did otherwise, I might at
any time fall into delusions. [7]

6. Whenever our Lord commanded me to do one thing in prayer, and
if my confessor forbade it, our Lord Himself told me to obey my
confessor.  His Majesty afterwards would change the mind of that
confessor, so that he would have me do what he had forbidden
before.  When we were deprived of many books written in Spanish,
and forbidden to read them,--I felt it deeply, for some of these
books were a great comfort to me, and I could not read them in
Latin,--our Lord said to me, "Be not troubled; I will give thee a
living book."  I could not understand why this was said to me,
for at that time I had never had a vision. [8]  But, a very few
days afterwards, I understood it well enough; for I had so much
to think of, and such reasons for self-recollection in what I saw
before me and our Lord dealt so lovingly with me, in teaching me
in so many ways, that I had little or no need whatever of books.
His Majesty has been to me a veritable Book, in which I saw all
truth.  Blessed be such a Book, which leaves behind an impression
of what is read therein, and in such a way that it cannot
be forgotten!

7. Who can look upon our Lord, covered with wounds, and bowed
down under persecutions, without accepting, loving, and longing
for them?  Who can behold but a part of that glory which He will
give to those who serve Him without confessing that all he may
do, and all he may suffer, are altogether as nothing, when we may
hope for such a reward?  Who can look at the torments of lost
souls without acknowledging the torments of this life to be
joyous delights in comparison, and confessing how much they owe
to our Lord in having saved them so often from the place of
torments? [9]  But as, by the help of God, I shall speak more at
large of certain things, I wish now to go on with the story of my
life.  Our Lord grant that I have been clear enough in what I
have hitherto said!  I feel assured that he will understand me
who has had experience herein, and that he will see I have
partially succeeded; but as to him who has had no such
experience, I should not be surprised if he regarded it all as
folly.  It is enough for him that it is I who say it, in order to
be free from blame; neither will I blame any one who shall so
speak of it.  Our Lord grant that I may never fail to do His
will!  Amen.


1. Ch. xxv. Sec. 26.

2. Ch. xv. Sec. 6.

3. Ch. xxxiii.; the foundation of the house of St. Joseph.

4. Ch. xxv. Sec. 23.

5. The Bollandists, n. 185, attribute some of the severity with
which her confessor treated the Saint to the spirit of desolation
with which he was then tried himself; and, in proof of it, refer
to the account which F. Baltasar Alvarez gave of his own prayer
to the General of the Society.

6. See Relation, vii. Sec. 7.

7. St. John of the Cross, Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch. 22, Sec. 14.

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

9. St. Luke xvi. 28: "Ne et ipsi veniant in hunc
locum tormentorum."



Chapter XXVII.


The Saint Prays to Be Directed by a Different Way.
Intellectual Visions.


1. I now resume the story of my life.  I was in great pain and
distress; and many prayers, as I said, [1] were made on my
behalf, that our Lord would lead me by another and a safer way;
for this, they told me, was so suspicious.  The truth is, that
though I was praying to God for this, and wished I had a desire
for another way, yet, when I saw the progress I was making, I was
unable really to desire a change,--though I always prayed for
it,--excepting on those occasions when I was extremely cast down
by what people said to me, and by the fears with which they
filled me.

2. I felt that I was wholly changed; I could do nothing but put
myself in the hands of God: He knew what was expedient for me;
let Him do with me according to His will in all things.  I saw
that by this way I was directed heavenwards, and that formerly I
was going down to hell.  I could not force myself to desire a
change, nor believe that I was under the influence of Satan.
Though I was doing all I could to believe the one and to desire
the other, it was not in my power to do so.  I offered up all my
actions, if there should be any good in them, for this end; I had
recourse to the Saints for whom I had a devotion, that they might
deliver me from the evil one; I made novenas; I commended myself
to St. Hilarion, to the Angel St. Michael, to whom I had recently
become devout, for this purpose; and many other Saints I
importuned, that our Lord might show me the way,--I mean, that
they might obtain this for me from His Majesty.

3. At the end of two years spent in prayer by myself and others
for this end, namely, that our Lord would either lead me by
another way, or show the truth of this,--for now the locutions of
our Lord were extremely frequent,--this happened to me.  I was in
prayer one day,--it was the feast of the glorious
St. Peter, [2]--when I saw Christ close by me, or, to speak more
correctly, felt Him; for I saw nothing with the eyes of the body,
nothing with the eyes of the soul.  He seemed to me to be close
beside me; and I saw, too, as I believe, that it was He who was
speaking to me. As I was utterly ignorant that such a vision was
possible, [3] I was extremely afraid at first, and did nothing
but weep; however, when He spoke to me but one word to reassure
me, I recovered myself, and was, as usual, calm and comforted,
without any fear whatever.  Jesus Christ seemed to be by my side
continually, and, as the vision was not imaginary, I saw no form;
but I had a most distinct feeling that He was always on my right
hand, a witness of all I did; and never at any time, if I was but
slightly recollected, or not too much distracted, could I be
ignorant of His near presence. [4]

4. I went at once to my confessor, [5] in great distress, to tell
him of it.  He asked in what form I saw our Lord.  I told him I
saw no form.  He then said: "How did you know that it was
Christ?"  I replied, that I did not know how I knew it; but I
could not help knowing that He was close beside me,--that I saw
Him distinctly, and felt His presence,--that the recollectedness
of my soul was deeper in the prayer of quiet, and more
continuous,--that the effects thereof were very different from
what I had hitherto experienced,--and that it was most certain.
I could only make comparisons in order to explain myself; and
certainly there are no comparisons, in my opinion, by which
visions of this kind can be described.  Afterwards I learnt from
Friar Peter of Alcantara, a holy man of great spirituality,--of
whom I shall speak by and by, [6]--and from others of great
learning, that this vision was of the highest order, and one with
which Satan can least interfere; and therefore there are no words
whereby to explain,--at least, none for us women, who know so
little: learned men can explain it better.

5. For if I say that I see Him neither with the eyes of the body,
nor with those of the soul,--because it was not an imaginary
vision,--how is it that I can understand and maintain that He
stands beside me, and be more certain of it than if I saw Him?
If it be supposed that it is as if a person were blind, or in the
dark, and therefore unable to see another who is close to him,
the comparison is not exact.  There is a certain likelihood about
it, however, but not much, because the other senses tell him who
is blind of that presence: he hears the other speak or move, or
he touches him; but in these visions there is nothing like this.
The darkness is not felt; only He renders Himself present to the
soul by a certain knowledge of Himself which is more clear than
the sun. [7]  I do not mean that we now see either a sun or any
brightness, only that there is a light not seen, which illumines
the understanding so that the soul may have the fruition of so
great a good.  This vision brings with it great blessings.

6. It is not like that presence of God which is frequently felt,
particularly by those who have attained to the prayer of union
and of quiet, when we seem, at the very commencement of our
prayer, to find Him with whom we would converse, and when we seem
to feel that He hears us by the effects and the spiritual
impressions of great love and faith of which we are then
conscious, as well as by the good resolutions, accompanied by
sweetness, which we then make.  This is a great grace from God;
and let him to whom He has given it esteem it much, because it is
a very high degree of prayer; but it is not vision.  God is
understood to be present there by the effects He works in the
soul: that is the way His Majesty makes His presence felt; but
here, in this vision, it is seen clearly that Jesus Christ is
present, the Son of the Virgin.  In the prayer of union and of
quiet, certain inflowings of the Godhead are present; but in the
vision, the Sacred Humanity also, together with them, is pleased
to be our visible companion, and to do us good.

7. My confessor next asked me, who told me it was Jesus
Christ. [8]  I replied that He often told me so Himself; but,
even before He told me so, there was an impression on my
understanding that it was He; and before this He used to tell me
so, and I saw Him not.  If a person whom I had never seen, but of
whom I had heard, came to speak to me, and I were blind or in the
dark, and told me who he was, I should believe him; but I could
not so confidently affirm that he was that person, as I might do
if I had seen him.  But in this vision I could do so, because so
clear a knowledge is impressed on the soul that all doubt seems
impossible, though He is not seen.  Our Lord wills that this
knowledge be so graven on the understanding, that we can no more
question His presence than we can question that which we see with
our eyes: not so much even; for very often there arises a
suspicion that we have imagined things we think we see; but here,
though there may be a suspicion in the first instant, there
remains a certainty so great, that the doubt has no force
whatever.  So also is it when God teaches the soul in another
way, and speaks to it without speaking, in the way I
have described.

8. There is so much of heaven in this language, that it cannot
well be understood on earth, though we may desire ever so much to
explain it, if our Lord will not teach it experimentally.
Our Lord impresses in the innermost soul that which He wills that
soul to understand; and He manifests it there without images or
formal words, after the manner of the vision I am speaking of.
Consider well this way in which God works, in order that the soul
may understand what He means--His great truths and mysteries; for
very often what I understand, when our Lord explains to me the
vision, which it is His Majesty's pleasure to set before me, is
after this manner; and it seems to me that this is a state with
which the devil can least interfere, for these reasons; but if
these reasons are not good, I must be under a delusion.  The
vision and the language are matters of such pure spirituality,
that there is no toil of the faculties, or of the senses, out of
which--so seems to me--the devil can derive any advantage.

9. It is only at intervals, and for an instant, that this occurs;
for generally--so I think--the senses are not taken away, and the
faculties are not suspended: they preserve their ordinary state.
It is not always so in contemplation; on the contrary, it is very
rarely so; but when it is so, I say that we do nothing whatever
ourselves: no work of ours is then possible; all that is done is
apparently the work of our Lord.  It is as if food had been
received into the stomach which had not first been eaten, and
without our knowing how it entered; but we do know well that it
is there, though we know not its nature, nor who it was that
placed it there.  In this vision, I know who placed it; but I do
not know how He did it.  I neither saw it, nor felt it; I never
had any inclination to desire it, and I never knew before that
such a thing was possible.

10. In the locutions of which I spoke before, [9] God makes the
understanding attentive, though it may be painful to understand
what is said; then the soul seems to have other ears wherewith it
hears; and He forces it to listen, and will not let it be
distracted.  The soul is like a person whose hearing was good,
and who is not suffered to stop his ears, while people standing
close beside him speak to him with a loud voice.  He may be
unwilling to hear, yet hear he must.  Such a person contributes
something of his own; for he attends to what is said to him; but
here there is nothing of the kind: even that little, which is
nothing more than the bare act of listening, which is granted to
it in the other case, is now out of its power.  It finds its food
prepared and eaten; it has nothing more to do but to enjoy it.
It is as if one without ever learning, without taking the pains
even to learn to read, and without studying any subject whatever,
should find himself in possession of all knowledge, not knowing
how or whence it came to him, seeing that he had never taken the
trouble even to learn the alphabet.  This last comparison seems
to me to throw some light on this heavenly gift; for the soul
finds itself learned in a moment, and the mystery of the most
Holy Trinity so clearly revealed to it, together with other most
deep doctrines, that there is no theologian in the world with
whom it would hesitate to dispute for the truth of these matters.

11. It is impossible to describe the surprise of the soul when it
finds that one of these graces is enough to change it utterly,
and make it love nothing but Him who, without waiting for
anything itself might do, renders it fit for blessings so high,
communicates to it His secrets, and treats it with so much
affection and love.  Some of the graces He bestows are liable to
suspicion because they are so marvellous, and given to one who
has deserved them so little--incredible, too, without a most
lively faith.  I intend, therefore, to mention very few of those
graces which our Lord has wrought in me, if I should not be
ordered otherwise; but there are certain visions of which I shall
speak, an account of which may be of some service.  In doing so,
I shall either dispel his fears to whom our Lord sends them, and
who, as I used to do, thinks them impossible, or I shall explain
the way or the road by which our Lord has led me; and that is
what I have been commanded to describe.

12. Now, going back to speak of this way of understanding, what
it is seems to me to be this: it is our Lord's will in every way
that the soul should have some knowledge of what passes in
heaven; and I think that, as the blessed there without speech
understand one another,--I never knew this for certain till our
Lord of His goodness made me see it; He showed it to me in a
trance,--so is it here: God and the soul understand one another,
merely because His Majesty so wills it, without the help of other
means, to express the love there is between them both.  In the
same way on earth, two persons of sound sense, if they love each
other much, can even, without any signs, understand one another
only by their looks.  It must be so here, though we do not see
how, as these two lovers earnestly regard each the other: the
bridegroom says so to the bride in the Canticle, so I believe,
and I have heard that it is spoken of there. [10]

13. Oh, marvellous goodness of God, in that Thou permittest eyes
which have looked upon so much evil as those of my soul to look
upon Thee!  May they never accustom themselves, after looking on
Thee, to look upon vile things again! and may they have pleasure
in nothing but in Thee, O Lord!  Oh, ingratitude of men, how far
will it go!  I know by experience that what I am saying is true,
and that all we can say is exceedingly little, when we consider
what Thou doest to the soul which Thou hast led to such a state
as this.  O souls, you who have begun to pray, and you who
possess the true faith, what can you be in search of even in this
life, let alone that which is for ever, that is comparable to the
least of these graces?  Consider, and it is true, that God gives
Himself to those who give up everything for Him.  God is not an
accepter of persons. [11]  He loves all; there is no excuse for
any one, however wicked he may be, seeing that He hath thus dealt
with me, raising me to the state I am in. Consider, that what I
am saying is not even an iota of what may be said; I say only
that which is necessary to show the kind of the vision and of the
grace which God bestows on the soul; for that cannot be told
which it feels when our Lord admits it to the understanding of
His secrets and of His mighty works.  The joy of this is so far
above all conceivable joys, that it may well make us loathe all
the joys of earth; for they are all but dross; and it is an
odious thing to make them enter into the comparison, even if we
might have them for ever.  Those which our Lord gives, what are
they?  One drop only of the waters of the overflowing river which
He is reserving for us.

14. It is a shame!  And, in truth, I am ashamed of myself; if
shame could have a place in heaven, I should certainly be the
most ashamed there.  Why do we seek blessings and joys so great,
bliss without end, and all at the cost of our good Jesus?
Shall we not at least weep with the daughters of Jerusalem, [12]
if we do not help to carry his cross with the Cyrenean? [13]
Is it by pleasure and idle amusements that we can attain to the
fruition of what He purchased with so much blood?  It is
impossible.  Can we think that we can, by preserving our honour,
which is vanity, recompense Him for the sufferings He endured,
that we might reign with Him for ever?  This is not the way; we
are going by the wrong road utterly, and we shall never arrive
there.  You, my father, must lift up your voice, and utter these
truths aloud, seeing that God has taken from me the power of
doing it.  I should like to utter them to myself for ever.
I listened to them myself, and came to the knowledge of God so
late, as will appear by what I have written, that I am ashamed of
myself when I speak of this; and so I should like to be silent.

15. Of one thing, however, I will speak, and I think of it now
and then,--may it be the good pleasure of our Lord to bring me
on, so that I may have the fruition of it!--what will be the
accidental glory and the joy of the blessed who have entered on
it, when they see that, though they were late, yet they left
nothing undone which it was possible for them to do for God, who
kept nothing back they could give Him, and who gave what they
gave in every way they could, according to their strength and
their measure,--they who had more gave more.  How rich will he be
who gave up all his riches for Christ!  How honourable will he be
who, for His sake, sought no honours whatever, but rather took
pleasure in seeing himself abased!  How wise he will be who
rejoiced when men accounted him as mad!--they did so of Wisdom
Itself! [14]  How few there are of this kind now, because of our
sins!  Now, indeed, they are all gone whom people regarded as
mad, [15] because they saw them perform heroic acts, as true
lovers of Christ.

16. O world, world! how thou art gaining credit because they are
few who know thee!  But do we suppose that God is better pleased
when men account us wise and discreet persons?  We think
forthwith that there is but little edification given when people
do not go about, every one in his degree, with great gravity, in
a dignified way.  Even in the friar, the ecclesiastic, and the
nun, if they wear old and patched garments, we think it a
novelty, and a scandal to the weak; and even if they are very
recollected and given to prayer.  Such is the state of the world,
and so forgotten are matters of perfection, and those grand
impetuosities of the Saints.  More mischief, I think, is done in
this way, than by any scandal that might arise if the religious
showed in their actions, as they proclaim it in words, that the
world is to be held in contempt.  Out of scandals such as this,
our Lord obtains great fruit.  If some people took scandal,
others are filled with remorse: anyhow, we should have before us
some likeness of that which our Lord and His Apostles endured;
for we have need of it now more than ever.

17. And what an excellent likeness in the person of that blessed
friar, Peter of Alcantara, God has just taken from us! [16]
The world cannot bear such perfection now; it is said that men's
health is grown feebler, and that we are not now in those former
times.  But this holy man lived in our day; he had a spirit
strong as those of another age, and so he trampled on the world.
If men do not go about barefooted, nor undergo sharp penances, as
he did, there are many ways, as I have said before, [17] of
trampling on the world; and our Lord teaches them when He finds
the necessary courage. How great was the courage with which His
Majesty filled the Saint I am speaking of!  He did penance--oh,
how sharp it was!--for seven-and-forty years, as all men know.
I should like to speak of it, for I know it to be all true.

18. He spoke of it to me and to another person, from whom he kept
few or no secrets.  As for me, it was the affection he bore me
that led him to speak; for it was our Lord's will that he should
undertake my defence, and encourage me, at a time when I was in
great straits, as I said before, and shall speak of again. [18]
He told me, I think, that for forty years he slept but an hour
and a half out of the twenty-four, and that the most laborious
penance he underwent, when he began, was this of overcoming
sleep.  For that purpose, he was always either kneeling or
standing.  When he slept, he sat down, his head resting against a
piece of wood driven into the wall.  Lie down he could not, if he
wished it; for his cell, as every one knows, was only four feet
and a half in length.  In all these years, he never covered his
head with his hood, even when the sun was hottest, or the rain
heaviest.  He never covered his feet: the only garment he wore
was made of sackcloth, and that was as tight as it could be, with
nothing between it and his flesh; over this, he wore a cloak of
the same stuff.  He told me that, in the severe cold, he used to
take off his cloak, and open the door and the window of his cell,
in order that when he put his cloak on again, after shutting the
door and the window, he might give some satisfaction to his body
in the pleasure it might have in the increased warmth.
His ordinary practice was to eat but once in three days.  He said
to me, "Why are you astonished at it? it is very possible for any
one who is used to it."  One of his companions told me that he
would be occasionally eight days without eating: that must have
been when he was in prayer; for he was subject to trances, and to
the impetuosities of the love of God, of which I was once a
witness myself.

19. His poverty was extreme; and his mortification, from his
youth, was such,--so he told me,--that he was three years in one
of the houses of his Order without knowing how to distinguish one
friar from another, otherwise than by the voice; for he never
raised his eyes: and so, when he was obliged to go from one part
of the house to the other, he never knew the way, unless he
followed the friars.  His journeys, also, were made in the same
way.  For many years, he never saw a woman's face.  He told me
that it was nothing to him then whether he saw it or not: but he
was an aged man when I made his acquaintance; and his weakness
was so great, that he seemed like nothing else but the roots of
trees.  With all his sanctity, he was very agreeable; though his
words were few, unless when he was asked questions; he was very
pleasant to speak to, for he had a most clear understanding.

20. Many other things I should like to say of him, if I were not
afraid, my father, that you will say, Why does she meddle here?
and it is in that fear I have written this.  So I leave the
subject, only saying that his last end was like his
life--preaching to, and exhorting, his brethren.  When he saw
that the end was comes he repeated the Psalm, [19] "Laetatus sum
in his quae dicta sunt mihi;" and then, kneeling down, he died.

21. Since then, it has pleased our Lord that I should find more
help from him than during his life.  He advises me in many
matters.  I have often seen him in great glory.  The first time
he appeared to me, he said: "O blessed penance, which has merited
so great a reward!" with other things.  A year before his death,
he appeared to me being then far away.  I knew he was about to
die, and so I sent him word to that effect, when he was some
leagues from here.  When he died, he appeared to me, and said
that he was going to his rest.  I did not believe it.  I spoke of
it to some persons, and within eight days came the news that he
was dead--or, to speak more correctly, he had begun to live
for evermore. [20]

22. Behold here, then, how that life of sharp penance is
perfected in such great glory: and now he is a greater comfort to
me, I do believe, than he was on earth.  Our Lord said to me on
one occasion, that persons could not ask Him anything in his
name, and He not hear them.  I have recommended many things to
him that he was to ask of our Lord, and I have seen my petitions
granted.  God be blessed for ever!  Amen.

23. But how I have been talking in order to stir you up never to
esteem anything in this life!--as if you did not know this, or as
if you were not resolved to leave everything, and had already
done it!  I see so much going wrong in the world, that though my
speaking of it is of no other use than to weary me by writing of
it, it is some relief to me that all I am saying makes against
myself.  Our Lord forgive me all that I do amiss herein; and you
too, my father, for wearying you to no purpose.  It seems as if I
would make you do penance for my sins herein.


1. Ch. xxv. Sec. 20.

2. See ch. xxviii. Sec. 5, and ch. xxix. Sec. 1.  The vision took
place, it seems, on the 29th June.  See ch. xxix. Sec. 6.

3. See ch. vii. Sec. 12.

4. See Anton. a Spiritu Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iii. disp. v.
Sec. 3.

5. See Inner Fortress, vi. 8, Sec. 3.

6. Sec. 17, infra.

7. See Relation, vii. Sec. 26.

8. Inner Fortress, vi. 8, Sec. 3.

9. Ch. xxv. Sec. 1.

10. Cant. vi. 4: "Averte oculos tuos a me, quia ipsi me avolare
fecerunt."  St. John of the Cross, Mount Carmel,
bk. ii. ch. xxix. n. 6, Engl. trans.

11. Acts x. 34: "Non est personarum acceptor Deus."

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

13. St. Matt. xxvii. 32: "Hunc angariaverunt ut tolleret
crucem Ejus."

14. St. John x. 20: "Daemonium habet et insanit: quid
Eum auditis?"

15. Sap. v. 4: "Nos insensati vitam illorum
aestimabamus insaniam."

16. 18th Oct. 1562.  As the Saint finished the first relation of
her life in June, 1562, this is one of the additions
subsequently made.

17. Ch. xiv. Sec. 7.

18. Ch. xxvi. Sec. 3, ch. xxxii. Sec. 16.

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

20. See ch. xxx. Sec. 2.



Chapter XXVIII.


Visions of the Sacred Humanity, and of the Glorified Bodies.
Imaginary Visions.  Great Fruits Thereof When They Come from God.


1. I now resume our subject.  I spent some days, not many, with
that vision [1] continually before me.  It did me so much good,
that I never ceased to pray.  Even when I did cease, I contrived
that it should be in such a way as that I should not displease
Him whom I saw so clearly present, an eye-witness of my acts.
And though I was occasionally afraid, because so much was said to
me about delusions, that fear lasted not long, because our Lord
reassured me.

2. It pleased our Lord, one day that I was in prayer, to show me
His Hands, and His Hands only.  The beauty of them was so great,
that no language can describe it.  This put me in great fear; for
everything that is strange, in the beginning of any new grace
from God, makes me very much afraid.  A few days later, I saw His
divine Face, and I was utterly entranced.  I could not understand
why our Lord showed Himself in this way, seeing that, afterwards,
He granted me the grace of seeing His whole Person.  Later on, I
understood that His Majesty was dealing with me according to the
weakness of my nature.  May He be blessed for ever!  A glory so
great was more than one so base and wicked could bear; and our
merciful Lord, knowing this, ordered it in this way.

3. You will think, my father, that it required no great courage
to look upon Hands and Face so beautiful.  But so beautiful are
glorified bodies, that the glory which surrounds them renders
those who see that which is so supernatural and beautiful beside
themselves.  It was so with me: I was in such great fear,
trouble, and perplexity at the sight.  Afterwards there ensued a
sense of safety and certainty, together with other results, so
that all fear passed immediately away. [2]

4. On one of the feasts of St. Paul, [3] when I was at Mass,
there stood before me the most Sacred Humanity, [4] as painters
represent Him after the resurrection, in great beauty and
majesty, as I particularly described it to you, my father, when
you had insisted on it.  It was painful enough to have to write
about it, for I could not describe it without doing great
violence to myself.  But I described it as well as I could, and
there is no reason why I should now recur to it.  One thing,
however, I have to say: if in heaven itself there were nothing
else to delight our eyes but the great beauty of glorified
bodies, that would be an excessive bliss, particularly the vision
of the Humanity of Jesus Christ our Lord.  If here below, where
His Majesty shows Himself to us according to the measure which
our wretchedness can bear, it is so great, what must it be there,
where the fruition of it is complete!

5. This vision, though imaginary, I never saw with my bodily
eyes, nor, indeed, any other, but only with the eyes of the soul.
Those who understand these things better than I do, say that the
intellectual vision is more perfect than this; and this, the
imaginary vision, much more perfect than those visions which are
seen by the bodily eyes.  The latter kind of visions, they say,
is the lowest; and it is by these that the devil can most delude
us. [5]  I did not know it then; for I wished, when this grace
had been granted me, that it had been so in such a way that I
could see it with my bodily eyes, in order that my confessor
might not say to me that I indulged in fancies.

6. After the vision was over, it happened that I too
imagined--the thought came at once--I had fancied these things;
so I was distressed, because I had spoken of them to my
confessor, thinking that I might have been deceiving him.
There was another lamentation: I went to my confessor, and told
him of my doubts. He would ask me whether I told him the truth so
far as I knew it; or, if not, had I intended to deceive him?
I would reply, that I told the truth; for, to the best of my
belief, I did not lie, nor did I mean anything of the kind;
neither would I tell a lie for the whole world. [6]  This he knew
well enough; and, accordingly, he contrived to quiet me; and I
felt so much the going to him with these doubts, that I cannot
tell how Satan could have put it into my head that I invented
those things for the purpose of tormenting myself.

7. But our Lord made such haste to bestow this grace upon me, and
to declare the reality of it, that all doubts of the vision being
a fancy on my part were quickly taken away, and ever since I see
most clearly how silly I was.  For if I were to spend many years
in devising how to picture to myself anything so beautiful, I
should never be able, nor even know how, to do it for it is
beyond the reach of any possible imagination here below: the
whiteness and brilliancy alone are inconceivable.  It is not a
brilliancy which dazzles, but a delicate whiteness and a
brilliancy infused, furnishing the most excessive delight to the
eyes, never wearied thereby, nor by the visible brightness which
enables us to see a beauty so divine.  It is a light so different
from any light here below, that the very brightness of the sun we
see, in comparison with the brightness and light before our eyes,
seems to be something so obscure, that no one would ever wish to
open his eyes again.

8. It is like most pellucid water running in a bed of crystal,
reflecting the rays of the sun, compared with most muddy water on
a cloudy day, flowing on the surface of the earth.  Not that
there is anything like the sun present here, nor is the light
like that of the sun: this light seems to be natural; and, in
comparison with it, every other light is something artificial.
It is a light which knows no night; but rather, as it is always
light, nothing ever disturbs it.  In short, it is such that no
man, however gifted he may be, can ever, in the whole course of
his life, arrive at any imagination of what it is.  God puts it
before us so instantaneously, that we could not open our eyes in
time to see it, if it were necessary for us to open them at all.
But whether our eyes be open or shut, it makes no difference
whatever; for when our Lord wills, we must see it, whether we
will or not.  No distraction can shut it out, no power can resist
it, nor can we attain to it by any diligence or efforts of our
own.  I know this by experience well, as I shall show you.

9. That which I wish now to speak of is the manner in which our
Lord manifests Himself in these visions.  I do not mean that I am
going to explain how it is that a light so strong can enter the
interior sense, or so distinct an image the understanding, so as
to seem to be really there; for this must be work for learned
men.  Our Lord has not been pleased to let me understand how it
is.  I am so ignorant myself, and so dull of understanding, that,
although people have very much wished to explain it to me, I have
never been able to understand how it can be.

10. This is the truth: though you, my father, may think that I
have a quick understanding, it is not so; for I have found out,
in many ways, that my understanding can take in only, as they
say, what is given to it to eat.  Sometimes my confessor used to
be amazed at my ignorance: and he never explained to me--nor,
indeed, did I desire to understand--how God did this, nor how it
could be.  Nor did I ever ask; though, as I have said, [7] I had
converse for many years with men of great learning.  But I did
ask them if this or that were a sin or not: as for everything
else, the thought that God did it all was enough for me.  I saw
there was no reason to be afraid, but great reason to praise Him.
On the other hand, difficulties increase my devotion; and the
greater the difficulty the greater the increase.

11. I will therefore relate what my experience has shown me; but
how our Lord brought it about, you, my father, will explain
better than I can, and make clear all that is obscure, and beyond
my skill to explain.  Now and then it seemed to me that what I
saw was an image; but most frequently it was not so.  I thought
it was Christ Himself, judging by the brightness in which He was
pleased to show Himself.  Sometimes the vision was so indistinct,
that I thought it was an image; but still not like a picture,
however well painted--and I have seen many good pictures.
It would be absurd to suppose that the one bears any resemblance
whatever to the other, for they differ as a living person differs
from his portrait, which, however well drawn, cannot be lifelike,
for it is plain that it is a dead thing.  But let this pass,
though to the purpose, and literally true.

12. I do not say this by way of comparison, for comparisons are
never exact, but because it is the truth itself, as there is the
same difference here that there is between a living subject and
the portrait thereof, neither more nor less: for if what I saw
was an image, it was a living image,--not a dead man, but the
living Christ: and He makes me see that He is God and man,--not
as He was in the sepulchre, but as He was when He had gone forth
from it, risen from the dead.  He comes at times in majesty so
great, that no one can have any doubt that it is our Lord
Himself, especially after Communion: we know that He is then
present, for faith says so.  He shows Himself so clearly to be
the Lord of that little dwelling-place, that the soul seems to be
dissolved and lost in Christ.  O my Jesus, who can describe the
majesty wherein Thou showest Thyself!  How utterly Thou art the
Lord of the whole world, and of heaven, and of a thousand other
and innumerable worlds and heavens, the creation of which is
possible to Thee!  The soul understands by that majesty wherein
Thou showest Thyself that it is nothing for Thee to be Lord of
all this.

13. Here it is plain, O my Jesus, how slight is the power of all
the devils in comparison with Thine, and how he who is pleasing
unto Thee is able to tread all hell under his feet.  Here we see
why the devils trembled when Thou didst go down to Limbus, and
why they might have longed for a thousand hells still lower, that
they might escape from Thy terrible Majesty.  I see that it is
Thy will the soul should feel the greatness of Thy Majesty, and
the power of Thy most Sacred Humanity, united with Thy Divinity.
Here, too, we see what the day of judgment will be, when we shall
behold the King in His Majesty, and in the rigour of His justice
against the wicked.  Here we learn true humility, imprinted in
the soul by the sight of its own wretchedness, of which now it
cannot be ignorant.  Here, also, is confusion of face, and true
repentance for sins; for though the soul sees that our Lord shows
how He loves it, yet it knows not where to go, and so is
utterly dissolved.

14. My meaning is, that so exceedingly great is the power of this
vision, when our Lord shows the soul much of His grandeur and
majesty, that it is impossible, in my opinion, for any soul to
endure it, if our Lord did not succour it in a most supernatural
way, by throwing it into a trance or ecstasy, whereby the vision
of the divine presence is lost in the fruition thereof.  It is
true that afterwards the vision is forgotten; but there remains
so deep an impression of the majesty and beauty of God, that it
is impossible to forget it, except when our Lord is pleased that
the soul should suffer from aridity and desolation, of which I
shall speak hereafter; [8] for then it seems to forget God
Himself.  The soul is itself no longer, it is always inebriated;
it seems as if a living love of God, of the highest kind, made a
new beginning within it; for though the former vision, which I
said represented God without any likeness of Him, [9] is of a
higher kind, yet because of our weakness, in order that the
remembrance of the vision may last, and that our thoughts may be
well occupied, it is a great matter that a presence so divine
should remain and abide in our imagination. These two kinds of
visions come almost always together, and they do so come; for we
behold the excellency and beauty and glory of the most Holy
Humanity with the eyes of the soul.  And in the other way I have
spoken of,--that of intellectual vision,--we learn how He is God,
is mighty, can do all things, commands all things, governs all
things, and fills all things with His love.

15. This vision is to be esteemed very highly; nor is there, in
my opinion, any risk in it, because the fruits of it show that
the devil has no power here.  I think he tried three or four
times to represent our Lord to me, in this way, by a false image
of Him.  He takes the appearance of flesh, but he cannot
counterfeit the glory which it has when the vision is from God.
Satan makes his representations in order to undo the true vision
which the soul has had: but the soul resists instinctively; is
troubled, disgusted, and restless; it loses that devotion and joy
it previously had, and cannot pray at all.  In the beginning, it
so happened to me three or four times.  These satanic visions are
very different things; and even he who shall have attained to the
prayer of quiet only will, I believe, detect them by those
results of them which I described when I was speaking of
locutions. [10]  They are most easily recognised; and if a soul
consents not to its own delusion, I do not think that Satan will
be able to deceive it, provided it walks in humility and
singleness of heart.  He who shall have had the true vision,
coming from God, detects the false visions at once; for, though
they begin with a certain sweetness and joy, the soul rejects
them of itself; and the joy which Satan ministers must be, I
think, very different--it shows no traces of pure and holy love:
Satan very quickly betrays himself.

16. Thus, then, as I believe, Satan can do no harm to anyone who
has had experience of these things; for it is the most impossible
of all impossible things that all this may be the work of the
imagination.  There is no ground whatever for the supposition;
for the very beauty and whiteness of one of our Lord's Hands [11]
are beyond our imagination altogether.  How is it that we see
present before us, in a moment, what we do not remember, what we
have never thought of, and, moreover, what, in a long space of
time, the imagination could not compass, because, as I have just
said, [12] it far transcends anything we can comprehend in this
life?  This, then, is not possible.  Whether we have any power in
the matter or not will appear by what I am now going to say.

17. If the vision were the work of a man's own
understanding,--setting aside that such a vision would not
accomplish the great results of the true one, nor, indeed, any at
all,--it would be as the act of one who tries to go to sleep, and
yet continues awake, because sleep has not come.  He longs for
it, because of some necessity or weakness in his head: and so he
lulls himself to sleep, and makes efforts to procure it, and now
and then thinks he has succeeded; but, if the sleep be not real,
it will not support him, nor supply strength to his head: on the
contrary, his head will very often be the worse for it.  So will
it be here, in a measure; the soul will be dissipated, neither
sustained nor strengthened; on the contrary, it will be wearied
and disgusted.  But, in the true vision, the riches which abide
in the soul cannot be described; even the body receives health
and comfort.

18. I urged this argument, among others, when they told me that
my visions came from the evil one, and that I imagined them
myself,--and it was very often,--and made use of certain
illustrations, as well as I could, and as our Lord suggested to
me.  But all was to little purpose; for as there were most holy
persons in the place,--in comparison with whom I was a mass of
perdition,--whom God did not lead by this way, they were at once
filled with fear; they thought it all came through my sins.
And so my state was talked about, and came to the knowledge of
many; though I had spoken of it to no one, except my confessor,
or to those to whom he commanded [13] me to speak of it.

19. I said to them once, If they who thus speak of my state were
to tell me that a person with whom I had just conversed, and whom
I knew well, was not that person, but that I was deluding myself,
and that they knew it, I should certainly trust them rather than
my own eyes.  But if that person left with me certain
jewels,--and if, possessing none previously, I held the jewels in
my hand as pledges of a great love,--and if I were now rich,
instead of poor as before,--I should not be able to believe this
that they said, though I might wish it.  These jewels I could now
show them, for all who knew me saw clearly that my soul was
changed,--and so my confessor said; for the difference was very
great in every way--not a pretence, but such as all might most
clearly observe.  As I was formerly so wicked, I said, I could
not believe that Satan, if he wished to deceive me and take me
down to hell, would have recourse to means so adverse to his
purpose as this, of rooting out my faults, implanting virtues and
spiritual strength; for I saw clearly that I had become at once
another person through the instrumentality of these visions.

20. My confessor, who was, as I said before, [14] one of the
fathers of the Society of Jesus, and a really holy man, answered
them in the same way,--so I learnt afterwards.  He was a most
discreet man, and of great humility; but this great humility of
his brought me into serious trouble: for, though he was a man
much given to prayer, and learned, he never trusted his own
judgment, because our Lord was not leading him by this way.
He had, therefore, much to suffer on my account, in many ways.
I knew they used to say to him that he must be on his guard
against me, lest Satan should delude him through a belief in
anything I might say to him.  They gave instances of others who
were deluded. [15]  All this distressed me.  I began to be afraid
I should find no one to hear my confession, [16] and that all
would avoid me.  I did nothing but weep.

21. It was a providence of God that he was willing to stand by me
and hear my confession.  But he was so great a servant of God,
that he would have exposed himself to anything for His sake.
So he told me that if I did not offend God, nor swerve from the
instructions he gave me, there was no fear I should be deserted
by him.  He encouraged me always, and quieted me.  He bade me
never to conceal anything from him; and I never did. [17]
He used to say that, so long as I did this, the devil, if it were
the devil, could not hurt me; on the contrary, out of that evil
which Satan wished to do me, our Lord would bring forth good.
He laboured with all his might to make me perfect.  As I was very
much afraid myself, I obeyed him in everything, though
imperfectly.  He had much to suffer on my account during three
years of trouble and more, because he heard my confession all
that time; for in the great persecutions that fell upon me, and
the many harsh judgments of me which our Lord permitted,--many of
which I did not deserve,--everything was carried to him, and he
was found fault with because of me,--he being all the while
utterly blameless.

22. If he had not been so holy a man, and if our Lord had not
been with him, it would have, been impossible for him to bear so
much; for he had to answer those who regarded me as one going to
destruction; and they would not believe what he said to them.
On the other hand, he had to quiet me, and relieve me of my
fears; when my fears increased, he had again to reassure me; for,
after every vision which was strange to me, our Lord permitted me
to remain in great fear.  All this was the result of my being
then, and of having been, a sinner.  He used to console me out of
his great compassion; and, if he had trusted to his own
convictions, I should not have had so much to suffer; for God
revealed the whole truth to him.  I believe that he received this
light from the Blessed Sacrament.

23. Those servants of God who were not satisfied had many
conversations with me. [18]  As I spoke to them carelessly, so
they misunderstood my meaning in many things.  I had a great
regard for one of them; for my soul owed him more than I can
tell.  He was a most holy man, and I felt it most acutely when I
saw that he did not understand me.  He had a great desire for my
improvement, and hoped our Lord would enlighten me.  So, then,
because I spoke, as I was saying, without careful consideration,
they looked upon me as deficient in humility; and when they
detected any of my faults--they might have detected many--they
condemned me at once.  They used to put certain questions to me,
which I answered simply and carelessly.  Then they concluded
forthwith that I wished to teach them, and that I considered
myself to be a learned woman.  All this was carried to my
confessor,--for certainly they desired my amendment--and so he
would reprimand me.  This lasted some time, and I was distressed
on many sides; but, with the graces which our Lord gave me, I
bore it all.

24. I relate this in order that people may see what a great trial
it is not to find any one who knows this way of the spirit by
experience.  If our Lord had not dealt so favourably with me, I
know not what would have become of me.  There were some things
that were enough to take away my reason; and now and then I was
reduced to such straits that I could do nothing but lift up my
eyes to our Lord. [19]  The contradiction of good people, which a
wretched woman, weak, wicked, and timid as I am, must bear with,
seems to be nothing when thus described; but I, who in the course
of my life passed through very great trials, found this one of
the heaviest. [20]

25. May our Lord grant that I may have pleased His Majesty a
little herein; for I am sure that they pleased Him who condemned
and rebuked me, and that it was all for my great good.


1. Ch. xxvii. Sec. 3.

2. Philipp. a SS. Trinitate, Theolog. Mystic. par. 2, tr. 3,
disc. iv., art. 8: "Quamvis in principio visiones a daemone fictae
aliquam habeant pacem ac dulcedinem, in fine tamen confusionum et
amaritudinem in anima relinquunt; cujus contrarium est in divinis
visionibus, quae saepe turbant in principio, sed semper in fine
pacem animae relinquunt."  St. John of the Cross, Spiritual
Canticle, st. 14, p. 84: "In the spiritual passage from the sleep
of natural ignorance to the wakefulness of the supernatural
understanding, which is the beginning of trance or ecstasy, the
spiritual vision then revealed makes the soul fear and tremble."

3. See ch. xxix. Sec. 4.

4. "The holy Mother, Teresa of Jesus, had these imaginary visions
for many years, seeing our Lord continually present before her in
great beauty, risen from the dead, with His wounds and the crown
of thorns.  She had a picture made of Him, which she gave to me,
and which I gave to Don Fernando de Toledo, Duke of Alva" (Jerome
Gratian, Union del Alma, cap. 5.  Madrid, 1616).

5. Anton. a Sp. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iii. disp. 5, Sec. I,
n. 315: "Visio corporea est infima, visio imaginaria est media,
visio intellectualis est suprema."  N. 322: "Apparitio visibilis,
cum sit omnium infima, est magis exposita illusioni diaboli, nisi
forte huic visioni corporali visio intellectualis adjungatur, ut
in apparitione S. Gabrielis archangeli facta Beatae Virgini."

6. See ch. xxx. Sec. 18.

7. Ch. xxv. Sec. 18.

8. Ch. xxx. Secs. 9, 10.  See St. John of the Cross, Obscure Night,
bk. ii. ch. 7.

9. Ch. xxvii. Sec. 3.

10. Ch. xxv. Sec. 8.

11. See Sec. 2.

12. Sec. 7, supra.

13. See ch. xxiii. Sec. 14.

14. Ch. xxiv. Sec. 5.

15. There were in Spain, and elsewhere, many women who were
hypocrites, or deluded.  Among others was the prioress of Lisbon,
afterwards notorious, who deceived Luis of Granada (De
la Fuente).

16. Inner Fortress, vi. 1, Sec. 4.

17. Ch. xxvi. Sec. 5; Inner Fortress, vi. 9, Sec. 7.

18. See ch. xxv. Sec. 18.

19. 2 Paralip. xx. 12: "Sed cum ignoremus quid agere debeamus,
hoc solum habemus residui, ut oculos nostros dirigamus ad Te."

20. See ch. xxx. Sec. 6.



Chapter XXIX.


Of Visions.  The Graces Our Lord Bestowed on the Saint.
The Answers Our Lord Gave Her for Those Who Tried Her.


1. I have wandered far from the subject; for I undertook to
give reasons why the vision was no work of the imagination.
For how can we, by any efforts of ours, picture to ourselves the
Humanity of Christ, and imagine His great beauty?  No little time
is necessary, if our conception is in any way to resemble it.
Certainly, the imagination may be able to picture it, and a
person may for a time contemplate that picture,--the form and the
brightness of it,--and gradually make it more perfect, and so lay
up that image in his memory.  Who can hinder this, seeing that it
could be fashioned by the understanding?  But as to the vision of
which I am speaking, there are no means of bringing it about;
only we must behold it when our Lord is pleased to present it
before us, as He wills and what He wills; and there is no
possibility of taking anything away from it, or of adding
anything to it; nor is there any way of effecting it, whatever we
may do, nor of seeing it when we like, nor of abstaining from
seeing; if we try to gaze upon it--part of the vision in
particular--the vision of Christ is lost at once.

2. For two years and a half God granted me this grace very
frequently; but it is now more than three years since He has
taken away from me its continual presence, through another of a
higher nature, as I shall perhaps explain hereafter. [1]
And though I saw Him speaking to me, and though I was
contemplating His great beauty, and the sweetness with which
those words of His came forth from His divine mouth,--they were
sometimes uttered with severity,--and though I was extremely
desirous to behold the colour of His eyes, or the form of them,
so that I might be able to describe them, yet I never attained to
the sight of them, and I could do nothing for that end; on the
contrary, I lost the vision altogether.  And though I see that He
looks upon me at times with great tenderness, yet so strong is
His gaze, that my soul cannot endure it; I fall into a trance so
deep, that I lose the beautiful vision, in order to have a
greater fruition of it all.

3. Accordingly, willing or not willing, the vision has
nothing to do with it.  Our Lord clearly regards nothing but
humility and confusion of face, the acceptance of what He wishes
to give, and the praise of Himself, the Giver.  This is true of
all visions without exception: we can contribute nothing towards
them--we cannot add to them, nor can we take from them; our own
efforts can neither make nor unmake them.  Our Lord would have us
see most clearly that it is no work of ours, but of His Divine
Majesty; we are therefore the less able to be proud of it: on the
contrary, it makes us humble and afraid; for we see that, as our
Lord can take from us the power of seeing what we would see, so
also can He take from us these mercies and His grace, and we may
be lost for ever.  We must therefore walk in His fear while we
are living in this our exile.

4. Our Lord showed Himself to me almost always as He is
after His resurrection.  It was the same in the Host; only at
those times when I was in trouble, and when it was His will to
strengthen me, did He show His wounds.  Sometimes I saw Him on
the cross, in the Garden, crowned with thorns,--but that was
rarely; sometimes also carrying His cross because of my
necessities,--I may say so,--or those of others; but always in
His glorified body.  Many reproaches and many vexations have I
borne while telling this--many suspicions and much persecution
also.  So certain were they to whom I spoke that I had an evil
spirit, that some would have me exorcised.  I did not care much
for this; but I felt it bitterly when I saw that my confessors
were afraid to hear me, or when I knew that they were told of
anything about me.

5. Notwithstanding all this, I never could be sorry that I
had had these heavenly visions; nor would I exchange even one of
them for all the wealth and all the pleasures of the world.
I always regarded them as a great mercy from our Lord; and to me
they were the very greatest treasure,--of this our Lord assured
me often.  I used to go to Him to complain of all these
hardships; and I came away from prayer consoled, and with renewed
strength.  I did not dare to contradict those who were trying me;
for I saw that it made matters worse, because they looked on my
doing so as a failure in humility.  I spoke of it to my
confessor; he always consoled me greatly when he saw me
in distress.

6. As my visions grew in frequency, one of those who used to
help me before--it was to him I confessed when the
father-minister [2] could not hear me--began to say that I was
certainly under the influence of Satan.  He bade me, now that I
had no power of resisting, always to make the sign of the cross
when I had a vision, to point my finger at it by way of
scorn, [3] and be firmly persuaded of its diabolic nature.  If I
did this, the vision would not recur.  I was to be without fear
on the point; God would watch over me, and take the vision
away. [4]  This was a great hardship for me; for, as I could not
believe that the vision did not come from God, it was a fearful
thing for me to do; and I could not wish, as I said before, that
the visions should be withheld.  However, I did at last as I was
bidden.  I prayed much to our Lord, that He would deliver me from
delusions. I was always praying to that effect, and with many
tears.  I had recourse also to St. Peter and St. Paul; for our
Lord had said to me--it was on their feast that He had appeared
to me the first time [5]--that they would preserve me from
delusion.  I used to see them frequently most distinctly on my
left hand; but that vision was not imaginary.  These glorious
Saints were my very good lords.

7. It was to me a most painful thing to make a show of
contempt whenever I saw our Lord in a vision; for when I saw Him
before me, if I were to be cut in pieces, I could not believe it
was Satan.  This was to me, therefore, a heavy kind of penance;
and accordingly, that I might not be so continually crossing
myself, I used to hold a crucifix in my hand.  This I did almost
always; but I did not always make signs of contempt, because I
felt that too much.  It reminded me of the insults which the Jews
heaped upon Him; and so I prayed Him to forgive me, seeing that I
did so in obedience to him who stood in His stead, and not to lay
the blame on me, seeing that he was one of those whom He had
placed as His ministers in His Church.  He said to me that I was
not to distress myself--that I did well to obey; but He would
make them see the truth of the matter.  He seemed to me to be
angry when they made me give up my prayer. [6]  He told me to say
to them that this was tyranny.  He gave me reasons for believing
that the vision was not satanic; some of them I mean to repeat by
and by.

8. On one occasion,when I was holding in my hand the cross
of my rosary, He took it from me into His own hand.  He returned
it; but it was then four large stones incomparably more precious
than diamonds; for nothing can be compared with what is
supernatural.  Diamonds seem counterfeits and imperfect when
compared with these precious stones.  The five wounds were
delineated on them with most admirable art.  He said to me, that
for the future that cross would appear so to me always; and so it
did.  I never saw the wood of which it was made, but only the
precious stones.  They were seen, however, by no one else,--only
by myself. [7]

9. When they had begun to insist on my putting my visions to
a test like this, and resisting them, the graces I received were
multiplied more and more.  I tried to distract myself; I never
ceased to be in prayer: even during sleep my prayer seemed to be
continual; for now my love grew, I made piteous complaints to our
Lord, and told Him I could not bear it.  Neither was it in my
power--though I desired, and, more than that, even strove--to
give up thinking of Him.  Nevertheless, I obeyed to the utmost of
my power; but my power was little or nothing in the matter; and
our Lord never released me from that obedience; but though He
bade me obey my confessor, He reassured me in another way, and
taught me what I was to say.  He has continued to do so until
now; and He gave me reasons so sufficient, that I felt myself
perfectly safe.

10. Not long afterwards His Majesty began, according to His
promise, to make it clear that it was He Himself who appeared, by
the growth in me of the love of God so strong, that I knew not
who could have infused it; for it was most supernatural, and I
had not attained to it by any efforts of my own.  I saw myself
dying with a desire to see God, and I knew not how to seek that
life otherwise than by dying.  Certain great impetuosities [8] of
love, though not so intolerable as those of which I have spoken
before, [9] nor yet of so great worth, overwhelmed me.  I knew
not what to do; for nothing gave me pleasure, and I had no
control over myself.  It seemed as if my soul were really torn
away from myself.  Oh, supreme artifice of our Lord! how tenderly
didst Thou deal with Thy miserable slave!  Thou didst hide
Thyself from me, and didst yet constrain me with Thy love, with a
death so sweet, that my soul would never wish it over.

11. It is not possible for any one to understand these
impetuosities if he has not experienced them himself.  They are
not an upheaving of the breast, nor those devotional sensations,
not uncommon, which seem on the point of causing suffocation, and
are beyond control.  That prayer is of a much lower order; and
those agitations should be avoided by gently endeavouring to be
recollected; and the soul should be kept in quiet.  This prayer
is like the sobbing of little children, who seem on the point of
choking, and whose disordered senses are soothed by giving them
to drink.  So here reason should draw in the reins, because
nature itself may be contributing to it and we should consider
with fear that all this may not be perfect, and that much
sensuality may be involved in it.  The infant soul should be
soothed by the caresses of love, which shall draw forth its love
in a gentle way, and not, as they say, by force of blows.
This love should be inwardly under control, and not as a caldron,
fiercely boiling because too much fuel has been applied to it,
and out of which everything is lost.  The source of the fire must
be kept under control, and the flame must be quenched in sweet
tears, and not with those painful tears which come out of these
emotions, and which do so much harm.

12. In the beginning, I had tears of this kind.  They left
me with a disordered head and a wearied spirit, and for a day or
two afterwards unable to resume my prayer.  Great discretion,
therefore, is necessary at first, in order that everything may
proceed gently, and that the operations of the spirit may be
within; all outward manifestations should be carefully avoided.

13. These other impetuosities are very different.  It is not
we who apply the fuel; the fire is already kindled, and we are
thrown into it in a moment to be consumed.  It is by no efforts
of the soul that it sorrows over the wound which the absence of
our Lord has inflicted on it; it is far otherwise; for an arrow
is driven into the entrails to the very quick, [10] and into the
heart at times, so that the soul knows not what is the matter
with it, nor what it wishes for.  It understands clearly enough
that it wishes for God, and that the arrow seems tempered with
some herb which makes the soul hate itself for the love of our
Lord, and willingly lose its life for Him.  It is impossible to
describe or explain the way in which God wounds the soul, nor the
very grievous pain inflicted, which deprives it of all
self-consciousness; yet this pain is so sweet, that there is no
joy in the world which gives greater delight.  As I have just
said, [11] the soul would wish to be always dying of this wound.

14. This pain and bliss together carried me out of myself,
and I never could understand how it was.  Oh, what a sight a
wounded soul is!--a soul, I mean, so conscious of it, as to be
able to say of itself that it is wounded for so good a cause; and
seeing distinctly that it never did anything whereby this love
should come to it, and that it does come from that exceeding love
which our Lord bears it.  A spark seems to have fallen suddenly
upon it, that has set it all on fire.  Oh, how often do I
remember, when in this state, those words of David: "Quemadmodum
desiderat cervus ad fontes aquarum"! [12] They seem to me to be
literally true of myself.

15. When these impetuosities are not very violent they seem
to admit of a little mitigation--at least, the soul seeks some
relief, because it knows not what to do--through certain
penances; the painfulness of which, and even the shedding of its
blood, are no more felt than if the body were dead.  The soul
seeks for ways and means to do something that may be felt, for
the love of God; but the first pain is so great, that no bodily
torture I know of can take it away.  As relief is not to be had
here, these medicines are too mean for so high a disease.
Some slight mitigation may be had, and the pain may pass away a
little, by praying God to relieve its sufferings: but the soul
sees no relief except in death, by which it thinks to attain
completely to the fruition of its good.  At other times, these
impetuosities are so violent, that the soul can do neither this
nor anything else; the whole body is contracted, and neither hand
nor foot can be moved: if the body be upright at the time, it
falls down, as a thing that has no control over itself.
It cannot even breathe; all it does is to moan--not loudly,
because it cannot: its moaning, however, comes from a keen sense
of pain.

16. Our Lord was pleased that I should have at times a
vision of this kind: I saw an angel close by me, on my left side,
in bodily form.  This I am not accustomed to see, unless very
rarely.  Though I have visions of angels frequently, yet I see
them only by an intellectual vision, such as I have spoken of
before. [13]  It was our Lord's will that in this vision I should
see the angel in this wise.  He was not large, but small of
stature, and most beautiful--his face burning, as if he were one
of the highest angels, who seem to be all of fire: they must be
those whom we call cherubim. [14]  Their names they never tell
me; but I see very well that there is in heaven so great a
difference between one angel and another, and between these and
the others, that I cannot explain it.

17. I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the
iron's point there seemed to be a little fire.  He appeared to me
to be thrusting it at times into my heart, [15] and to pierce my
very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out
also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God.
The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so
surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could
not wish to be rid of it.  The soul is satisfied now with nothing
less than God.  The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the
body has its share in it, even a large one.  It is a caressing of
love so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God,
that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may
think that I am lying. [16]

18. During the days that this lasted, I went about as if
beside myself.  I wished to see, or speak with, no one, but only
to cherish my pain, which was to me a greater bliss than all
created things could give me. [17]

19. I was in this state from time to time, whenever it was
our Lord's pleasure to throw me into those deep trances, which I
could not prevent even when I was in the company of others, and
which, to my deep vexation, came to be publicly known.
Since then, I do not feel that pain so much, but only that which
I spoke of before,--I do not remember the chapter, [18]--which is
in many ways very different from it, and of greater worth.
On the other hand, when this pain, of which I am now speaking,
begins, our Lord seems to lay hold of the soul, and to throw it
into a trance, so that there is no time for me to have any sense
of pain or suffering, because fruition ensues at once.  May He be
blessed for ever, who hath bestowed such great graces on one who
has responded so ill to blessings so great!


1. Ch. xl.

2. Baltasar Alvarez was father-minister of the house of
St. Giles, Avila, in whose absence she had recourse to another
father of that house (Ribera, i. ch. 6).

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

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

5. See ch. xxvii. Sec. 3, and ch. xxviii. Sec. 4.

6. Ch. xxv. Sec. 18.

7. The cross was made of ebony (Ribera).  It is not known where
that cross is now.  The Saint gave it to her sister, Dona Juana
de Ahumada, who begged it of her.  Some say that the Carmelites
of Madrid possess it; and others, those of Valladolid (De
la Fuente).

8. See Relation, i. Sec. 3.

9. Ch. xx. Sec. 11.

10. Inner Fortress, vi. 11, Sec. 2; St. John of the Cross, Spiritual
Canticle, st. 1, p. 22, Engl. trans.

11. Sec. 10.

12. Psalm xli. 2: "As the longing of the hart for the fountains
of waters, so is the longing of my soul for Thee, O my God."

13. Ch. xxvii. Sec. 3.

14. In the MS. of the Saint preserved in the Escurial, the word
is "cherubines;" but all the editors before Don Vicente de la
Fuente have adopted the suggestion, in the margin, of Banes, who
preferred "seraphim."  F. Bouix, in his translation, corrected
the mistake; but, with his usual modesty, did not call the
reader's attention to it.

15. See Relation, viii. Sec. 16.

16. "The most probable opinion is, that the piercing of the heart
of the Saint took place in 1559.  The hymn which she composed on
that occasion was discovered in Seville in 1700 ("En las internas
entranas").  On the high altar of the Carmelite church in Alba de
Tormes, the heart of the Saint thus pierced is to be seen; and I
have seen it myself more than once" (De la Fuente).

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

18. Ch. xx. Sec. 11.



Chapter XXX.


St. Peter of Alcantara Comforts the Saint.  Great Temptations and
Interior Trials.


1. When I saw that I was able to do little or nothing towards
avoiding these great impetuosities, I began also to be afraid of
them, because I could not understand how this pain and joy could
subsist together.  I knew it was possible enough for bodily pain
and spiritual joy to dwell together; but the coexistence of a
spiritual pain so excessive as this, and of joy so deep, troubled
my understanding.  Still, I tried to continue my resistance; but
I was so little able, that I was now and then wearied.  I used to
take up the cross for protection, and try to defend myself
against Him who, by the cross, is the Protector of us all.  I saw
that no one understood me.  I saw it very clearly myself, but I
did not dare to say so to any one except my confessor; for that
would have been a real admission that I had no humility.

2. Our Lord was pleased to succour me in a great measure,--and,
for the moment, altogether,--by bringing to the place where I was
that blessed friar, Peter of Alcantara.  Of him I spoke before,
and said something of his penance. [1]  Among other things, I
have been assured that he wore continually, for twenty years, a
girdle made of iron. [2]  He is the author of certain little
books, in Spanish, on prayer, which are now in common use; for,
as he was much exercised therein, his writings are very
profitable to those who are given to prayer.  He kept the first
rule of the blessed St. Francis in all its rigour, and did those
things besides of which I spoke before.

3. When that widow, the servant of God and my friend, of whom I
have already spoken, [3] knew that so great a man had come, she
took her measures.  She knew the straits I was in, for she was an
eye-witness of my afflictions, and was a great comfort to me.
Her faith was so strong, that she could not help believing that
what others said was the work of the devil was really the work of
the Spirit of God; and as she is a person of great sense and
great caution, and one to whom our Lord is very bountiful in
prayer, it pleased His Majesty to let her see what learned men
failed to discern.  My confessors gave me leave to accept relief
in some things from her, because in many ways she was able to
afford it.  Some of those graces which our Lord bestowed on me
fell to her lot occasionally, together with instructions most
profitable for her soul.  So, then, when she knew that the
blessed man was come, without saying a word to me, she obtained
leave from the Provincial for me to stay eight days in her house,
in order that I might the more easily confer with him.  In that
house, and in one church or another, I had many conversations
with him the first time he came here; for, afterwards, I had many
communications with him at diverse times.

4. I gave him an account, as briefly as I could, of my life, and
of my way of prayer, with the utmost clearness in my power.
I have always held to this, to be perfectly frank and exact with
those to whom I make known the state of my soul. [4]  Even my
first impulses I wish them to know; and as for doubtful and
suspicious matters, I used to make the most of them by arguing
against myself.  Thus, then, without equivocation or concealment,
I laid before him the state of my soul.  I saw almost at once
that he understood me, by reason of his own experience.  That was
all I required; for at that time I did not know myself as I do
now,so as to give an account of my state.  It was at a later time
that God enabled me to understand myself, and describe the graces
which His Majesty bestows upon me.  It was necessary, then, that
he who would clearly understand and explain my state should have
had experience of it himself.

5. The light he threw on the matter was of the clearest; for as
to these visions, at least, which were not imaginary, I could not
understand how they could be.  And it seemed that I could not
understand, too, how those could be which I saw with the eyes of
the soul; for, as I said before, [5] those visions only seemed to
me to be of consequence which were seen with the bodily eyes: and
of these I had none.  The holy man enlightened me on the whole
question, explained it to me, and bade me not to be distressed,
but to praise God, and to abide in the full conviction that this
was the work of the Spirit of God; for, saving the faith, nothing
could be more true, and there was nothing on which I could more
firmly rely.  He was greatly comforted in me, was most kind and
serviceable, and ever afterwards took great care of me, and told
me of his own affairs and labours; and when he saw that I had
those very desires which in himself were fulfilled already,--for
our Lord had given me very strong desires,--and also how great my
resolution was, he delighted in conversing with me.

6. To a person whom our Lord has raised to this state, there is
no pleasure or comfort equal to that of meeting with another whom
our Lord has begun to raise in the same way.  At that time,
however, it must have been only a beginning with me, as I
believe; and God grant I may not have gone back now.  He was
extremely sorry for me.  He told me that one of the greatest
trials in this world was that which I had borne,--namely, the
contradiction of good people, [6]--and that more was in reserve
for me: I had need, therefore, of some one--and there was no one
in this city--who understood me; but he would speak to my
confessor, and to that married nobleman, already spoken of, [7]
who was one of those who tormented me most, and who, because of
his great affection for me, was the cause of all these attacks.
He was a holy but timid man, and could not feel safe about me,
because he had seen how wicked I was, and that not long before.
The holy man did so; he spoke to them both, explained the matter,
and gave them reasons why they should reassure themselves, and
disturb me no more.  My confessor was easily satisfied,--not so
the nobleman; for though they were not enough to keep him quiet,
yet they kept him in some measure from frightening me so much as
he used to do.

7. We made an agreement that I should write to him and tell him
how it fared with me, for the future, and that we should pray
much for each other.  Such was his humility, that he held to the
prayers of a wretch like me.  It made me very much ashamed of
myself.  He left me in the greatest consolation and joy, bidding
me continue my prayer with confidence, and without any doubt that
it was the work of God.  If I should have any doubts, for my
greater security, I was to make them known to my confessor, and,
having done so, be in peace.  Nevertheless, I was not able at all
to feel that confidence, for our Lord was leading me by the way
of fear; and so, when they told me that the devil had power over
me, I believed them.  Thus, then, not one of them was able to
inspire me with confidence on the one hand, or fear on the other,
in such a way as to make me believe either of them, otherwise
than as our Lord allowed me.  Accordingly, though the holy friar
consoled and calmed me, I did not rely so much on him as to be
altogether without fear, particularly when our Lord forsook me in
the afflictions of my soul, of which I will now speak.
Nevertheless, as I have said, I was very much consoled.

8. I could not give thanks enough to God, and to my glorious
father St. Joseph, who seemed to me to have brought him here.
He was the commissary-general of the custody [8] of St. Joseph,
to whom, and to our Lady, I used to pray much.

9. I suffered at times--and even still, though not so often--the
most grievous trials, together with bodily pains and afflictions
arising from violent sicknesses; so much so, that I could
scarcely control myself.  At other times, my bodily sickness was
more grievous; and as I had no spiritual pain, I bore it with
great joy: but, when both pains came upon me together, my
distress was so heavy, that I was reduced to sore straits.

10. I forgot all the mercies our Lord had shown me, and
remembered them only as a dream, to my great distress; for my
understanding was so dull, that I had a thousand doubts and
suspicions whether I had ever understood matters aright, thinking
that perhaps all was fancy, and that it was enough for me to have
deceived myself, without also deceiving good men.  I looked upon
myself as so wicked as to have been the cause, by my sins, of all
the evils and all the heresies that had sprung up.  This is but a
false humility, and Satan invented it for the purpose of
disquieting me, and trying whether he could thereby drive my soul
to despair.  I have now had so much experience, that I know this
was his work; so he, seeing that I understand him, does not
torment me in the same way as much as he used to do.  That it is
his work is clear from the restlessness and discomfort with which
it begins, and the trouble it causes in the soul while it lasts;
from the obscurity and distress, the aridity and indisposition
for prayer and for every good work, which it produces.  It seems
to stifle the soul and trammel the body, so as to make them good
for nothing.

11. Now, though the soul acknowledges itself to be miserable, and
though it is painful to us to see ourselves as we are, and though
we have most deep convictions of our own wickedness,--deep as
those spoken of just now, [9] and really felt,--yet true humility
is not attended with trouble; it does not disturb the soul; it
causes neither obscurity nor aridity: on the contrary, it
consoles.  It is altogether different, bringing with it calm,
sweetness, and light.  It is no doubt painful; but, on the other
hand, it is consoling, because we see how great is the mercy of
our Lord in allowing the soul to have that pain, and how well the
soul is occupied.  On the one hand, the soul grieves over its
offences against God; on the other, His compassion makes it glad.
It has light, which makes it ashamed of itself; and it gives
thanks to His Majesty, who has borne with it so long.  That other
humility, which is the work of Satan, furnishes no light for any
good work; it pictures God as bringing upon everything fire and
sword; it dwells upon His justice; and the soul's faith in the
mercy of God--for the power of the devil does not reach so far as
to destroy faith--is of such a nature as to give me no
consolation: on the contrary, the consideration of mercies so
great helps to increase the pain, because I look upon myself as
bound to render greater service.

12. This invention of Satan is one of the most painful, subtle,
and crafty that I have known him to possess; I should therefore
like to warn you, my father, of it, in order that, if Satan
should tempt you herein, you may have some light, and be aware of
his devices, if your understanding should be left at liberty:
because you must not suppose that learning and knowledge are of
any use here; for though I have none of them myself, yet now that
I have escaped out of his hands I see clearly that this is folly.
What I understood by it is this: that it is our Lord's pleasure
to give him leave and license, as He gave him of old to tempt
Job; [10] though in my case, because of my wretchedness, the
temptation is not so sharp.

13. It happened to me to be tempted once in this way; and I
remember it was on the day before the vigil of Corpus Christi,--a
feast to which I have great devotion, though not so great as I
ought to have.  The trial then lasted only till the day of the
feast itself.  But, on other occasions, it continued one, two,
and even three weeks and--I know not--perhaps longer.  But I was
specially liable to it during the Holy Weeks, when it was my
habit to make prayer my joy.  Then the devil seizes on my
understanding in a moment; and occasionally, by means of things
so trivial that I should laugh at them at any other time, he
makes it stumble over anything he likes.  The soul, laid in
fetters, loses all control over itself, and all power of thinking
of anything but the absurdities he puts before it, which, being
more or less unsubstantial, inconsistent, and disconnected, serve
only to stifle the soul, so that it has no power over itself; and
accordingly--so it seems to me--the devils make a football of it,
and the soul is unable to escape out of their hands.  It is
impossible to describe the sufferings of the soul in this state.
It goes about in quest of relief, and God suffers it to find
none.  The light of reason, in the freedom of its will, remains,
but it is not clear; it seems to me as if its eyes were covered
with a veil.  As a person who, having travelled often by a
particular road, knows, though it be night and dark, by his past
experience of it, where he may stumble, and where he ought to be
on his guard against that risk, because he has seen the place by
day, so the soul avoids offending God: it seems to go on by
habit--that is, if we put out of sight the fact that our Lord
holds it by the hand, which is the true explanation of
the matter.

14. Faith is then as dead, and asleep, like all the other
virtues; not lost, however,--for the soul truly believes all that
the church holds; but its profession of the faith is hardly more
than an outward profession of the mouth.  And, on the other hand,
temptations seem to press it down, and make it dull, so that its
knowledge of God becomes to it as that of something which it
hears of far away.  So tepid is its love that, when it hears God
spoken of, it listens and believes that He is what He is, because
the Church so teaches; but it recollects nothing of its own
former experience.  Vocal prayer or solitude is only a greater
affliction, because the interior suffering--whence it comes, it
knows not--is unendurable, and, as it seems to me, in some
measure a counterpart of hell.  So it is, as our Lord showed me
in a vision; [11] for the soul itself is then burning in the
fire, knowing not who has kindled it, nor whence it comes, nor
how to escape it, nor how to put it out: if it seeks relief from
the fire by spiritual reading, it cannot find any, just as if it
could not read at all.  On one occasion, it occurred to me to
read a life of a Saint, that I might forget myself, and be
refreshed with the recital of what he had suffered.  Four or five
times, I read as many lines; and, though they were written in
Spanish, I understood them less at the end than I did when I
began: so I gave it up.  It so happened to me on more occasions
than one, but I have a more distinct recollection of this.

15. To converse with any one is worse, for the devil then sends
so offensive a spirit of bad temper, that I think I could eat
people up; nor can I help myself.  I feel that I do something
when I keep myself under control; or rather our Lord does so,
when He holds back with His hand any one in this state from
saying or doing something that may be hurtful to his neighbours
and offensive to God.  Then, as to going to our confessor, that
is of no use; for the certain result is--and very often has it
happened to me--what I shall now describe.  Though my confessors,
with whom I had to do then, and have to do still, are so holy,
they spoke to me and reproved me with such harshness, that they
were astonished at it afterwards when I told them of it.
They said that they could not help themselves; for, though they
had resolved not to use such language, and though they pitied me
also very much,--yea, even had scruples on the subject, because
of my grievous trials of soul and body,--and were, moreover,
determined to console me, they could not refrain.  They did not
use unbecoming words--I mean, words offensive to God; yet their
words were the most offensive that could be borne with in
confession. They must have aimed at mortifying me.  At other
times, I used to delight in this, and was prepared to bear it;
but it was then a torment altogether.  I used to think, too, that
I deceived them; so I went to them, and cautioned them very
earnestly to be on their guard against me, for it might be that I
deceived them.  I saw well enough that I would not do so
advisedly, nor tell them an untruth; [12] but everything made me
afraid.  One of them, on one occasion, when he had heard me speak
of this temptation, told me not to distress myself; for, even if
I wished to deceive him, he had sense enough not to be deceived.
This gave me great comfort.

16. Sometimes, almost always,--at least, very frequently,--I used
to find rest after Communion; now and then, even, as I drew near
to the most Holy Sacrament, all at once my soul and body would be
so well, that I was amazed. [13]  It seemed to be nothing else but
an instantaneous dispersion of the darkness that covered my soul:
when the sun rose, I saw how silly I had been.

17. On other occasions, if our Lord spoke to me but one word,
saying only, "Be not distressed, have no fear,"--as I said
before, [14]--I was made whole at once; or, if I saw a vision, I
was as if I had never been amiss.  I rejoiced in God, and made my
complaint to Him, because He permitted me to undergo such
afflictions; yet the recompense was great; for almost always,
afterwards, His mercies descended upon me in great abundance.
The soul seemed to come forth as gold out of the crucible, most
refined, and made glorious to behold, our Lord dwelling within
it.  These trials afterwards are light, though they once seemed
to be unendurable; and the soul longs to undergo them again, if
that be more pleasing to our Lord.  And though trials and
persecutions increase, yet, if we bear them without offending our
Lord, rejoicing in suffering for His sake, it will be all the
greater gain: I, however, do not bear them as they ought to be
borne, but rather in a most imperfect way.  At other times, my
trials came upon me--they come still--in another form; and then
it seems to me as if the very possibility of thinking a good
thought, or desiring the accomplishment of it, were utterly taken
from me: both soul and body are altogether useless and a heavy
burden.  However, when I am in this state, I do not suffer from
the other temptations and disquietudes, but only from a certain
loathing of I know not what, and my soul finds pleasure
in nothing.

18. I used to try exterior good works, in order to occupy myself
partly by violence; and I know well how weak a soul is when grace
is hiding itself.  It did not distress me much, because the sight
of my own meanness gave me some satisfaction. On other occasions,
I find myself unable to pray or to fix my thoughts with any
distinctness upon God, or anything that is good, though I may be
alone; but I have a sense that I know Him. It is the
understanding and the imagination, I believe, which hurt me here;
for it seems to me that I have a good will, disposed for all
good; but the understanding is so lost, that it seems to be
nothing else but a raving lunatic, which nobody can restrain, and
of which I am not mistress enough to keep it quiet for
a minute. [15]

19. Sometimes I laugh at myself, and recognise my wretchedness: I
watch my understanding, and leave it alone to see what it will
do.  Glory be to God, for a wonder, it never runs on what is
wrong, but only on indifferent things, considering what is going
on here, or there, or elsewhere.  I see then, more and more, the
exceeding great mercy of our Lord to me, when He keeps this
lunatic bound in the chains of perfect contemplation.  I wonder
what would happen if those people who think I am good knew of my
extravagance.  I am very sorry when I see my soul in such bad
company; I long to see it delivered therefrom, and so I say to
our Lord: When, O my God, shall I see my whole soul praising
Thee, that it may have the fruition of Thee in all its faculties?
Let me be no longer, O Lord, thus torn to pieces, and every one
of them, as it were, running in a different direction.  This has
been often the case with me, but I think that my scanty bodily
health was now and then enough to bring it about.

20. I dwell much on the harm which original sin has done us; that
is, I believe, what has rendered us incapable of the fruition of
so great a good.  My sins, too, must be in fault; for, if I had
not committed so many, I should have been more perfect in
goodness.  Another great affliction which I suffered was this:
all the books which I read on the subject of prayer, I thought I
understood thoroughly, and that I required them no longer,
because our Lord had given me the gift of prayer.  I therefore
ceased to read those books, and applied myself to lives of
Saints, thinking that this would improve me and give me courage;
for I found myself very defective in every kind of service which
the Saints rendered unto God.  Then it struck me that I had very
little humility, when I could think that I had attained to this
degree of prayer; and so, when I could not come to any other
conclusion, I was greatly distressed, until certain learned
persons, and the blessed friar, Peter of Alcantara, told me not
to trouble myself about the matter.

21. I see clearly enough that I have not yet begun to serve God,
though He showers down upon me those very graces which He gives
to many good people.  I am a mass of imperfection, except in
desire and in love; for herein I see well that our Lord has been
gracious to me, in order that I may please Him in some measure.
I really think that I love Him; but my conduct, and the many
imperfections I discern in myself, make me sad.

22. My soul, also, is subject occasionally to a certain
foolishness,--that is the right name to give it,--when I seem to
be doing neither good nor evil, but following in the wake of
others, as they say, without pain or pleasure, indifferent to
life and death, pleasure and pain.  I seem to have no feeling.
The soul seems to me like a little ass, which feeds and thrives,
because it accepts the food which is given it, and eats it
without reflection.  The soul in this state must be feeding on
some great mercies of God, seeing that its miserable life is no
burden to it, and that it bears it patiently but it is conscious
of no sensible movements or results, whereby it may ascertain the
state it is in.

23. It seems to me now like sailing with a very gentle wind, when
one makes much way without knowing how; for in the other states,
so great are the effects, that the soul sees almost at once an
improvement in itself, because the desires instantly are on fire,
and the soul is never satisfied.  This comes from those great
impetuosities of love, spoken of before, [16] in those to whom
God grants them.  It is like those little wells I have seen
flowing, wherein the upheaving of the sand never ceases.
This illustration and comparison seem to me to be a true
description of those souls who attain to this state; their love
is ever active, thinking what it may do; it cannot contain
itself, as the water remains not in the earth, but is continually
welling upwards.  So is the soul, in general; it is not at rest,
nor can it contain itself, because of the love it has: it is so
saturated therewith, that it would have others drink of it,
because there is more than enough for itself, in order that they
might help it to praise God.

24. I call to remembrance--oh, how often!--that living water of
which our Lord spoke to the Samaritan woman.  That Gospel [17]
has a great attraction for me; and, indeed, so it had even when I
was a little child, though I did not understand it then as I do
now. I used to pray much to our Lord for that living water; and I
had always a picture of it, representing our Lord at the well,
with this inscription, "Domine, da mihi aquam." [18]

25. This love is also like a great fire, which requires fuel
continually, in order that it may not burn out.  So those souls I
am speaking of, however much it may cost them, will always bring
fuel, in order that the fire may not be quenched.  As for me, I
should be glad, considering what I am, if I had but straw even to
throw upon it.  And so it is with me occasionally--and, indeed,
very often.  At one time, I laugh at myself; and at another, I am
very much distressed.  The inward stirring of my love urges me to
do something for the service of God; and I am not able to do more
than adorn images with boughs and flowers, clean or arrange an
oratory, or some such trifling acts, so that I am ashamed of
myself.  If I undertook any penitential practice, the whole was
so slight, and was done in such a way, that if our Lord did not
accept my good will, I saw it was all worthless, and so I laughed
at myself.  The failure of bodily strength, sufficient to do
something for God, is no light affliction for those souls to whom
He, in His goodness, has communicated this fire of His love in
its fulness.  It is a very good penance; for when souls are not
strong enough to heap fuel on this fire, and die of fear that the
fire may go out, it seems to me that they become fuel themselves,
are reduced to ashes, or dissolved in tears, and burn away: and
this is suffering enough, though it be sweet.

26. Let him, then, praise our Lord exceedingly, who has attained
to this state; who has received the bodily strength requisite for
penance; who has learning, ability, and power to preach, to hear
confessions, and to draw souls unto God.  Such a one neither
knows nor comprehends the blessing he possesses, unless he knows
by experience what it is to be powerless to serve God in
anything, and at the same time to be receiving much from Him.
May He be blessed for ever, and may the angels glorify
Him!  Amen.

27. I know not if I do well to write so much in detail.  But as
you, my father, bade me again not to be troubled by the
minuteness of my account, nor to omit anything, I go on
recounting clearly and truly all I can call to mind.  But I must
omit much; for if I did not, I should have to spend more
time--and, as I said before, [19] I have so little to spend, and
perhaps, after all, nothing will be gained.


1. Ch. xxvii. Secs. 17, 18, 19.

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

3. Ch. xxiv. Sec. 5. Dona Guiomar de Ulloa.

4. Ch. xxvi. Sec. 5.

5. Ch. vii. Sec. 12.

6. See ch. xxviii. Sec. 24.

7. Ch. xxiii. Sec. 7.

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

9. Sec. 10.

10. Job i.

11. See ch. xxxii. Sec. 1, &c.

12. See ch. xxviii. Sec. 6.

13. See Way of Perfection, ch. lxi. Sec. 2; but ch. xxxiv. Sec. 8 of
the earlier editions.

14. Ch. xx. Sec. 21, ch. xxv. Sec. 22, ch. xxvi. Sec. 3.

15. "Un Credo."

16. Ch. xxix. Sec. 11.

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

18. "Lord, give me this water" (St. John iv. 15).  See ch. i. Sec.
6; and Way of Perfection, ch. xxix. Sec. 5; ch. xix. Sec. 5 of the
earlier editions.

19. Ch. xiv. Sec. 12.



Chapter XXXI.


Of Certain Outward Temptations and Appearances of Satan.  Of the
Sufferings Thereby Occasioned.  Counsels for Those Who Go on

Unto Perfection.

1. Now that I have described certain temptations and troubles,
interior and secret, of which Satan was the cause, I will speak
of others which he wrought almost in public, and in which his
presence could not be ignored. [1]

2. I was once in an oratory, when Satan, in an abominable shape,
appeared on my left hand.  I looked at his mouth in particular,
because he spoke, and it was horrible.  A huge flame seemed to
issue out of his body, perfectly bright, without any shadow.
He spoke in a fearful way, and said to me that, though I had
escaped out of his hands, he would yet lay hold of me again.
I was in great terror, made the sign of the cross as well as I
could, and then the form vanished--but it reappeared instantly.
This occurred twice; I did not know what to do; there was some
holy water at hand; I took some, and threw it in the direction of
the figure, and then Satan never returned.

3. On another occasion, I was tortured for five hours with such
terrible pains, such inward and outward sufferings, that it
seemed to me as if I could not bear them.  Those who were with me
were frightened; they knew not what to do, and I could not help
myself.  I am in the habit, when these pains and my bodily
suffering are most unendurable, to make interior acts as well as
I can, imploring our Lord, if it be His will, to give me
patience, and then to let me suffer on, even to the end of the
world.  So, when I found myself suffering so cruelly, I relieved
myself by making those acts and resolutions, in order that I
might be able to endure the pain.  It pleased our Lord to let me
understand that it was the work of Satan; for I saw close beside
me a most frightful little <DW64>, gnashing his teeth in despair
at losing what he attempted to seize.  When I saw him, I laughed,
and had no fear; for there were some then present who were
helpless, and knew of no means whereby so great a pain could be
relieved.  My body, head, and arms were violently shaken; I could
not help myself: but the worst of all was the interior pain, for
I could find no ease in any way.  Nor did I dare to ask for holy
water, lest those who were with me should be afraid, and find out
what the matter really was.

4. I know by frequent experience that there is nothing which puts
the devils to flight like holy water.  They run away before the
sign of the cross also, but they return immediately: great, then,
must be the power of holy water.  As for me, my soul is conscious
of a special and most distinct consolation whenever I take it.
Indeed, I feel almost always a certain refreshing, which I cannot
describe, together with an inward joy, which comforts my whole
soul.  This is no fancy, nor a thing which has occurred once
only; for it has happened very often, and I have watched it very
carefully.  I may compare what I feel with that which happens to
a person in great heat, and very thirsty, drinking a cup of cold
water--his whole being is refreshed.  I consider that everything
ordained by the Church is very important; and I have a joy in
reflecting that the words of the Church are so mighty, that they
endow water with power, so that there shall be so great a
difference between holy water and water that has never been
blessed.  Then, as my pains did not cease, I told them, if they
would not laugh, I would ask for some holy water.  They brought
me some, and sprinkled me with it; but I was no better.  I then
threw some myself in the direction of the <DW64>, when he fled in
a moment.  All my sufferings ceased, just as if some one had
taken them from me with his hand; only I was wearied, as if I had
been beaten with many blows.  It was of great service to me to
learn that if, by our Lord's permission, Satan can do so much
evil to a soul and body not in his power, he can do much more
when he has them in his possession.  It gave me a renewed desire
to be delivered from a fellowship so dangerous.

5. Another time, and not long ago, the same thing happened to me,
though it did not last so long, and I was alone at the moment.
I asked for holy water; and they who came in after the devil had
gone away,--they were two nuns, worthy of all credit, and would
not tell a lie for anything,--perceived a most offensive smell,
like that of brimstone.  I smelt nothing myself; but the odour
lasted long enough to become sensible to them.

6. On another occasion, I was in choir, when, in a moment, I
became profoundly recollected.  I went out in order that the
sisters might know nothing of it; yet those who were near heard
the sound of heavy blows where I was, and I heard voices myself,
as of persons in consultation, but I did not hear what they said:
I was so absorbed in prayer that I understood nothing, neither
was I at all afraid.  This took place almost always when our Lord
was pleased that some soul or other, persuaded by me, advanced in
the spiritual life.  Certainly, what I am now about to describe
happened to me once; there are witnesses to testify to it,
particularly my present confessor, for he saw the account in a
letter.  I did not tell him from whom the letter came, but he
knew perfectly who the person was.

7. There came to me a person who, for two years and a half, had
been living in mortal sin of the most abominable nature I ever
heard.  During the whole of that time, he neither confessed it
nor ceased from it; and yet he said Mass.  He confessed his other
sins but of this one he used to say, How can I confess so foul a
sin?  He wished to give it up, but he could not prevail on
himself to do so.  I was very sorry for him, and it was a great
grief to me to see God offended in such a way.  I promised him
that I would pray to God for his amendment, and get others who
were better than I to do the same.  I wrote to one person, and
the priest undertook to get the letter delivered.  It came to
pass that he made a full confession at the first opportunity; for
our Lord God was pleased, on account of the prayers of those most
holy persons to whom I had recommended him, to have pity on this
soul.  I, too, wretched as I am, did all I could for the
same end.

8. He wrote to me, and said that he was so far improved, that he
had not for some days repeated his sin; but he was so tormented
by the temptation, that it seemed to him as if he were in hell
already, so great were his sufferings.  He asked me to pray to
God for him.  I recommended him to my sisters, through whose
prayers I must have obtained this mercy from our Lord; for they
took the matter greatly to heart; and he was a person whom no one
could find out.  I implored His Majesty to put an end to these
torments and temptations, and to let the evil spirits torment me
instead, provided I did not offend our Lord.  Thus it was that
for one month I was most grievously tormented; and then it was
that these two assaults of Satan, of which I have just spoken,
took place.

9. Our Lord was pleased to deliver him out of this temptation, so
I was informed; for I told him what happened to myself that
month.  His soul gained strength, and he continued free; he could
never give thanks enough to our Lord and to me as if I had been
of any service--unless it be that the belief he had that our Lord
granted me such graces was of some advantage to him.  He said
that, when he saw himself in great straits, he would read my
letters, and then the temptation left him.  He was very much
astonished at my sufferings, and at the manner of his own
deliverance: even I myself am astonished, and I would suffer as
much for many years for the deliverance of that soul.  May our
Lord be praised for ever! for the prayers of those who serve Him
can do great things; and I believe the sisters of this house do
serve Him.  The devils must have been more angry with me only
because I asked them to pray, and because our Lord permitted it
on account of my sins.  At that time, too, I thought the evil
spirits would have suffocated me one night, and when the sisters
threw much holy water about I saw a great troop of them rush away
as if tumbling over a precipice.  These cursed spirits have
tormented me so often, and I am now so little afraid of
them,--because I see they cannot stir without our Lord's
permission,--that I should weary both you, my father, and
myself, if I were to speak of these things in detail.

10. May this I have written be of use to the true servant of God,
who ought to despise these terrors, which Satan sends only to
make him afraid!  Let him understand that each time we despise
those terrors, their force is lessened, and the soul gains power
over them.  There is always some great good obtained; but I will
not speak of it, that I may not be too diffuse.  I will speak,
however, of what happened to me once on the night of All Souls.
I was in an oratory, and, having said one Nocturn, was saying
some very devotional prayers at the end of our Breviary, when
Satan put himself on the book before me, to prevent my finishing
my prayer.  I made the sign of the cross, and he went away.
I then returned to my prayer, and he, too, came back; he did so,
I believe, three times, and I was not able to finish the prayer
without throwing holy water at him.  I saw certain souls at that
moment come forth out of purgatory--they must have been near
their deliverance, and I thought that Satan might in this way
have been trying to hinder their release.  It is very rarely that
I saw Satan assume a bodily form; I know of his presence through
the vision I have spoken of before, [2] the vision wherein no
form is seen.

11. I wish also to relate what follows, for I was greatly alarmed
at it: on Trinity Sunday, in the choir of a certain monastery,
and in a trance, I saw a great fight between evil spirits and the
angels.  I could not make out what the vision meant.  In less
than a fortnight, it was explained clearly enough by the dispute
that took place between persons given to prayer and many who were
not, which did great harm to that house; for it was a dispute
that lasted long and caused much trouble.  On another occasion, I
saw a great multitude of evil spirits round about me, and, at the
same time, a great light, in which I was enveloped, which kept
them from coming near me.  I understood it to mean that God was
watching over me, that they might not approach me so as to make
me offend Him.  I knew the vision was real by what I saw
occasionally in myself.  The fact is, I know now how little power
the evil spirits have, provided I am not out of the grace of God;
I have scarcely any fear of them at all, for their strength is as
nothing, if they do not find the souls they assail give up the
contest, and become cowards; it is in this case that they show
their power.

12. Now and then, during the temptations I am speaking of, it
seemed to me as if all my vanity and weakness in times past had
become alive again within me; so I had reason enough to commit
myself into the hands of God.  Then I was tormented by the
thought that, as these things came back to my memory, I must be
utterly in the power of Satan, until my confessor consoled me;
for I imagined that even the first movement towards an evil
thought ought not to have come near one who had received from our
Lord such great graces as I had.

13. At other times, I was much tormented--and even now I am
tormented--when I saw people make much of me, particularly great
people, and when they spake well of me.  I have suffered, and
still suffer, much in this way.  I think at once of the life of
Christ and of the Saints, and then my life seems the reverse of
theirs, for they received nothing but contempt and ill-treatment.
All this makes me afraid; I dare not lift up my head, and I wish
nobody saw me at all.  It is not thus with me when I am
persecuted; then my soul is so conscious of strength, though the
body suffers, and though I am in other ways afflicted, that I do
not know how this can be; but so it is,--and my soul seems then
to be a queen in its kingdom, having everything under its feet.

14. I had such a thought now and then--and, indeed, for many days
together.  I regarded it as a sign of virtue and of humility; but
I see clearly now it was nothing else but a temptation.
A Dominican friar, of great learning, showed it to me very
plainly. When I considered that the graces which our Lord had
bestowed upon me might come to the knowledge of the public, my
sufferings became so excessive as greatly to disturb my soul.
They went so far, that I made up my mind, while thinking of it,
that I would rather be buried alive than have these things known.
And so, when I began to be profoundly recollected, or to fall
into a trance, which I could not resist even in public, I was so
ashamed of myself, that I would not appear where people might
see me.

15. Once, when I was much distressed at this, our Lord said to
me, What was I afraid of? one of two things must happen--people
would either speak ill of me, or give glory to Him.  He made me
understand by this, that those who believed in the truth of what
was going on in me would glorify Him; and that those who did not
would condemn me without cause: in both ways I should be the
gainer, and I was therefore not to distress myself. [3]  This
made me quite calm, and it comforts me whenever I think of it.

16. This temptation became so excessive, that I wished to leave
the house, and take my dower to another monastery, where
enclosure was more strictly observed than in that wherein I was
at this time.  I had heard great things of that other house,
which was of the same Order as mine; it was also at a great
distance, and it would have been a great consolation to me to
live where I was not known; but my confessor would never let me
go.  These fears deprived me in a great measure of all liberty of
spirit; and I understood afterwards that this was not true
humility, because it disturbed me so much.  And our Lord taught
me this truth; if I was convinced, and certainly persuaded, that
all that was good in me came wholly and only from God, and if it
did not distress me to hear the praises of others,--yea, rather,
if I was pleased and comforted when I saw that God was working in
them,--then neither should I be distressed if He showed forth His
works in me.

17. I fell, too, into another extreme.  I begged of God, and made
it a particular subject of prayer, that it might please His
Majesty, whenever any one saw any good in me, that such a one
might also become acquainted with my sins, in order that he might
see that His graces were bestowed on me without any merit on my
part: and I always greatly desire this.  My confessor told me not
to do it.  But almost to this day, if I saw that any one thought
well of me, I used in a roundabout way, or any how, as I could,
to contrive he should know of my sins: [4] that seemed to relieve
me.  But they have made me very scrupulous on this point.
This, it appears to me, was not an effect of humility, but
oftentimes the result of temptation.  It seemed to me that I was
deceiving everybody--though, in truth, they deceived themselves,
by thinking that there was any good in me. [5]  I did not wish to
deceive them, nor did I ever attempt it, only our Lord permitted
it for some end; and so, even with my confessors, I never
discussed any of these matters if I did not see the necessity of
it, for that would have occasioned very considerable scruples.

18. All these little fears and distresses, and semblance of
humility, I now see clearly were mere imperfections, and the
result of my unmortified life; for a soul left in the hands of
God cares nothing about evil or good report, if it clearly
comprehends, when our Lord is pleased to bestow upon it His
grace, that it has nothing of its own.  Let it trust the Giver;
it will know hereafter why He reveals His gifts, and prepare
itself for persecution, which in these times is sure to come,
when it is our Lord's will it should be known of any one that He
bestows upon him graces such as these; for a thousand eyes are
watching that soul, while a thousand souls of another order are
observed of none.  In truth, there was no little ground for fear,
and that fear should have been mine: I was therefore not humble,
but a coward; for a soul which God permits to be thus seen of men
may well prepare itself to be the world's martyr--because, if it
will not die to the world voluntarily, that very world will
kill it.

19. Certainly, I see nothing in the world that seems to me good
except this, that it tolerates no faults in good people, and
helps them to perfection by dint of complaints against them.
I mean, that it requires greater courage in one not yet perfect
to walk in the way of perfection than to undergo an instant
martyrdom; for perfection is not attained to at once, unless our
Lord grant that grace by a special privilege: yet the world, when
it sees any one beginning to travel on that road, insists on his
becoming perfect at once, and a thousand leagues off detects in
him a fault, which after all may be a virtue.  He who finds fault
is doing the very same thing,--but, in his own case,
viciously,--and he pronounces it to be so wrong in the other.
He who aims at perfection, then, must neither eat nor
sleep,--nor, as they say, even breathe; and the more men respect
such a one, the more do they forget that he is still in the body;
and, though they may consider him perfect, he is living on the
earth, subject to its miseries, however much he may tread them
under his feet. And so, as I have just said, great courage is
necessary here for, though the poor soul have not yet begun to
walk, the world will have it fly; and, though its passions be not
wholly overcome, men will have it that they must be under
restraint, even upon trying occasions, as those of the Saints
are, of whom they read, after they are confirmed in grace.

20. All this is a reason for praising God, and also for great
sorrow of heart, because very many go backwards who, poor souls,
know not how to help themselves; and I too, I believe, would have
gone back also, if our Lord had not so mercifully on His part
done everything for me.  And until He, of His goodness, had done
all, nothing was done by me, as you, my father, may have seen
already, beyond falling and rising again.  I wish I knew how to
explain it, because many souls, I believe, delude themselves in
this matter; they would fly before God gives them wings.

21. I believe I have made this comparison on another
occasion, [6] but it is to the purpose here, for I see certain
souls are very greatly afflicted on that ground.  When these
souls begin, with great fervour, courage, and desire, to advance
in virtue,--some of them, at least outwardly, giving up all for
God,--when they see in others, more advanced than themselves,
greater fruits of virtue given them by our Lord,--for we cannot
acquire these of ourselves,--when they see in all the books
written on prayer and on contemplation an account of what we have
to do in order to attain thereto, but which they cannot
accomplish themselves,--they lose heart.  For instance, they read
that we must not be troubled when men speak ill of us, that we
are to be then more pleased than when they speak well of us; that
we must despise our own good name, be detached from our kindred;
avoid their company, which should be wearisome to us, unless they
be given to prayer; with many other things of the same kind.
The disposition to practise this must be, in my opinion, the gift
of God; for it seems to me a supernatural good, contrary to our
natural inclinations.  Let them not distress themselves; let them
trust in our Lord: what they now desire, His Majesty will enable
them to attain to by prayer, and by doing what they can
themselves; for it is very necessary for our weak nature that we
should have great confidence, that we should not be fainthearted,
nor suppose that, if we do our best, we shall fail to obtain the
victory at last.  And as my experience here is large, I will say,
by way of caution to you, my father, do not think--though it may
seem so--that a virtue is acquired when we have not tested it by
its opposing vice: we must always be suspicious of ourselves, and
never negligent while we live; for much evil clings to us if, as
I said before, [7] grace be not given to us fully to understand
what everything is: and in this life there is nothing without
great risks.

22. I thought a few years ago, not only that I was detached from
my kindred, but that they were a burden to me; and certainly it
was so, for I could not endure their conversation.  An affair of
some importance had to be settled, and I had to remain with a
sister of mine, for whom I had always before had a great
affection.  The conversation we had together, though she is
better than I am, did not please me; for it could not always be
on subjects I preferred, owing to the difference of our
conditions--she being married.  I was therefore as much alone as
I could; yet I felt that her troubles gave me more trouble than
did those of my neighbours, and even some anxiety.  In short, I
found out that I was not so detached as I thought, and that it
was necessary for me to flee from dangerous occasions, in order
that the virtue which our Lord had begun to implant in me might
grow; and so, by His help, I have striven to do from that time
till now.

23. If our Lord bestows any virtue upon us, we must make much of
it, and by no means run the risk of losing it; so it is in those
things which concern our good name, and many other matters.
You, my father, must believe that we are not all of us detached,
though we think we are; it is necessary for us never to be
careless on this point.  If any one detects in himself any
tenderness about his good name, and yet wishes to advance in the
spiritual life, let him believe me and throw this embarrassment
behind his back, for it is a chain which no file can sever; only
the help of God, obtained by prayer and much striving on his
part, can do it.  It seems to me to be a hindrance on the road,
and I am astonished at the harm it does.  I see some persons so
holy in their works, and they are so great as to fill people with
wonder.  O my God, why is their soul still on the earth?  Why has
it not arrived at the summit of perfection?  What does it mean?
What keeps him back who does so much for God?  Oh, there it
is!--self-respect! and the worst of it is, that these persons
will not admit that they have it, merely because Satan now and
then convinces them that they are under an obligation to
observe it.

24. Well, then, let them believe me: for the love of our Lord,
let them give heed to the little ant, who speaks because it is
His pleasure.  If they take not this caterpillar away, though it
does not hurt the whole tree, because some virtues remain, the
worm will eat into every one of them.  Not only is the tree not
beautiful, but it also never thrives, neither does it suffer the
others near it to thrive; for the fruit of good example which it
bears is not sound, and endures but a short time.  I say it again
and again, let our self-respect be ever so slight, it will have
the same result as the missing of a note on the organ when it is
played,--the whole music is out of tune.  It is a thing which
hurts the soul exceedingly in every way, but it is a pestilence
in the way of prayer.

25. Are we striving after union with God? and do we wish to
follow the counsels of Christ,--who was loaded with reproaches
and falsely accused,--and, at the same time, to keep our own
reputation and credit untouched?  We cannot succeed, for these
things are inconsistent one with another.  Our Lord comes to the
soul when we do violence to ourselves, and strive to give up our
rights in many things.  Some will say, I have nothing that I can
give up, nor have I any opportunity of doing so.  I believe that
our Lord will never suffer any one who has made so good a
resolution as this to miss so great a blessing.  His Majesty will
make so many arrangements for him, whereby he may acquire this
virtue,--more frequently, perhaps, than he will like.  Let him
put his hand to the work.  I speak of the little nothings and
trifles which I gave up when I began--or, at least, of some of
them: the straws which I said [8] I threw into the fire; for I am
not able to do more.  All this our Lord accepted: may He be
blessed for evermore!

26. One of my faults was this: I had a very imperfect knowledge
of my Breviary and of my duties in choir, simply because I was
careless and given to vanities; and I knew the other novices
could have taught me.  But I never asked them, that they might
not know how little I knew.  It suggested itself to me at once,
that I ought to set a good example: this is very common.
Now, however, that God has opened my eyes a little, even when I
know a thing, but yet am very slightly in doubt about it, I ask
the children.  I have lost neither honour nor credit by it--on
the contrary, I believe our Lord has been pleased to strengthen
my memory.  My singing of the Office was bad, and I felt it much
if I had not learned the part intrusted to me,--not because I
made mistakes before our Lord, which would have been a virtue,
but because I made them before the many nuns who heard me.  I was
so full of my own reputation, that I was disturbed, and therefore
did not sing what I had to sing even so well as I might have
done.  Afterwards, I ventured, when I did not know it very well,
to say so.  At first, I felt it very much; but afterwards I found
pleasure in doing it.  So, when I began to be indifferent about
its being known that I could not sing well, it gave me no pain at
all, and I sang much better.  This miserable self-esteem took
from me the power of doing that which I regarded as an honour,
for every one regards as honourable that which he likes.

27. By trifles such as these, which are nothing,--and I am
altogether nothing myself, seeing that this gave me pain,--by
little and little, doing such actions, and by such slight
performances,--they become of worth because done for God,--His
Majesty helps us on towards greater things; and so it happened to
me in the matter of humility.  When I saw that all the nuns
except myself were making great progress,--I was always myself
good for nothing,--I used to fold up their mantles when they left
the choir.  I looked on myself as doing service to angels who had
been there praising God.  I did so till they--I know not
how--found it out; and then I was not a little ashamed, because
my virtue was not strong enough to bear that they should know of
it. But the shame arose, not because I was humble, but because I
was afraid they would laugh at me, the matter being so trifling.

28. O Lord, what a shame for me to lay bare so much wickedness,
and to number these grains of sand, which yet I did not raise up
from the ground in Thy service without mixing them with a
thousand meannesses!  The waters of Thy grace were not as yet
flowing beneath them, so as to make them ascend upwards.  O my
Creator, oh, that I had anything worth recounting amid so many
evil things, when I am recounting the great mercies I received at
Thy hands!  So it is, O my Lord.  I know not how my heart could
have borne it, nor how any one who shall read this can help
having me in abhorrence when he sees that mercies so great had
been so ill-requited, and that I have not been ashamed to speak
of these services.  Ah! they are only mine, O my Lord; but I am
ashamed I have nothing else to say of myself; and that it is that
makes me speak of these wretched beginnings, in order that he who
has begun more nobly may have hope that our Lord, who has made
much of mine, will make more of his.  May it please His Majesty
to give me this grace, that I may not remain for ever at the
beginning!  Amen. [9]


1. 2 Cor. ii. 11: "Non enim ignoramus cogitationes ejus."

2. Ch. xxvii. Sec. 4.

3. See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. iv. Sec. 12.

4. Way of Perfection, ch. lxv. Sec. 2; but ch. xxxvi. of the
previous editions.

5. See ch. x. Sec. 10.

6. Ch. xiii. Sec. 3.

7. Ch. xx. Sec. 38.

8. Ch. xxx. Sec. 25.

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



Chapter XXXII.


Our Lord Shows St. Teresa the Place Which She Had by Her Sins
Deserved in Hell.  The Torments There.  How the Monastery
of St. Joseph Was Founded.


1. Some considerable time after our Lord had bestowed upon me the
graces I have been describing, and others also of a higher
nature, I was one day in prayer when I found myself in a moment,
without knowing how, plunged apparently into hell.  I understood
that it was our Lord's will I should see the place which the
devils kept in readiness for me, and which I had deserved by my
sins.  It was but a moment, but it seems to me impossible I
should ever forget it even if I were to live many years.

2. The entrance seemed to be by a long narrow pass, like a
furnace, very low, dark, and close.  The ground seemed to be
saturated with water, mere mud, exceedingly foul, sending forth
pestilential odours, and covered with loathsome vermin.  At the
end was a hollow place in the wall, like a closet, and in that I
saw myself confined.  All this was even pleasant to behold in
comparison with what I felt there.  There is no exaggeration in
what I am saying.

3. But as to what I then felt, I do not know where to begin, if I
were to describe it; it is utterly inexplicable.  I felt a fire
in my soul.  I cannot see how it is possible to describe it.
My bodily sufferings were unendurable.  I have undergone most
painful sufferings in this life, and, as the physicians say, the
greatest that can be borne, such as the contraction of my sinews
when I was paralysed, [1] without speaking of others of different
kinds, yea, even those of which I have also spoken, [2] inflicted
on me by Satan; yet all these were as nothing in comparison with
what I felt then, especially when I saw that there would be no
intermission, nor any end to them.

4. These sufferings were nothing in comparison with the anguish
of my soul, a sense of oppression, of stifling, and of pain so
keen, accompanied by so hopeless and cruel an infliction, that I
know not how to speak of it.  If I said that the soul is
continually being torn from the body, it would be nothing, for
that implies the destruction of life by the hands of another but
here it is the soul itself that is tearing itself in pieces.
I cannot describe that inward fire or that despair, surpassing
all torments and all pain.  I did not see who it was that
tormented me, but I felt myself on fire, and torn to pieces, as
it seemed to me; and, I repeat it, this inward fire and despair
are the greatest torments of all.

5. Left in that pestilential place, and utterly without the power
to hope for comfort, I could neither sit nor lie down: there was
no room.  I was placed as it were in a hole in the wall; and
those walls, terrible to look on of themselves, hemmed me in on
every side.  I could not breathe.  There was no light, but all
was thick darkness.  I do not understand how it is; though there
was no light, yet everything that can give pain by being seen
was visible.

6. Our Lord at that time would not let me see more of hell.
Afterwards, I had another most fearful vision, in which I saw the
punishment of certain sins.  They were most horrible to look at;
but, because I felt none of the pain, my terror was not so great.
In the former vision, our Lord made me really feel those
torments, and that anguish of spirit, just as if I had been
suffering them in the body there.  I know not how it was, but I
understood distinctly that it was a great mercy that our Lord
would have me see with mine own eyes the very place from which
His compassion saved me.  I have listened to people speaking of
these things, and I have at other times dwelt on the various
torments of hell, though not often, because my soul made no
progress by the way of fear; and I have read of the diverse
tortures, and how the devils tear the flesh with red-hot pincers.
But all is as nothing before this; it is a wholly different
matter.  In short, the one is a reality, the other a picture; and
all burning here in this life is as nothing in comparison with
the fire that is there.

7. I was so terrified by that vision,--and that terror is on me
even now while I am writing,--that, though it took place nearly
six years ago, [3] the natural warmth of my body is chilled by
fear even now when I think of it.  And so, amid all the pain and
suffering which I may have had to bear, I remember no time in
which I do not think that all we have to suffer in this world is
as nothing.  It seems to me that we complain without reason.
I repeat it, this vision was one of the grandest mercies of our
Lord.  It has been to me of the greatest service, because it has
destroyed my fear of trouble and of the contradiction of the
world, and because it has made me strong enough to bear up
against them, and to give thanks to our Lord, who has been my
Deliverer, as it now seems to me, from such fearful and
everlasting pains.

8. Ever since that time, as I was saying, everything seems
endurable in comparison with one instant of suffering such as
those I had then to bear in hell.  I am filled with fear when I
see that, after frequently reading books which describe in some
manner the pains of hell, I was not afraid of them, nor made any
account of them.  Where was I?  How could I possibly take any
pleasure in those things which led me directly to so dreadful a
place?  Blessed for ever be Thou, O my God! and, oh, how manifest
is it that Thou didst love me much more than I did love Thee!
How often, O Lord, didst Thou save me from that fearful prison!
and how I used to get back to it contrary to Thy will.

9. It was that vision that filled me with the very great distress
which I feel at the sight of so many lost souls,--especially of
the Lutherans,--for they were once members of the Church by
baptism,--and also gave me the most vehement desires for the
salvation of souls; for certainly I believe that, to save even
one from those overwhelming torments, I would most willingly
endure many deaths.  If here on earth we see one whom we
specially love in great trouble or pain, our very nature seems to
bid us compassionate him; and if those pains be great, we are
troubled ourselves.  What, then, must it be to see a soul in
danger of pain, the most grievous of all pains, for ever?
Who can endure it?  It is a thought no heart can bear without
great anguish.  Here we know that pain ends with life at last,
and that there are limits to it; yet the sight of it moves our
compassion so greatly.  That other pain has no ending; and I know
not how we can be calm, when we see Satan carry so many souls
daily away.

10. This also makes me wish that, in a matter which concerns us
so much, we did not rest satisfied with doing less than we can do
on our part,--that we left nothing undone.  May our Lord
vouchsafe to give us His grace for that end!  When I consider
that, notwithstanding my very great wickedness, I took some pains
to please God, and abstained from certain things which I know the
world makes light of,--that, in short, I suffered grievous
infirmities, and with great patience, which our Lord gave me;
that I was not inclined to murmur or to speak ill of anybody;
that I could not--I believe so--wish harm to any one; that I was
not, to the best of my recollection, either avaricious or
envious, so as to be grievously offensive in the sight of God;
and that I was free from many other faults,--for, though so
wicked, I had lived constantly in the fear of God,--I had to look
at the very place which the devils kept ready for me.  It is true
that, considering my faults, I had deserved a still heavier
chastisement; but for all that, I repeat it, the torment was
fearful, and we run a great risk whenever we please ourselves.
No soul should take either rest or pleasure that is liable to
fall every moment into mortal sin.  Let us, then, for the love of
God, avoid all occasions of sin, and our Lord will help us, as He
has helped me.  May it please His Majesty never to let me out of
His hands, lest I should turn back and fall, now that I have seen
the place where I must dwell if I do.  I entreat our Lord, for
His Majesty's sake, never to permit it.  Amen.

11. When I had seen this vision, and had learned other great and
hidden things which our Lord, of His goodness, was pleased to
show me,--namely, the joy of the blessed and the torment of the
wicked,--I longed for the way and the means of doing penance for
the great evil I had done, and of meriting in some degree, so
that I might gain so great a good; and therefore I wished to
avoid all society, and to withdraw myself utterly from the world.
I was in spirit restless, yet my restlessness was not harassing,
but rather pleasant.  I saw clearly that it was the work of God,
and that His Majesty had furnished my soul with fervour, so that
I might be able to digest other and stronger food than I had been
accustomed to eat.  I tried to think what I could do for God, and
thought that the first thing was to follow my vocation to a
religious life, which His Majesty had given me, by keeping my
rule in the greatest perfection possible.

12. Though in that house in which I then lived there were many
servants of God, and God was greatly served therein, yet, because
it was very poor, the nuns left it very often and went to other
places, where, however, we could serve God in all honour and
observances of religion.  The rule also was kept, not in its
original exactness, but according to the custom of the whole
Order, authorised by the Bull of Mitigation.  There were other
inconveniences also: we had too many comforts, as it seemed to
me; for the house was large and pleasant.  But this inconvenience
of going out, though it was I that took most advantage of it, was
a very grievous one for me; for many persons, to whom my
superiors could not say no, were glad to have me with them.
My superiors, thus importuned, commanded me to visit these
persons; and thus it was so arranged that I could not be long
together in the monastery.  Satan, too, must have had a share in
this, in order that I might not be in the house, where I was of
great service to those of my sisters to whom I continually
communicated the instructions which I received from
my confessors.

13. It occurred once to a person with whom I was speaking to say
to me and the others that it was possible to find means for the
foundation of a monastery, if we were prepared to become nuns
like those of the Barefooted Orders. [4]  I, having this desire,
began to discuss the matter with that widowed lady who was my
companion,--I have spoken of her before, [5]--and she had the
same wish that I had.  She began to consider how to provide a
revenue for the home.  I see now that this was not the way,--only
the wish we had to do so made us think it was; but I, on the
other hand, seeing that I took the greatest delight in the house
in which I was then living, because it was very pleasant to me,
and, in my own cell, most convenient for my purpose, still held
back.  Nevertheless, we agreed to commit the matter with all
earnestness to God.

14. One day, after Communion, our Lord commanded me to labour
with all my might for this end.  He made me great promises,--that
the monastery would be certainly built; that He would take great
delight therein; that it should be called St. Joseph's; that
St. Joseph would keep guard at one door, and our Lady at the
other; that Christ would be in the midst of us; that the
monastery would be a star shining in great splendour; that,
though the religious Orders were then relaxed, I was not to
suppose that He was scantily served in them,--for what would
become of the world, if there were no religious in it?--I was to
tell my confessor what He commanded me, and that He asked him not
to oppose nor thwart me in the matter.

15. So efficacious was the vision, and such was the nature of the
words our Lord spoke to me, that I could not possibly doubt that
they came from Him.  I suffered most keenly, because I saw in
part the great anxieties and troubles that the work would cost
me, and I was also very happy in the house I was in then; and
though I used to speak of this matter in past times, yet it was
not with resolution nor with any confidence that the thing could
ever be done.  I saw that I was now in a great strait; and when I
saw that I was entering on a work of great anxiety, I hesitated;
but our Lord spoke of it so often to me, and set before me so
many reasons and motives, which I saw could not be gainsaid,--I
saw, too, that such was His will; so I did not dare do otherwise
than put the whole matter before my confessor, and give him an
account in writing of all that took place.

16. My confessor did not venture definitely to bid me abandon my
purpose; but he saw that naturally there was no way of carrying
it out; because my friend, who was to do it, had very little or
no means available for that end.  He told me to lay the matter
before my superior, [6] and do what he might bid me do.  I never
spoke of my visions to my superior, but that lady who desired to
found the monastery communicated with him.  The Provincial was
very much pleased, for he loves the whole Order, gave her every
help that was necessary, and promised to acknowledge the house.
Then there was a discussion about the revenues of the monastery,
and for many reasons we never would allow more than thirteen
sisters together.  Before we began our arrangements, we wrote to
the holy friar, Peter of Alcantara, telling him all that was
taking place; and he advised us not to abandon our work, and gave
us his sanction on all points.

17. As soon as the affair began to be known here, there fell upon
us a violent persecution, which cannot be very easily
described--sharp sayings and keen jests.  People said it was
folly in me, who was so well off in my monastery; as to my
friend, the persecution was so continuous, that it wearied her.
I did not know what to do, and I thought that people were partly
in the right.  When I was thus heavily afflicted, I commended
myself to God, and His Majesty began to console and encourage me.
He told me that I could then see what the Saints had to go
through who founded the religious Orders: that I had much heavier
persecutions to endure than I could imagine, but I was not to
mind them.  He told me also what I was to say to my friend; and
what surprised me most was, that we were consoled at once as to
the past, and resolved to withstand everybody courageously.
And so it came to pass; for among people of prayer, and indeed in
the whole neighbourhood, there was hardly one who was not against
us, and who did not think our work the greatest folly.

18. There was so much talking and confusion in the very monastery
wherein I was, that the Provincial began to think it hard for him
to set himself against everybody; so he changed his mind, and
would not acknowledge the new house.  He said that the revenue
was not certain, and too little, while the opposition was great.
On the whole, it seemed that he was right; he gave it up at last,
and would have nothing to do with it.  It was a very great pain
to us,--for we seemed now to have received the first blow,--and
in particular to me, to find the Provincial against us; for when
he approved of the plan, I considered myself blameless before
all.  They would not give absolution to my friend, if she did not
abandon the project; for they said she was bound to remove
the scandal.

19. She went to a very learned man, and a very great servant of
God, of the Order of St. Dominic, [7] to whom she gave an account
of all this matter.  This was even before the Provincial had
withdrawn his consent; for in this place we had no one who would
give us advice; and so they said that it all proceeded solely
from our obstinacy.  That lady gave an account of everything, and
told the holy man how much she received from the property of her
husband.  Having, a great desire that he would help us,--for he
was the most learned man here, and there are few in his Order
more learned than he,--I told him myself all we intended to do,
and some of my motives.  I never said a word of any revelation
whatever, speaking only of the natural reasons which influenced
me; for I would not have him give an opinion otherwise than on
those grounds.  He asked us to give him eight days before he
answered, and also if we had made up our minds to abide by what
he might say.  I said we had; but though I said so, and though I
thought so, I never lost a certain confidence that the monastery
would be founded.  My friend had more faith than I; nothing they
could say could make her give it up.  As for myself, though, as I
said, it seemed to me impossible that the work should be finally
abandoned, yet my belief in the truth of the revelation went no
further than in so far as it was not against what is contained in
the sacred writings, nor against the laws of the Church, which we
are bound to keep.  Though the revelation seemed to me to have
come really from God, yet, if that learned man had told me that
we could not go on without offending God and going against our
conscience, I believe I should have given it up, and looked out
for some other way; but our Lord showed me no other way
than this.

20. The servant of God told me afterwards that he had made up his
mind to insist on the abandonment of our project, for he had
already heard the popular cry: moreover, he, as everybody did,
thought it folly; and a certain nobleman also, as soon as he knew
that we had gone to him, had sent him word to consider well what
he was doing, and to give us no help; that when he began to
consider the answer he should make us, and to ponder on the
matter, the object we had in view, our manner of life, and the
Order, he became convinced that it was greatly for the service of
God, and that we must not give it up.  Accordingly, his answer
was that we should make haste to settle the matter.  He told us
how and in what way it was to be done; and if our means were
scanty, we must trust somewhat in God.  If anyone made any
objections, they were to go to him--he would answer them; and in
this way he always helped us, as I shall show by and by. [8]

21. This answer was a great comfort to us; so also was the
conduct of certain holy persons who were usually against us: they
were now pacified, and some of them even helped us.  One of them
was the saintly nobleman [9] of whom I spoke before; [10] he
looked on it--so, indeed, it was--as a means of great perfection,
because the whole foundation was laid in prayer.  He saw also
very many difficulties before us, and no way out of them,--yet he
gave up his own opinion, and admitted that the work might be of
God.  Our Lord Himself must have touched his heart, as He also
did that of the doctor, the priest and servant of God, to whom,
as I said before, [11] I first spoke, who is an example to the
whole city,--being one whom God maintains there for the relief
and progress of many souls: he, too, came now to give us
his assistance.

22. When matters had come to this state, and always with the help
of many prayers, we purchased a house in a convenient spot; and
though it was small, I cared not at all for that, for our Lord
had told me to go into it as well as I could,--that I should see
afterwards what He would do; and how well I have seen it!  I saw,
too, how scanty were our means; and yet I believed our Lord
would order these things by other ways, and be gracious unto us.


1. See ch. v. Sec. 14, ch. vi. Sec. 1.

2. Ch. xxxi. Sec. 3.

3. In 1558 (De la Fuente).

4. This was said by Maria de Ocampo, niece of St. Teresa, then
living in the monastery of the Incarnation, but not a religious;
afterwards Maria Bautista, Prioress of the Carmelites at
Valladolid (Ribera, i. 7).

5. Ch. xxiv. Sec. 5.  Dona Guiomar de Ulloa.

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

7. F. Pedro Ibanez (De la Fuente).

8. Ch. xxxiii. Sec. 8.

9. Francis de Salcedo.

10. Ch. xxiii. Sec. 6.

11. Gaspar Daza.  See ch. xxiii. Sec. 6.



Chapter XXXIII.


The Foundation of the Monastery Hindered.  Our Lord Consoles
the Saint.


1. When the matter was in this state--so near its conclusion,
that on the very next day the papers were to be signed--then it
was that the Father Provincial changed his mind.  I believe that
the change was divinely ordered--so it appeared afterwards; for
while so many prayers were made, our Lord was perfecting His work
and arranging its execution in another way.  When the Provincial
refused us, my confessor bade me forthwith to think no more of
it, notwithstanding the great trouble and distress which our Lord
knows it cost me to bring it to this state.  When the work was
given up and abandoned, people were the more convinced that it
was altogether the foolishness of women; and the complaints
against me were multiplied, although I had until then this
commandment of my Provincial to justify me.

2. I was now very much disliked throughout the whole monastery,
because I wished to found another with stricter enclosure.
It was said I insulted my sisters; that I could serve God among
them as well as elsewhere, for there were many among them much
better than I; that I did not love the house, and that it would
have been better if I had procured greater resources for it than
for another.  Some said I ought to be put in prison; others--but
they were not many--defended me in some degree.  I saw well
enough that they were for the most part right, and now and then I
made excuses for myself; though, as I could not tell them the
chief reason, which was the commandment of our Lord, I knew not
what to do, and so was silent.

3. In other respects God was most merciful unto me, for all this
caused me no uneasiness; and I gave up our design with much
readiness and joy, as if it cost me nothing.  No one could
believe it, not even those men of prayer with whom I conversed;
for they thought I was exceedingly pained and sorry: even my
confessor himself could hardly believe it.  I had done, as it
seemed to me, all that was in my power.  I thought myself obliged
to do no more than I had done to fulfil our Lord's commandment,
and so I remained in the house where I was, exceedingly happy and
joyful; though, at the same time, I was never able to give up my
conviction that the work would be done.  I had now no means of
doing it, nor did I know how or when it would be done; but I
firmly believed in its accomplishment.

4. I was much distressed at one time by a letter which my
confessor wrote to me, as if I had done anything in the matter
contrary to his will.  Our Lord also must have meant that
suffering should not fail me there where I should feel it most;
and so, amid the multitude of my persecutions, when, as it seemed
to me, consolations should have come from my confessor, he told
me that I ought to recognise in the result that all was a dream;
that I ought to lead a new life by ceasing to have anything to do
for the future with it, or even to speak of it any more, seeing
the scandal it had occasioned.  He made some further remarks, all
of them very painful.  This was a greater affliction to me than
all the others together.  I considered whether I had done
anything myself, and whether I was to blame for anything that was
an offence unto God; whether all my visions were illusions, all
my prayers a delusion, and I, therefore, deeply deluded and lost.
This pressed so heavily upon me, that I was altogether disturbed
and most grievously distressed.  But our Lord, who never failed
me in all the trials I speak of, so frequently consoled and
strengthened me, that I need not speak of it here.  He told me
then not to distress myself; that I had pleased God greatly, and
had not sinned against Him throughout the whole affair; that I
was to do what my confessors required of me, and be silent on the
subject till the time came to resume it.  I was so comforted and
so happy, that the persecution which had befallen me seemed to be
as nothing at all.

5. Our Lord now showed me what an exceedingly great blessing it
is to be tried and persecuted for His sake; for the growth of the
love of God in my soul, which I now discerned, as well as of many
other virtues, was such as to fill me with wonder.  It made me
unable to abstain from desiring trials, and yet those about me
thought I was exceedingly disheartened; and I must have been so,
if our Lord in that extremity had not succoured me with His great
compassion.  Now was the beginning of those more violent
impetuosities of the love of God of which I have spoken
before, [1] as well as of those profounder trances.  I kept
silence, however, and never spoke of those graces to any one.
The saintly Dominican [2] was as confident as I was that the work
would be done; and as I would not speak of it, in order that
nothing might take place contrary to the obedience I owed my
confessor, he communicated with my companion, and they wrote
letters to Rome and made their preparations.

6. Satan also contrived now that persons should hear one from
another that I had had a revelation in the matter; and people
came to me in great terror, saying that the times were dangerous,
that something might be laid to my charge, and that I might be
taken before the Inquisitors.  I heard this with pleasure, and it
made me laugh, because I never was afraid of them; for I knew
well enough that in matters of faith I would not break the least
ceremony of the Church, that I would expose myself to die a
thousand times rather than that any one should see me go against
it or against any truth of Holy Writ.  So I told them I was not
afraid of that, for my soul must be in a very bad state if there
was anything the matter with it of such a nature as to make me
fear the Inquisition; I would go myself and give myself up, if I
thought there was anything amiss; and if I should be denounced,
our Lord would deliver me, and I should gain much.

7. I had recourse to my Dominican father; for I could rely upon
him, because he was a learned man.  I told him all about my
visions, my way of prayer, the great graces our Lord had given
me, as clearly as I could, and I begged him to consider the
matter well, and tell me if there was anything therein at
variance with the Holy Writings, and give me his opinion on the
whole matter.  He reassured me much, and, I think, profited
himself; for though he was exceedingly good, yet, from this time
forth, he gave himself more and more to prayer, and retired to a
monastery of his Order which was very lonely, that he might apply
himself more effectually to prayer, where he remained more than
two years.  He was dragged out of his solitude by obedience, to
his great sorrow: his superiors required his services; for he was
a man of great ability.  I, too, on my part, felt his retirement
very much, because it was a great loss to me, though I did not
disturb him.  But I knew it was a gain to him; for when I was so
much distressed at his departure, our Lord bade me be comforted,
not to take it to heart, for he was gone under good guidance.

8. So, when he came back, his soul had made such great progress,
and he was so advanced in the ways of the spirit, that he told me
on his return he would not have missed that journey for anything
in the world.  And I, too, could say the same thing; for where he
reassured and consoled me formerly by his mere learning, he did
so now through that spiritual experience he had gained of
supernatural things.  And God, too, brought him here in time; for
He saw that his help would be required in the foundation of the
monastery, which His Majesty willed should be laid.

9. I remained quiet after this for five or six months, neither
thinking nor speaking of the matter; nor did our Lord once speak
to me about it.  I know not why, but I could never rid myself of
the thought that the monastery would be founded.  At the end of
that time, the then Rector [3] of the Society of Jesus having
gone away, His Majesty brought into his place another, [4] of
great spirituality, high courage, strong understanding, and
profound learning, at the very time when I was in great straits.
As he who then heard my confession had a superior over him--the
fathers of the Society are extremely strict about the virtue of
obedience and never stir but in conformity with the will of their
superiors,--so he would not dare, though he perfectly understood
my spirit, and desired the accomplishment of my purpose, to come
to any resolution; and he had many reasons to justify his
conduct.  I was at the same time subject to such great
impetuosities of spirit, that I felt my chains extremely heavy;
nevertheless, I never swerved from the commandment he gave me.

10. One day, when in great distress, because I thought my
confessor did not trust me, our Lord said to me, Be not troubled;
this suffering will soon be over.  I was very much delighted,
thinking I should die shortly; and I was very happy whenever I
recalled those words to remembrance.  Afterwards I saw clearly
that they referred to the coming of the rector of whom I am
speaking, for never again had I any reason to be distressed.
The rector that came never interfered with the father-minister
who was my confessor.  On the contrary, he told him to console
me,--that there was nothing to be afraid of,--and not to direct
me along a road so narrow, but to leave the operations of the
Spirit of God alone; for now and then it seemed as if these great
impetuosities of the spirit took away the very breath of
the soul.

11. The rector came to see me, and my confessor bade me speak to
him in all freedom and openness.  I used to feel the very
greatest repugnance to speak of this matter; but so it was, when
I went into the confessional, I felt in my soul something, I know
not what.  I do not remember to have felt so either before or
after towards any one.  I cannot tell what it was, nor do I know
of anything with which I could compare it.  It was a spiritual
joy, and a conviction in my soul that his soul must understand
mine, that it was in unison with it, and yet, as I have said, I
knew not how.  If I had ever spoken to him, or had heard great
things of him, it would have been nothing out of the way that I
should rejoice in the conviction that he would understand me; but
he had never spoken to me before, nor I to him, and, indeed, he
was a person of whom I had no previous knowledge whatever.

12. Afterwards, I saw clearly that my spirit was not deceived;
for my relations with him were in every way of the utmost service
to me and my soul, because his method of direction is proper for
those persons whom our Lord seems to have led far on the way,
seeing that He makes them run, and not to crawl step by step.
His plan is to render them thoroughly detached and mortified, and
our Lord has endowed him with the highest gifts herein as well as
in many other things beside.  As soon as I began to have to do
with him, I knew his method at once, and saw that he had a pure
and holy soul, with a special grace of our Lord for the
discernment of spirits.  He gave me great consolation.
Shortly after I had begun to speak to him, our Lord began to
constrain me to return to the affair of the monastery, and to lay
before my confessor and the father-rector many reasons and
considerations why they should not stand in my way.  Some of
these reasons made them afraid, for the father-rector never had a
doubt of its being the work of the Spirit of God, because he
regarded the fruits of it with great care and attention.  At
last, after much consideration, they did not dare to
hinder me. [5]

13. My confessor gave me leave to prosecute the work with all my
might.  I saw well enough the trouble I exposed myself to, for I
was utterly alone, and able to do so very little.  We agreed that
it should be carried on with the utmost secrecy; and so I
contrived that one of my sisters, [6] who lived out of the town,
should buy a house, and prepare it as if for herself, with money
which our Lord provided for us. [7]  I made it a great point to
do nothing against obedience; but I knew that if I spoke of it to
my superiors all was lost, as on the former occasion, and worse
even might happen.  In holding the money, in finding the house,
in treating for it, in putting it in order, I had so much to
suffer; and, for the most part, I had to suffer alone, though my
friend did what she could: she could do but little, and that was
almost nothing.  Beyond giving her name and her countenance, the
whole of the trouble was mine; and that fell upon me in so many
ways, that I am astonished now how I could have borne it. [8]
Sometimes, in my affliction, I used to say: O my Lord, how is it
that Thou commandest me to do that which seems impossible?--for,
though I am a woman, yet, if I were free, it might be done; but
when I am tied in so many ways, without money, or the means of
procuring it, either for the purpose of the Brief or for any
other,--what, O Lord, can I do?

14. Once when I was in one of my difficulties, not knowing what
to do, unable to pay the workmen, St. Joseph, my true father and
lord, appeared to me, and gave me to understand that money would
not be wanting, and I must hire the workmen.  So I did, though I
was penniless; and our Lord, in a way that filled those who heard
of it with wonder, provided for me.  The house offered me was too
small,--so much so, that it seemed as if it could never be made
into a monastery,--and I wished to buy another, but had not the
means, and there was neither way nor means to do so. I knew not
what to do.  There was another little house close to the one we
had, which might have formed a small church.  One day, after
Communion, our Lord said to me, I have already bidden thee to go
in anyhow.  And then, as if exclaiming, said: Oh, covetousness of
the human race, thinking that even the whole earth is too little
for it! how often have I slept in the open air, because I had no
place to shelter Me! [9]  I was alarmed, and saw that He had good
reasons to complain.  I went to the little house, arranged the
divisions of it, and found that it would make a sufficient,
though small, monastery.  I did not care now to add to the site
by purchase, and so I did nothing but contrive to have it
prepared in such a way that it could be lived in.  Everything was
coarse, and nothing more was done to it than to render it not
hurtful to health--and that must be done everywhere.

15. As I was going to Communion on her feast, St. Clare appeared
to me in great beauty, and bade me take courage, and go on with
what I had begun; she would help me.  I began to have a great
devotion to St. Clare; and she has so truly kept her word, that a
monastery of nuns of her Order in our neighbourhood helped us to
live; and, what is of more importance, by little and little she
so perfectly fulfilled my desire, that the poverty which the
blessed Saint observes in her own house is observed in this, and
we are living on alms.  It cost me no small labour to have this
matter settled by the plenary sanction and authority of the Holy
Father, [10] so that it shall never be otherwise, and we possess
no revenues.  Our Lord is doing more for us--perhaps we owe it to
the prayers of this blessed Saint; for, without our asking
anybody, His Majesty supplies most abundantly all our wants.
May He be blessed for ever!  Amen.

16. On one of these days--it was the Feast of the Assumption of
our Lady--I was in the church of the monastery of the Order of
the glorious St. Dominic, thinking of the events of my wretched
life, and of the many sins which in times past I had confessed in
that house.  I fell into so profound a trance, that I was as it
were beside myself.  I sat down, and it seemed as if I could
neither see the Elevation nor hear Mass.  This afterwards became
a scruple to me.  I thought then, when I was in that state, that
I saw myself clothed with a garment of excessive whiteness and
splendour.  At first I did not see who was putting it on me.
Afterwards I saw our Lady on my right hand, and my father
St. Joseph on my left, clothing me with that garment.  I was
given to understand that I was then cleansed from my sins.
When I had been thus clad--I was filled with the utmost delight
and joy--our Lady seemed at once to take me by both hands.
She said that I pleased her very much by being devout to the
glorious St. Joseph; that I might rely on it my desires about the
monastery were accomplished, and that our Lord and they too would
be greatly honoured in it; that I was to be afraid of no failure
whatever, though the obedience under which it would be placed
might not be according to my mind, because they would watch over
us, and because her Son had promised to be with us [11]--and, as
a proof of this, she would give me that jewel.  She then seemed
to throw around my neck a most splendid necklace of gold, from
which hung a cross of great value.  The stones and gold were so
different from any in this world, that there is nothing wherewith
to compare them.  The beauty of them is such as can be conceived
by no imagination,--and no understanding can find out the
materials of the robe, nor picture to itself the splendours which
our Lord revealed, in comparison with which all the splendours of
earth, so to say, are a daubing of soot.  This beauty, which I
saw in our Lady, was exceedingly grand, though I did not trace it
in any particular feature, but rather in the whole form of her
face. She was clothed in white and her garments shone with
excessive lustre that was not dazzling, but soft.  I did not see
St. Joseph so distinctly, though I saw clearly that he was there,
as in the visions of which I spoke before, [12] in which nothing
is seen.  Our Lady seemed to be very young.

17. When they had been with me for a while,--I, too, in the
greatest delight and joy, greater than I had ever had before, as
I think, and with which I wished never to part,--I saw them, so
it seemed, ascend up to heaven, attended by a great multitude of
angels.  I was left in great loneliness, though so comforted and
raised up, so recollected in prayer and softened, that I was for
some time unable to move or speak--being, as it were, beside
myself.  I was now possessed by a strong desire to be consumed
for the love of God, and by other affections of the same kind.
Everything took place in such a way that I could never have a
doubt--though I often tried--that the vision came from God. [13]
It left me in the greatest consolation and peace.

18. As to that which the Queen of the Angels spoke about
obedience, it is this: it was painful to me not to subject the
monastery to the Order, and our Lord had told me that it was
inexpedient to do so.  He told me the reasons why it was in no
wise convenient that I should do it but I must send to Rome in a
certain way, which He also explained; He would take care that I
found help there: and so I did.  I sent to Rome, as our Lord
directed me,--for we should never have succeeded otherwise,--and
most favourable was the result.

19. And as to subsequent events, it was very convenient to be
under the Bishop, [14] but at that time I did not know him, nor
did I know what kind of a superior he might be.  It pleased our
Lord that he should be as good and favourable to this house as it
was necessary he should be on account of the great opposition it
met with at the beginning, as I shall show hereafter, [15] and
also for the sake of bringing it to the condition it is now in.
Blessed be He who has done it all!  Amen.


1. Ch. xxi. Sec. 6, ch. xxix. Secs. 10, 11.

2. Pedro Ibanez.  See ch. xxxviii. Sec. 15.

3. Dionisio Vasquez.  Of him the Bollandists say that he was very
austere and harsh to his subjects, notwithstanding his great
learning: "homini egregie docto ac rebus gestis claro, sed in
subditos, ut ex historia Societatis Jesu liquet, valde immiti"
(n. 309).

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

5. St. Teresa was commanded by our Lord to ask Father Baltasar
Alvarez to make a meditation on Psalm xci. 6: "Quam magnificata
sunt opera Tua."  The Saint obeyed, and the meditation was made.
From that moment, as F. Alvarez afterwards told Father de Ribera
(Life of St. Teresa, i. ch. vii.), there was no further
hesitation on the part of the Saint's confessor.

6. Juana de Ahumada, wife of Juan de Ovalle.

7. The money was a present from her brother, Don Lorenzo de
Cepeda; and the Saint acknowledges the receipt of it, and
confesses the use made of it, in a letter to her brother, written
in Avila, Dec. 31, 1561 (De la Fuente).

8. One day, she went with her sister--she was staying in her
house--to hear a sermon in the church of St. Thomas.  The zealous
preacher denounced visions and revelations; and his observations
were so much to the point, that there was no need of his saying
that they were directed against St. Teresa, who was present.
Her sister was greatly hurt, and persuaded the Saint to return to
the monastery at once (Reforma, i. ch. xlii. Sec. 1).

9. St. Luke ix. 58: "Filius autem hominis non habet ubi
caput reclinet."

10. Pius IV., on Dec. 5, 1562, (Bouix).  See ch. xxxix. Sec. 19.

11. Ch. xxxii. Sec. 14.

12. See ch. xxvii. Sec. 7.

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

14. Don Alvaro de Mendoza, Bishop of Avila, afterwards
of Palencia.

15. See ch. xxxvi. Sec. 15; Way of Perfection, ch. v. Sec. 10;
Foundations, ch. xxxi. Sec. 1.



Chapter XXXIV.


The Saint Leaves Her Monastery of the Incarnation for a Time, at
the Command of Her Superior.  Consoles an Afflicted Widow.


1. Now, though I was very careful that no one should know what we
were doing, all this work could not be carried on so secretly as
not to come to the knowledge of divers persons; some believed, in
it, others did not, I was in great fear lest the Provincial
should be spoken to about it when he came, and find himself
compelled to order me to give it up; and if he did so, it would
have been abandoned at once.  Our Lord provided against it in
this way.  In a large city, more than twenty leagues distant, was
a lady in great distress on account of her husband's death. [1]
She was in such extreme affliction, that fears were entertained
about her life.  She had heard of me, a poor sinner,--for our
Lord had provided that,--and men spoke well to her of me, for the
sake of other good works which resulted from it.  This lady knew
the Provincial well; and as she was a person of some
consideration, and knew that I lived in a monastery the nuns of
which were permitted to go out, our Lord made her desire much to
see me.  She thought that my presence would be a consolation to
her, and that she could not be comforted otherwise.
She therefore strove by all the means in her power to get me into
her house, sending messages to the Provincial, who was at a
distance far away.

2. The Provincial sent me an order, charging me in virtue of my
obedience to go immediately, with one companion.  I knew of it on
Christmas night.  It caused me some trouble and much suffering to
see that they sent for me because they thought there was some
good in me; I, knowing myself to be so wicked, could not bear it.
I commended myself earnestly to God, and during Matins, or the
greater part of them, was lost in a profound trance.  Our Lord
told me I must go without fail, and give no heed to the opinions
of people, for they were few who would not be rash in their
counsel; and though I should have troubles, yet God would be
served greatly: as to the monastery, it was expedient I should be
absent till the Brief came, because Satan had contrived a great
plot against the coming of the Provincial; that I was to have no
fear,--He would help me.  I repeated this to the rector, and he
told me that I must go by all means, though others were saying I
ought not to go, that it was a trick of Satan to bring some evil
upon me there, and that I ought to send word to the Provincial.

3. I obeyed the rector, and went without fear, because of what I
had understood in prayer, though in the greatest confusion when I
thought of the reasons why they sent for me, and how very much
they were deceived.  It made me more and more importunate with
our Lord that He would not abandon me.  It was a great comfort
that there was a house of the Society of Jesus there whither I
was going, and so I thought I should be in some degree safe under
the direction of those fathers, as I had been here.

4. It was the good pleasure of our Lord that the lady who sent
for me should be so much consoled that a visible improvement was
the immediate result she was comforted every day more and more.
This was very remarkable, because, as I said before, her
suffering had reduced her to great straits.  Our Lord must have
done this in answer to the many prayers which the good people of
my acquaintance made for me, that I might prosper in my work.
She had a profound fear of God, and was so good, that her great
devotion supplied my deficiencies.  She conceived a great
affection for me--I, too, for her, because of her goodness; but
all was as it were a cross for me; for the comforts of her house
were a great torment, and her making so much of me made me
afraid.  I kept my soul continually recollected--I did not dare
to be careless: nor was our Lord careless of me; for while I was
there, He bestowed the greatest graces upon me, and those graces
made me so free, and filled me with such contempt for all I
saw,--and the more I saw, the greater my contempt,--that I never
failed to treat those ladies, whom to serve would have been a
great honour for me, with as much freedom as if I had been
their equal.

5. I derived very great advantages from this, and I said so.
I saw that she was a woman, and as much liable to passion and
weakness as I was; that rank is of little worth, and the higher
it is, the greater the anxiety and trouble it brings.
People must be careful of the dignity of their state, which will
not suffer them to live at ease; they must eat at fixed hours and
by rule, for everything must be according to their state, and not
according to their constitutions; and they have frequently to
take food fitted more for their state than for their liking.

6. So it was that I came to hate the very wish to be a great
lady.  God deliver me from this wicked, artificial life!--though
I believe that this lady, notwithstanding that she was one of the
chief personages of the realm, was a woman of great simplicity,
and that few were more humble than she was.  I was very sorry for
her, for I saw how often she had to submit to much that was
disagreeable to her, because of the requirements of her rank.
Then, as to servants, though this lady had very good servants,
how slight is that little trust that may be put in them!
One must not be conversed with more than another; otherwise, he
who is so favoured is envied by the rest.  This of itself is a
slavery, and one of the lies of the world is that it calls such
persons masters, who, in my eyes, are nothing else but slaves in
a thousand ways.

7. It was our Lord's pleasure that the household of that lady
improved in the service of His Majesty during my stay there,
though I was not exempted from some trials and some jealousies on
the part of some of its members, because of the great affection
their mistress had for me.  They perhaps must have thought I had
some personal interest to serve.  Our Lord must have permitted
such matters, and others of the same kind, to give me trouble, in
order that I might not be absorbed in the comforts which
otherwise I had there; and He was pleased to deliver me out of it
all with great profit to my soul.

8. When I was there, a religious person of great consideration,
and with whom I had conversed occasionally some years ago, [2]
happened to arrive.  When I was at Mass, in a monastery of his
Order, near the house in which I was staying, I felt a longing to
know the state of his soul,--for I wished him to be a great
servant of God,--and I rose up in order to go and speak to him.
But as I was then recollected in prayer, it seemed to me a waste
of time--for what had I to do in that matter?--and so I returned
to my place.  Three times, I think I did this, and at last my
good angel prevailed over the evil one, and I went and asked for
him; and he came to speak to me in one of the confessionals.
We began by asking one another of our past lives, for we had not
seen one another for many years.  I told him that my life had
been one in which my soul had had many trials.  He insisted much
on my telling him what those trials were.  I said that they were
not to be told, and that I was not to tell them.  He replied that
the Dominican father, [3] of whom I have spoken, knew them, and
that, as they were great friends, he could learn them from him,
and so I had better tell them without hesitation.

9. The fact is, that it was not in his power not to insist, nor
in mine, I believe, to refuse to speak; for notwithstanding all
the trouble and shame I used to feel formerly, I spoke of my
state, to him, and to the rector whom I have referred to
before, [4] without any difficulty whatever; on the contrary, it
was a great consolation to me; and so I told him all in
confession.  He seemed to me then more prudent than ever; though
I had always looked upon him as a man of great understanding.
I considered what high gifts and endowments for great services he
had, if he gave himself wholly unto God.  I had this feeling now
for many years, so that I never saw any one who pleased me much
without wishing at once he were given wholly unto God; and
sometimes I feel this so keenly, that I can hardly contain
myself.  Though I long to see everybody serve God, yet my desire
about those who please me is very vehement, and so I importune
our Lord on their behalf.

10. So it happened with respect to this religious.  He asked me
to pray much for him to God.  There was no necessity for his
doing so, because I could not do anything else, and so I went
back to my place where I was in the habit of praying alone, and
began to pray to our Lord, being extremely recollected, in that
my simple, silly way, when I speak without knowing very often
what I am saying.  It is love that speaks, and my soul is so
beside itself, that I do not regard the distance between it and
God.  That love which I know His Majesty has for it makes it
forget itself, and think itself to be one with Him; and so, as
being one with Him, and not divided from Him, the soul speaks
foolishly.  When I had prayed with many tears that the soul of
this religious might serve Him truly,--for, though I considered
it good, it was not enough for me; I would have it much
better,--I remember I said, "O Lord, Thou must not refuse me this
grace; behold him,--he is a fit person to be our friend."

11. Oh, the great goodness and compassion of God!  How He regards
not the words, but the desire and the will with which they are
spoken!  How He suffered such a one as I am to speak so boldly
before His Majesty!  May He be blessed for evermore!

12. I remember that during those hours of prayer on that very
night I was extremely distressed by the thought whether I was in
the grace of God, and that I could never know whether I was so or
not,--not that I wished to know it; I wished, however, to die, in
order that I might not live a life in which I was not sure that I
was not dead in sin, for there could be no death more dreadful
for me than to think that I had sinned against God.  I was in
great straits at this thought.  I implored Him not to suffer me
to fall into sin, with great sweetness, dissolved in tears.
Then I heard that I might console myself, and trust [5] that I
was in a state of grace, because a love of God like mine,
together with the graces and feelings with which His Majesty
filled my soul, was of such a nature as to be inconsistent with a
state of mortal sin.

13. I was now confident that our Lord would grant my prayer as to
that religious.  He bade me repeat certain words to him.  This I
felt much, because I knew not how to speak to him; for this
carrying messages to a third person, as I have said, [6] is what
I have always felt the most, especially when I did not know how
that person would take them, nor whether he would not laugh at
me.  This placed me in great difficulties, but at last I was so
convinced I ought to do it, that I believe I made a promise to
God I would not neglect that message; and because of the great
shame I felt, I wrote it out, and gave it in that way.
The result showed clearly enough that it was a message from God,
for that religious resolved with great earnestness to give
himself to prayer, though he did not do so at once.  Our Lord
would have him for Himself, so He sent me to tell him certain
truths which, without my understanding them, were so much to the
purpose that he was astonished.  Our Lord must have prepared him
to receive them as from His Majesty; and though I am but a
miserable sinner myself, yet I made many supplications to our
Lord to convert him thoroughly, and to make him hate the
pleasures and the things of this life.  And so he did--blessed be
God!--for every time that he spoke to me I was in a manner beside
myself; and if I had not seen it, I should never have believed
that our Lord would have given him in so short a time graces so
matured, and filled him so full of God, that he seemed to be
alive to nothing on earth.

14. May His Majesty hold him in His hand!  If he will go on--and
I trust in our Lord he will do so, now that he is so well
grounded in the knowledge of himself--he will be one of the most
distinguished servants of God, to the great profit of many souls,
because he has in a short time had great experience in spiritual
things: that is a gift of God, which He gives when He will and as
He will, and it depends not on length of time nor extent of
service.  I do not mean that time and service, are not great
helps, but very often our Lord will not give to some in twenty
years the grace of contemplation, while He gives it to others in
one,--His Majesty knoweth why.  We are under a delusion when we
think that in the course of years we shall come to the knowledge
of that which we can in no way attain to but by experience; and
thus many are in error, as I have said [7] when they would
understand spirituality without being spiritual themselves.  I do
not mean that a man who is not spiritual, if he is learned, may
not direct one that is spiritual; but it must be understood that
in outward and inward things, in the order of nature, the
direction must be an act of reason; and in supernatural things,
according to the teaching of the sacred writings.  In other
matters, let him not distress himself, nor think that he can
understand that which he understandeth not; neither let him
quench the Spirit; [8] for now another Master, greater than he,
is directing these souls, so that they are not left without
authority over them.

15. He must not be astonished at this, nor think it impossible:
all things are possible to our Lord; [9] he must strive rather to
strengthen his faith, and humble himself, because in this matter
our Lord imparts perhaps a deeper knowledge to some old woman
than to him, though he may be a very learned man.  Being thus
humble, he will profit souls and himself more than if he affected
to be a contemplative without being so; for, I repeat it, if he
have no experience, if he have not a most profound humility,
whereby he may see that he does not understand, and that the
thing is not for that reason impossible, he will do himself but
little good, and still less to his penitent.  But if he is
humble, let him have no fear that our Lord will allow either the
one or the other to fall into delusion.

16. Now as to this father I am speaking of, as our Lord has given
him light in many things, so has he laboured to find out by study
that which in this matter can be by study ascertained; for he is
a very learned man, and that of which he has no experience
himself he seeks to find out from those who have it,--and our
Lord helps him by increasing his faith, and so he has greatly
benefited himself and some other souls, of whom mine is one.
As our Lord knew the trials I had to undergo, His Majesty seems
to have provided that, when He took away unto Himself some of
those who directed me, others might remain, who helped me in my
great afflictions, and rendered me great services.

17. Our Lord wrought a complete change in this father, so much so
that he scarcely knew himself, so to speak.  He has given him
bodily health, so that he may do penance, such as he never had
before; for he was sickly.  He has given him courage to undertake
good works, with other gifts, so that he seems to have received a
most special vocation from our Lord.  May He be blessed for ever!

18. All these blessings, I believe, came to him through the
graces our Lord bestowed upon him in prayer; for they are real.
It has been our Lord's pleasure already to try him in certain
difficulties, out of which he has come forth like one who knows
the true worth of that merit which is gained by suffering
persecutions.  I trust in the munificence of our Lord that great
good will, by his means, accrue to some of his Order and to the
Order itself.  This is beginning to be understood.  I have had
great visions on the subject, and our Lord has told me wonderful
things of him and of the Rector of the Society of Jesus, whom I
am speaking of, [10] and also of two other religious of the Order
of St. Dominic, particularly of one who, to his own profit, has
actually learned of our Lord certain things which I had formerly
understood of him.  But there were greater things made known of
him to whom I am now referring: one of them I will now relate.

19. I was with him once in the parlour, when in my soul and
spirit I felt what great love burned within him, and became as it
were lost in ecstasy by considering the greatness of God, who had
raised that soul in so short a time to a state so high.  It made
me ashamed of myself when I saw him listen with so much humility
to what I was saying about certain matters of prayer, when I had
so little myself that I could speak on the subject to one like
him.  Our Lord must have borne with me in this on account of the
great desire I had to see that religious making great progress.
My interview with him did me great good,--it seems as if it left
a new fire in my soul, burning with desire to serve our Lord as
in the beginning.  O my Jesus! what is a soul on fire with Thy
love!  How we ought to prize it, and implore our Lord to let it
live long upon earth!  He who has this love should follow after
such souls, if it be possible.

20. It is a great thing for a person ill of this disease to find
another struck down by it,--it comforts him much to see that he
is not alone; they help one another greatly to suffer and to
merit.  They are strong with a double strength who are resolved
to risk a thousand lives for God, and who long for an opportunity
of losing them.  They are like soldiers who, to acquire booty,
and therewith enrich themselves, wish for war, knowing well that
they cannot become rich without it.  This is their work--to
suffer.  Oh, what a blessing it is when our Lord gives light to
understand how great is the gain of suffering for Him!  This is
never understood till we have left all things; for if anybody is
attached to any one thing, that is a proof that he sets some
value upon it; and if he sets any value upon it, it is painful to
be compelled to give it up.  In that case, everything is
imperfect and lost.  The saying is to the purpose here,--he who
follows what is lost, is lost himself; and what greater loss,
what greater blindness, what greater calamity, can there be than
making much of that which is nothing!

21. I now return to that which I had begun to speak of.  I was in
the greatest joy, beholding that soul.  It seemed as if our Lord
would have me see clearly the treasures He had laid up in it; and
so, when I considered the favour our Lord had shown me, in that I
should be the means of so great a good, I recognised my own
unworthiness for such an end.  I thought much of the graces our
Lord had given him, and held myself as indebted for them more
than if they had been given to myself.  So I gave thanks to our
Lord, when I saw that His Majesty had fulfilled my desires and
heard my petition that He would raise up persons like him.
And now my soul, no longer able to bear the joy that filled it,
went forth out of itself, losing itself that it might gain the
more. It lost sight of the reflections it was making; and the
hearing of that divine language which the Holy Ghost seemed to
speak threw me into a deep trance, which almost deprived me of
all sense, though it did not last long.  I saw Christ, in
exceeding great majesty and glory, manifesting His joy at what
was then passing.  He told me as much, and it was His pleasure
that I should clearly see that He was always present at similar
interviews, and how much He was pleased when people thus found
their delight in speaking of Him.

22. On another occasion, when far away from this place, I saw him
carried by angels in great glory.  I understood by that vision
that his soul was making great progress: so it was; for an evil
report was spread abroad against him by one to whom he had
rendered a great service, and whose reputation and whose soul he
had saved.  He bore it with much joy.  He did also other things
greatly to the honour of God, and underwent more persecutions.
I do not think it expedient now to speak further on this point;
if, however, you, my father, who know all, should hereafter think
otherwise, more might be said to the glory of our Lord.

23. All the prophecies spoken of before, [11] relating to this
house, as well as others, of which I shall speak hereafter,
relating to it and to other matters, have been accomplished.
Some of them our Lord revealed to me three years before they
became known, others earlier and others later.  But I always made
them known to my confessor, and to the widow my friend; for I had
leave to communicate with her, as I said before. [12]  She, I
know, repeated them to others, and these know that I lie not.
May God never permit me, in any matter whatever,--much more in
things of this importance,--to say anything but the whole truth!

24. One of my brothers-in-law [13] died suddenly; and as I was in
great distress at this, because he had no opportunity of making
his confession, our Lord said to me in prayer that my sister also
was to die in the same way; that I must go to her, and make her
prepare herself for such an end.  I told this to my confessor;
but as he would not let me go, I heard the same warning again;
and now, when he saw this, he told me I might go, and that I
should lose nothing by going.  My sister was living in the
country; and as I did not tell her why I came, I gave her what
light I could in all things.  I made her go frequently to
confession, and look to her soul in everything.  She was very
good, and did as I asked her.  Four or five years after she had
begun this practice, and keeping a strict watch over her
conscience, she died, with nobody near her, and without being
able to go to confession.  This was a blessing to her, for it was
little more than a week since she had been to her accustomed
confession.  It was a great joy to me when I heard of her death.
She was but a short time in purgatory.

25. I do not think it was quite eight days afterwards when, after
Communion, our Lord appeared to me, and was pleased that I should
see Him receive my sister into glory.  During all those years,
after our Lord had spoken to me, until her death, what I then
learnt with respect to her was never forgotten either by myself
or by my friend, who, when my sister was thus dead, came to me in
great amazement at the fulfilment of the prophecy.  God be
praised for ever, who takes such care of souls that they may not
be lost!


1. Dona Luisa de la Cerda, sister of the Duke of Medina-Coeli,
was now the widow of Arias Pardo, Marshal of Castille, Lord of
Malagon and Paracuellos.  Don Arias was nephew of Cardinal
Tabera, Archbishop of Toledo (De la Fuente).

2. F. Vicente Barron, Dominican (see ch. v. Sec. 8), according to
F. Bouix, on the authority of Ribera and Yepez; but the Carmelite
Father, Fr. Antonio of St. Joseph, in his note on the first
Fragment (Letters, vol. iv. p. 408), says that it was Fr. Garcia
of Toledo, brother of Don Fernando, Duke of Alva; and Don Vicente
de la Fuente thinks the opinion of Fr. Antonio the more probable.

3. Pedro Ibanez (Bouix).

4. Ch. xxxiii. Sec. 11.

5. Father Bouix says that here the word "confiar," "trust," in
the printed text, has been substituted by some one for the words
"estar cierta," "be certain," which he found in the MS.  But Don
Vicente de la Fuente retains the old reading "confiar," and makes
no observation on the alleged discrepancy between the MS. and the
printed text.  The observation of F. Bouix, however, is more
important, and deserves credit,--for Don Vicente may have failed,
through mere inadvertence, to see what F. Bouix saw; and it is
also to be remembered that Don Vicente does not say that the
MS. on this point has been so closely inspected as to throw any
doubt on the positive testimony of F. Bouix.  Six years after
this note was written Don Vicente published a facsimile by
photography of the original text in the handwriting of the Saint,
preserved in the Escurial.  The words are not "confiar," but
"estar cierta."

6. Ch. xxxiii. Sec. 12.

7. Ch. xiv. Sec. 10.

8. 1 Thess. v. 19: "Spiritum nolite extinguere."

9. St. Matt. xix. 26: "Apud Deum autem omnia possibilia sunt."

10. F. Gaspar de Salazar.

11. Ch. xxvi. Sec. 3.

12. Ch. xxx. Sec. 3.  Dona Guiomar de Ulloa.

13. Don Martin de Guzman y Barrientos, husband of Maria de
Cepeda, the Saint's sister.



Chapter XXXV.


The Foundation of the House of St. Joseph.  The Observation of
Holy Poverty Therein.  How the Saint Left Toledo.


1. When I was staying with this lady, [1] already spoken of, in
whose house I remained more than six months, our Lord ordained
that a holy woman [2] of our Order should hear of me, who was
more than seventy leagues away from the place.  She happened to
travel this way, and went some leagues out of her road that she
might see me.  Our Lord had moved her in the same year, and in
the same month of the year, that He had moved me, to found
another monastery of the Order; and as He had given her this
desire, she sold all she possessed, and went to Rome to obtain
the necessary faculties.  She went on foot, and barefooted.
She is a woman of great penance and prayer, and one to whom our
Lord gave many graces; and our Lady appeared to her, and
commanded her to undertake this work.  Her progress in the
service of our Lord was so much greater than mine, that I was
ashamed to stand in her presence.  She showed me Briefs she
brought from Rome, and during the fortnight she remained with me
we laid our plan for the founding of these monasteries.

2. Until I spoke to her, I never knew that our rule, before it
was mitigated, required of us that we should possess nothing; [3]
nor was I going to found a monastery without revenue, [4] for my
intention was that we should be without anxiety about all that
was necessary for us, and I did not think of the many anxieties
which the possession of property brings in its train.  This holy
woman, taught of our Lord, perfectly understood--though she could
not read--what I was ignorant of, notwithstanding my having read
the Constitutions [5] so often; and when she told me of it, I
thought it right, though I feared they would never consent to
this, but would tell me I was committing follies, and that I
ought not to do anything whereby I might bring suffering upon
others.  If this concerned only myself, nothing should have kept
me back,--on the contrary, it would have been my great joy to
think that I was observing the counsels of Christ our Lord; for
His Majesty had already given me great longings for poverty. [6]

3. As for myself, I never doubted that this was the better part;
for I had now for some time wished it were possible in my state
to go about begging, for the love of God--to have no house of my
own, nor anything else.  But I was afraid that others--if our
Lord did not give them the same desire--might live in discontent.
Moreover, I feared that it might be the cause of some
distraction: for I knew some poor monasteries not very
recollected, and I did not consider that their not being
recollected was the cause of their poverty, and that their
poverty was not the cause of their distraction: distraction never
makes people richer, and God never fails those who serve Him.
In short, I was weak in faith; but not so this servant of God.

4. As I took the advice of many in everything, I found scarcely
any one of this opinion--neither my confessor, nor the learned
men to whom I spoke of it.  They gave me so many reasons the
other way, that I did not know what to do.  But when I saw what
the rule required, and that poverty was the more perfect way, I
could not persuade myself to allow an endowment.  And though they
did persuade me now and then that they were right, yet, when I
returned to my prayer, and saw Christ on the cross, so poor and
destitute, I could not bear to be rich, and I implored Him with
tears so to order matters that I might be poor as He was.

5. I found that so many inconveniences resulted from an
endowment, and saw that it was the cause of so much trouble, and
even distraction, that I did nothing but dispute with the
learned.  I wrote to that Dominican friar [7] who was helping us,
and he sent back two sheets by way of reply, full of objections
and theology against my plan, telling me that he had thought much
on the subject.  I answered that, in order to escape from my
vocation, the vow of poverty I had made, and the perfect
observance of the counsels of Christ, I did not want any theology
to help me, and in this case I should not thank him for his
learning.  If I found any one who would help me, it pleased me
much.  The lady in whose house I was staying was a great help to
me in this matter.  Some at first told me that they agreed with
me; afterwards, when they had considered the matter longer, they
found in it so many inconveniences that they insisted on my
giving it up.  I told them that, though they changed their
opinion so quickly, I would abide by the first.

6. At this time, because of my entreaties,--for the lady had
never seen the holy friar, Peter of Alcantara,--it pleased our
Lord to bring him to her house.  As he was a great lover of
poverty, and had lived in it for so many years, he knew well the
treasures it contains, and so he was a great help to me; he
charged me on no account whatever to give up my purpose.
Now, having this opinion and sanction,--no one was better able to
give it, because he knew what it was by long experience,--I  made
up my mind to seek no further advice.

7. One day, when I was very earnestly commending the matter to
God, our Lord told me that I must by no means give up my purpose
of founding the monastery in poverty; it was His will, and the
will of His Father: He would help me.  I was in a trance; and the
effects were such, that I could have no doubt it came from God.
On another occasion, He said to me that endowments bred
confusion, with other things in praise of poverty; and assured me
that whosoever served Him would never be in want of the necessary
means of living: and this want, as I have said, [8] I never
feared myself.  Our Lord changed the dispositions also of the
licentiate,--I am speaking of the Dominican friar, [9]--who, as I
said, wrote to me that I should not found the monastery without
an endowment.  Now, I was in the greatest joy at hearing this;
and having these opinions in my favour, it seemed to me nothing
less than the possession of all the wealth of the world, when I
had resolved to live in poverty for the love of God.

8. At this time, my Provincial withdrew the order and the
obedience, in virtue of which I was staying in that house. [10]
He left it to me to do as I liked: if I wished to return I might
do so; if I wished to remain I might also do so for a certain
time. But during that time the elections in my monastery [11]
would take place and I was told that many of the nuns wished to
lay on me the burden of superiorship.  The very thought of this
alone was a great torment to me; for though I was resolved to
undergo readily any kind of martyrdom for God, I could not
persuade myself at all to accept this; for, putting aside the
great trouble it involved,--because the nuns were so many,--and
other reasons, such as that I never wished for it, nor for any
other office,--on the contrary, had always refused them,--it
seemed to me that my conscience would be in great danger; and so
I praised God that I was not then in my convent.  I wrote to my
friends and asked them not to vote for me.

9. When I was rejoicing that I was not in that trouble, our Lord
said to me that I was on no account to keep away; that as I
longed for a cross, there was one ready for me, and that a heavy
one: that I was not to throw it away, but go on with resolution;
He would help me, and I must go at once.  I was very much
distressed, and did nothing but weep, because I thought that my
cross was to be the office of prioress; and, as I have just said,
I could not persuade myself that it would be at all good for my
soul--nor could I see any means by which it would be.  I told my
confessor of it, and he commanded me to return at once: that to
do so was clearly the most perfect way; and that, because the
heat was very great,--it would be enough if I arrived before the
election,--I might wait a few days, in order that my journey
might do me no harm.

10. But our Lord had ordered it otherwise.  I had to go at once,
because the uneasiness I felt was very great; and I was unable to
pray, and thought I was failing in obedience to the commandments
of our Lord, and that as I was happy and contented where I was, I
would not go to meet trouble.  All my service of God there was
lip-service: why did I, having the opportunity of living in
greater perfection, neglect it?  If I died on the road, let me
die.  Besides, my soul was in great straits, and our Lord had
taken from me all sweetness in prayer.  In short, I was in such a
state of torment, that I begged the lady to let me go; for my
confessor, when he saw the plight I was in, had already told me
to go, God having moved him as He had moved me.  The lady felt my
departure very much, and that was another pain to bear; for it
had cost her much trouble, and diverse importunities of the
Provincial, to have me in her house.

11. I considered it a very great thing for her to have given her
consent, when she felt it so much; but, as she was a person who
feared God exceedingly,--and as I told her, among many other
reasons, that my going away tended greatly to His service, and
held out the hope that I might possibly return,--she gave way,
but with much sorrow.  I was now not sorry myself at coming away,
for I knew that it was an act of greater perfection, and for the
service of God.  So the pleasure I had in pleasing God took away
the pain of quitting that lady,--whom I saw suffering so
keenly,--and others to whom I owed much, particularly my
confessor of the Society of Jesus, in whom I found all I needed.
But the greater the consolations I lost for our Lord's sake, the
greater was my joy in losing them.  I could not understand it,
for I had a clear consciousness of these two contrary
feelings--pleasure, consolation, and joy in that which weighed
down my soul with sadness.  I was joyful and tranquil, and had
opportunities of spending many hours in prayer; and I saw that I
was going to throw myself into a fire; for our Lord had already
told me that I was going to carry a heavy cross,--though I never
thought it would be so heavy as I afterwards found it to be,--yet
I went forth rejoicing.  I was distressed because I had not
already begun the fight, since it was our Lord's will that I
should be in it.  Thus His Majesty gave me strength, and
established it in my weakness. [12]

12. As I have just said, I could not understand how this could
be.  I thought of this illustration: if I were possessed of a
jewel, or any other thing which gave me great pleasure, and it
came to my knowledge that a person whom I loved more than myself,
and whose satisfaction I preferred to my own, wished to have it,
it would give me great pleasure to deprive myself of it, because
I would give all I possessed to please that person.  Now, as the
pleasure of giving pleasure to that person surpasses any pleasure
I have in that jewel myself, I should not be distressed in giving
away that or anything else I loved, nor at the loss of that
pleasure which the possession of it gave me.  So now, though I
wished to feel some distress when I saw that those whom I was
leaving felt my going so much, yet, notwithstanding my naturally
grateful disposition,--which, under other circumstances, would
have been enough to have caused me great pain,--at this time,
though I wished to feel it, I could feel none.

13. The delay of another day was so serious a matter in the
affairs of this holy house, that I know not how they would have
been settled if I had waited.  Oh, God is great!  I am often lost
in wonder when I consider and see the special help which His
Majesty gave me towards the establishment of this little cell of
God,--for such I believe it to be,--the lodging wherein His
Majesty delights; for once, when I was in prayer, He told me that
this house was the paradise of his delight. [13]  It seems, then,
that His Majesty has chosen these whom he has drawn hither, among
whom I am living very much ashamed of myself. [14]  I could not
have even wished for souls such as they are for the purpose of
this house, where enclosure, poverty, and prayer are so strictly
observed; they submit with so much joy and contentment, that
every one of them thinks herself unworthy of the grace of being
received into it,--some of them particularly; for our Lord has
called them out of the vanity and dissipation of the world, in
which, according to its laws, they might have lived contented.
Our Lord has multiplied their joy, so that they see clearly how
He had given them a hundredfold for the one thing they have
left, [15] and for which they cannot thank His Majesty enough.
Others He has advanced from well to better.  To the young He
gives courage and knowledge, so that they may desire nothing
else, and also to understand that to live away from all things in
this life is to live in greater peace even here below.  To those
who are no longer young, and whose health is weak, He gives--and
has given--the strength to undergo the same austerities and
penance with all the others.

14. O my Lord! how Thou dost show Thy power!  There is no need to
seek reasons for Thy will; for with Thee, against all natural
reason, all things are possible: so that thou teachest clearly
there is no need of anything but of loving Thee [16] in earnest,
and really giving up everything for Thee, in order that Thou, O
my Lord, might make everything easy.  It is well said that Thou
feignest to make Thy law difficult: [17] I do not see it, nor do
I feel that the way that leadeth unto Thee is narrow. I see it as
a royal road, and not a pathway; a road upon which whosoever
really enters, travels most securely.  No mountain passes and no
cliffs are near it: these are the occasions of sin. I call that a
pass,--a dangerous pass,--and a narrow road, which has on one
side a deep hollow, into which one stumbles, and on the other a
precipice, over which they who are careless fall, and are dashed
to pieces.  He who loves Thee, O my God, travels safely by the
open and royal road, far away from the precipice: he has scarcely
stumbled at all, when Thou stretchest forth Thy hand to save him.
One fall--yea, many falls--if he does but love Thee, and not the
things of the world, are not enough to make him perish; he
travels in the valley of humility.  I cannot understand what it
is that makes men afraid of the way of perfection.

15. May our Lord of His mercy make us see what a poor security we
have in the midst of dangers so manifest, when we live like the
rest of the world; and that true security consists in striving to
advance in the way of God!  Let us fix our eyes upon Him, and
have no fear that the Sun of justice will ever set, or suffer us
to travel to our ruin by night, unless we first look away from
Him.  People are not afraid of living in the midst of lions,
every one of whom seems eager to tear them: I am speaking of
honours, pleasures, and the like joys, as the world calls them:
and herein the devil seems to make us afraid of ghosts.  I am
astonished a thousand times, and ten thousand times would I
relieve myself by weeping, and proclaim aloud my own great
blindness and wickedness, if, perchance, it might help in some
measure to open their eyes.  May He, who is almighty, of His
goodness open their eyes, and never suffer mine to be
blind again!


1. Dona Luisa de la Cerda.

2. Maria of Jesus was the daughter of a Reporter of Causes in the
Chancery of Granada; but his name and that of his wife are not
known.  Maria married, but became a widow soon afterwards.
She then became a novice in the Carmelite monastery in Granada,
and during her noviciate had revelations, like those of
St. Teresa, about a reform of the Order.  Her confessor made
light of her revelations, and she then referred them to F. Gaspar
de Salazar, a confessor of St. Teresa, who was then in Granada.
He approved of them, and Maria left the noviciate, and went to
Rome with two holy women of the Order of St. Francis.  The three
made the journey on foot, and, moreover, barefooted.  Pope Pius
IV. heard her prayer, and, looking at her torn and bleeding feet,
said to her, "Woman of strong courage, let it be as thou wilt."
She returned to Granada, but both the Carmelites and the city
refused her permission to found her house there, and some went so
far as to threaten to have her publicly whipped.  Dona Leonor de
Mascarenas gave her a house in Alcala de Henares, of which she
took possession Sept. 11, 1562; but the house was formally
constituted July 23, 1563, and subjected to the Bishop ten days
after (Reforma, i. c. 59; and Don Vicente, vol. i. p. 255).
The latter says that the Chronicler is in error when he asserts
that this monastery of Maria of Jesus was endowed.

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

4. See ch. xxxii. Sec. 13.

5. The Constitutions which the Saint read in the Monastery of the
Incarnation must have been the Constitutions grounded on the
Mitigated Rule which was sanctioned by Eugenius IV. (Romani
Pontificis, A.D. 1432).

6. See Relation, i. Sec. 10.

7. F. Pedro Ibanez.

8. Ch. xi. Sec. 3.

9. F. Pedro Ibanez.

10. The house of Dona Luisa, in Toledo.

11. The monastery of the Incarnation, Avila.

12. 2 Cor. xii. 9: "Virtus in infirmitate perficitur."

13. See Way of Perfection, ch. xxii.; but ch. xiii. ed. Doblado.

14. See Foundations, ch. I, Sec. 1.

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

16. When the workmen were busy with the building, a nephew of the
Saint, the child of her sister and Don Juan de Ovalle, was struck
by some falling stones and killed.  The workmen took the child to
his mother: and the Saint, then in the house of Dona Guiomar de
Ulloa, was sent for.  Dona Guiomar took the dead boy into her
arms, gave him to the Saint, saying that it was a grievous blow
to the father and mother, and that she must obtain his life from
God.  The Saint took the body, and, laying it in her lap, ordered
those around her to cease their lamentations, of whom her sister
was naturally the loudest, and be silent.  Then, covering her
face and her body with her veil, she prayed to God, and God gave
the child his life again.  The little boy soon after ran up to
his aunt and thanked her for what she had done. In after years
the child used to say to the Saint that, as she had deprived him
of the bliss of heaven by bringing him back to life, she was
bound to see that he did not suffer loss.  Don Gonzalo died three
years after St. Teresa, when he was twenty-eight years of age
(Reforma, i. c. 42, Sec. 2).

17. Psalm xciii. 20: "Qui fingis laborem in praecepto."



Chapter XXXVI.


The Foundation of the Monastery of St. Joseph.
Persecution and Temptations.  Great Interior Trial of the Saint,
and Her Deliverance.


1. Having now left that city, [1] I travelled in great joy,
resolved to suffer most willingly whatever our Lord might be
pleased to lay upon me.  On the night of my arrival here, [2]
came also from Rome the commission and the Brief for the erection
of the monastery. [3]  I was astonished myself, and so were those
who knew how our Lord hastened my coming, when they saw how
necessary it was, and in what a moment our Lord had brought me
back. [4]  I found here the Bishop and the holy friar, [5] Peter
of Alcantara, and that nobleman, [6] the great servant of God, in
whose house the holy man was staying; for he was a man who was in
the habit of receiving the servants of God in his house.
These two prevailed on the Bishop to accept the monastery, which
was no small thing, because it was founded in poverty; but he was
so great a lover of those whom he saw determined to serve our
Lord, that he was immediately drawn to give them His protection.
It was the approbation of the holy old man, [7] and the great
trouble he took to make now this one, now that one, help us, that
did the whole work.  If I had not come at the moment, as I have
just said, I do not see how it could have been done; for the holy
man was here but a short time,--I think not quite eight
days,--during which he was also ill; and almost immediately
afterwards our Lord took him to Himself. [8]  It seems as if His
Majesty reserved him till this affair was ended, because now for
some time--I think for more than two years--he had been very ill.

2. Everything was done in the utmost secrecy; and if it had not
been so, I do not see how anything could have been done at all;
for the people of the city were against us, as it appeared
afterwards.  Our Lord ordained that one of my brothers-in-law [9]
should be ill, and his wife away, and himself in such straits
that my superiors gave me leave to remain with him.
Nothing, therefore, was found out, though some persons had their
suspicions;--still, they did not believe.  It was very wonderful,
for his illness lasted only no longer than was necessary for our
affair; and when it was necessary he should recover his health,
that I might be disengaged, and he leave the house empty, our
Lord restored him; and he was astonished at it himself. [10]

3. I had much trouble in persuading this person and that to allow
the foundation; I had to nurse the sick man, and obtain from the
workmen the hasty preparation of the house, so that it might have
the form of a monastery; but much remained still to be done.
My friend was not here, [11] for we thought it best she should be
away, in order the better to hide our purpose.  I saw that
everything depended on haste, for many, reasons, one of which was
that I was afraid I might be ordered back to my monastery at any
moment.  I was troubled by so many things, that I suspected my
cross had been sent me, though it seemed but a light one in
comparison with that which I understood our Lord meant me
to carry.

4. When everything was settled, our Lord was pleased that some of
us should take the habit on St. Bartholomew's Day.  The most Holy
Sacrament began to dwell in the house at the same time. [12]
With full sanction and authority, then, our monastery of our most
glorious father St. Joseph was founded in the year 1562. [13]
I was there myself to give the habit, with two nuns [14] of the
house to which we belonged, who happened then to be absent from
it.  As the house which thus became a monastery was that of my
brother-in-law--I said before [15] that he had bought it, for the
purpose of concealing our plan--I was there myself with the
permission of my superiors; and I did nothing without the advice
of learned men, in order that I might not break, in a single
point, my vow of obedience.  As these persons considered what I
was doing to be most advantageous for the whole Order, on many
accounts, they told me--though I was acting secretly, and taking
care my superiors should know nothing--that I might go on.
If they had told me that there was the slightest imperfection in
the whole matter, I would have given up the founding of a
thousand monasteries,--how much more, then, this one!  I am
certain of this; for though I longed to withdraw from everything
more and more, and to follow my rule and vocation in the greatest
perfection and seclusion, yet I wished to do so only
conditionally: for if I should have learnt that it would be for
the greater honour of our Lord to abandon it, I would have done
so, as I did before on one occasion, [16] in all peace
and contentment.

5. I felt as if I were in bliss, when I saw the most Holy
Sacrament reserved, with four poor orphans, [17]--for they were
received without a dowry,--and great servants of God, established
in the house.  It was our aim from the beginning to receive only
those who, by their example, might be the foundation on which we
could build up what we had in view--great perfection and
prayer--and effect a work which I believed to be for the service
of our Lord, and to the honour of the habit of His glorious
Mother. This was my anxiety.  It was also a great consolation to
me that I had done that which our Lord had so often commanded me
to do, and that there was one church more in this city dedicated
to my glorious father St. Joseph.  Not that I thought I had done
anything myself, for I have never thought so, and do not think so
even now; I always looked upon it as the work of our Lord.
My part in it was so full of imperfections, that I look upon
myself rather as a person in fault than as one to whom any thanks
are due.  But it was a great joy to me when I saw His Majesty
make use of me, who am so worthless, as His instrument in so
grand a work.  I was therefore in great joy,--so much so, that I
was, as it were, beside myself, lost in prayer.

6. When all was done--it might have been about three or four
hours afterwards--Satan returned to the spiritual fight against
me, as I shall now relate.  He suggested to me that perhaps I had
been wrong in what I had done; perhaps I had failed in my
obedience, in having brought it about without the commandment of
the Provincial.  I did certainly think that the Provincial would
be displeased because I had placed the monastery under the
jurisdiction of the Bishop [18] without telling him of it
beforehand; though, as he would not acknowledge the monastery
himself, and as I had not changed mine, it seemed to me that
perhaps he would not care much about the matter.  Satan also
suggested whether the nuns would be contented to live in so
strict a house, whether they could always find food, whether I
had not done a silly thing, and what had I to do with it, when I
was already in a monastery?  All our Lord had said to me, all the
opinions I had heard, and all the prayers which had been almost
uninterrupted for more than two years, were completely blotted
out of my memory, just as if they had never been.  The only thing
I remembered was my own opinion; and every virtue, with faith
itself, was then suspended within me, so that I was without
strength to practise any one of them, or to defend myself against
so many blows.

7. The devil also would have me ask myself how I could think of
shutting myself up in so strict a house, when I was subject to so
many infirmities; how could I bear so penitential a life, and
leave a house large and pleasant, where I had been always so
happy, and where I had so many friends?--perhaps I might not like
those of the new monastery; I had taken on myself a heavy
obligation, and might possibly end in despair.  He also suggested
that perhaps it was he himself who had contrived it, in order to
rob me of my peace and rest, so that, being unable to pray, I
might be disquieted, and so lose my soul.  Thoughts of this kind
he put before me; and they were so many, that I could think of
nothing else; and with them came such distress, obscurity, and
darkness of soul as I can never describe.  When I found myself in
this state, I went and placed myself before the most Holy
Sacrament, though I could not pray to Him; so great was my
anguish, that I was like one in the agony of death.  I could not
make the matter known to any one, because no confessor had as yet
been appointed.

8. O my God, how wretched is this life!  No joy is lasting;
everything is liable to change.  Only a moment ago, I do not
think I would have exchanged my joy with any man upon earth; and
the very grounds of that joy so tormented me now, that I knew not
what to do with myself.  Oh, if we did but consider carefully the
events of our life, every one of us would learn from experience
how little we ought to make either of its pleasures or of its
pains!  Certainly this was, I believe, one of the most
distressing moments I ever passed in all my life; my spirit
seemed to forecast the great sufferings in store for me, though
they never were so heavy as this was, if it had continued.
But our Lord would not let His poor servant suffer, for in all my
troubles He never failed to succour me; so it was now.  He gave
me a little light, so that I might see it was the work of the
devil, and might understand the truth,--namely, that it was
nothing else but an attempt on his part to frighten me with his
lies.  So I began to call to mind my great resolutions to serve
our Lord, and my desire to suffer for His sake; and I thought
that if I carried them out, I must not seek to be at rest; that
if I had my trials, they would be meritorious; and that if I had
troubles, and endured them in order to please God, it would serve
me for purgatory.  What was I, then, afraid of?  If I longed for
tribulations, I had them now; and my gain lay in the greatest
opposition.  Why, then, did I fail in courage to serve One to
whom I owed so much?

9. After making these and other reflections, and doing great
violence to myself, I promised before the most Holy Sacrament to
do all in my power to obtain permission to enter this house, and,
if I could do it with a good conscience, to make a vow of
enclosure.  When I had done this, the devil fled in a moment, and
left me calm and peaceful, and I have continued so ever since;
and the enclosure, penances, and other rules of this house are to
me, in their observance, so singularly sweet and light, the joy I
have is so exceedingly great, that I am now and then thinking
what on earth I could have chosen which should be more
delightful.  I know not whether this may not be the cause of my
being in better health than I was ever before, or whether it be
that our Lord, because it is needful and reasonable that I should
do as all the others do, gives me this comfort of keeping the
whole rule, though with some difficulty.  However, all who know
my infirmities, are astonished at my strength.  Blessed be He who
giveth it all, and in whose strength I am strong!

10. Such a contest left me greatly fatigued, and laughing at
Satan; for I saw clearly it was he.  As I have never known what
it is to be discontented because I am a nun--no, not for an
instant--during more than twenty-eight years of religion, I
believe that our Lord suffered me to be thus tempted, that I
might understand how great a mercy He had shown me herein, and
from what torment He had delivered me, and that if I saw any one
in like trouble I might not be alarmed at it, but have pity on
her, and be able to console her.

11. Then, when this was over, I wished to rest myself a little
after our dinner; for during the whole of that night I had
scarcely rested at all, and for some nights previously I had had
much trouble and anxiety, while every day was full of toil; for
the news of what we had done had reached my monastery, and was
spread through the city.  There arose a great outcry, for the
reasons I mentioned before, [19] and there was some apparent
ground for it.  The prioress [20] sent for me to come to her
immediately.  When I received the order, I went at once, leaving
the nuns in great distress.  I saw clearly enough that there were
troubles before me; but as the work was really done, I did not
care much for that.  I prayed and implored our Lord to help me,
and my father St. Joseph to bring me back to his house.
I offered up to him all I was to suffer, rejoicing greatly that I
had the opportunity of suffering for his honour and of doing him
service.  I went persuaded that I should be put in prison at once
but this would have been a great comfort, because I should have
nobody to speak to, and might have some rest and solitude, of
which I was in great need; for so much intercourse with people
had worn me out.

12. When I came and told the prioress what I had done, she was
softened a little.  They all sent for the Provincial, and the
matter was reserved for him.  When he came, I was summoned to
judgment, rejoicing greatly at seeing that I had something to
suffer for our Lord.  I did not think I had offended against His
Majesty, or against my Order, in anything I had done; on the
contrary, I was striving with all my might to exalt my Order, for
which I would willingly have died,--for my whole desire was that
its rule might be observed in all perfection.  I thought of
Christ receiving sentence, and I saw how this of mine would be
less than nothing.  I confessed my fault, as if I had been very
much to blame; and so I seemed to every one who did not know all
the reasons.  After the Provincial had rebuked me sharply--though
not with the severity which my fault deserved, nor according to
the representations made to him--I would not defend myself, for I
was determined to bear it all; on the contrary, I prayed him to
forgive and punish, and be no longer angry with me.

13. I saw well enough that they condemned me on some charges of
which I was innocent, for they said I had founded the monastery
that I might be thought much of, and to make myself a name, and
for other reasons of that kind.  But on other points I understood
clearly that they were speaking the truth, as when they said that
I was more wicked than the other nuns.  They asked, how could I,
who had not kept the rule in that house, think of keeping it in
another of stricter observance?  They said I was giving scandal
in the city, and setting up novelties.  All this neither troubled
nor distressed me in the least, though I did seem to feel it,
lest I should appear to make light of what they were saying.

14. At last the Provincial commanded me to explain my conduct
before the nuns, and I had to do it.  As I was perfectly calm,
and our Lord helped me, I explained everything in such a way that
neither the Provincial nor those who were present found any
reason to condemn me.  Afterwards I spoke more plainly to the
Provincial alone; he was very much satisfied, and promised, if
the new monastery prospered, and the city became quiet, to give
me leave to live in it.  Now the outcry in the city was very
great, as I am going to tell.  Two or three days after this, the
governor, certain members of the council of the city and of the
Chapter, came together, and resolved that the new monastery
should not be allowed to exist, that it was a visible wrong to
the state, that the most Holy Sacrament should be removed, and
that they would not suffer us to go on with our work.

15. They assembled all the Orders--that is, two learned men from
each--to give their opinion.  Some were silent, others condemned;
in the end, they resolved that the monastery should be broken up.
Only one [21]--he was of the Order of St. Dominic, and objected,
not to the monastery itself, but to the foundation of it in
poverty--said that there was no reason why it should be thus
dissolved, that the matter ought to be well considered, that
there was time enough, that it was the affair of the bishop, with
other things of that kind.  This was of great service to us, for
they were angry enough to proceed to its destruction at once, and
it was fortunate they did not.  In short, the monastery must
exist; our Lord was pleased to have it, and all of them could do
nothing against His will.  They gave their reasons, and showed
their zeal for good, and thus, without offending God, made me
suffer together with all those who were in favour of the
monastery; there were not many, but they suffered much
persecution.  The inhabitants were so excited, that they talked
of nothing else; every one condemned me, and hurried to the
Provincial and to my monastery.

16. I was no more distressed by what they said of me than if they
had said nothing; but I was afraid the monastery would be
destroyed: that was painful; so also was it to see those persons
who helped me lose their credit and suffer so much annoyance.
But as to what was said of myself I was rather glad, and if I had
had any faith I should not have been troubled at all.  But a
slight failing in one virtue is enough to put all the others to
sleep. I was therefore extremely distressed during the two days
on which those assemblies of which I have spoken were held.
In the extremity of my trouble, our Lord said to me: "Knowest
thou not that I am the Almighty? what art thou afraid of?"
He made me feel assured that the monastery would not be broken
up, and I was exceedingly comforted.  The informations taken were
sent up to the king's council, and an order came back for a
report on the whole matter.

17. Here was the beginning of a grand lawsuit: the city sent
delegates to the court, and some must be sent also to defend the
monastery: but I had no money, nor did I know what to do.
Our Lord provided for us for the Father Provincial never ordered
me not to meddle in the matter.  He is so great a lover of all
that is good, that, though he did not help us, he would not be
against our work.  Neither did he authorise me to enter the house
till he saw how it would end.  Those servants of God who were in
it were left alone, and did more by their prayers than I did with
all my negotiations, though the affair needed the utmost
attention.  Now and then everything seemed to fail; particularly
one day, before the Provincial came, when the prioress ordered me
to meddle no more with it, and to give it up altogether.
I betook myself to God, and said, "O Lord, this house is not
mine; it was founded for Thee; and now that there is no one to
take up the cause, do Thou protect it."  I now felt myself in
peace, and as free from anxiety as if the whole world were on my
side in the matter; and at once I looked upon it as safe. [22]

18. A very great servant of God, and a lover of all perfection, a
priest [23] who had helped me always, went to the court on this
business, and took great pains.  That holy nobleman [24] of whom
I have often spoken laboured much on our behalf, and helped us in
every way.  He had much trouble and persecution to endure, and I
always found a father in him, and do so still.  All those who
helped us, our Lord filled with such fervour as made them
consider our affair as their own, as if their own life and
reputation were at stake; and yet it was nothing to them, except
in so far as it regarded the service of our Lord.  His Majesty
visibly helped the priest I have spoken of before, [25] who was
also one of those who gave us great help when the Bishop sent him
as his representative to one of the great meetings.  There he
stood alone against all; at last he pacified them by means of
certain propositions, which obtained us a little respite.
But that was not enough; for they were ready to spend their
lives, if they could but destroy the monastery.  This servant of
God was he who gave the habit and reserved the most Holy
Sacrament, and he was the object of much persecution.
This attack lasted about six months: to relate in detail the
heavy trials we passed through would be too tedious.

19. I wondered at what Satan did against a few poor women, and
also how all people thought that merely twelve women, with a
prioress, could be so hurtful to the city,--for they were not to
be more,--I say this to those who opposed us,--and living such
austere lives; for if any harm or error came of it, it would all
fall upon them.  Harm to the city there could not be in any way;
and yet the people thought there was so much in it, that they
opposed us with a good conscience.  At last they resolved they
would tolerate us if we were endowed, and in consideration of
that would suffer us to remain.  I was so distressed at the
trouble of all those who were on our side--more than at my
own--that I thought it would not be amiss, till the people were
pacified, to accept an endowment, but afterwards to resign it.
At other times, too, wicked and imperfect as I am, I thought that
perhaps our Lord wished it to be so, seeing that, without
accepting it, we could not succeed; and so I consented to
the compromise.

20. The night before the settlement was to be made, I was in
prayer,--the discussion of the terms of it had already
begun,--when our Lord said to me that I must do nothing of the
kind; for if we began with an endowment, they would never allow
us to resign it.  He said some other things also.  The same
night, the holy friar, Peter of Alcantara, appeared to me.
He was then dead. [26]  But he had written to me before his
death--for he knew the great opposition and persecution we had to
bear--that he was glad the foundation was so much spoken against;
it was a sign that our Lord would be exceedingly honoured in the
monastery, seeing that Satan was so earnest against it; and that
I was by no means to consent to an endowment.  He urged this upon
me twice or thrice in that letter, and said that if I persisted
in this everything would succeed according to my wish.

21. At this time I had already seen him twice since his death,
and the great glory he was in, and so I was not afraid,--on the
contrary, I was very glad; for he always appeared as a glorified
body in great happiness, and the vision made me very happy too.
I remember that he told me, the first time I saw him, among other
things, when speaking of the greatness of his joy, that the
penance he had done was a blessed thing for him, in that it had
obtained so great a reward.  But, as I think I have spoken of
this before, [27] I will now say no more than that he showed
himself severe on this occasion: he merely said that I was on no
account to accept an endowment, and asked why it was I did not
take his advice.  He then disappeared. I remained in
astonishment, and the next day told the nobleman--for I went to
him in all my trouble, as to one who did more than others for us
in the matter,--what had taken place, and charged him not to
consent to the endowment, but to let the lawsuit go on.  He was
more firm on this point than I was, and was therefore greatly
pleased; he told me afterwards how much he disliked
the compromise.

22. After this, another personage--a great servant of God, and
with good intentions--came forward, who, now that the matter was
in good train, advised us to put it in the hands of learned men.
This brought on trouble enough; for some of those who helped me
agreed to do so; and this plot of Satan was one of the most
difficult of all to unravel.  Our Lord was my helper throughout.
Writing thus briefly, it is impossible for me to explain what
took place during the two years that passed between the beginning
and the completion of the monastery: the last six months and the
first six months were the most painful.

23. When at last the city was somewhat calm, the licentiate
father, the Dominican friar [28] who helped us, exerted himself
most skilfully on our behalf.  Though not here at the time, our
Lord brought him here at a most convenient moment for our
service, and it seems that His Majesty brought him for that
purpose only.  He told me afterwards that he had no reasons for
coming, and that he heard of our affair as if by chance.
He remained here as long as we wanted him, and on going away he
prevailed, by some means, on the Father Provincial to permit me
to enter this house, and to take with me some of the
nuns [29]--such a permission seemed impossible in so short a time
for the performance of the Divine Office--and the training of
those who were in this house: the day of our coming was a most
joyful day for me. [30]

24. While praying in the church, before I went into the house,
and being as it were in a trance, I saw Christ; who, as it seemed
to me, received me with great affection, placed a crown on my
head, and thanked me for what I had done for His Mother.
On another occasion, when all of us remained in the choir in
prayer after Compline, I saw our Lady in exceeding glory, in a
white mantle, with which she seemed to cover us all.
I understood by that the high degree of glory to which our Lord
would raise the religious of this house.

25. When we had begun to sing the Office, the people began to
have a great devotion to the monastery; more nuns were received,
and our Lord began to stir up those who had been our greatest
persecutors to become great benefactors, and give alms to us.
In this way they came to approve of what they had condemned; and
so, by degrees, they withdrew from the lawsuit, and would say
that they now felt it to be a work of God, since His Majesty had
been pleased to carry it on in the face of so much opposition.
And now there is not one who thinks that it would have been right
not to have founded the monastery: so they make a point of
furnishing us with alms; for without any asking on our part,
without begging of any one, our Lord moves them to, succour us;
and so we always have what is necessary for us, and I trust in
our Lord it will always be so. [31]  As the sisters are few in
number, if they do their duty as our Lord at present by His grace
enables them to do, I am confident that they will always have it,
and that they need not be a burden nor troublesome to anybody;
for our Lord will care for them, as He has hitherto done.

26. It is the greatest consolation to me to find myself among
those who are so detached.  Their occupation is to learn how they
may advance in the service of God.  Solitude is their delight;
and the thought of being visited by any one, even of their
nearest kindred, is a trial, unless it helps them to kindle more
and more their love of the Bridegroom.  Accordingly, none come to
this house who do not aim at this; otherwise they neither give
nor receive any pleasure from their visits.  Their conversation
is of God only; and so he whose conversation is different does
not understand them, and they do not understand him.

27. We keep the rule of our Lady of Carmel, not the rule of the
Mitigation, but as it was settled by Fr. Hugo, Cardinal of Santa
Sabina, and given in the year 1248, in the fifth year of the
pontificate of Innocent IV., Pope.  All the trouble we had to go
through, as it seems to me, will have been endured to
good purpose.

28. And now, though the rule be somewhat severe,--for we never
eat flesh except in cases of necessity, fast eight months in the
year, and practise some other austerities besides, according to
the primitive rule, [32]--yet the sisters think it light on many
points, and so they have other observances, which we have thought
necessary for the more perfect keeping of it.  And I trust in our
Lord that what we have begun will prosper more and more,
according to the promise of His Majesty.

29. The other house, which the holy woman of whom I spoke
before [33] laboured to establish, has been also blessed of our
Lord, and is founded in Alcala: it did not escape serious
opposition, nor fail to endure many trials.  I know that all
duties of religion are observed in it, according to our primitive
rule.  Our Lord grant that all may be to the praise and glory of
Himself and of the glorious Virgin Mary, whose habit we
wear.  Amen.

30. I think you must be wearied, my father, by the tedious
history of this monastery; and yet it is most concise, if you
compare it with our labours, and the wonders which our Lord has
wrought here.  There are many who can bear witness to this on
oath.  I therefore beg of your reverence, for the love of God,
should you think fit to destroy the rest of this my writing, to
preserve that part of it which relates to this monastery, and
give it, when I am dead, to the sisters who may then be living in
it.  It will encourage them greatly, who shall come here both to
serve God and to labour, that what has been thus begun may not
fall to decay, but ever grow and thrive, when they see how much
our Lord has done through one so mean and vile as I.  As our Lord
has been so particularly gracious to us in the foundation of this
house it seems to me that she will do very wrong, and that she
will be heavily chastised of God, who shall be the first to relax
the perfect observance of the rule, which our Lord has here begun
and countenanced, so that it may be kept with so much sweetness:
it is most evident that the observance of it is easy, and that it
can be kept with ease, by the arrangement made for those who long
to be alone with their Bridegroom Christ, in order to live for
ever in Him.

31. This is to be the perpetual aim of those who are here, to be
alone with Him alone.  They are not to be more in number than
thirteen: I know this number to be the best, for I have had many
opinions about it; and I have seen in my own experience, that to
preserve our spirit, living on alms, without asking of anyone, a
larger number would be inexpedient.  May they always believe one
who with much labour, and by the prayers of many people,
accomplished that which must be for the best!  That this is most
expedient for us will be seen from the joy and cheerfulness, and
the few troubles, we have all had in the years we have lived in
this house, as well as from the better health than usual of us
all.  If any one thinks the rule hard, let her lay the fault on
her want of the true spirit, and not on the rule of the house,
seeing that delicate persons, and those not saints,--because they
have the true spirit,--can bear it all with so much sweetness.
Let others go to another monastery, where they may save their
souls in the way of their own spirit.


1. Toledo.

2. Avila.  In the beginning of June, 1562.

3. See ch. xxxiv. Sec. 2.  The Brief was dated Feb. 7, 1562, the
third year of Pius IV. (De la Fuente).

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

5. Don Alvaro de Mendoza (De la Fuente).

6. Don Francisco de Salcedo.

7. St. Peter of Alcantara.  "Truly this is the house of
St. Joseph," were the Saint's words when he saw the rising
monastery; "for I see it is the little hospice of Bethlehem" (De
la Fuente).

8. In less than three months, perhaps; for St. Peter died in the
sixty-third year of his age, Oct. 18, 1562, and in less than
eight weeks after the foundation of the monastery of St. Joseph.

9. Don Juan de Ovalle.

10. When he saw that the Saint had made all her arrangements, he
knew the meaning of his illness, and said to her, "It is not
necessary I should be ill any longer" (Ribera, i. c. 8).

11. Dona Guiomar de Ulloa was now in her native place,
Ciudad Toro.

12. The Mass was said by Gaspar Daza.  See infra, Sec. 18; Reforma,
i. c. xlvi. Sec. 3.

13. The bell which the Saint had provided for the convent weighed
less than three pounds, and remained in the monastery for a
hundred years, till it was sent, by order of the General, to the
monastery of Pastrana, where the general chapters were held.
There the friars assembled at the sound of the bell, which rang
for the first Mass of the Carmelite Reform (Reforma,
i. c. xlvi. Sec. 1).

14. They were Dona Ines and Dona Ana de Tapia, cousins of the
Saint.  There were present also Don Gonzalo de Aranda, Don
Francisco Salcedo, Julian of Avila, priest; Dona Juana de
Ahumada, the Saint's sister; with her husband, Juan de Ovalle.
The Saint herself retained her own habit, making no change,
because she had not the permission of her superiors (Reforma,
i. c. xlvi. Sec. 2).

15. Ch. xxxiii. Sec. 13.

16. Ch. xxxiii. Sec. 3.

17. The first of these was Antonia de Henao, a penitent of
St. Peter of Alcantara, and who wished to enter a religious house
far away from Avila, her home.  St. Peter kept her for
St. Teresa.  She was called from this day forth Antonia of the
Holy Ghost.  The second was Maria de la Paz, brought up by Dona
Guiomar de Ulloa.  Her name was Maria of the Cross.  The third
was Ursola de los Santos.  She retained her family name as Ursola
of the Saints.  It was Gaspar Daza who brought her to the Saint.
The fourth was Maria de Avila, sister of Julian the priest, and
she was called Mary of St. Joseph.  It was at this house, too,
that the Saint herself exchanged her ordinary designation of Dona
Teresa de Ahumada for Teresa of Jesus (Reforma, i. c. xlvi. Sec. 2).

18. See Foundations, ch. ii. Sec. 1, and ch. xxxi, Sec. 1.

19. Ch. xxxiii. Secs. 1, 2.

20. Of the Incarnation.

21. F. Domingo Banes, the great commentator on St. Thomas.
On the margin of the MS., Banes has with his own hand written:
"This was at the end of August, 1562.  I was present, and gave
this opinion.  I am writing this in May" (the day of the month is
not legible) "1575, and the mother has now founded nine
monasteries en gran religion" (De la Fuente).  At this time Banes
did not know, and had never seen, the Saint; he undertook her
defence simply because he saw that her intentions were good, and
the means she made use of for founding the monastery lawful,
seeing that she had received the commandment to do so from the
Pope. Banes testifies thus in the depositions made in Salamanca
in 1591 in the Saint's process.  See vol. ii. p. 376 of Don
Vicente's edition.

22. See Ch. xxxix. Sec. 25.

23. Gonzalo de Aranda (De la Fuente).

24. Don Francisco de Salcedo (ibid.).

25. Ch. xxiii. Sec. 6; Gaspar Daza (ibid.).

26. He died Oct. 18, 1562.

27. Ch. xxvii. Sec. 21.

28. "El Padre Presentado, Dominico.  Presentado en algunas
Religiones es cierto titulo de grado que es respeto del Maestro
como Licenciado" (Cobarruvias, in voce Presente).  The father was
Fra Pedro Ibanez.  See ch. xxxviii. Sec. 15.

29. From the monastery of the Incarnation.  These were Ana of
St. John, Ana of All the Angels, Maria Isabel, and Isabel of
St. Paul.  St. Teresa was a simple nun, living under obedience to
the prioress of St. Joseph, Ana of St. John, and intended so to
remain.  But the nuns applied to the Bishop of Avila and to the
Provincial of the Order, who, listening to the complaints of the
sisters, compelled the Saint to be their prioress.  See Reforma,
i. c. xlix. Sec. 4.

30. Mid-Lent of 1563.

31. See Way of Perfection, ch. ii.

32. "Jejunium singulis diebus, exceptis Dominicis, observetis a
Festo Exaltationis Sanctae Crucis usque ad diem Dominicae
Resurrectionis, nisi infirmitas vel debilitas corporis, aut alia
justa causa, jejunium solvi suadeat; quia necessitas non habet
legem.  Ab esu carnium abstineatis, nisi pro infirmitatis aut
debilitatis remedio sint sumantur."  That is the tenth section of
the rule.

33. See ch. xxxv. Sec. 1.  Maria of Jesus had founded her house in
Alcala de Henares; but the austerities practised in it, and the
absence of the religious mitigations which long experience had
introduced, were too much for the fervent nuns there assembled.
Maria of Jesus begged Dona Leonor de Mascarenas to persuade
St. Teresa to come to Alcala.  The Saint went to the monastery,
and was received there with joy, and even entreated to take the
house under her own government (Reforma, ii. c. x. Secs. 3, 4).



Chapter XXXVII.


The Effects of the Divine Graces in the Soul.  The Inestimable
Greatness of One Degree of Glory.


1. It is painful to me to recount more of the graces which our
Lord gave me than these already spoken of; and they are so many,
that nobody can believe they were ever given to one so wicked:
but in obedience to our Lord, who has commanded me to do it, [1]
and you, my fathers, I will speak of some of them to His glory.
May it please His Majesty it may be to the profit of some soul!
For if our Lord has been thus gracious to so--miserable a thing
as myself, what will He be to those who shall serve Him truly?
Let all people resolve to please His Majesty, seeing that He
gives such pledges as these even in this life. [2]

2. In the first place, it must be understood that, in those
graces which God bestows on the soul, there are diverse degrees
of joy: for in some visions the joy and sweetness and comfort of
them so far exceed those of others, that I am amazed at the
different degrees of fruition even in this life; for it happens
that the joy and consolation which God gives in a vision or a
trance are so different, that it seems impossible for the soul to
be able to desire anything more in this world: and, so, in fact,
the soul does not desire, nor would it ask for, a greater joy.
Still, since our Lord has made me understand how great a
difference there is in heaven itself between the fruition of one
and that of another, I see clearly enough that here also, when
our Lord wills, He gives not by measure; [3] and so I wish that I
myself observed no measure in serving His Majesty, and in using
my whole life and strength and health therein; and I would not
have any fault of mine rob me of the slightest degree
of fruition.

3. And so I say that if I were asked which I preferred, to endure
all the trials of the world until the end of it, and then receive
one slight degree of glory additional, or without any suffering
of any kind to enter into glory of a slightly lower degree, I
would accept--oh, how willingly!--all those trials for one slight
degree of fruition in the contemplation of the greatness of God;
for I know that he who understands Him best, loves Him and
praises Him best.  I do not mean that I should not be satisfied,
and consider myself most blessed, to be in heaven, even if I
should be in the lowest place; for as I am one who had that place
in hell, it would be a great mercy of our Lord to admit me at
all; and may it please His Majesty to bring me thither, and take
away His eyes from beholding my grievous sins. What I mean is
this,--if it were in my power, even if it cost me everything, and
our Lord gave me the grace to endure much affliction, I would not
through any fault of mine lose one degree of glory.  Ah, wretched
that I am, who by so many faults had forfeited all!

4. It is also to be observed that, in every vision or revelation
which our Lord in His mercy sent me, a great gain accrued to my
soul, and that in some of the visions this gain was very great.
The vision of Christ left behind an impression of His exceeding
beauty, and it remains with me to this day.  One vision alone of
Him is enough to effect this; what, then, must all those visions
have done, which our Lord in His mercy sent me? One exceedingly
great blessing has resulted therefrom, and it is this,--I had one
very grievous fault, which was the source of much evil; namely,
whenever I found anybody well disposed towards myself, and I
liked him, I used to have such an affection for him as compelled
me always to remember and think of him, though I had no intention
of offending God: however, I was pleased to see him, to think of
him and of his good qualities.  All this was so hurtful, that it
brought my soul to the very verge of destruction.

5. But ever since I saw the great beauty [4] of our Lord, I never
saw any one who in comparison with Him seemed even endurable, or
that could occupy my thoughts.  For if I but turn mine eyes
inwardly for a moment to the contemplation of the image which I
have within me, I find myself so free, that from that instant
everything I see is loathsome in comparison with the excellences
and graces of which I had a vision in our Lord.  Neither is there
any sweetness, nor any kind of pleasure, which I can make any
account of, compared with that which comes from hearing but one
word from His divine mouth.  What, then, must it be when I hear
so many?  I look upon it as impossible--unless our Lord, for my
sins, should permit the loss of this remembrance--that I should
have the power to occupy myself with anything in such a way as
that I should not instantly recover my liberty by thinking of
our Lord.

6. This has happened to me with some of my confessors, for I
always have a great affection for those who have the direction of
my soul.  As I really saw in them only the representatives of
God, I thought my will was always there where it is most
occupied; and as I felt very safe in the matter, I always showed
myself glad to see them. [5]  They, on the other hand, servants
of God, and fearing Him, were afraid that I was attaching and
binding myself too much to them, though in a holy way, and
treated me with rudeness.  This took place after I had become so
ready to obey them; for before that time I had no affection
whatever for them.  I used to laugh to myself, when I saw how
much they were deceived.  Though I was not always putting before
them how little I was attached to anybody, as clearly as I was
convinced of it myself, yet I did assure them of it; and they, in
their further relations with me, acknowledged how much I owed to
our Lord in the matter.  These suspicions of me always arose in
the beginning.

7. My love of, and trust in, our Lord, after I had seen Him in a
vision, began to grow, for my converse with Him was so continual.
I saw that, though He was God, He was man also; that He is not
surprised at the frailties of men, that He understands our
miserable nature, liable to fall continually, because of the
first sin, for the reparation of which He had come.  I could
speak to Him as to a friend, though He is my Lord, because I do
not consider Him as one of our earthly Lords, who affect a power
they do not possess, who give audience at fixed hours, and to
whom only certain persons may speak.  If a poor man have any
business with these, it will cost him many goings and comings,
and currying favour with others, together with much pain and
labour before he can speak to them.  Ah, if such a one has
business with a king!  Poor people, not of gentle blood, cannot
approach him, for they must apply to those who are his friends,
and certainly these are not persons who tread the world under
their feet; for they who do this speak the truth, fear nothing,
and ought to fear nothing; they are not courtiers, because it is
not the custom of a court, where they must be silent about those
things they dislike, must not even dare to think about them, lest
they should fall into disgrace.

8. O King of glory, and Lord of all kings! oh, how Thy kingly
dignity is not hedged about by trifles of this kind!  Thy kingdom
is for ever.  We do not require chamberlains to introduce us into
Thy presence.  The very vision of Thy person shows us at once
that Thou alone art to be called Lord.  Thy Majesty is so
manifest that there is no need of a retinue or guard to make us
confess that Thou art King.  An earthly king without attendants
would be hardly acknowledged; and though he might wish ever so
much to be recognised, people will not own him when he appears as
others; it is necessary that his dignity should be visible, if
people are to believe in it.  This is reason enough why kings
should affect so much state; for if they had none, no one would
respect them; this their semblance of power is not in themselves,
and their authority must come to them from others.

9. O my Lord!  O my King! who can describe Thy Majesty?  It is
impossible not to see that Thou art Thyself the great Ruler of
all, that the beholding of Thy Majesty fills men with awe.  But I
am filled with greater awe, O my Lord, when I consider Thy
humility, and the love Thou hast for such as I am.  We can
converse and speak with Thee about everything whenever we will;
and when we lose our first fear and awe at the vision of Thy
Majesty, we have a greater dread of offending Thee,--not arising
out of the fear of punishment, O my Lord, for that is as nothing
in comparison with the loss of Thee!

10. Thus far of the blessings of this vision, without speaking of
others, which abide in the soul when it is past.  If it be from
God, the fruits thereof show it, when the soul receives light;
for, as I have often said, [6] the will of our Lord is that the
soul should be in darkness, and not see this light.  It is,
therefore, nothing to be wondered at that I, knowing myself to be
so wicked as I am, should be afraid.

11. It is only just now it happened to me to be for eight days in
a state wherein it seemed that I did not, and could not, confess
my obligations to God, or remember His mercies; but my soul was
so stupefied, and occupied with I know not what nor how: not that
I had any bad thoughts; only I was so incapable of good thoughts,
that I was laughing at myself, and even rejoicing to see how mean
a soul can be if God is not always working in it. [7]  The soul
sees clearly that God is not away from it in this state, and that
it is not in those  great tribulations which I have spoken of as
being occasionally mine.  Though it heaps up fuel, and does the
little it can do of itself, it cannot make the fire of the love
of God burn: it is a great mercy that even the smoke is visible,
showing that it is not altogether quenched.  Our Lord will return
and kindle it; and until then the soul--though it may lose its
breath in blowing and arranging the fuel--seems to be doing
nothing but putting it out more and more.

12. I believe that now the best course is to be absolutely
resigned, confessing that we can do nothing, and so apply
ourselves--as I said before [8]--to something else which is
meritorious.  Our Lord, it may be, takes away from the soul the
power of praying, that it may betake itself to something else,
and learn by experience how little it can do in its own strength.

13. It is true I have this day been rejoicing in our Lord, and
have dared to complain of His Majesty.  I said unto Him: How is
it, O my God, that it is not enough for Thee to detain me in this
wretched life, and that I should have to bear with it for the
love of Thee, and be willing to live where everything hinders the
fruition of Thee; where, besides, I must eat and sleep, transact
business, and converse with every one, and all for Thy love? how
is it, then,--for Thou well knowest, O my Lord, all this to be
the greatest torment unto me,--that, in the rare moments when I
am with Thee, Thou hidest Thyself from me?  How is this
consistent with Thy compassion?  How can that love Thou hast for
me endure this?  I believe, O Lord, if it were possible for me to
hide myself from Thee, as Thou hidest Thyself from me--I think
and believe so--such is Thy love, that Thou wouldest not endure
it at my hands.  But Thou art with me, and seest me always.  O my
Lord, I beseech Thee look to this; it must not be; a wrong is
done to one who loves Thee so much.

14. I happened to utter these words, and others of the same kind,
when I should have been thinking rather how my place in hell was
pleasant in comparison with the place I deserved.  But now and
then my love makes me foolish, so that I lose my senses; only it
is with all the sense I have that I make these complaints, and
our Lord bears it all.  Blessed be so good a King!

15. Can we be thus bold with the kings of this world?  And yet I
am not surprised that we dare not thus speak to a king, for it is
only reasonable that men should be afraid of him, or even to the
great lords who are his representatives.  The world is now come
to such a state, that men's lives ought to be longer than they
are if we are to learn all the new customs and ceremonies of good
breeding, and yet spend any time in the service of God.  I bless
myself at the sight of what is going on.  The fact is, I did not
know how I was to live when I came into this house.
Any negligence in being much more ceremonious with people than
they deserve is not taken as a jest; on the contrary, they look
upon it as an insult deliberately offered; so that it becomes
necessary for you to satisfy them of your good intentions, if
there happens, as I have said, to have been any negligence; and
even then, God grant they may believe you.

16. I repeat it,--I certainly did not know how to live; for my
poor soul was worn out.  It is told to employ all its thoughts
always on God, and that it is necessary to do so if it would
avoid many dangers.  On the other hand, it finds it will not do
to fail in any one point of the world's law, under the penalty of
affronting those who look upon these things as touching their
honour.  I was worn out in unceasingly giving satisfaction to
people; for, though I tried my utmost, I could not help failing
in many ways in matters which, as I have said, are not slightly
thought of in the world.

17. Is it true that in religious houses no explanations are
necessary, for it is only reasonable we should be excused these
observances?  Well, that is not so; for there are people who say
that monasteries ought to be courts in politeness and
instruction.  I certainly cannot understand it.  I thought that
perhaps some saint may have said that they ought to be courts to
teach those who wish to be the courtiers of heaven, and that
these people misunderstood their meaning; for if a man be careful
to please God continually, and to hate the world, as he ought to
do, I do not see how he can be equally careful to please those
who live in the world in these matters which are continually
changing.  If they could be learnt once for all, it might be
borne with: but as to the way of addressing letters, there ought
to be a professor's chair founded, from which lectures should be
given, so to speak, teaching us how to do it; for the paper
should on one occasion be left blank in one corner, and on
another in another corner; and a man must be addressed as the
illustrious who was not hitherto addressed as the magnificent.

18. I know not where this will stop: I am not yet fifty, and yet
I have seen so many changes during my life, that I do not know
how to live.  What will they do who are only just born, and who
may live many years?  Certainly I am sorry for those spiritual
people who, for certain holy purposes, are obliged to live in the
world; the cross they have to carry is a dreadful one.  If they
could all agree together, and make themselves ignorant, and be
willing to be considered so in these sciences, they would set
themselves free from much trouble.  But what folly am I about!
from speaking of the greatness of God I am come to speak of the
meanness of the world!  Since our Lord has given me the grace to
quit it, I wish to leave it altogether.   Let them settle these
matters who maintain these follies with so much labour.
God grant that in the next life, where there is no changing, we
may not have to pay for them!  Amen.


1. The Saint, having interrupted her account of her interior life
in order to give the history of the foundation of the monastery
of St. Joseph, Avila,--the first house of the Reformed
Carmelites,--here resumes that account broken off at the end of Sec.
10 of ch. xxxii.

2. Ephes. i. 14: "Pignus haereditatis nostrae."

3. St. John iii. 34: "Non enim ad mensuram dat Deus spiritum."

4. Ch. xxviii. Secs. 1-5.

5. See ch. xl. Sec. 24; Way of Perfection, ch. vii. Sec. 1; but
ch. iv. of the previous editions.

6. See ch. xx. Sec. 14.

7. See ch. xxx. Sec. 19.

8. See ch. xxx. Secs. 18, 25.



Chapter XXXVIII.


Certain Heavenly Secrets, Visions, and Revelations.  The Effects
of Them in Her Soul.


1. One night I was so unwell that I thought I might be excused
making my prayer; so I took my rosary, that I might employ myself
in vocal prayer, trying not to be recollected in my
understanding, though outwardly I was recollected, being in my
oratory.  These little precautions are of no use when our Lord
will have it otherwise.  I remained there but a few moments thus,
when I was rapt in spirit with such violence that I could make no
resistance whatever.  It seemed to me that I was taken up to
heaven; and the first persons I saw there were my father and my
mother.  I saw other things also; but the time was no longer than
that in which the Ave Maria might be said, and I was amazed at
it, looking on it all as too great a grace for me.  But as to the
shortness of the time, it might have been longer, only it was all
done in a very short space.

2. I was afraid it might be an illusion; but as I did not think
so, I knew not what to do, because I was very much ashamed to go
to my confessor about it.  It was not, as it seemed to me,
because I was humble, but because I thought he would laugh at me,
and say: Oh, what a St. Paul!--she sees the things of heaven; or
a St. Jerome.  And because these glorious Saints had had such
visions, I was so much the more afraid, and did nothing but cry;
for I did not think it possible for me to see what they saw.
At last, though I felt it exceedingly, I went to my confessor;
for I never dared to keep secret anything of this kind, however
much it distressed me to speak of them, owing to the great fear I
had of being deceived.  When my confessor saw how much I was
suffering, he consoled me greatly, and gave me plenty of good
reasons why I should have no fear.

3. It happened, also, as time went on, and it happens now from
time to time, that our Lord showed me still greater secrets.
The soul, even if it would, has neither the means not the power
to see more than what He shows it; and so, each time, I saw
nothing more than what our Lord was pleased to let me see.
But such was the vision, that the least part of it was enough to
make my soul amazed, and to raise it so high that it esteems and
counts as nothing all the things of this life.  I wish I could
describe, in some measure, the smallest portion of what I saw;
but when I think of doing it, I find it impossible; for the mere
difference alone between the light we have here below, and that
which is seen in a vision,--both being light,--is so great, that
there is no comparison between them; the brightness of the sun
itself seems to be something exceedingly loathsome.  In a word,
the imagination, however strong it may be, can neither conceive
nor picture to itself this light, nor any one of the things which
our Lord showed me in a joy so supreme that it cannot be
described; for then all the senses exult so deeply and so sweetly
that no description is possible; and so it is better to say
nothing more.

4. I was in this state once for more than an hour, our Lord
showing me wonderful things.  He seemed as if He would not leave
me.  He said to me, "See, My daughter, what they lose who are
against Me; do not fail to tell them of it."  Ah, my Lord, how
little good my words will do them, who are made blind by their
own conduct, if Thy Majesty will not give them light!  Some, to
whom Thou hast given it, there are, who have profited by the
knowledge of Thy greatness; but as they see it revealed to one so
wicked and base as I am, I look upon it as a great thing if there
should be any found to believe me.  Blessed be Thy name, and
blessed be Thy compassion; for I can trace, at least in my own
soul, a visible improvement.  Afterwards I wished I had continued
in that trance for ever, and that I had not returned to
consciousness, because of an abiding sense of contempt for
everything here below; all seemed to be filth; and I see how
meanly we employ ourselves who are detained on earth.

5. When I was staying with that lady of whom I have been
speaking, [1] it happened to me once when I was suffering from my
heart,--for, as I have said, [2] I suffered greatly at one time,
though not so much now,--that she, being a person of great
charity, brought out her jewels set in gold, and precious stones
of great price, and particularly a diamond, which she valued very
much.  She thought this might amuse me; but I laughed to myself,
and was very sorry to see what men made much of; for I thought of
what our Lord had laid up for us, and considered how impossible
it was for me, even if I made the effort, to have any
appreciation whatever of such things, provided our Lord did not
permit me to forget what He was keeping for us.

6. A soul in this state attains to a certain freedom, which is so
complete that none can understand it who does not possess it.
It is a real and true detachment, independent of our efforts; God
effects it all Himself; for His Majesty reveals the truth in such
a way, that it remains so deeply impressed on our souls as to
make it clear that we of ourselves could not thus acquire it in
so short a time.

7. The fear of death, also, was now very slight in me, who had
always been in great dread of it; now it seems to me that death
is a very light thing for one who serves God, because the soul is
in a moment delivered thereby out of its prison, and at rest.
This elevation of the spirit, and the vision of things so high,
in these trances seem to me to have a great likeness to the
flight of the soul from the body, in that it finds itself in a
moment in the possession of these good things.  We put aside the
agonies of its dissolution, of which no great account is to be
made; for they who love God in truth, and are utterly detached
from the things of this life, must die with the
greater sweetness.

8. It seems to me, also, that the rapture was a great help to
recognise our true home, and to see that we are pilgrims
here; [3] it is a great thing to see what is going on there and
to know where we have to live; for if a person has to go and
settle in another country, it is a great help to him, in
undergoing the fatigues of his journey, that he has discovered it
to be a country where he may live in the most perfect peace.
Moreover, it makes it easy for us to think of the things of
heaven, and to have our conversation there. [4]  It is a great
gain, because the mere looking up to heaven makes the soul
recollected; for as our Lord has been pleased to reveal heaven in
some degree, my soul dwells upon it in thought; and it happens
occasionally that they who are about me, and with whom I find
consolation, are those whom I know to be living in heaven, and
that I look upon them only as really alive; while those who are
on earth are so dead, that the whole world seems unable to
furnish me with companions, particularly when these impetuosities
of love are upon me. Everything seems a dream, and what I see
with the bodily eyes an illusion.  What I have seen with the eyes
of the soul is that which my soul desires; and as it finds itself
far away from those things, that is death.

9. In a word, it is a very great mercy which our Lord gives to
that soul to which He grants the like visions, for they help it
in much, and also in carrying a heavy cross, since nothing
satisfies it, and everything is against it; and if our Lord did
not now and then suffer these visions to be forgotten, though
they recur again and again to the memory, I know not how life
could be borne.  May He be blessed and praised for ever and ever!
I implore His Majesty by that Blood which His Son shed for me,
now that, of His good pleasure, I know something of these great
blessings, and begin to have the fruition of them, that it may
not be with me as it was with Lucifer, who by his own fault
forfeited it all.  I beseech Thee, for Thine own sake, not to
suffer this; for I am at times in great fear, though at others,
and most frequently, the mercy of God reassures me, for He who
has delivered me from so many sins will not withdraw His hand
from under me, and let me be lost.  I pray you, my father, to beg
this grace for me always.

10. The mercies, then, hitherto described, are not, in my
opinion, so great as those which I am now going to speak of, on
many accounts, because of the great blessings they have brought
with them, and because of the great fortitude which my soul
derived from them; and yet every one separately considered is so
great, that there is nothing to be compared with them.

11. One day--it was the eve of Pentecost--I went after Mass to a
very lonely spot, where I used to pray very often, and began to
read about the feast in the book of a Carthusian; [5] and reading
of the marks by which beginners, proficients, and the perfect may
know that they have the Holy Ghost, it seemed to me, when I had
read of these three states, that by the goodness of God, so far
as I could understand, the Holy Ghost was with me.  I praised God
for it; and calling to mind how on another occasion, when I read
this, I was very deficient,--for I saw most distinctly at that
time how deficient I was then from what I saw I was now,--I
recognised herein the great mercy of our Lord to me, and so began
to consider the place which my sins had earned for me in hell,
and praised God exceedingly, because it seemed as if I did not
know my own soul again, so great a change had come over it.

12. While thinking of these things, my soul was carried away with
extreme violence, and I knew not why.  It seemed as if it would
have gone forth out of the body, for it could not contain itself,
nor was it able to hope for so great a good.  The impetuosity was
so excessive that I had no power left, and, as I think, different
from what I had been used to.  I knew not what ailed my soul, nor
what it desired, for it was so changed.  I leaned for support,
for I could not sit, because my natural strength had
utterly failed.

13. Then I saw over my head a dove, very different from those we
usually see, for it had not the same plumage, but wings formed of
small shells shining brightly.  It was larger than an ordinary
dove; I thought I heard the rustling of its wings.  It hovered
above me during the space of an Ave Maria.  But such was the
state of my soul, that in losing itself it lost also the sight of
the dove.  My spirit grew calm with such a guest; and yet, as I
think, a grace so wonderful might have disturbed and frightened
it; and as it began to rejoice in the vision, it was delivered
from all fear, and with the joy came peace, my soul continuing
entranced.  The joy of this rapture was exceedingly great; and
for the rest of that festal time I was so amazed and bewildered
that I did not know what I was doing, nor how I could have
received so great a grace.  I neither heard nor saw anything, so
to speak, because of my great inward joy.  From that day forth I
perceived in myself a very great progress in the highest love of
God, together with a great increase in the strength of my
virtues.  May He be blessed and praised for ever!  Amen.

14. On another occasion I saw that very dove above the head of
one of the Dominican fathers; but it seemed to me that the rays
and brightness of the wings were far greater.  I understood by
this that he was to draw souls unto God.

15. At another time I saw our Lady putting a cope of exceeding
whiteness on that Licentiate of the same Order, of whom I have
made mention more than once. [6]  She told me that she gave him
that cope in consideration of the service he had rendered her by
helping to found this house, [7] that it was a sign that she
would preserve his soul pure for the future, and that he should
not fall into mortal sin.  I hold it for certain that so it came
to pass, for he died within a few years; his death and the rest
of his life were so penitential, his whole life and death so
holy, that, so far as anything can be known, there cannot be a
doubt on the subject.  One of the friars present at his death
told me that, before he breathed his last, he said to him that
St. Thomas was with him. [8]  He died in great joy, longing to
depart out of this land of exile.

16. Since then he has appeared to me more than once in
exceedingly great glory, and told me certain things.  He was so
given to prayer, that when he was dying, and would have
interrupted it if he could because of his great weakness, he was
not able to do so; for he was often in a trance.  He wrote to me
not long before he died, and asked me what he was to do; for as
soon as he had said Mass he fell into a trance which lasted a
long time, and which he could not hinder.  At last God gave him
the reward of the many services of his whole life.

17. I had certain visions, too, of the great graces which our
Lord bestowed upon that rector of the Society of Jesus, of whom I
have spoken already more than once; [9] but I will not say
anything of them now, lest I should be too tedious.  It was his
lot once to be in great trouble, to suffer great persecution and
distress.  One day, when I was hearing Mass, I saw Christ on the
Cross at the elevation of the Host.  He spoke certain words to
me, which I was to repeat to that father for his comfort,
together with others, which were to warn him beforehand of what
was coming, and to remind him of what He had suffered on his
behalf, and that he must prepare for suffering.  This gave him
great consolation and courage; and everything came to pass
afterwards as our Lord had told me.

18. I have seen great things of members of the Order to which
this father belongs, which is the Society of Jesus, and of the
whole Order itself; I have occasionally seen them in heaven with
white banners in their hands, and I have had other most wonderful
visions, as I am saying, about them, and therefore have a great
veneration for this Order; for I have had a great deal to do with
those who are of it, and I see that their lives are conformed to
that which our Lord gave me to understand about them.

19. One night, when I was in prayer, our Lord spoke to me certain
words, whereby He made me remember the great wickedness of my
past life.  They filled me with shame and distress; for though
they were not spoken with severity, they caused a feeling and a
painfulness which were too much for me: and we feel that we make
greater progress in the knowledge of ourselves when we hear one
of these words, than we can make by a meditation of many days on
our own misery, because these words impress the truth upon us at
the same time in such a way that we cannot resist it.  He set
before me the former inclinations of my will to vanities, and
told me to make much of the desire I now had that my will, which
had been so ill employed, should be fixed on Him, and that He
would accept it.

20. On other occasions He told me to remember how I used to think
it an honourable thing to go against His honour; and, again, to
remember my debt to Him, for when I was most rebellious He was
bestowing His graces upon me.  If I am doing anything wrong--and
my wrong-doings are many--His Majesty makes me see it in such a
way that I am utterly confounded; and as I do so often, that
happens often also.  I have been found fault with by my
confessors occasionally; and on betaking myself to prayer for
consolation, have received a real reprimand.

21. To return to what I was speaking of.  When our Lord made me
remember my wicked life, I wept; for as I considered that I had
then never done any good, I thought He might be about to bestow
upon me some special grace; because most frequently, when I
receive any particular mercy from our Lord, it is when I have
been previously greatly humiliated, in order that I may the more
clearly see how far I am from deserving it.  I think our Lord
must do it for that end.

22. Almost immediately after this I was so raised up in spirit
that I thought myself to be, as it were, out of the body; at
least, I did not know that I was living in it. [10]  I had a
vision of the most Sacred Humanity in exceeding glory, greater
than I had ever seen It in before.  I beheld It in a wonderful
and clear way in the bosom of the Father.  I cannot tell how it
was, for I saw myself, without seeing, as it seemed to me, in the
presence of God.  My amazement was such that I remained, as I
believe, some days before I could recover myself.  I had
continually before me, as present, the Majesty of the Son of God,
though not so distinctly as in the vision.  I understood this
well enough; but the vision remained so impressed on my
imagination, that I could not get rid of it for some time, though
it had lasted but a moment; it is a great comfort to me, and also
a great blessing.

23. I have had this vision on three other occasions, and it is, I
think, the highest vision of all the visions which our Lord in
His mercy showed me.  The fruits of it are the very greatest, for
it seems to purify the soul in a wonderful way, and destroy, as
it were utterly, altogether the strength of our sensual nature.
It is a grand flame of fire, which seems to burn up and
annihilate all the desires of this life.  For though now--glory
be to God!--I had no desire after vanities, I saw clearly in the
vision how all things are vanity, and how hollow are all the
dignities of earth; it was a great lesson, teaching me to raise
up my desires to the Truth alone.  It impresses on the soul a
sense of the presence of God such as I cannot in any way
describe, only it is very different from that which it is in our
own power to acquire on earth.  It fills the soul with profound
astonishment at its own daring, and at any one else being able to
dare to offend His most awful Majesty.

24. I must have spoken now and then of the effects of
visions, [11] and of other matters of the same kind, and I have
already said that the blessings they bring with them are of
various degrees; but those of this vision are the highest of all.
When I went to Communion once I called to mind the exceeding
great majesty of Him I had seen, and considered that it was He
who is present in the most Holy Sacrament, and very often our
Lord was pleased to show Himself to me in the Host; the very
hairs on my head stood, [12] and I thought I should come
to nothing.

25. O my Lord! ah, if Thou didst not throw a veil over Thy
greatness, who would dare, being so foul and miserable, to come
in contact with Thy great Majesty?  Blessed be Thou, O Lord; may
the angels and all creation praise Thee, who orderest all things
according to the measure of our weakness, so that, when we have
the fruition of Thy sovereign mercies, Thy great power may not
terrify us, so that we dare not, being a frail and miserable
race, persevere in that fruition!

26. It might happen to us as it did to the labourer--I know it to
be a certain fact--who found a treasure beyond his expectations,
which were mean.  When he saw himself in possession of it, he was
seized with melancholy, which by degrees brought him to his grave
through simple distress and anxiety of mind, because he did not
know what to do with his treasure.  If he had not found it all at
once, and if others had given him portions of it by degrees,
maintaining him thereby, he might have been more happy than he
had been in his poverty, nor would it have cost him his life.

27. O Thou Treasure of the poor! how marvellously Thou sustainest
souls, showing to them, not all at once, but by little and
little, the abundance of Thy riches!  When I behold Thy great
Majesty hidden beneath that which is so slight as the Host is, I
am filled with wonder, ever since that vision, at Thy great
wisdom; and I know not how it is that our Lord gives me the
strength and courage necessary to draw near to him, were it not
that He who has had such compassion on me, and still has, gives
me strength, nor would it be possible for me to be silent, or
refrain from making known marvels so great.

28. What must be the thoughts of a wretched person such as I am,
full of abominations, and who has spent her life with so little
fear of God, when she draws near to our Lord's great Majesty, at
the moment He is pleased to show Himself to my soul?  How can I
open my mouth, that has uttered so many words against Him, to
receive that most glorious Body, purity and compassion itself?
The love that is visible in His most beautiful Face, sweet and
tender, pains and distresses the soul, because it has not served
Him, more than all the terrors of His Majesty.  What should have
been my thoughts, then, on those two occasions when I saw what I
have described?  Truly, O my Lord and my joy, I am going to say
that in some way, in these great afflictions of my soul, I have
done something in Thy service.  Ah!  I know not what I am saying,
for I am writing this as if the words were not mine, [13] because
I am troubled, and in some measure beside myself, when I call
these things to remembrance.  If these thoughts were really mine,
I might well say that I had done something for Thee, O my Lord;
but as I can have no good thought if Thou givest it not, no
thanks are due to me; I am the debtor, O Lord, and it is Thou who
art the offended One.

29. Once, when I was going to Communion, I saw with the eyes of
the soul, more distinctly than with those of the body, two devils
of most hideous shape; their horns seemed to encompass the throat
of the poor priest; and I beheld my Lord, in that great majesty
of which I have spoken, [14] held in the hands of that priest, in
the Host he was about to give me.  It was plain that those hands
were those of a sinner, and I felt that the soul of that priest
was in mortal sin.  What must it be, O my Lord, to look upon Thy
beauty amid shapes so hideous!  The two devils were so frightened
and cowed in Thy presence, that they seemed as if they would have
willingly run away, hadst Thou but given them leave.  So troubled
was I by the vision, that I knew not how I could go to Communion.
I was also in great fear, for I thought, if the vision was from
God, that His Majesty would not have allowed me to see the evil
state of that soul. [15]

30. Our Lord Himself told me to pray for that priest; that He had
allowed this in order that I might understand the power of the
words of consecration, and how God failed not to be present,
however wicked the priest might be who uttered them; and that I
might see His great goodness in that He left Himself in the very
hands of His enemy, for my good and for the good of all.
I understood clearly how the priests are under greater
obligations to be holy than other persons; and what a horrible
thing it is to receive this most Holy Sacrament unworthily, and
how great is the devil's dominion over a soul in mortal sin.
It did me a great service, and made me fully understand what I
owe to God.  May He be blessed for evermore!

31. At another time I had a vision of a different kind, which
frightened me very much.  I was in a place where a certain person
died, who as I understood had led a very bad life, and that for
many years.  But he had been ill for two years, and in some
respects seemed to have reformed.  He died without confession;
nevertheless, I did not think he would be damned.  When the body
had been wrapped in the winding-sheet, I saw it laid hold of by a
multitude of devils, who seemed to toss it to and fro, and also
to treat it with great cruelty.  I was terrified at the sight,
for they dragged it about with great hooks.  But when I saw it
carried to the grave with all the respect and ceremoniousness
common to all, I began to think of the goodness of God, who would
not allow that person to be dishonoured, but would have the fact
of his being His enemy concealed.

32. I was almost out of my senses at the sight.  During the whole
of the funeral service, I did not see one of the evil spirits.
Afterwards, when the body was about to be laid in the grave, so
great a multitude of them was therein waiting to receive it, that
I was beside myself at the sight, and it required no slight
courage on my part not to betray my distress. I thought of the
treatment which that soul would receive, when the devils had such
power over the wretched body.  Would to God that all who live in
mortal sin might see what I then saw,--it was a fearful sight; it
would go, I believe, a great way towards making them lead
better lives.

33. All this made me know more of what I owe to God, and of the
evils from which He has delivered me.  I was in great terror.
I spoke of it to my confessor, and I thought it might be an
illusion of Satan, in order to take away my good opinion of that
person, who yet was not accounted a very good Christian.
The truth is, that, whether it was an illusion or not, it makes
me afraid whenever I think of it.

34. Now that I have begun to speak of the visions I had
concerning the dead, I will mention some matters which our Lord
was pleased to reveal to me in relation to certain souls.  I will
confine myself to a few for the sake of brevity, and because they
are not necessary; I mean that they are not for our profit.
They told me that one who had been our Provincial--he was then of
another province--was dead.  He was a man of great virtue, with
whom I had had a great deal to do, and to whom I was under many
obligations for certain kindnesses shown me.  When I heard that
he was dead, I was exceedingly troubled, because I trembled for
his salvation, seeing that he had been superior for twenty years.
That is what I dread very much; for the cure of souls seems to me
to be full of danger.  I went to an oratory in great distress,
and gave up to him all the good I had ever done in my whole
life,--it was little enough,--and prayed our Lord that His merits
might fill up what was wanting, in order that this soul might be
delivered up from purgatory.

35. While I was thus praying to our Lord as well as I could, he
seemed to me to rise up from the depths of the earth on my right
hand, and I saw him ascend to heaven in exceeding great joy.
He was a very old man then, but I saw him as if he were only
thirty years old, and I thought even younger, and there was a
brightness in his face.  This vision passed away very quickly;
but I was so exceedingly comforted by it, that I could never
again mourn his death, although many persons were distressed at
it, for he was very much beloved.  So greatly comforted was my
soul, that nothing disturbed it, neither could I doubt the truth
of the vision; I mean that it was no illusion.

36. I had this vision about a fortnight after he was dead;
nevertheless, I did not omit to obtain prayers for him and I
prayed myself, only I could not pray with the same earnestness
that I should have done if I had not seen that vision.  For when
our Lord showed him thus to me, it seemed to me afterwards, when
I prayed for him to His Majesty,--and I could not help it,--that
I was like one who gave alms to a rich man.  Later on I heard an
account of the death he died in our Lord--he was far away from
here; it was one of such great edification, that he left all
wondering to see how recollected, how penitent, and how humble he
was when he died.

37. A nun, who was a great servant of God, died in this house.
On the next day one of the sisters was reciting the lesson in the
Office of the Dead, which was said in choir for that nun's soul,
and I was standing myself to assist her in singing the versicle,
when, in the middle of the lesson, I saw the departed nun as I
believe, in a vision; her soul seemed to rise on my right hand
like the soul of the Provincial, and ascend to heaven.
This vision was not imaginary, like the preceding, but like those
others of which I have spoken before; [16] it is not less
certain, however, than the other visions I had.

38. Another nun died in this same house of mine, she was about
eighteen or twenty years of age, and had always been sickly.
She was a great servant of God, attentive in choir, and a person
of great virtue.  I certainly thought that she would not go to
purgatory, on account of her exceeding merits, because the
infirmities under which she had laboured were many.  While I was
saying the Office, before she was buried,--she had been dead
about four hours,--I saw her rise in the same place and ascend
to heaven.

39. I was once in one of the colleges of the Society of Jesus,
and in one of those great sufferings which, as I have said, [17]
I occasionally had, and still have, both in soul and body, and
then so grievously that I was not able, as it seemed to me, to
have even one good thought.  The night before, one of the
brothers of that house had died in it; and I, as well as I could,
was commending his soul to God, and hearing the Mass which
another father of that Society was saying for him when I became
recollected at once, and saw him go up to heaven in great glory,
and our Lord with him.  I understood that His Majesty went with
him by way of special grace.

40. Another brother of our Order, a good friar, was very ill; and
when I was at Mass, I became recollected and saw him dead,
entering into heaven without going through purgatory.  He died,
as I afterwards learned, at the very time of my vision.  I was
amazed that he had not gone to purgatory.  I understood that,
having become a friar and carefully kept the rule, the Bulls of
the Order had been of use to him, so that he did not pass into
purgatory.  I do not know why I came to have this revealed to me;
I think it must be because I was to learn that it is not enough
for a man to be a friar in his habit--I mean, to wear the
habit--to attain to that state of high perfection which that of a
friar is.

41. I will speak no more of these things, because as I have just
said, [18] there is no necessity for it, though our Lord has been
so gracious to me as to show me much.  But in all the visions I
had, I saw no souls escape purgatory except this Carmelite
father, the holy friar Peter of Alcantara, and that Dominican
father of whom I spoke before. [19]  It pleased our Lord to let
me see the degree of glory to which some souls have been raised,
showing them to me in the places they occupy.  There is a great
difference between one place and another.


1. Ch. xxxiv.  Dona Luisa de la Cerda, at Toledo.

2. Ch. iv. Sec. 6.

3. 1 St. Peter ii. 11: "Advenas et peregrinos."

4. Philipp. iii. 20: "Nostra autem conversatio in coelis est."

5. The Life of Christ, by Ludolf of Saxony.

6. F. Pedro Ibanez.  See ch. xxxiii. Sec. 5, ch. xxxvi. Sec. 23.
"This father died Prior of Trianos," is written on the margin of
the MS. by F. Banes (De la Fuente).

7. St. Joseph, Avila, where St. Teresa was living at this time.

8. See below, Sec. 41.

9. F. Gaspar de Salazar: see ch. xxxiii. Sec. 9, ch. xxxiv. Sec. 2.
It appears from the 179th letter of the Saint (lett. 20,
vol. i. of the Doblado edition) that F. Salazar was reported to
his Provincial, F. Juan Suarez, as having desire to quit the
Society for the Carmelite Order.

10. 2 Cor. xii. 2: "Sive in corpore nescio, sive extra
corpus nescio."

11. See ch. xxviii.

12. Job iv. 15: "Inhorruerunt pili carnis meae."

13. The biographers of the Saint say that she often found, on
returning from an ecstasy, certain passages written, but not by
herself; this seems to be alluded to here (De la Fuente).

14. Sec. 22.

15. St. John of the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel,
bk. ii. ch. xxvi. vol. i. p. 183.

16. See ch. xxvii.

17. Ch. xxx. Sec. 9.

18. Sec. 34.

19. Sec. 15.  Fr. Pedro Ibanez.



Chapter XXXIX.


Other Graces Bestowed on the Saint.  The Promises of Our Lord
to Her.  Divine Locutions and Visions.


1. I was once importuning our Lord exceedingly to restore the
sight of a person who had claims upon me, and who was almost
wholly blind.  I was very sorry for him, and afraid our Lord
would not hear me because of my sins.  He appeared to me as at
other times, and began to show the wound in His left hand; with
the other He drew out the great nail that was in it, and it
seemed to me that, in drawing the nail, He tore the flesh.
The greatness of the pain was manifest, and I was very much
distressed thereat.  He said to me, that He who had borne that
for my sake would still more readily grant what I asked Him, and
that I was not to have any doubts about it.  He promised me there
was nothing I should ask that He would not grant; that He knew I
should ask nothing that was not for His glory, and that He would
grant me what I was now praying for.  Even during the time when I
did not serve Him, I should find, if I considered it, I had asked
nothing that He had not granted in an ampler manner than I had
known how to ask; how much more amply still would He grant what I
asked for, now that He knew I loved Him!  I was not to doubt.
I do not think that eight days passed before our Lord restored
that person to sight.  My confessor knew it forthwith.  It might
be that it was not owing to my prayer; but, as I had had the
vision, I have a certain conviction that it was a grace accorded
to me.  I gave thanks to His Majesty.

2. Again, a person was exceedingly ill of a most painful disease;
but, as I do not know what it was, I do not describe it by its
name here.  What he had gone through for two months was beyond
all endurance; and his pain was so great that he tore his own
flesh.  My confessor, the rector of whom I have spoken, [1] went
to see him; he was very sorry for him, and told me that I must
anyhow go myself and visit him; he was one whom I might visit,
for he was my kinsman.  I went, and was moved to such a tender
compassion for him that I began, with the utmost importunity, to
ask our Lord to restore him to health.  Herein I saw clearly how
gracious our Lord was to me, so far as I could judge; for
immediately, the next day, he was completely rid of that pain.

3. I was once in the deepest distress, because I knew that a
person to whom I was under great obligations was about to commit
an act highly offensive to God and dishonourable to himself.
He was determined upon it.  I was so much harassed by this that I
did not know what to do in order to change his purpose; and it
seemed to me as if nothing could be done.  I implored God, from
the bottom of my heart, to find a way to hinder it; but till I
found it I could find no relief for the pain I felt.  In my
distress, I went to a very lonely hermitage,--one of those
belonging to this monastery,--in which there is a picture of
Christ bound to the pillar; and there, as I was imploring our
Lord to grant me this grace, I heard a voice of exceeding
gentleness, speaking, as it were, in a whisper. [2]  My whole
body trembled, for it made me afraid.  I wished to understand
what was said, but I could not, for it all passed away in
a moment.

4. When my fears had subsided, and that was immediately, I became
conscious of an inward calmness, a joy and delight, which made me
marvel how the mere hearing a voice,--I heard it with my bodily
ears,--without understanding a word, could have such an effect on
the soul.  I saw by this that my prayer was granted; and so it
was; and I was freed from my anxieties about a matter not yet
accomplished, as it afterwards was, as completely as if I saw it
done.  I told my confessors of it, for I had two at this time,
both of them learned men, and great servants of God.

5. I knew of a person who had resolved to serve God in all
earnestness, and had for some days given himself to prayer, in
which he bad received many graces from our Lord, but who had
abandoned his good resolutions because of certain occasions of
sin in which he was involved, and which he would not avoid; they
were extremely perilous.  This caused me the utmost distress,
because the person was one for whom I had a great affection, and
one to whom I owed much.  For more than a month I believe I did
nothing else but pray to God for his conversion.  One day, when I
was in prayer, I saw a devil close by in a great rage, tearing to
pieces some paper which he had in his hands.  That sight consoled
me greatly, because it seemed that my prayer had been heard.
So it was, as I learnt afterwards; for that person had made his
confession with great contrition, and returned to God so
sincerely, that I trust in His Majesty he will always advance
further and further.  May He be blessed for ever!  Amen.

6. In answer to my prayers, our Lord has very often rescued souls
from mortal sins and led others on to greater perfection. But as
to the delivering of souls out of purgatory, and other remarkable
acts, so many are the mercies of our Lord herein, that were I to
speak of them I should only weary myself and my reader. But He
has done more by me for the salvation of souls than for the
health of the body.  This is very well known, and there are many
to bear witness to it.

7. At first it made me scrupulous, because I could not help
thinking that our Lord did these things in answer to my prayer; I
say nothing of the chief reason of all--His pure compassion.  But
now these graces are so many, and so well known to others, that
it gives me no pain to think so.  I bless His Majesty, and abase
myself, because I am still more deeply in His debt; and I believe
that He makes my desire to serve Him grow, and my love revive.

8. But what amazes me most is this: however much I may wish to
pray for those graces which our Lord sees not to be expedient, I
cannot do it; and if I try, I do so with little earnestness,
force, and spirit: it is impossible to do more, even if I would.
But it is not so as to those which His Majesty intends to grant.
These I can pray for constantly, and with great importunity;
though I do not carry them in my memory, they seem to present
themselves to me at once. [3]

9. There is a great difference between these two ways of praying,
and I know not how to explain it.  As to the first, when I pray
for those graces which our Lord does not mean to grant,--even
though they concern me very nearly,--I am like one whose tongue
is tied; who, though he would speak, yet cannot; or, if he
speaks, sees that people do not listen to him.  And yet I do not
fail to force myself to pray, though not conscious of that
fervour which I have when praying for those graces which our Lord
intends to give.  In the second case, I am like one who speaks
clearly and intelligibly to another, whom he sees to be a
willing listener.

10. The prayer that is not to be heard is, so to speak, like
vocal prayer; the other is a prayer of contemplation so high that
our Lord shows Himself in such a way as to make us feel He hears
us, and that He delights in our prayer, and that He is about to
grant our petition.  Blessed be He for ever who gives me so much
and to whom I give so little!  For what is he worth, O my Lord,
who does not utterly abase himself to nothing for Thee?  How
much, how much, how much,--I might say so a thousand times,--I
fall short of this!  It is on this account that I do not wish to
live,--though there be other reasons also,--because I do not live
according to the obligations which bind me to Thee.
What imperfections I trace in myself! what remissness in Thy
service! Certainly, I could wish occasionally I had no sense,
that I might be unconscious of the great evil that is in me.
May He who can do all things help me!

11. When I was staying in the house of that lady of whom I have
spoken before, [4] it was necessary for me to be very watchful
over myself, and keep continually in mind the intrinsic vanity of
all the things of this life, because of the great esteem I was
held in, and of the praises bestowed on me.  There was much there
to which I might have become attached, if I had looked only to
myself; but I looked to Him who sees things as they really are,
not to let me go out of His hand.  Now that I speak of seeing
things as they really are, I remember how great a trial it is for
those to whom God has granted a true insight into the things of
earth to have to discuss them with others.  They wear so many
disguises, as our Lord once told me,--and much of what I am
saying of them is not from myself, but rather what my Heavenly
Master has taught me; and therefore, in speaking of them, when I
say distinctly I understood this, or our Lord told me this, I am
very scrupulous neither to add nor to take away one single
syllable; so, when I do not clearly remember everything exactly,
that must be taken as coming from myself, and some things,
perhaps, are so altogether.  I do not call mine that which is
good, for I know there is no other good in me but only that which
our Lord gave me when I was so far from deserving it: I call that
mine which I speak without having had it made known to me
by revelation.

12. But, O my God, how is it that we too often judge even
spiritual things, as we do those of the world, by our own
understanding, wresting them grievously from their true meaning?
We think we may measure our progress by the years which we have
given to the exercise of prayer; we even think we can prescribe
limits to Him who bestows His gifts not by measure [5] when He
wills, and who in six months can give to one more than to another
in many years.  This is a fact which I have so frequently
observed in many persons, that I am surprised how any of us can
deny it.

13. I am certainly convinced that he will not remain under this
delusion who possesses the gift of discerning spirits, and to
whom our Lord has given real humility; for such a one will judge
of them by the fruits, by the good resolutions and love,--and our
Lord gives him light to understand the matter; and herein He
regards the progress and advancement of souls, not the years they
may have spent in prayer; for one person may make greater
progress in six months than another in twenty years, because, as
I said before, our Lord gives to whom He will, particularly to
him who is best disposed.

14. I see this in certain persons of tender years who have come
to this monastery,--God touches their hearts, and gives them a
little light and love.  I speak of that brief interval in which
He gives them sweetness in prayer, and then they wait for nothing
further, and make light of every difficulty, forgetting the
necessity even of food; for they shut themselves up for ever in a
house that is unendowed, as persons who make no account of their
life, for His sake, who, they know, loves them.  They give up
everything, even their own will; and it never enters into their
mind that they might be discontented in so small a house, and
where enclosure is so strictly observed.  They offer themselves
wholly in sacrifice to God.

15. Oh, how willingly do I admit that they are better than I am!
and how I ought to be ashamed of myself before God!  What His
Majesty has not been able to accomplish in me in so many
years,--it is long ago since I began to pray, and He to bestow
His graces upon me,--He accomplished in them in three months, and
in some of them even in three days, though he gives them much
fewer graces than He gave to me: and yet His Majesty rewards them
well; most assuredly they are not sorry for what they have done
for Him.

16. I wish, therefore, we reminded ourselves of those long years
which have gone by since we made our religious profession.  I say
this to those persons, also, who have given themselves long ago
to prayer, but not for the purpose of distressing those who in a
short time have made greater progress than we have made, by
making them retrace their steps, so that they may proceed only as
we do ourselves.  We must not desire those who, because of the
graces God has given them, are flying like eagles, to become like
chickens whose feet are tied.  Let us rather look to His Majesty,
and give these souls the reins, if we see that they are humble;
for our Lord, who has had such compassion upon them, will not let
them fall into the abyss.

17. These souls trust themselves in the hands of God, for the
truth, which they learn by faith, helps them to do it; and shall
not we also trust them to Him, without seeking to measure them by
our measure which is that of our meanness of spirit?  We must not
do it; for if we cannot ascend to the heights of their great love
and courage,--without experience none can comprehend them--let us
humble ourselves, and not condemn them; for, by this seeming
regard to their progress, we hinder our own, and miss the
opportunity our Lord gives us to humble ourselves, to ascertain
our own shortcomings, and learn how much more detached and more
near to God these souls must be than we are, seeing that His
Majesty draws so near to them Himself.

18. I have no other intention here, and I wish to have no other,
than to express my preference for the prayer that in a short time
results in these great effects, which show themselves at once;
for it is impossible they should enable us to leave all things
only to please God, if they were not accompanied with a vehement
love.  I would rather have that prayer than that which lasted
many years, but which at the end of the time, as well as at the
beginning, never issued in a resolution to do anything for God,
with the exception of some trifling services, like a grain of
salt, without weight or bulk, and which a bird might carry away
in its mouth.  Is it not a serious and mortifying thought that we
are making much of certain services which we render our Lord, but
which are too pitiable to be considered, even if they were many
in number?  This is my case, and I am forgetting every moment the
mercies of our Lord.  I do not mean that His Majesty will not
make much of them Himself, for He is good; but I wish I made no
account of them myself, or even perceived that I did them, for
they are nothing worth.

19. But, O my Lord, do Thou forgive me, and blame me not, if I
try to console myself a little with the little I do, seeing that
I do not serve Thee at all; for if I rendered Thee any great
services, I should not think of these trifles.  Blessed are they
who serve Thee in great deeds; if envying these, and desiring to
do what they do, were of any help to me, I should not be so far
behind them as I am in pleasing Thee; but I am nothing worth, O
my Lord; do Thou make me of some worth, Thou who lovest me
so much.

20. During one of those days, when this monastery, which seems to
have cost me some labour, was fully founded by the arrival of the
Brief from Rome, which empowered us to live without an
endowment; [6] and I was comforting myself at seeing the whole
affair concluded, and thinking of all the trouble I had had, and
giving thanks to our Lord for having been pleased to make some
use of me,--it happened that I began to consider all that we had
gone through.  Well, so it was; in every one of my actions, which
I thought were of some service, I traced so many faults and
imperfections, now and then but little courage, very frequently a
want of faith; for until this moment, when I see everything
accomplished, I never absolutely believed; neither, however, on
the other hand, could I doubt what our Lord said to me about the
foundation of this house.  I cannot tell how it was; very often
the matter seemed to me, on the one hand, impossible; and, on the
other hand, I could not be in doubt; I mean, I could not believe
that it would not be accomplished.  In short, I find that our
Lord Himself, on His part, did all the good that was done, while
I did all the evil.  I therefore ceased to think of the matter,
and wished never to be reminded of it again, lest I should do
myself some harm by dwelling on my many faults. Blessed be He
who, when He pleases, draws good out of all my failings!  Amen.

21. I say, then, there is danger in counting the years we have
given to prayer; for, granting that there is nothing in it
against humility, it seems to me to imply something like an
appearance of thinking that we have merited, in some degree, by
the service rendered.  I do not mean that there is no merit in it
at all, nor that it will not be well rewarded; yet if any
spiritual person thinks, because he has given himself to prayer
for many years, that he deserves any spiritual consolations, I am
sure he will never attain to spiritual perfection.  Is it not
enough that a man has merited the protection of God, which keeps
him from committing those sins into which he fell before he began
to pray, but he must also, as they say, sue God for His
own money?

22. This does not seem to me to be deep humility, and yet it may
be that it is; however, I look on it as great boldness, for I,
who have very little humility, have never ventured upon it.
It may be that I never asked for it, because I had never served
Him; perhaps, if I had served Him, I should have been more
importunate than all others with our Lord for my reward.

23. I do not mean that the soul makes no progress in time, or
that God will not reward it, if its prayer has been humble; but I
do mean that we should forget the number of years we have been
praying, because all that we can do is utterly worthless in
comparison with one drop of blood out of those which our Lord
shed for us.  And if the more we serve Him, the more we become
His debtors, what is it, then, we are asking for? for, if we pay
one farthing of the debt, He gives us back a thousand ducats.
For the love of God, let us leave these questions alone, for they
belong to Him.  Comparisons are always bad, even in earthly
things; what, then, must they be in that, the knowledge of which
God has reserved to Himself? His Majesty showed this clearly
enough, when those who came late and those who came early to His
vineyard received the same wages. [7]

24. I have sat down so often to write, and have been so many days
writing these three leaves,--for, as I have said, [8] I had, and
have still, but few opportunities,--that I forgot what I had
begun with, namely, the following vision. [9]

25. I was in prayer, and saw myself on a wide plain all alone.
Round about me stood a great multitude of all kinds of people,
who hemmed me in on every side; all of them seemed to have
weapons of war in their hands, to hurt me; some had spears,
others swords; some had daggers, and others very long rapiers.
In short, I could not move away in any direction without exposing
myself to the hazard of death, and I was alone, without any one
to take my part.  In this my distress of mind, not knowing what
to do, I lifted up my eyes to heaven, and saw Christ, not in
heaven, but high above me in the air, holding out His hand to me,
and there protecting me in such a way that I was no longer afraid
of all that multitude, neither could they, though they wished it,
do me any harm.

26. At first the vision seemed to have no results; but it has
been of the greatest help to me, since I understood what it
meant.  Not long afterwards, I saw myself, as it were, exposed to
the like assault, and I saw that the vision represented the
world, because everything in it takes up arms against the poor
soul.  We need not speak of those who are not great servants of
our Lord, nor of honours, possessions, and pleasures, with other
things of the same nature; for it is clear that the soul, if it
be not watchful, will find itself caught in a net,--at least, all
these things labour to ensnare it; more than this, so also do
friends and relatives, and--what frightens me most--even good
people.  I found myself afterwards so beset on all sides, good
people thinking they were doing good, and I knowing not how to
defend myself, nor what to do.

27. O my God, if I were to say in what way, and in how many ways,
I was tried at that time, even after that trial of which I have
just spoken, what a warning I should be giving to men to hate the
whole world utterly!  It was the greatest of all the persecutions
I had to undergo.  I saw myself occasionally so hemmed in on
every side, that I could do nothing else but lift up my eyes to
heaven, and cry unto God. [10] I recollected well what I had seen
in the vision, and it helped me greatly not to trust much in any
one, for there is no one that can be relied on except God.
In all my great trials, our Lord--He showed it to me--sent always
some one on His part to hold out his hand to help me, as it was
shown to me in the vision, so that I might attach myself to
nothing, but only please our Lord; and this has been enough to
sustain the little virtue I have in desiring to serve Thee: be
Thou blessed for evermore!

28. On one occasion I was exceedingly disquieted and troubled,
unable to recollect myself, fighting and struggling with my
thoughts, running upon matters which did not relate to
perfection; and, moreover, I did not think I was so detached from
all things as I used to be.  When I found myself in this wretched
state, I was afraid that the graces I had received from our Lord
were illusions, and the end was that a great darkness covered my
soul.  In this my distress our Lord began to speak to me: He bade
me not to harass myself, but learn, from the consideration of my
misery, what it would be if He withdrew Himself from me, and that
we were never safe while living in the flesh.  It was given me to
understand how this fighting and struggling are profitable to us,
because of the reward, and it seemed to me as if our Lord were
sorry for us who live in the world.  Moreover, He bade me not to
suppose that He had forgotten me; He would never abandon me, but
it was necessary I should do all that I could myself.

29. Our Lord said all this with great tenderness and sweetness;
He also spoke other most gracious words, which I need not repeat.
His Majesty, further showing His great love for me, said to me
very often: "Thou art Mine, and I am thine."  I am in the habit
of saying myself, and I believe in all sincerity: "What do I care
for myself?--I care only for Thee, O my Lord."

30. These words of our Lord, and the consolation He gives me,
fill me with the utmost shame, when I remember what I am.  I have
said it before, I think, [11] and I still say now and then to my
confessor, that it requires greater courage to receive these
graces than to endure the heaviest trials.  When they come, I
forget, as it were, all I have done, and there is nothing before
me but a picture of my wretchedness, and my understanding can
make no reflections; this, also, seems to me at times to
be supernatural.

31. Sometimes I have such a vehement longing for Communion; I do
not think it can be expressed.  One morning it happened to rain
so much as to make it seem impossible to leave the house.  When I
had gone out, I was so beside myself with that longing, that if
spears had been pointed at my heart, I should have rushed upon
them; the rain was nothing.  When I entered the church I fell
into a deep trance, and saw heaven open--not a door only, as I
used to see at other times.  I beheld the throne which, as I have
told you, my father, I saw at other times, with another throne
above it, whereon, though I saw not, I understood by a certain
inexplicable knowledge that the Godhead dwelt.

32. The throne seemed to me to be supported by certain animals; I
believe I saw the form of them: I thought they might be the
Evangelists.  But how the throne was arrayed, and Him who sat on
it I did not see, but only an exceedingly great multitude of
angels, who seemed to me more beautiful, beyond all comparison,
than those I had seen in heaven.  I thought they were, perhaps,
the seraphim or cherubim, for they were very different in their
glory, and seemingly all on fire.  The difference is great, as I
said before; [12] and the joy I then felt cannot be described,
either in writing or by word of mouth; it is inconceivable to any
one what has not had experience of it. I felt that everything man
can desire was all there together, and I saw nothing; they told
me, but I know not who, that all I could do there was to
understand that I could understand nothing, and see how
everything was nothing in comparison with that.  So it was; my
soul afterwards was vexed to see that it could rest on any
created thing: how much more, then, if it had any affection
thereto; for everything seemed to me but an ant-hill.
I communicated, and remained during Mass.  I know not how it was:
I thought I had been but a few minutes, and was amazed when the
clock struck; I had been two hours in that trance and joy.

33. I was afterwards amazed at this fire, which seems to spring
forth out of the true love of God; for though I might long for
it, labour for it, and annihilate myself in the effort to obtain
it, I can do nothing towards procuring a single spark of it
myself, because it all comes of the good pleasure of His Majesty,
as I said on another occasion. [13]  It seems to burn up the old
man, with his faults, his lukewarmness, and misery; so that it is
like the phoenix, of which I have read that it comes forth, after
being burnt, out of its own ashes into a new life.  Thus it is
with the soul: it is changed into another, whose desires are
different, and whose strength is great.  It seems to be no longer
what it was before, and begins to walk renewed in purity in the
ways of our Lord.  When I was praying to Him that thus it might
be with me, and that I might begin His service anew, He said to
me: "The comparison thou hast made is good; take care never to
forget it, that thou mayest always labour to advance."

34. Once, when I was doubting, as I said just now, [14] whether
these visions came from God or not, our Lord appeared, and, with
some severity, said to me: "O children of men, how long will you
remain hard of heart!"  I was to examine myself carefully on one
subject,--whether I had given myself up wholly to Him, or not.
If I had,--and it was so,--I was to believe that He would not
suffer me to perish.  I was very much afflicted when He spoke
thus, but He turned to me with great tenderness and sweetness,
and bade me not to distress myself, for He knew already that, so
far as it lay in my power, I would not fail in anything that was
for His service; that He Himself would do what I wished,--and so
He did grant what I was then praying for; that I was to consider
my love for Him, which was daily growing in me, for I should see
by this that these visions did not come from Satan; that I must
not imagine that God would ever allow the devil to have so much
power over the souls of His servants as to give them such
clearness of understanding and such peace as I had.

35. He gave me also to understand that, when such and so many
persons had told me the visions were from God, I should do wrong
if I did not believe them. [15]

36. Once, when I was reciting the psalm Quicumque vult, [16] I
was given to understand the mystery of One God and Three Persons
with so much clearness, that I was greatly astonished and
consoled at the same time.  This was of the greatest help to me,
for it enabled me to know more of the greatness and marvels of
God; and when I think of the most Holy Trinity, or hear It spoken
of, I seem to understand the mystery, and a great joy it is.

37. One day--it was the Feast of the Assumption of the Queen of
the Angels, and our Lady--our Lord was pleased to grant me this
grace.  In a trance He made me behold her going up to heaven, the
joy and solemnity of her reception there, as well as the place
where she now is.  To describe it is more than I can do; the joy
that filled my soul at the sight of such great glory was
excessive.  The effects of the vision were great; it made me long
to endure still greater trials: and I had a vehement desire to
serve our Lady, because of her great merits.

38. Once, in one of the colleges of the Society of Jesus, when
the brothers of the house were communicating, I saw an
exceedingly rich canopy above their heads.  I saw this twice; but
I never saw it when others were receiving Communion.


1. Ch. xxxiii. Sec. 10.  F. Gaspar de Salazar.

2. 3 Kings xix. 12: "Sibilus aurae tenuis."

3. See St. John of the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel,
bk. iii. ch. i, p. 210).

4. Ch. xxxiv. Sec. 1.

5. St. John iii. 34: "Non enim ad mensuram dat Deus spiritum."

6. See ch. xxxiii. Sec. 15.

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

8. Ch. xiv. Sec. 12.

9. The Saint had this vision when she was in the house of Dona
Luisa de la Cerda in Toledo, and it was fulfilled in the
opposition she met with in the foundation of St. Joseph of Avila.
See ch. xxxvi. Sec. 18.

10. 2 Paralip. xx. 12: "Hoc solum habemus residui, ut oculos
nostros dirigamus ad Te."

11. Ch. xx. Sec. 4.

12. Ch. xxix. Sec. 16.

13. Ch. xxix. Sec. 13.

14. Sec. 28.

15. See ch. xxviii. Secs. 19, 20.

16. Commonly called the Creed of St. Athanasius.



Chapter XL.


Visions, Revelations, and Locutions.


1. One day, in prayer, the sweetness of which was so great that,
knowing how unworthy I was of so great a blessing, I began to
think how much I had deserved to be in that place which I had
seen prepared for me in hell,--for, as I said before, [1] I never
forget the way I saw myself there,--as I was thinking of this, my
soul began to be more and more on fire, and I was carried away in
spirit in a way I cannot describe.  It seemed to me as if I had
been absorbed in, and filled with, that grandeur of God which, on
another occasion, I had felt. [2]  In that majesty it was given
me to understand one truth, which is the fulness of all truth,
but I cannot tell how, for I saw nothing.  It was said to me, I
saw not by whom, but I knew well enough it was the Truth Itself:
"This I am doing to thee is not a slight matter; it is one of
those things for which thou owest Me much; for all the evil in
the world comes from ignorance of the truths of the holy writings
in their clear simplicity, of which not one iota shall pass
away." [3]  I thought that I had always believed this, and that
all the faithful also believed it.  Then he said,: "Ah, My
daughter, they are few who love Me in truth; for if men loved Me,
I should not hide My secrets from them.  Knowest thou what it is
to love Me in truth?  It is to admit everything to be a lie which
is not pleasing unto Me.  Now thou dost not understand it, but
thou shalt understand it clearly hereafter, in the profit it will
be to thy soul."

2. Our Lord be praised, so I found it; for after this vision I
look upon everything which does not tend to the service of God as
vanity and lies.  I cannot tell how much I am convinced of this,
nor how sorry I am for those whom I see living in darkness, not
knowing the truth.  I derived other great blessings also from
this, some of which I will here speak of, others I cannot
describe.

3. Our Lord at the same time uttered a special word of most
exceeding graciousness.  I know not how it was done, for I saw
nothing; but I was filled, in a way which also I cannot describe,
with exceeding strength and earnestness of purpose to observe
with all my might everything contained in the divine writings.
I thought that I could rise above every possible hindrance put in
my way.

4. Of this divine truth, which was put before me I know not how,
there remains imprinted within me a truth--I cannot give it a
name--which fills me with a new reverence for God; it gives me a
notion of His Majesty and power in a way which I cannot explain.
I can understand that it is something very high.  I had a very
great desire never to speak of anything but of those deep truths
which far surpass all that is spoken of here in the world,--and
so the living in it began to be painful to me.

5. The vision left me in great tenderness, joy, and humility.
It seemed to me, though I knew not how, that our Lord now gave me
great things; and I had no suspicion whatever of any illusion.
I saw nothing; but I understood how great a blessing it is to
make no account of anything which does not lead us nearer unto
God.  I also understood what it is for a soul to be walking in
the truth, in the presence of the Truth itself.  What I
understood is this: that our Lord gave me to understand that He
is Himself the very Truth.

6. All this I am speaking of I learnt at times by means of words
uttered; at other times I learnt some things without the help of
words, and that more clearly than those other things which were
told me in words.  I understood exceedingly deep truths
concerning the Truth, more than I could have done through the
teaching of many learned men.  It seems to me that learned men
never could have thus impressed upon me, nor so clearly explained
to me, the vanity of this world.

7. The Truth of which I am speaking, and which I was given to
see, is Truth Itself, in Itself.  It has neither beginning nor
end.  All other truths depend on this Truth, as all other loves
depend on this love, and all other grandeurs on this grandeur.
I understood it all, notwithstanding that my words are obscure in
comparison with that distinctness with which it pleased our Lord
to show it to me.  What think you must be the power of His
Majesty, seeing that in so short a time it leaves so great a
blessing and such an impression on the soul?  O Grandeur!
Majesty of mine! what is it Thou art doing, O my Lord Almighty!
Consider who it is to whom Thou givest blessings so great!  Dost
Thou not remember that this my soul has been an abyss of lies and
a sea of vanities, and all my fault?  Though Thou hadst given me
a natural hatred of lying yet I did involve myself in many lying
ways.  How is this, O my God? how can it be that mercies and
graces so great should fall to the lot of one who has so ill
deserved them at Thy hands?

8. Once, when I was with the whole community reciting the Office,
my soul became suddenly recollected, and seemed to me all bright
as a mirror, clear behind, sideways, upwards, and downwards; and
in the centre of it I saw Christ our Lord, as I usually see Him.
It seemed to me that I saw Him distinctly in every part of my
soul, as in a mirror, and at the same time the mirror was all
sculptured--I cannot explain it--in our Lord Himself by a most
loving communication which I can never describe.  I know that
this vision was a great blessing to me, and is still whenever I
remember it, particularly after Communion.

9. I understood by it, that, when a soul is in mortal sin, this
mirror becomes clouded with a thick vapour, and utterly obscured,
so that our Lord is neither visible nor present, though He is
always present in the conservation of its being.  In heretics,
the mirror is, as it were, broken in pieces, and that is worse
than being dimmed.  There is a very great difference between
seeing this and describing it, for it can hardly be explained.
But it has done me great good; it has also made me very sorry on
account of those times when I dimmed the lustre of my soul by my
sins, so that I could not see our Lord.

10. This vision seems to me very profitable to recollected
persons, to teach them to look upon our Lord as being in the
innermost part of their soul.  It is a method of looking upon Him
which penetrates us more thoroughly, and is much more fruitful,
than that of looking upon Him as external to us, as I have said
elsewhere, [4] and as it is laid down in books on prayer, where
they speak of where we are to seek God.  The glorious
St. Augustin, [5] in particular, says so, when he says that
neither in the streets of the city, nor in pleasures, nor in any
place whatever where he sought Him, did he find Him as he found
Him within himself.  This is clearly the best way; we need not go
up to heaven, nor any further than our own selves, for that would
only distress the spirit and distract the soul, and bring but
little fruit.

11. I should like to point out one result of a deep trance; it
may be that some are aware of it.  When the time is over during
which the soul was in union, wherein all its powers were wholly
absorbed,--it lasts, as I have said, [6] but a moment,--the soul
continues still to be recollected, unable to recover itself even
in outward things; for the two powers--the memory and the
understanding--are, as it were, in a frenzy, extremely
disordered.  This, I say, happens occasionally, particularly in
the beginnings.  I am thinking whether it does not result from
this: that our natural weakness cannot endure the vehemence of
the spirit, which is so great, and that the imagination is
enfeebled.  I know it to be so with some.  I think it best for
these to force themselves to give up prayer at that time, and
resume it afterwards, when they may recover what they have lost,
and not do everything at once, for in that case much harm might
come of it.  I know this by experience, as well as the necessity
of considering what our health can bear.

12. Experience is necessary throughout, so also is a spiritual
director; for when the soul has reached this point, there are
many matters which must be referred to the director.  If, after
seeking such a one, the soul cannot find him, our Lord will not
fail that soul, seeing that He has not failed me, who am what I
am: They are not many, I believe, who know by experience so many
things, and without experience it is useless to treat a soul at
all, for nothing will come of it, save only trouble and distress.
But our Lord will take this also into account, and for that
reason it is always best to refer the matter to the director.
I have already more than once said this, [7] and even all I am
saying now, only I do not distinctly remember it; but I do see
that it is of great importance, particularly to women, that they
should go to their confessor, and that he should be a man of
experience herein.  There are many more women than men to whom
our Lord gives these graces; I have heard the holy friar Peter of
Alcantara say so, and, indeed, I know it myself.  He used to say
that women made greater progress in this way than men did; and he
gave excellent reasons for his opinion, all in favour of women;
but there is no necessity for repeating them here.

13. Once, when in prayer, I had a vision, for a moment,--I saw
nothing distinctly, but the vision was most clear,--how all
things are seen in God and how all things are comprehended in
Him.  I cannot in any way explain it, but the vision remains most
deeply impressed on my soul, and is one of those grand graces
which our Lord wrought in me, and one of those which put me to
the greatest shame and confusion whenever I call my sins to
remembrance.  I believe, if it had pleased our Lord that I had
seen this at an earlier time, or if they saw it who sin against
Him, we should have neither the heart nor the daring to do so.
I had the vision, I repeat it, but I cannot say that I saw
anything; however, I must have seen something, seeing that I
explain it by an illustration, only it must have been in a way so
subtile and delicate that the understanding is unable to reach
it, or I am so ignorant in all that relates to these visions,
which seem to be not imaginary.  In some of these visions there
must be something imaginary, only, as the powers of the soul are
then in a trance, they are not able afterwards to retain the
forms, as our Lord showed them to it then, and as He would have
it rejoice in them.

14. Let us suppose the Godhead to be a most brilliant diamond,
much larger than the whole world, or a mirror like that to which
I compared the soul in a former vision, [8] only in a way so high
that I cannot possibly describe it; and that all our actions are
seen in that diamond, which is of such dimensions as to include
everything, because nothing can be beyond it.  It was a fearful
thing for me to see, in so short a time, so many things together
in that brilliant diamond, and a most piteous thing too, whenever
I think of it, to see such foul things as my sins present in the
pure brilliancy of that light.

15. So it is, whenever I remember it, I do not know how to bear
it, and I was then so ashamed of myself that I knew not where to
hide myself.  Oh, that some one could make this plain to those
who commit most foul and filthy sins, that they may remember
their sins are not secret, and that God most justly resents them,
seeing that they are wrought in the very presence of His Majesty,
and that we are demeaning ourselves so irreverently before Him!
I saw, too, how completely hell is deserved for only one mortal
sin, and how impossible it is to understand the exceeding great
wickedness of committing it in the sight of majesty so great, and
how abhorrent to His nature such actions are.  In this we see
more and more of His mercifulness, who, though we all know His
hatred of sin, yet suffers us to live.

16. The vision made me also reflect, that if one such vision as
this fills the souls with such awe, what will it be in the day of
judgment, when His Majesty will appear distinctly, and when we
too shall look on the sins we have committed!  O my God, I have
been, oh, how blind!  I have often been amazed at what I have
written; and you, my father, be you not amazed at anything, but
that I am still living,--I, who see such things, and know myself
to be what I am.  Blessed for ever be He who has borne with me
so long!

17. Once, in prayer, with much recollection, sweetness, and
repose, I saw myself, as it seemed to me, surrounded by angels,
and was close unto God.  I began to intercede with His Majesty on
behalf of the church.  I was given to understand the great
services which a particular Order would render in the latter
days, and the courage with which its members would maintain
the faith.

18. I was praying before the most Holy Sacrament one day; I had a
vision of a Saint, whose Order was in some degree fallen. In his
hands he held a large book, which he opened, and then told me to
read certain words, written in large and very legible letters;
they were to this effect: "In times to come this Order will
flourish; it will have many martyrs." [9]

19. On another occasion, when I was at Matins in choir, six or
seven persons, who seemed to me to be of this Order, appeared and
stood before me with swords in their hands.  The meaning of that,
as I think, is that they are to be defenders of the faith; for at
another time, when I was in prayer, I fell into a trance, and
stood in spirit on a wide plain, where many persons were
fighting; and the members of this Order were fighting with great
zeal.  Their faces were beautiful, and as it were on fire.
Many they laid low on the ground defeated, others they killed.
It seemed to me to be a battle with heretics.

20. I have seen this glorious Saint occasionally, and he has told
me certain things, and thanked me for praying for his Order, and
he has promised to pray for me to our Lord.  I do not say which
Orders these are,--our Lord, if it so pleased Him, could make
them known,--lest the others should be aggrieved.  Let every
Order, or every member of them by himself, labour, that by his
means our Lord would so bless his own Order that it may serve Him
in the present grave necessities of His Church.  Blessed are they
whose lives are so spent.

21. I was once asked by a person to pray God to let him know
whether his acceptance of a bishopric would be for the service of
God.  After Communion our Lord said to me: "When he shall have
clearly and really understood that true dominion consists in
possessing nothing, he may then accept it."  I understood by this
that he who is to be in dignity must be very far from wishing or
desiring it, or at least he must not seek it.

22. These and many other graces our Lord has given, and is giving
continually, to me a sinner.  I do not think it is necessary to
speak of them, because the state of my soul can be ascertained
from what I have written; so also can the spirit which our Lord
has given me.  May He be blessed for ever, who has been so
mindful of me!

23. Our Lord said to me once, consoling me, that I was not to
distress myself,--this He said most lovingly,--because in this
life we could not continue in the same state. [10]  At one time I
should be fervent, at another not; now disquieted, and again at
peace, and tempted; but I must hope in Him, and fear not.

24. I was one day thinking whether it was a want of detachment in
me to take pleasure in the company of those who had the care of
my soul, and to have an affection for them, and to comfort myself
with those whom I see to be very great servants of God. [11]
Our Lord said to me: "It is not a virtue in a sick man to abstain
from thanking and loving the physician who seems to restore him
to health when he is in danger of death.  What should I have done
without these persons?  The conversation of good people was never
hurtful; my words should always be weighed, and holy; and I was
not to cease my relations with them, for they would do me good
rather than harm."

25. This was a great comfort to me, because, now and then, I
wished to abstain from converse with all people; for it seemed to
me that I was attached to them.  Always, in all things, did our
Lord console me, even to the showing me how I was to treat those
who were weak, and some other people also.  Never did He cease to
take care of me.  I am sometimes distressed to see how little I
do in His service, and how I am forced to spend time in taking
care of a body so weak and worthless as mine is, more than
I wish.

26. I was in prayer one night, when it was time to go to sleep.
I was in very great pain, and my usual sickness was coming
on. [12]  I saw myself so great a slave to myself, and, on the
other hand, the spirit asked for time for itself.  I was so much
distressed that I began to weep exceedingly, and to be very
sorry.  This has happened to me not once only, but, as I am
saying, very often; and it seems to make me weary of myself, so
that at the time I hold myself literally in abhorrence.
Habitually, however, I know that I do not hate myself, and I
never fail to take that which I see to be necessary for me.
May our Lord grant that I do not take more than is necessary!--I
am afraid I do.

27. When I was thus distressed, our Lord appeared unto me.
He comforted me greatly, and told me I must do this for His love,
and bear it; my life was necessary now.  And so, I believe, I
have never known real pain since I resolved to serve my Lord and
my Consoler with all my strength; for though he would leave me to
suffer a little, yet He would console me in such a way that I am
doing nothing when I long for troubles.  And it seems to me there
is nothing worth living for but this, and suffering is what I
most heartily pray to God for.  I say to Him sometimes, with my
whole heart: "O Lord, either to die or to suffer!  I ask of Thee
nothing else for myself."  It is a comfort to me to hear the
clock strike, because I seem to have come a little nearer to the
vision of God, in that another hour of my life has passed away.

28. At other times I am in such a state that I do not feel that I
am living, nor yet do I desire to die but I am lukewarm, and
darkness surrounds me on every side, as I said before; [13] for I
am very often in great trouble.  It pleased our Lord that the
graces He wrought in me should be published abroad, [14] as He
told me some years ago they should be.  It was a great pain to
me, and I have borne much on that account even to this day, as
you, my father, know, because every man explains them in his own
sense.  But my comfort herein is that it is not my fault that
they are become known, for I was extremely cautious never to
speak of them but to my confessors, or to persons who I knew had
heard of them from them.  I was silent, however, not out of
humility, but because, as I said before, [15] it gave me great
pain to speak of them even to my confessors.

29. Now, however,--to God be the glory!--though many speak
against me, but out of a zeal for goodness, and though some are
afraid to speak to me, and even to hear my confession, and though
others have much to say about me, because I see that our Lord
willed by this means to provide help for many souls,--and also
because I see clearly and keep in mind how much He would suffer,
if only for the gaining of one,--I do not care about it at all.

30. I know not why it is so, but perhaps the reason may in some
measure be that His Majesty has placed me in this corner out of
the way, where the enclosure is so strict, and where I am as one
that is dead.  I thought that no one would remember me, but I am
not so much forgotten as I wish I was, for I am forced to speak
to some people.  But as I am in a house where none may see me, it
seems as if our Lord had been pleased to bring me to a haven,
which I trust in His Majesty will be secure.  Now that I am out
of the world, with companions holy and few in number, I look down
on the world as from a great height, and care very little what
people say or know about me.  I think much more of one soul's
advancement, even if it were but slight, than of all that people
may say of me; and since I am settled here it has pleased our
Lord that all my desires tend to this.

31. He has made my life to me now a kind of sleep; for almost
always what I see seems to me to be seen as in a dream, nor have
I any great sense either of pleasure or of pain.  If matters
occur which may occasion either, the sense of it passes away so
quickly that it astonishes me, and leaves an impression as if I
had been dreaming,--and this is the simple truth; for if I wished
afterwards to delight in that pleasure, or be sorry over that
pain, it is not in my power to do so: just as a sensible person
feels neither pain nor pleasure in the memory of a dream that is
past; for now our Lord has roused my soul out of that state
which, because I was not mortified nor dead to the things of this
world, made me feel as I did, and His Majesty does not wish me to
become blind again.

32. This is the way I live now, my lord and father; do you, my
father, pray to God that He would take me to Himself, or enable
me to serve Him.  May it please His Majesty that what I have
written may be of some use to you, my father!  I have so little
time, [16] and therefore my trouble has been great in writing;
but it will be a blessed trouble if I have succeeded in saying
anything that will cause one single act of praise to our Lord.
If that were the case, I should look upon myself as sufficiently
rewarded, even if you, my father, burnt at once what I have
written.  I would rather it were not burnt before those three saw
it, whom you, my father, know of, because they are, and have
been, my confessors; for if it be bad, it is right they should
lose the good opinion they have of me; and if it be good, they
are good and learned men, and I know they will recognise its
source, and give praise to Him who hath spoken through me.

33. May His Majesty ever be your protector, and make you so great
a saint that your spirit and light may show the way to me a
miserable creature, so wanting in humility and so bold as to have
ventured to write on subjects so high!  May our Lord grant I have
not fallen into any errors in the matter, for I had the intention
and the desire to be accurate and obedient, and also that through
me He might, in some measure, have glory,--because that is what I
have been praying for these many years; and as my good works are
inefficient for that end, I have ventured to put in order this my
disordered life.  Still, I have not wasted more time, nor given
it more attention, than was necessary for writing it; yet I have
put down all that has happened to me with all the simplicity and
sincerity possible.

34. May our Lord, who is all-powerful, grant--and He can if He
will--that I may attain to the doing of His will in all things!
May He never suffer this soul to be lost, which He so often, in
so many ways, and by so many means, has rescued from hell and
drawn unto Himself!  Amen.


I.H.S.

The Holy Spirit be ever with you, my father. [17]  Amen.
It would not be anything improper if I were to magnify my labour
in writing this, to oblige you to be very careful to recommend me
to our Lord; for indeed I may well do so, considering what I have
gone through in giving this account of myself, and in retracing
my manifold wretchedness.  But, still, I can say with truth that
I felt it more difficult to speak of the graces which I have
received from our Lord than to speak of my offences against His
Majesty.  You, my father, commanded me to write at length; that
is what I have done, on condition that you will do what you
promised, namely, destroy everything in it that has the
appearance of being wrong.  I had not yet read it through after I
had written it, when your reverence sent for it.  Some things in
it may not be very clearly explained, and there may be some
repetitions; for the time I could give to it was so short, that I
could not stop to see what I was writing.  I entreat your
reverence to correct it and have it copied, if it is to be sent
on to the Father-Master, Avila, [18] for perhaps some one may
recognise the handwriting.  I wish very much you would order it
so that he might see it, for I began to write it with a view to
that I shall be greatly comforted if he shall think that I am on
a safe road, now that, so far as it concerns me, there is nothing
more to be done.

Your reverence will do in all things that which to you shall seem
good, and you will look upon yourself as under an obligation to
take care of one who trusts her soul to your keeping.  I will
pray for the soul of your reverence to our Lord, so long as I
live.  You will, therefore, be diligent in His service, in order
that you may be able to help me; for your reverence will see by
what I have written how profitable it is to give oneself, as your
reverence has begun to do, wholly unto Him who gives Himself to
us so utterly without measure.

Blessed be His Majesty for ever!  I hope of His mercy we shall
see one another one day, when we, your reverence and myself,
shall see more clearly the great mercies He has shown us, and
when we shall praise Him for ever and ever.  Amen.  This book was
finished in June, 1562.


"This date refers to the first account which the holy Mother
Teresa of Jesus wrote of her life; it was not then divided into
chapters.  Afterwards she made this copy, and inserted in it many
things which had taken place subsequent to this date, such as the
foundation of the monastery of St. Joseph of Avila, as in
p. 169. [19]--Fray Do Banes."


1. Ch. xxxii. Sec. 1.

2. Ch. xxviii. Sec. 14.

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

4. Ch. iv. Sec. 10.

5. "Ecce quantum spatiatus sum in memoria mea quaerens Te, Domine;
et non Te inveni extra eam. . . .  Ex quo didici Te, manes in
memoria mea, et illic Te invenio cum reminiscor Tui et delector
in Te" (Confess. x. 24).  See Inner Fortress, Sixth Mansion,
ch. iv.

6. Ch. xx. Sec. 26.

7. Ch. xxv. Sec. 18, ch. xxvi. Sec. 4.  See St. John of the Cross,
Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch. xxii.

8. Sec. 8.

9. Yepez says that the Order here spoken of is the Carmelite, and
Ribera understands the Saint to refer to that of St. Dominic.
The Bollandists, n. 1638-1646, on the whole, prefer the authority
of Ribera to that of Yepez and give good reasons for their
preference, setting aside as insufficient the testimony of Fray
Luis of the Assumption, who says he heard himself from the
Venerable Anne of St. Bartholomew that the Order in question is
the Order of our Lady of Mount Carmel.  Don Vicente, the Spanish
editor, rejects the opinion of Ribera, on the ground that it
could not have been truly said of the Dominicans in the sixteenth
century that the Order was in "some degree fallen," for it was in
a most flourishing state.  He therefore was inclined to believe
that the Saint referred to the Augustinians or to the
Franciscans.  But, after he had printed this part of his book, he
discovered among the MSS. in the public library of Madrid a
letter of Anne of St. Bartholomew, addressed to Fray Luis of the
Assumption, in which the saintly companion of St. Teresa says
that the "Order was ours."  Don Vicente has published the letter
in the Appendix, p. 566.

10. Job xiv. 2: "Nunquam in eodem statu permanet."

11. See ch. xxxvii. Secs. 4, 6.

12. See ch. vii. Sec. 18.

13. Ch. xxx. Sec. 10.

14. Ch. xxxi. Secs. 16, 17.

15. Ch. xxviii. Sec. 6.

16. See ch. xiv. Sec. 12.

17. This letter, which seems to have accompanied the "Life," is
printed among the other letters of the Saint, and is addressed to
her confessor, the Dominican friar, Pedro Ibanez.  It is the
fifteenth letter in the first volume of the edition of Madrid;
but it is not dated there.

18. Juan de Avila, commonly called the Apostle of Andalusia.

19. I.e. of the MS.  See p. 337 [Transcriber's note:
ch. xxxvi. Sec. 15] of this translation.





The
Relations or Manifestations
of Her
Spiritual State
Which
St. Teresa Submitted to Her Confessors.




The Relations.


Relation 1.


Sent to St. Peter of Alcantara in 1560 from the Monastery of the
Incarnation, Avila. [1]


1. The method of prayer I observe at present is this: when I am
in prayer, it is very rarely that I can use the understanding,
because the soul becomes at once recollected, remains in repose,
or falls into a trance, so that I cannot in any way have the use
of the faculties and the senses,--so much so, that the hearing
alone is left; but then it does not help me to
understand anything.

2. It often happens, when I am not even thinking of the things of
God, but engaged in other matters, and when prayer seems to be
beyond my power, whatever efforts I might make, because of the
great aridity I am in, bodily pains contributing thereto, that
this recollection or elevation of spirit comes upon me so
suddenly that I cannot withstand it, and the fruits and blessings
it brings with it are in a moment mine: and this, without my
having had a vision, or heard anything, or knowing where I am,
except that when the soul seems to be lost I see it make great
progress, which I could not have made if I had laboured for a
whole year, so great is my gain.

3. At other times certain excessive impetuosities occur,
accompanied with a certain fainting away of the soul for God, so
that I have no control over myself; [2] my life seems to have
come to an end, and so it makes me cry out and call upon God; and
this comes upon me with great vehemence.  Sometimes I cannot
remain sitting, so great is the oppression of the heart; and this
pain comes on without my doing anything to cause it, and the
nature of it is such that my soul would be glad never to be
without it while I live.  And the longings I have are longings
not to live; and they come on because it seems as if I must live
on without being able to find any relief, for relief comes from
the vision of God, which comes by death, and death is what I
cannot take; and with all this my soul thinks that all except
itself are filled with consolations, and that all find help in
their troubles, but not itself.  The distress thus occasioned is
so intense that, if our Lord did not relieve it by throwing it
into a trance, whereby all is made calm, and the soul rests in
great quiet and is satisfied, now by seeing something of that
which it desires, now by hearing other things, it would seem to
be impossible for it to be delivered from this pain.

4. At other times there come upon me certain desires to serve
God, with a vehemence so great that I cannot describe it, and
accompanied with a certain pain at seeing how unprofitable I am.
It seems to me then that there is nothing in the world, neither
death, nor martyrdom, that I could not easily endure.
This conviction, too, is not the result of any reflection, but
comes in a moment.  I am wholly changed, and I know not whence
cometh such great courage.  I think I should live to raise my
voice, and publish to all the world how important it is for men
not to be satisfied with the common way, and how great the good
is that God will give us if we prepare ourselves to receive it.
I say it again, these desires are such that I am melted away in
myself, for I seem to desire what I cannot have.  The body seems
to me to hold me in prison, through its inability to serve God
and my state [3] in anything; for if it were not for the body, I
might do very great things, so far as my strength would allow;
and thus, because I see myself without any power whatever to
serve God, I feel this pain in a way wholly indescribable; the
issue is delight, recollection, and the consolation of God.

5. Again, it has happened, when these longings to serve Him come
upon me, that I wish to do penance, but I am not able.  It would
be a great relief to me, and it does relieve and cheer me, though
what I do is almost nothing, because of my bodily weakness; and
yet, if I were to give way to these my longings, I believe I
should observe no moderation.

6. Sometimes, if I have to speak to any one, I am greatly
distressed, and I suffer so much that it makes me weep
abundantly; for my whole desire is to be alone, and solitude
comforts me, though at times I neither pray nor read, and
conversation--particularly of kindred and connections--seems
oppressive, and myself to be as a slave, except when I speak to
those whose conversation is of prayer and matters of the
soul,--in these I find comfort and joy; [4] yet these
occasionally are too much for me, and I would rather not see
them, but go where I might be alone: though this is not often the
case, for those especially who direct my conscience always
console me.

7. At other times it gives me much pain that I must eat and
sleep, and that I see I cannot forego these things, being less
able to do so than any one.  I submit that I may serve God, and
thus I offer up those actions to him.  Time seems to me too
short, and that I have not enough for my prayer, for I should
never be tired of being alone.  I am always wishing I had time
for reading, for I have been always fond of reading.  I read very
little, for when I take up a book I become recollected through
the pleasure it gives me, and thus my reading is turned into
prayer: and it is but rarely, for I have many occupations; and
though they are good, they do not give me the pleasure which
reading would give.  And thus I am always wishing for more time,
and everything becomes disagreeable, so I believe, because I see
I cannot do what I wish and desire.

8. All these desires, with an increase in virtue, have been given
me by our Lord since He raised me to this prayer of quiet, and
sent these raptures.  I find myself so improved that I look on
myself as being a mass of perdition before this.  These raptures
and visions leave me in possession of the blessings I shall now
speak of; and I maintain that, if there be any good in me, they
are the occasions of it.

9. I have made a very strong resolution never to offend God, not
even venially.  I would rather die a thousand deaths than do
anything of the kind knowingly.  I am resolved never to leave
undone anything I may consider to be the more perfect, or more
for the honour of our Lord, if he who has the care of my soul and
directs me tells me I may do it.  Cost me what pain it might, I
would not leave such an act undone for all the treasure of the
world.  If I were to do so, I do not think I could have the face
to ask anything of God our Lord, or to make my prayer; and yet,
for all this, I have many faults and imperfections.  I am
obedient to my confessor, [5] though imperfectly; but if I know
that he wishes or commands anything, I would not leave that
undone, so far as I understand it; if I did so, I should think
myself under a grievous delusion.

10. I have a longing for poverty, though not free from
imperfection; however, I believe, if I had wealth, I would not
reserve any revenue, nor hoard money for myself, nor do I care
for it; I wish to have only what is necessary.  Nevertheless, I
feel that I am very defective in this virtue; for, though I
desire nothing for myself, I should like to have something to
give away: still, I desire no revenue, nor anything
for myself. [6]

11. In almost all the visions I have had, I have found good, if
it be not a delusion of Satan; herein I submit myself to the
judgment of my confessors.

12. As to fine and beautiful things, such as water, fields,
perfume, music, etc., I think I would rather not have them, so
great is the difference between them and what I am in the habit
of seeing, and so all pleasure in them is gone from me. [7]
Hence it is that I care not for them, unless it be at the first
sight: they never make any further impression; to me they seem
but dirt.

13. If I speak or converse with people in the world--for I cannot
help it--even about prayer, and if the conversation be long,
though to pass away the time, I am under great constraint if it
be not necessary, for it gives me much pain.

14. Amusements, of which I used to be fond, and worldly things,
are all disagreeable to me now, and I cannot look at them.

15. The longings, which I said I have, [8] of loving and serving
and seeing God, are not helped by any reflections, as formerly,
when I thought I was very devout, and shed many tears; but they
flow out of a certain fire and heat so excessive that, I repeat
it, if God did not relieve them by throwing me into a trance,
wherein the soul seems to find itself satisfied, I believe my
life would come to an end at once.

16. When I see persons making great progress, and thus resolved,
detached, and courageous, I love them much; and I should like to
have my conversation with such persons, and I think they help me
on.  People who are afraid, and seemingly cautious in those
things, the doing of which is perfectly reasonable here, seem to
vex me, and drive me to pray to God and the saints to make them
undertake such things as these which now frighten us.  Not that I
am good for anything myself, but because I believe that God helps
those who, for His sake, apply themselves to great things, and
that He never abandons any one who puts his trust in Him only.
And I should like to find any one who would help me to believe
so, and to be without thought about food and raiment, but leave
it all in the hands of God. [9]

17. This leaving in the hands of God the supply of all I need is
not to be understood as excluding all labour on my part, but
merely solicitude--I mean, the solicitude of care.  And since I
have attained to this liberty, it goes well with me, and I labour
to forget myself as much as I can.  I do not think it is a year
ago since our Lord gave me this liberty.

18. Vainglory [10]--glory, be to God!--so far as I know, there is
no reason why I should have any; for I see plainly that in these
things which God sends me I have no part myself; on the contrary,
God makes me conscious of my own wretchedness; for whatever
reflections I might be able to make, I could never come to the
knowledge of such deep truths as I attain to in a single rapture.

19. When I speak of these things a few days after, they seem to
me as if they had happened to another person.  Previously, I
thought it a wrong to me that they should be known to others; but
I see now that I am not therefore any the better, but rather
worse, seeing that I make so little progress after receiving
mercies so great.  And certainly, in every way, it seems to me
that there was not in the world anybody worse than myself; and so
the virtues of others seem to me much more meritorious than mine,
and that I do nothing myself but receive graces, and that God
must give to others at once all that He is now giving unto me;
and I pray Him not to reward me in this life; and so I believe
that God has led me along this way because I am weak and wicked.

20. When I am in prayer, and even almost always when I am able to
reflect at all, I cannot, even if I tried, pray to God for rest,
or desire it; for I see that His life was one of suffering, and
that I ask Him to send me, giving me first the grace to bear it.

21. Everything of this kind, and of the highest perfection, seems
to make so deep an impression on me in prayer, that I am amazed
at the sight of truths so great and so clear that the things of
the world seem to be folly; and so it is necessary for me to take
pains to reflect on the way I demeaned myself formerly in the
things of the world, for it seems to me folly to feel for deaths
and the troubles of the world,--at least, that sorrow for, or
love of, kindred and friends should last long.  I say I have to
take pains when I am considering what I was, and what I used to
feel.

22. If I see people do anything which clearly seems to be sin, I
cannot make up my mind that they have offended God; and if I
dwell upon this at all,--which happens rarely or never,--I never
can make up my mind, though I see it plainly enough.  It seems to
me that everybody is as anxious to serve God as I am.  And herein
God has been very gracious unto me, for I never dwell on an evil
deed, to remember it afterwards and if I do remember it, I see
some virtue or other in that person.  In this way these things
never weary me, except generally: but heresies do; they distress
me very often, and almost always when I think of them they seem
to me to be the only trouble which should be felt.  And also I
feel, when I see people who used to give themselves to prayer
fall away; this gives me pain, but not much, because I strive not
to dwell upon it.

23. I find, also, that I am improved in the matter of that
excessive neatness which I was wont to observe, [11] though not
wholly delivered from it.  I do not discern that I am always
mortified in this; sometimes, however, I do.

24. All this I have described, together with a very constant
dwelling in thought on God, is the ordinary state of my soul, so
far as I can understand it.  And if I must be busy about
something else, without my seeking it, as I said before, [12] I
know not who makes me awake,--and this not always, only when I am
busy with things of importance; and such--glory be to God!--only
at intervals demand my attention, and do not occupy me at
all times.

25. For some days--they are not many, however--for three, or
four, or five, all my good and fervent thoughts, and my visions,
seem to be withdrawn, yea, even forgotten, so that, if I were to
seek for it, I know of no good that can ever have been in me.  It
seems to have been all a dream, or, at least, I can call nothing
to mind.  Bodily pains at the same time distress me.
My understanding is troubled, so that I cannot think at all about
God, neither do I know under what law I live.  If I read
anything, I do not understand it; I seem to be full of faults,
and without any resolution whatever to practise virtue; and the
great resolution I used to have is come to this, that I seem to
be unable to resist the least temptation or slander of the world.
It suggests itself to me then that I am good for nothing, if any
one would have me undertake more than the common duties.  I give
way to sadness, thinking I have deceived all those who trusted me
at all.  I should like to hide myself where nobody could see me;
but my desire for solitude arises from want of courage, not from
love of virtue.  It seems to me that I should like to dispute
with all who contradict me; I am under the influence of these
impressions, only God has been so gracious unto me, that I do not
offend more frequently than I was wont to do, nor do I ask Him to
deliver me from them, but only, if it be His will I should always
suffer thus, to keep me from offending Him; and I submit myself
to His will with my whole heart, and I see that it is a very
great grace bestowed upon me that He does not keep me constantly
in this state.

26. One thing astonishes me; it is that, while I am in this
state, through a single word of those I am in the habit of
hearing, or a single vision, or a little self-recollection,
lasting but an Ave Maria, or through my drawing near to
communicate, I find my soul and body so calm, so sound, the
understanding so clear, and myself possessing all the strength
and all the good desires I usually have.  And this I have had
experience of very often--at least when I go to Communion; it is
more than six months ago that I felt a clear improvement in my
bodily health, [13] and that occasionally brought about through
raptures, and I find it last sometimes more than three hours, at
other times I am much stronger for a whole day; and I do not
think it is fancy, for I have considered the matter, and
reflected on it.  Accordingly, when I am thus recollected, I fear
no illness.  The truth is, that when I pray, as I was accustomed
to do before, I feel no improvement.

27. All these things of which I am speaking make me believe that
it comes from God; for when I see what I once was, that I was in
the way of being lost, and that soon, my soul certainly is
astonished at these things, without knowing whence these virtues
came to me; I did not know myself, and saw that all was a gift,
and not the fruit of my labours.  I understand in all
truthfulness and sincerity, and see that I am not deluded, that
it has been not only the means of drawing me to God in His
service, but of saving me also from hell.  This my confessors
know, who have heard my general confession.

28. Also, when I see any one who knows anything about me, I wish
to let him know my whole life, [14] because my honour seems to me
to consist in the honour of our Lord, and I care for nothing
else.  This He knows well, or I am very blind; for neither
honour, nor life, nor praise, nor good either of body or of soul,
can interest me, nor do I seek or desire any advantage, only His
glory.  I cannot believe that Satan has sought so many means of
making my soul advance, in order to lose it after all.  I do not
hold him to be so foolish.  Nor can I believe it of God, though I
have deserved to fall into delusions because of my sins, that He
has left unheeded so many prayers of so many good people for two
years, and I do nothing else but ask everybody to pray to our
Lord that He would show me if this be for His glory, or lead me
by another way. [15]  I do not believe that these things would
have been permitted by His Majesty to be always going on if they
were not His work.  These considerations, and the reasons of so
many saintly men, give me courage when I am under the pressure of
fear that they are not from God, I being so wicked myself.
But when I am in prayer, and during those days when I am in
repose, and my thoughts fixed on God, if all the learned and holy
men in the world came together and put me to, all conceivable
tortures, and I, too, desirous of agreeing with them, they could
not make me believe that this is the work of Satan, for I cannot.
And when they would have had me believe it, I was afraid, seeing
who it was that said so; and I thought that they must be saying
what was true, and that I, being what I was, must have been
deluded.  But all they had said to me was destroyed by the first
word, or recollection, or vision that came, and I was able to
resist no longer, and believed it was from God. [16]

29. However, I can think that Satan now and then may intermeddle
here, and so it is, as I have seen and said; but he produces
different results, nor can he, as it seems to me, deceive any one
possessed of any experience.  Nevertheless, I say that, though I
do certainly believe this to be from God, I would never do
anything, for any consideration whatever, that is not judged by
him who has the charge of my soul to be for the better service of
our Lord, and I never had any intention but to obey without
concealing anything, for that is my duty.  I am very often
rebuked for my faults, and that in such a way as to pierce me to
the very quick; and I am warned when there is, or when there may
be, any danger in what I am doing.  These rebukes and warnings
have done me much good, in often reminding me of my former sins,
which make me exceedingly sorry.

30. I have been very long, but this is the truth,--that, when I
rise from my prayer, I see that I have received blessings which
seem too briefly described.  Afterwards I fall into many
imperfections, and am unprofitable and very wicked.  And perhaps
I have no perception of what is good, but am deluded; still, the
difference in my life is notorious, and compels me to think over
all I have said--I mean, that which I verily believe I have felt.
These are the perfections which I feel our Lord has wrought in
me, who am so wicked and so imperfect.  I refer it all to your
judgment, my father, for you know the whole state of my soul.


1. Fra Anton. a Sancto Joseph, in his notes on this Relation,
usually published among the letters of the Saint, ed. Doblado,
vol. ii. letter 11, says it was written for St. Peter of
Alcantara when he came to Avila in 1560, at the time when the
Saint was so severely tried by her confessors and the others who
examined her spirit, and were convinced that her prayer was a
delusion of Satan: see the Life, ch. xxv. Sec. 18.  The following
notes were discovered among the papers of the Saint in the
monastery of the Incarnation, and are supposed to refer to this
Relation.  The Chronicler of the Order, Fra Francis a Sancta
Maria, is inclined to the belief that they were written by
St. Peter of Alcantara, to whom the Relation is addressed, and
the more so because Ribera does not claim them for any member of
the Society, notwithstanding the reference to them in Secs. 22, 28.

"1. The end God has in view is the drawing a soul to himself;
that of the devil is the withdrawing it from God.  Our Lord never
does anything whereby anyone may be separated from Him, and the
devil does nothing whereby any one may be made to draw near unto
God.  All the visions and the other operations in the soul of
this person draw her nearer unto God, and make her more humble
and obedient.

"2. It is the teaching of St. Thomas that an angel of light may
be recognised by the peace and quietness he leaves in the soul.
She is never visited in this way, but she afterwards abides in
peace and joy; so much so, that all the pleasures of earth
together are not comparable to one of these visitations.

"3. She never commits a fault, nor falls into an imperfection,
without being instantly rebuked by Him who speaks interiorly
to her.

"4. She has never prayed for nor wished for them: all she wishes
for is to do the will of God our Lord in all things.

"5. Everything herein is consistent with the Scriptures and the
teaching of the Church, and most true, according to the most
rigorous principles of scholastic theology.

"6. This soul is most pure and sincere, with the most fervent
desires of being pleasing unto God, and of trampling on every
earthly thing.

"7. She has been told that whatever she shall ask of God, being
good, she shall have.  She has asked much, and things not
convenient to put on paper lest it should be wearisome; all of
which our Lord has granted.

"8. When these operations are from God, they are always directed
to the good of the recipient, to that of the community, or of
some other.  That she has profited by them she knows by
experience, and she knows it, too, of other persons also.

"9. No one converses with her, if he be not in evil dispositions,
who is not moved thereby to devotion, even though she says
nothing about it.

"10. She is growing daily in the perfection of virtues, and
learns by these things the way of a higher perfection.  And thus,
during the whole time in which she had visions, she was making
progress, according to the doctrine of St. Thomas.

"11. The spirit that speaks to her soul never tells her anything
in the way of news, or what is unbecoming, but only that which
tends to edification.

"12. She has been told of some persons that they were full of
devils: but this was for the purpose of enabling her to
understand the state of a soul which has sinned mortally against
our Lord.

"13. The devil's method is, when he attempts to deceive a soul,
to advise that soul never to speak of what he says to it; but the
spirit that speaks to this soul warns her to be open with learned
men, servants of our Lord, and that the devil may deceive her if
she should conceal anything through shame.

"14. So great is the progress of her soul in this way, and the
edification she ministers in the good example given, that more
than forty nuns in her monastery practise great recollection.

"15. These supernatural things occur after long praying, when she
is absorbed in God, on fire with His love, or at Communion.

"16. They kindle in her a most earnest desire to be on the right
road, and to escape the delusions of Satan.

"17. They are in her the cause of the deepest humility; she
understands that what she receives comes to her from the hand of
our Lord, and how little worth she is herself.

"18. When they are withheld, anything that occurs is wont to pain
and distress her; but when she is in this state, she remembers
nothing; all she is conscious of is a great longing for
suffering, and so great is it that she is amazed at it.

"19. They are to her sources of joy and consolation in her
troubles, when people speak ill of her, and in her
infirmities--and she has fearful pains about the heart,
sicknesses, and many other afflictions, all of which leave her
when she has these visions.

"20. With all this, she undergoes great penances, fasting, the
discipline, and mortifications.

"21. All that on earth may give her any pleasure, and her trials,
which are many, she bears with equal tranquillity of mind,
without losing the peace and quiet of her soul.

"22. Her resolution never to offend our Lord is so earnest that
she has made a vow never to leave undone what she knows herself,
or is told by those who understand the matter better, to be the
more perfect.  And though she holds the members of the Society to
be saints, and believes that our Lord made use of them to bestow
on her graces so great, she told me that, if she knew it would be
more perfect to have nothing more to do with them, she would
never speak to them again, nor see them, notwithstanding the fact
that it was through them that her mind had been quieted and
directed in these things.

"23. The sweetnesses she commonly receives, her sense of God, her
languishing with love, are certainly marvellous, and through
these she is wont to be enraptured the whole day long.

"24. She frequently falls into a trance when she hears God spoken
of with devotion and earnestness, and cannot resist the rapture,
do what she can; and in that state her appearance is such that
she excites very great devotion.

"25. She cannot bear to be directed by any one who will not tell
her of her faults, and rebuke her; all that she accepts with
great humility.

"26. Moreover, she cannot endure people who are in a state of
perfection, if they do not labour to become perfect, according to
the spirit of their rule.

"27. She is most detached from her kindred, has no desire to
converse with people, and loves solitude.  She has a great
devotion to the saints, and on their feasts, and on the days on
which the Church celebrates the mysteries of the faith, is filled
with most fervent affections for our Lord.

"28. If all the members of the Society, and all the servants of
God upon earth, tell her that her state is an effect of the
operations of Satan, or were to say so, she is in fear and
trembling before the visions occur; but as soon as she is in
prayer, and recollected, she cannot be persuaded, were they to
tear her into a thousand pieces, that it is any other than God
who is working in her and speaking to her.

"29. God has given her a most wonderfully strong and valiant
spirit: she was once timid; now she tramples on all the evil
spirits.  She has put far away from herself all the littleness
and silliness of women; she is singularly free from scruples, and
most sincere.

"30. Besides, our Lord has given her the gift of most sweet
tears, great compassion for her neighbours, the knowledge of her
own faults, a great reverence for good people, and
self-abasement; and I am certain that she has done good to many,
of whom I am one.

"31. She is continually reminding herself of God, and has a sense
of His presence.  All the locutions have been verified, and every
one of them accomplished; and this is a very great test.

"32. Her visions are a source of great clearness in her
understanding, and an admirable illumination in the things
of God.

"33. It was said to her that she should lead those who were
trying her spirit to look into the Scriptures, and that they
would not find that any soul desirous of pleasing God had been so
long deceived."

2. See Life, ch. xxix. Secs. 9-13.

3. De la Fuente thinks she means the religious state.

4. See Life, ch. xxiv. Sec. 8, and ch. xxxi. Sec. 22.

5. See Life, ch. xxiii. Sec. 19.

6. See Life, ch. xxxv. Sec. 2.

7. See Life, ch. ix. Sec. 6, and ch. xiv. Sec. 7.

8. See Sec. 3, above.

9. St. Matt. vi. 31: "Nolite ergo solliciti esse, dicentes: Quid
manducabimus. . . . aut quo operiemur?"

10. See Life, ch. vii. Sec. 2.

11. See Life, ch. ii. Sec. 2.

12. Sec. 2, above.

13. See Life, ch. xx. Sec. 29.

14. See Life, ch. xxxi. Sec. 17.

15. See Life, ch. xxv. Sec. 20.

16. See Life, ch. xxv. Secs. 18, 22.



Relation II.


To One of Her Confessors, from the House of Dona Luisa de la Cerda,
in 1562. [1]


Jesus.

I think it is more than a year since this was written; God has
all this time protected me with His hand, so that I have not
become worse; on the contrary, I see a great change for the
better in all I have to say: may He be praised for it all!

1. The visions and revelations have not ceased, but they are of a
much higher kind.  Our Lord has taught me a way of prayer,
wherein I find myself far more advanced, more detached from the
things of this life, more courageous, and more free. [2]  I fall
into a trance more frequently, for these ecstasies at times come
upon me with great violence, and in such a way as to be outwardly
visible, I having no power to resist them; and even when I am
with others--for they come in such a way as admits of no
disguising them, unless it be by letting people suppose that, as
I am subject to disease of the heart, they are fainting-fits; I
take great pains, however, to resist them when they are coming
on--sometimes I cannot do it.

2. As to poverty, God seems to have wrought great things in me;
for I would willingly be without even what is necessary, unless
given me as an alms; and therefore my longing is extreme that I
may be in such a state as to depend on alms alone for my food.
It seems to me that to live, when I am certain of food and
raiment without fail, is not so complete an observance of my vow
or of the counsel of Christ as it would be to live where no
revenue is possessed, and I should be in want at times; and as to
the blessings that come with true poverty, they seem to me to be
great, and I would not miss them.  Many times do I find myself
with such great faith, that I do not think God will ever fail
those who serve Him, and without any doubt whatever that there
is, or can be, any time in which His words are not fulfilled: I
cannot persuade myself to the contrary, nor can I have any fear;
and so, when they advise me to accept an endowment, I feel it
keenly, and betake myself unto God.

3. I think I am much more compassionate towards the poor than I
used to be, having a great pity for them and a desire to help
them; for if I regarded only my good will, I should give them
even the habit I wear.  I am not fastidious with respect to them,
even if I had to do with them or touched them with my hands,--and
this I now see is a gift of God; for though I used to give alms
for His love, I had no natural compassion.  I am conscious of a
distinct improvement herein.

4. As to the evil speaking directed against me,--which is
considerable, and highly injurious to me, and done by many,--I
find myself herein also very much the better.  I think that what
they say makes scarcely any more impression upon me than it would
upon an idiot.  I think at times, and nearly always, that it is
just.  I feel it so little that I see nothing in it that I might
offer to God, as I learn by experience that my soul gains greatly
thereby; on the contrary, the evil speaking seems to be a favour.
And thus, the first time I go to prayer, I have no ill-feeling
against them; the first time I hear it, it creates in me a little
resistance, but it neither disturbs nor moves me; on the
contrary, when I see others occasionally disturbed, I am sorry
for them.  So it is, I put myself out of the question; for all
the wrongs of this life seem to me so light, that it is not
possible to feel them, because I imagine myself to be dreaming,
and see that all this will be nothing when I awake.

5. God is giving me more earnest desires, a greater love of
solitude, a much greater detachment, as I said, with the visions;
by these He has made me know what all that is, even if I gave up
all the friends I have, both men and women and kindred.  This is
the least part of it: my kindred are rather a very great
weariness to me; I leave them in all freedom and joy, provided it
be to render the least service unto God; and thus on every side I
find peace.

6. Certain things, about which I have been warned in prayer, have
been perfectly verified.  Thus, considering the graces received
from God, I find myself very much better; but, considering my
service to Him in return, I am exceedingly worthless, for I have
received greater consolation than I have given, though sometimes
that gives me grievous pain.  My penance is very scanty, the
respect shown me great, much against my own will very often. [3]
However in a word, I see that I live an easy, not a penitential,
life; God help me, as He can!

7. It is now nine months, more or less, since I wrote this with
mine own hand; since then I have not turned my back on the graces
which God has given me; I think I have received, so far as I can
see, a much greater liberty of late.  Hitherto I thought I had
need of others, and I had more reliance on worldly helps.  Now I
clearly understand that all men are bunches of dried rosemary,
and that there is no safety in leaning on them, for if they are
pressed by contradictions or evil speaking they break down.
And so I know by experience that the only way not to fall is to
cling to the cross, and put our trust in Him who was nailed
thereto.  I find Him a real Friend, and with Him I find myself
endowed with such might that, God never failing me, I think I
should be able to withstand the whole world if it were
against me.

8. Having a clear knowledge of this truth, I used to be very fond
of being loved by others; now I do not care for that, yea,
rather, their love seems to weary me in some measure, excepting
theirs who take care of my soul, or theirs to whom I think I do
good.  Of the former I wish to be loved, in order that they may
bear with me; and of the latter, that they may be more inclined
to believe me when I tell them that all is vanity.

9. In the very grievous trials, persecutions, and contradictions
of these months, [4] God gave me great courage; and the more
grievous they were, the greater the courage, without weariness in
suffering.  Not only had I no ill-feeling against those who spoke
evil of me, but I had, I believe, conceived a deeper affection
for them.  I know not how it was; certainly it was a gift from
the hand of our Lord.

10. When I desire anything, I am accustomed naturally to desire
it with some vehemence; now my desires are so calm, that I do not
even feel that I am pleased when I see them fulfilled. Sorrow and
joy, excepting in that which relates to prayer, are so moderated,
that I seem to be without sense, and in that state I remain for
some days.

11. The vehement longings to do penance which come, and have
come, upon me are great; and if I do any penance, I feel it to be
so slight in comparison with that longing, that I regard it
sometimes, and almost always, as a special consolation; however,
I do but little, because of my great weakness.

12. It is a very great pain to me very often, and at this moment
most grievous, that I must take food, particularly if I am in
prayer.  It must be very great, for it makes me weep much, and
speak the language of affliction, almost without being aware of
it, and that is what I am not in the habit of doing, for I do not
remember that I ever did so in the very heaviest trials of my
life: I am not a woman in these things, for I have a hard heart.

13. I feel in myself a very earnest desire, more so than usual,
that God may find those who will serve Him, particularly learned
men, in all detachment, and who will not cleave to anything of
this world, for I see it is all a mockery; for when I see the
great needs of the Church, I look upon it as a mockery to be
distressed about aught else.  I do nothing but pray to God for
such men, because I see that one person, who is wholly perfect in
the true fervour of the love of God, will do more good than many
who are lukewarm.

14. In matters concerning the faith, my courage seems to me much
greater.  I think I could go forth alone by myself against the
Lutherans, and convince them of their errors.  I feel very keenly
the loss of so many souls.  I see many persons making great
progress; I see clearly it was the pleasure of God that such
progress should have been helped by me; and I perceive that my
soul, of His goodness, grows daily more and more in His love.

15. I think I could not be led away by vainglory, even if I
seriously tried, and I do not see how I could imagine any one of
my virtues to be mine, for it is not long since I was for many
years without any at all; and now so far as I am concerned, I do
nothing but receive graces, without rendering any service in
return, being the most worthless creature in the world.  And so
it is that I consider at times how all, except myself, make
progress; I am good for nothing in myself.  This is not humility
only, but the simple truth; and the knowledge of my being so
worthless makes me sometimes think with fear that I must be under
some delusion.  Thus I see clearly that all my gain has come
through the revelations and the raptures, in which I am nothing
myself, and do no more to effect them than the canvas does for
the picture painted on it.  This makes me feel secure and be at
rest; and I place myself in the hands of God, and trust my
desires; for I know for certain that my desires are to die for
Him, and to lose all ease, and that whatever may happen.

16. There are days wherein I remember times without number the
words of St. Paul, [5]--though certainly they are not true of
me,--that I have neither life, nor speech, nor will of my own,
but that there is One in me by whom I am directed and made
strong; and I am, as it were, beside myself, and thus life is a
very grievous burden to me.  And the greatest oblation I make to
God, as the highest service on my part, is that I, when I feel it
so painfully to be absent from Him, am willing to live on for the
love of Him.  I would have my life also full of great
tribulations and persecutions; now that I am unprofitable, I
should like to suffer; and I would endure all the tribulations in
the world to gain ever so little more merit--I mean, by a more
perfect doing of His will.

17. Everything that I have learnt in prayer, though it may be two
years previously, I have seen fulfilled.  What I see and
understand of the grandeurs of God, and of the way He has shown
them, is so high, that I scarcely ever begin to think of them but
my understanding fails me,--for I am as one that sees things far
higher than I can understand,--and I become recollected.

18. God so keeps me from offending Him, that I am verily amazed
at times.  I think I discern the great care He takes of me,
without my taking scarcely any care at all, being as I was,
before these things happened to me, a sea of wickedness and sins,
and without a thought that I was mistress enough of myself to
leave them undone.  And the reason why I would have this known is
that the great power of God might be made manifest.  Unto Him be
praise for ever and ever!  Amen.


Jesus.

This Relation here set forth, not in my handwriting, is one that
I gave to my confessor, and which he with his own hand copied,
without adding or diminishing a word.  He was a most spiritual
man and a theologian: I discussed the state of my soul with him,
and he with other learned men, among whom was Father Mancio. [6]
They found nothing in it that is not in perfect agreement with
the holy writings.  This makes me calm now, though, while God is
leading me by this way, I feel that it is necessary for me to put
no trust whatever in myself.  And so I have always done, though
it is painful enough.  You, my father, will be careful that all
this goes under the seal of confession, according to my request.


1. Addressed, it is believed, to her confessor, F. Pedro Ibanez.
This Relation corresponds with ch. xxxiv. of the Life (De
la Fuente).

2. See Life, ch. xxvii.

3. See Life, ch. xxxi. Sec. 15.

4. The Saint is supposed to refer to the troubles she endured
during the foundation of the monastery of St. Joseph.

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

6. A celebrated Dominican, professor of theology in
Salamanca (Bouix).



Relation III.


Of Various Graces Granted to the Saint from the Year 1568 to
1571 Inclusive.


1. When I was in the monastery of Toledo, and some people were
advising me not to allow any but noble persons to be buried
there, [1] our Lord said to me: "Thou wilt be very inconsistent,
My daughter, if thou regardest the laws of the world.  Look at
Me, poor and despised of men: are the great people of the world
likely to be great in My eyes? or is it descent or virtue that is
to make you esteemed?"

2. After Communion, the second day of Lent, in St. Joseph of
Malagon, our Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me in an imaginary
vision, as He is I wont to do; and when I was looking upon Him I
saw that He had on His head, instead of the crown of thorns, a
crown of great splendour, over the part where the wounds of that
crown must have been.  And as I have a great devotion to the
crowning with thorns, I was exceedingly consoled, and began to
think how great the pain must have been because of the many
wounds, and to be sorrowful.  Our Lord told me not to be sad
because of those wounds, but for the many wounds which men
inflict upon Him now.  I asked Him what I could do by way of
reparation; for I was resolved to do anything.  He replied: "This
is not the time for rest;" that I must hasten on the foundations,
for He would take His rest with the souls which entered the
monasteries; that I must admit all who offered themselves,
because there were many souls that did not serve Him because they
had no place wherein to do it; that those monasteries which were
to be founded in small towns should be like this; that the merit
of those in them would be as great, if they only desired to do
that which was done in the other houses; that I must contrive to
put them all under the jurisdiction of one superior, [2] and take
care that anxieties about means of bodily maintenance did not
destroy interior peace, for He would help us, so that we should
never be in want of food.  Especial care was to be had of the
sick sisters; the prioress who did not provide for and comfort
the sick was like the friends of Job: He sent them sickness for
the good of their souls, and careless superiors risked the
patience of their nuns.  I was to write the history of the
foundation of the monasteries.  I was thinking how there was
nothing to write about in reference to the foundation of Medina,
when He asked me, what more did I want to see than that the
foundation there was miraculous?  By this He meant to say that He
alone had done it, when it seemed impossible. [3]  I resolved to
execute His commands.

3. Our Lord told me something I was to tell another, and as I was
considering how I did not understand it at all,--though I prayed
to Him, and was thinking it might be from Satan,--He said to me
that it was not, and that He Himself would warn me when the
time came.

4. Once, when I was thinking how much more purely they live who
withdraw themselves from all business, and how ill it goes with
me, and how many faults I must be guilty of, when I have business
to transact, I heard this: "It cannot be otherwise, My daughter;
but strive thou always after a good intention in all things, and
detachment; lift up thine eyes to Me, and see that all thine
actions may resemble Mine."

5. Thinking how it was that I scarcely ever fell into a trance of
late in public, I heard this: "It is not necessary now; thou art
sufficiently esteemed for My purpose; we are considering the
weakness of the wicked."

6. One Tuesday after the Ascension, [4] having prayed for awhile
after Communion in great distress, because I was so distracted
that I could fix my mind on nothing, I complained of our poor
nature to our Lord.  The fire began to kindle in my soul, and I
saw, as it seemed to me, the most Holy Trinity [5] distinctly
present in an intellectual vision, whereby my soul understood
through a certain representation, as a figure of the truth, so
far as my dulness could understand, how God is Three and One; and
thus it seemed to me that all the Three Persons spoke to me, that
They were distinctly present in my soul, saying unto me "that
from that day forth I should see that my soul had grown better in
three ways, and that each one of the Three Persons had bestowed
on me a distinct grace,--in charity, in suffering joyfully, in a
sense of that charity in my soul, accompanied with fervour."
I learnt the meaning of those words of our Lord, that the Three
Divine Persons will dwell in the soul that is in a state of
grace. [6]  Afterwards giving thanks to our Lord for so great a
mercy, and finding myself utterly unworthy of it, I asked His
Majesty with great earnestness how it was that He, after showing
such mercies to me, let me go out of His hand, and allowed me to
become so wicked; for on the previous day I had been in great
distress on account of my sins, which I had set before me.  I saw
clearly then how much our Lord on His part had done, ever since
my infancy, to draw me to Himself by means most effectual, and
yet, that all had failed.  Then I had a clear perception of the
surpassing love of God for us, in that He forgives us all this
when we turn to Him, and for me more than for any other, for many
reasons.  The vision of the Three Divine Persons--one God--made
so profound an impression on my soul, that if it had continued it
would have been impossible for me not to be recollected in so
divine a company.  What I saw and heard besides is beyond my
power to describe.

7. Once, when I was about to communicate,--it was shortly before
I had this vision,--the Host being still in the ciborium, for It
had not yet been given me, I saw something like a dove, which
moved its wings with a sound.  It disturbed me so much, and so
carried me away out of myself, that it was with the utmost
difficulty I received the Host.  All this took place in
St. Joseph of Avila.  It was Father Francis Salcedo who was
giving me the most Holy Sacrament.  Hearing Mass another day, I
saw our Lord glorious in the Host; He said to me that his
sacrifice was acceptable unto Him.

8. I heard this once: "The time will come when many miracles will
be wrought in this church; it will be called the holy church."
It was in St. Joseph of Avila, in the year 1571.

9. I retain to this day, which is the Commemoration of St. Paul,
the presence of the Three Persons of which I spoke in the
beginning; [7] they are present almost continually in my soul.
I, being accustomed to the presence of Jesus Christ only, always
thought that the vision of the Three Persons was in some degree a
hindrance, though I know the Three Persons are but One God.
To-day, while thinking of this, our Lord said to me "that I was
wrong in imagining that those things which are peculiar to the
soul can be represented by those of the body; I was to understand
that they were very different, and that the soul had a capacity
for great fruition."  It seemed to me as if this were shown to me
thus: as water penetrates and is drunk in by the sponge, so, it
seemed to me, did the Divinity fill my soul, which in a certain
sense had the fruition and possession of the Three Persons.  And
I heard Him say also: "Labour thou not to hold Me within thyself
enclosed, but enclose thou thyself within Me."  It seemed to me
that I saw the Three Persons within my soul, and communicating
Themselves to all creatures abundantly without ceasing to be
with me.

10. A few days after this, thinking whether they were right who
disapproved of my going out to make new foundations, and whether
it would not be better for me if I occupied myself always with
prayer, I heard this: "During this life, the true gain consists
not in striving after greater joy in Me, but in doing My will."
It seemed to me, considering what St. Paul says about women, how
they should stay at home, [8]--people reminded me lately of this,
and, indeed, I had heard it before,--it might be the will of God
I should do so too.  He said to me: "Tell them they are not to
follow one part of the Scripture by itself, without looking to
the other parts also; perhaps, if they could, they would like to
tie My hands."

11. One day after the octave of the Visitation, in one of the
hermitages of Mount Carmel, praying to God for one of my
brothers, I said to our Lord,--I do not know whether it was only
in thought or not, for my brother was in a place where his
salvation was in peril,--"If I saw one of Thy brethren, O Lord,
in this danger, what would I not do to help him!"  It seemed to
me there was nothing that I could do which I would not have done.
Our Lord said to me: "O daughter, daughter! the nuns of the
Incarnation are thy sisters, and thou holdest back.
Take courage, then.  Behold, this is what I would have thee do:
it is not so difficult as it seems; and though it seems to thee
that by going thither thy foundations will be ruined, yet it is
by thy going that both these and the monastery of the Incarnation
will gain; resist not, for My power is great." [9]

12. Once, when thinking of the great penance practised by Dona
Catalina de Cardona, [10] and how I might have done more,
considering the desires which our Lord had given me at times, if
it had not been for my obedience to my confessors, I asked myself
whether it would not be as well if I disobeyed them for the
future in this matter.  Our Lord said to me: "No, My daughter;
thou art on the sound and safe road.  Seest thou all her penance?
I think more of thy obedience."

13. Once, when I was in prayer, He showed me by a certain kind of
intellectual vision the condition of a soul in a state of grace:
in its company I saw by intellectual vision the most Holy
Trinity, from whose companionship the soul derived a power which
was a dominion over the whole earth.  I understood the meaning of
those words in the Canticle: "Let my Beloved come into His garden
and eat." [11]  He showed me also the condition of a soul in sin,
utterly powerless, like a person tied and bound and blindfold,
who, though anxious to see, yet cannot, being unable to walk or
to hear, and in grievous obscurity.  I was so exceedingly sorry
for such souls, that, to deliver only one, any trouble seemed to
me light.  I thought it impossible for any one who saw this as I
saw it,--and I can hardly explain it,--willingly to forfeit so
great a good or continue in so evil a state.

14. One day, in very great distress about the state of the Order,
and casting about for means to succour it, our Lord said to me:
"Do thou what is in thy power, and leave Me to Myself, and be not
disquieted by anything; rejoice in the blessing thou hast
received, for it is a very great one.  My Father is pleased with
thee, and the Holy Ghost loves thee."

15. "Thou art ever desiring trials, and, on the other hand,
declining them.  I order things according to what I know thy will
is, and not according to thy sensuality and weakness.  Be strong,
for thou seest how I help thee; I have wished thee to gain this
crown. Thou shalt see the Order of the Virgin greatly advanced in
thy days."  I heard this from our Lord about the middle of
February, 1571.

16. On the eve of St. Sebastian, the first year of my being in
the monastery of the Incarnation [12] as prioress there, at the
beginning of the Salve, I saw the Mother of God descend with a
multitude of angels to the stall of the prioress, where the image
of our Lady is, and sit there herself.  I think I did not see the
image then, but only our Lady.  She seemed to be like that
picture of her which the Countess [13] gave me; but I had no time
to ascertain this, because I fell at once into a trance.
Multitudes of angels seemed to me to be above the canopies of the
stalls, and on the desks in front of them; but I saw no bodily
forms, for the vision was intellectual.  She remained there
during the Salve, and said to me: "Thou hast done well to place
me here; I will be present when the sisters sing the praises of
my Son, and will offer them to Him."  After this I remained in
that prayer which I still practise, and which is that of keeping
my soul in the company of the most Holy Trinity; and it seemed to
me that the Person of the Father drew me to Himself, and spoke to
me most comfortable words.  Among them were these, while showing
how He loved me: "I give thee My Son, and the Holy Ghost, and the
Virgin: what canst thou give Me?" [14]

17. On the octave of the Holy Ghost, our Lord was gracious unto
me, and gave me hopes of this house, [15] that it would go on
improving--I mean the souls that are in it.

18. On the feast of the Magdalene, our Lord again confirmed a
grace I had received in Toledo, electing me, in the absence of a
certain person, in her place.

19. In the monastery of the Incarnation, and in the second year
of my being prioress there, on the octave of St. Martin, when I
was going to Communion, the Father, Fr. John of the
Cross, [16]--divided the Host between me and another sister.
I thought it was done, not because there was any want of Hosts,
but that he wished to mortify me because I had told him how much
I delighted in Hosts of a large size.  Yet I was not ignorant
that the size of the Host is of no moment; for I knew that our
Lord is whole and entire in the smallest particle.  His Majesty
said to me: "Have no fear, My daughter; for no one will be able
to separate thee from Me,"--giving me to understand that the size
of the Host mattered not.

20. Then appearing to me, as on other occasions, in an imaginary
vision, most interiorly, He held out His right hand and said:
"Behold this nail! it is the pledge of thy being My bride from
this day forth.  Until now thou hadst not merited it; from
henceforth thou shalt regard My honour, not only as of one who is
Thy Creator, King, and God, but as thine, My veritable bride; My
honour is thine, and thine is Mine."  This grace had such an
effect on me, that I could not contain myself: I became as one
that is foolish, and said to our Lord: "Either ennoble my
vileness or cease to bestow such mercies on me, for certainly I
do not think that nature can bear them."  I remained thus the
whole day, as one utterly beside herself.  Afterwards I became
conscious of great progress, and greater shame and distress to
see that I did nothing in return for graces so great.

21. Our Lord said this to me one day: "Thinkest thou, My
daughter, that meriting lies in fruition? No; merit lies only in
doing, in suffering, and in loving.  You never heard that
St. Paul had the fruition of heavenly joys more than once; while
he was often in sufferings. [17]  Thou seest how My whole life
was full of dolors, and only on Mount Tabor hast thou heard of Me
in glory. [18]  Do not suppose, when thou seest My Mother hold Me
in her arms, that she had that joy unmixed with heavy sorrows.
From the time that Simeon spoke to her, My Father made her see in
clear light all I had to suffer.  The grand Saints of the desert,
as they were led by God, so also did they undergo heavy penances;
besides, they waged serious war with the devil and with
themselves, and much of their time passed away without any
spiritual consolation whatever.  Believe Me, My daughter, his
trials are the heaviest whom My Father loves most; trials are the
measure of His love.  How can I show My love for thee better than
by desiring for thee what I desired for Myself?  Consider My
wounds; thy pains will never reach to them.  This is the way of
truth; thus shalt thou help Me to weep over the ruin of those who
are in the world, for thou knowest how all their desires,
anxieties, and thoughts tend the other way."  When I began my
prayer that day, my headache was so violent that I thought I
could not possibly go on.  Our Lord said to me: "Behold now, the
reward of suffering.  As thou, on account of thy health, wert
unable to speak to Me, I spoke to thee and comforted thee."
Certainly, so it was; for the time of my recollection lasted
about an hour and a half, more or less.  It was then that He
spoke to me the words I have just related, together with all the
others.  I was not able to distract myself, neither knew I where
I was; my joy was so great as to be indescribable; my headache
was gone, and I was amazed, and I had a longing for suffering.
He also told me to keep in mind the words He said to His
Apostles: "The servant is not greater than his Lord." [19]


1. Alonzo Ramirez wished to have the right of burial in the new
monastery, but the nobles of Toledo looked on his request as
unreasonable.  See Foundations, chs. xv. and xvi.

2. See Way of Perfection, ch. viii.; but ch. v. of the
previous editions.

3. See Book of the Foundations, ch. iii.

4. In the copy kept in Toledo, the day is Tuesday after the
Assumption (De la Fuente).

5. Ch. xxvii. Sec. 10.

6. St. John xiv. 23: "Ad eum veniemus, et mansionem apud
eum faciemus."

7. See Sec. 6.

8. Titus ii. 5: "Sobrias, domus curam habentes."

9. This took place in 1571, when the Saint had been appointed
prioress of the monastery of the Incarnation at Avila; the very
house she had left in order to found that of St. Joseph, to keep
the rule in its integrity.

10. See Book of the Foundations, ch. xxviii.

11. Cant. v. 1: "Veniat dilectus meus in hortum suum,
et comedat."

12. A.D. 1572.

13. Maria de Velasco y Aragon, Countess of Osorno (Ribera,
lib. iii. c. 1).

14. See Relation iv. Sec. 2.

15. The monastery of the Incarnation, Avila (De la Fuente).

16. St. John of the Cross, at the instance of the Saint, was sent
to Avila, with another father of the reformed Carmelites, to be
confessor of the nuns of the Incarnation, who then disliked the
observance of the primitive rule.

17. 2 Cor. xi. 27: "In labore et aerumna, in vigiliis multis."

18. St. Matt. xvii. 2: "Et transfiguratus est ante eos."

19. St. John xiii. 16: "Non est servus major domino suo."



Relation IV.


Of the Graces the Saint Received in Salamanca at the End of
Lent, 1571.


1. I found myself the whole of yesterday in great desolation,
and, except at Communion, did not feel that it was the day of the
Resurrection.  Last night, being with the community, I heard
one [1] of them singing how hard it is to be living away from
God.  As I was then suffering, the effect of that singing on me
was such that a numbness began in my hands, and no efforts of
mine could hinder it; but as I go out of myself in raptures of
joy, so then my soul was thrown into a trance through the
excessive pain, and remained entranced; and until this day I had
not felt this.  A few days previously I thought that the vehement
impulses were not so great as they used to be, and now it seems
to be that the reason is what I have described; I know not if it
is so.  Hitherto the pain had not gone so far as to make me
beside myself; and as it is so unendurable, and as I retained the
control of my senses, it made me utter loud cries beyond my power
to restrain.  Now that it has grown, it has reached this point of
piercing me; and I understand more of that piercing which our
Lady suffered; for until to-day, as I have just said, I never
knew what that piercing was.  My body was so bruised, that I
suffer even now when I am writing this; for my hands are as if
the joints were loosed, and in pain. [2]  You, my father, will
tell me when you see me whether this trance be the effect of
suffering, or whether I felt it, or whether I am deceived.

2. I was in this great pain till this morning; and, being in
prayer, I fell into a profound trance; and it seemed to me that
our Lord had taken me up in spirit to His Father, and said to
Him: "Whom Thou hast given to Me, I give to Thee;" [3] and He
seemed to draw me near to Himself.  This is not an imaginary
vision, but one most certain, and so spiritually subtile that it
cannot be explained.  He spoke certain words to me which I do not
remember.  Some of them referred to His grace, which He bestows
on me.  He kept me by Him for some time.

3. As you, my father, went away yesterday so soon, and I consider
the many affairs which detain you, so that it is impossible for
me to have recourse to you for comfort even when necessary,--for
I see that your occupations are most urgent,--I was for some time
in pain and sadness.  As I was then in desolation,--as I said
before,--that helped me; and as nothing on earth, I thought, had
any attractions for me, I had a scruple, and feared I was
beginning to lose that liberty.  This took place last night; and
to-day our Lord answered my doubt, and said to me "that I was not
to be surprised; for as men seek for companions with whom they
may speak of their sensual satisfactions, so the soul--when there
is any one who understands it--seeks those to whom it may
communicate its pleasures and its pains, and is sad and mourns
when it can find none."  He said to me: "Thou art prosperous now,
and thy works please Me."  As He remained with me for some time,
I remembered that I had told you, my father, that these visions
pass quickly away; He said to me "that there was a difference
between these and the imaginary visions, and that there could not
be an invariable law concerning the graces He bestowed on us; for
it was expedient to give them now in one way, now in another."

4. After Communion, I saw our Lord most distinctly close beside
me; and He began to comfort me with great sweetness, and said to
me, among other things: "Thou beholdest Me present, My
daughter,--it is I.  Show me thy hands."  And to me He seemed to
take them and to put them to His side, and said: "Behold My
wounds; thou art not without Me.  Finish the short course of thy
life."  By some things He said to me, I understood that, after
His Ascension, He never came down to the earth except in the most
Holy Sacrament to communicate Himself to any one.  He said to me,
that when He rose again He showed Himself to our Lady, because
she was in great trouble; for sorrow had so pierced her soul that
she did not even recover herself at once in order to have the
fruition of that joy.  By this I saw how different was my
piercing. [4]  But what must that of the Virgin have been?
He remained long with her then because it was necessary to
console her.

5. On Palm Sunday, at Communion, I was in a deep trance,--so much
so, that I was not able even to swallow the Host; and, still
having It in my mouth, when I had come a little to myself, I
verily believed that my mouth was all filled with Blood; and my
face and my whole body seemed to be covered with It, as if our
Lord had been shedding It at that moment.  I thought It was warm,
and the sweetness I then felt was exceedingly great; and our Lord
said to me: "Daughter, My will is that My Blood should profit
thee; and be not thou afraid that My compassion will fail thee.
I shed It in much suffering, and, as thou seest, thou hast the
fruition of It in great joy.  I reward thee well for the pleasure
thou gavest me to-day."  He said this because I have been in the
habit of going to Communion, if possible, on this day for more
than thirty years, and of labouring to prepare my soul to be the
host of our Lord; for I considered the cruelty of the Jews to be
very great, after giving Him so grand a reception, in letting Him
go so far for supper; and I used to picture Him as remaining with
me, and truly in a poor lodging, as I see now.  And thus I used
to have such foolish thoughts--they must have been acceptable to
our Lord, for this was one of the visions which I regard as most
certain; and, accordingly it has been a great blessing to me in
the matter of Communion.

6. Previous to this, I had been, I believe, for three days in
that great pain, which I feel sometimes more than at others,
because I am away from God; and during those days it had been
very great, and seemingly more than I could bear.  Being thus
exceedingly wearied by it, I saw it was late to take my
collation, nor could I do so,--for if I do not take it a little
earlier, it occasions great weakness because of my sickness; and
then, doing violence to myself, I took up some bread to prepare
for collation, and on the instant Christ appeared, and seemed to
be breaking the bread and putting it into my mouth.  He said to
me: "Eat, My daughter, and bear it as well as thou canst.
I condole with thee in thy suffering; but it is good for thee
now." My pain was gone, and I was comforted; for He seemed to be
really with me then, and the whole of the next day; and with this
my desires were then satisfied.  The word "condole" made me
strong; for now I do not think I am suffering at all.


1. Isabel of Jesus, born in Segovia, and whose family name was
Jimena, told Ribera (vide lib. iv. c. v.) that she was the
singer, being then a novice in Salamanca.

2. See Fortress of the Soul, vi. ch. xi.

3. See Relation, iii. Sec. 16.

4. See above, Sec. 1.



Relation V.


Observations on Certain Points of Spirituality.


1. "What is it that distresses thee, little sinner?  Am I not thy
God?  Dost thou not see how ill I am treated here?  If thou
lovest Me, why art thou not sorry for Me?  Daughter, light is
very different from darkness.  I am faithful; no one will be lost
without knowing it.  He must be deceiving himself who relies on
spiritual sweetnesses; the true safety lies in the witness of a
good conscience. [1]  But let no one think that of himself he can
abide in the light, any more than he can hinder the natural night
from coming on; for that depends on My grace.  The best means he
can have for retaining the light is the conviction in his soul
that he can do nothing of himself, and that it comes from Me;
for, even if he were in the light, the instant I withdraw, night
will come.  True humility is this: the soul's knowing what itself
can do, and what I can do.  Do not neglect to write down the
counsels I give thee, that thou mayest not forget them.
Thou seekest to have the counsels of men in writing; why, then,
thinkest thou that thou art wasting time in writing down those I
give thee?  The time will come when thou shalt require them all."

On Union.

2. "Do not suppose, My daughter, that to be near to Me is union;
for they who sin against Me are near Me, though they do not wish
it.  Nor is union the joys and comforts of union, [2] though they
be of the very highest kind, and though they come from Me.
These very often are means of winning souls, even if they are not
in a state of grace."  When I heard this, I was in a high degree
lifted up in spirit.  Our Lord showed me what the spirit was, and
what the state of the soul was then, and the meaning of those
words of the Magnificat, "Exultavit spiritus meus."  He showed me
that the spirit was the higher part of the will.

3. To return to union; I understood it to be a spirit, pure and
raised up above all the things of earth, with nothing remaining
in it that would swerve from the will of God, being a spirit and
a will resigned to His will, and in detachment from all things,
occupied in God in such a way as to leave no trace of any love of
self, or of any created thing whatever. [3]  Thereupon, I
considered that, if this be union, it comes to this, that, as my
soul is always abiding in this resolution, we can say of it that
it is always in this prayer of union: and yet it is true that the
union lasts but a very short time.  It was suggested to me that,
as to living in justice, meriting and making progress, it will be
so; but it cannot be said that the soul is in union as it is when
in contemplation; and I thought I understood, yet not by words
heard, that the dust of our wretchedness, faults, and
imperfections, wherein we bury ourselves, is so great, that it is
not possible to live in such pureness as the spirit is in when in
union with God, raised up and out of our wretched misery.  And I
think, if it be union to have our will and spirit in union with
the will and Spirit of God, that it is not possible for any one
not in a state of grace to attain thereto; and I have been told
so.  Accordingly, I believe it is very difficult to know when the
soul is in union; to have that knowledge is a special grace of
God, because nobody can tell whether he is in a state of grace
or not. [4]

4. You will show me in writing, my father, what you think of
this, and how I am in the wrong, and send me this paper back.

5. I had read in a book that it was an imperfection to possess
pictures well painted,--and I would not, therefore, retain in my
cell one that I had; and also, before I had read this, I thought
that it was poverty to possess none, except those made of
paper,--and, as I read this afterwards, I would not have any of
any other material.  I learnt from our Lord, when I was not
thinking at all about this, what I am going to say: "that this
mortification was not right.  Which is better, poverty or
charity?  But as love was the better, whatever kindled love in
me, that I must not give up, nor take away from my nuns; for the
book spoke of much adorning and curious devices--not of
pictures. [5]  What Satan was doing among the Lutherans was the
taking away from them all those means by which their love might
be the more quickened; and thus they were going to perdition.
Those who are loyal to Me, My daughter, must now, more than ever,
do the very reverse of what they do."  I understood that I was
under great obligations to serve our Lady and St. Joseph,
because, when I was utterly lost, God, through their prayers,
came and saved me.

6. One day, after the feast of St. Matthew, [6] I was as is usual
with me, after seeing in a vision the most Holy Trinity, and how
It is present in a soul in a state of grace. [7]  I understood
the mystery most clearly, in such a way that, after a certain
fashion and comparisons, I saw It in an imaginary vision.
And though at other times I have seen the most Holy Trinity in an
intellectual vision, for some days after the truth of it did not
rest with me,--as it does now,--I mean, so that I could dwell
upon it.  I see now that it is just as learned men told me; and I
did not understand it as I do now, though I believed them without
the least hesitation; for I never had any temptations against
the faith.

7. It seems to us ignorant women that the Persons of the most
Holy Trinity are all Three, as we see Them painted, in one
Person, after the manner of those pictures, which represent a
body with three faces; and thus it causes such astonishment in us
that we look on it as impossible, and so there is nobody who
dares to think of it; for the understanding is perplexed, is
afraid it may come to doubt the truth, and that robs us of a
great blessing.

8. What I have seen is this: Three distinct Persons each one by
Himself visible, and by Himself speaking. [8]  And afterwards I
have been thinking that the Son alone took human flesh, whereby
this truth is known.  The Persons love, communicate, and know
Themselves.  Then, if each one is by Himself, how can we say that
the Three are one Essence, and so believe?  That is a most deep
truth, and I would die for it a thousand times.  In the Three
Persons there is but one will and one power and one might;
neither can One be without Another: so that of all created things
there is but one sole Creator.  Could the Son create an ant
without the Father?  No; because the power is all one.  The same
is to be said of the Holy Ghost.  Thus, there is one God
Almighty, and the Three Persons are one Majesty.  Is it possible
to love the Father without loving the Son and the Holy Ghost?
No; for he who shall please One of the Three pleases the Three
Persons; and he who shall offend One offends All.  Can the Father
be without the Son and without the Holy Ghost?  No; for They are
one substance, and where One is there are the Three; for they
cannot be divided.  How, then, is it that we see the Three
Persons distinct? and how is it that the Son, not the Father, nor
the Holy Ghost, took human flesh?  This is what I have never
understood; theologians know it.  I know well that the Three were
there when that marvellous work was done, and I do not busy
myself with much thinking thereon.  All my thinking thereon comes
at once to this: that I see God is almighty, that He has done
what He would, and so can do what He will.  The less I understand
it, the more I believe it, and the greater the devotion it
excites in me.  May He be blessed for ever!  Amen.

9. If our Lord had not been so gracious with me as He has been, I
do not think I should have had the courage to do what has been
done, nor strength to undergo the labours endured, with the
contradictions and the opinions of men.  And accordingly, since
the beginning of the foundations, I have lost the fears I
formerly had, thinking that I was under delusions,--and I had a
conviction that it was the work of God: having this, I ventured
upon difficult things, though always with advice and under
obedience.  I see in this that when our Lord willed to make a
beginning of the Order, and of His mercy made use of me, His
Majesty had to supply all that I was deficient in, which was
everything, in order that the work might be effected, and that
His greatness might be the more clearly revealed in one
so wicked.

10. Antiochus was unendurable to himself, and to those who were
about him, because of the stench of his many sins. [9]

11. Confession is for faults and sins, and not for virtues, nor
for anything of the kind relating to prayer.  These things are to
be treated of out of confession with one who understands the
matter,--and let the prioress see to this; and the nun must
explain the straits she is in, in order that the proper helps may
be found for her; for Cassian says that he who does not know the
fact, as well as he who has never seen or learnt, that men can
swim, will think, when he sees people throw themselves into the
river, that they will all be drowned. [10]

12. Our Lord would have Joseph tell the vision to his brethren,
and have it known, though it was to cost Joseph so much.

13. How the soul has a sense of fear when God is about to bestow
any great grace upon it; that sense is the worship of the spirit,
as that of the four [11] elders spoken of in Scripture.

14. How, when the faculties are suspended, it is to be understood
that certain matters are suggested to the soul, to be by it
recommended to God; that an angel suggests them, of whom it is
said in the Scriptures that he was burning incense and offering
up the prayers of the saints. [12]

15. How there are no sins where there is no knowledge; and thus
our Lord did not permit the king to sin with the wife of
Abraham, for he thought that she was his sister, not his wife.


1. 2 Cor. i. 12: "Gloria nostra haec est, testimonium
conscientiae nostrae."

2. See St. John of the Cross, Mount Carmel, bk. ii. ch. v.

3. See Foundations, ch. v. Sec. 10.

4. Eccl. ix. 1: "Nescit <DW25> utrum amore an odio dignus sit."

5. See St. John of the Cross, Mount Carmel, bk. iii. ch. xxxiv.

6. The Secs. 6, 7, and 8 are the thirteenth letter of the second
volume, ed. Doblado.

7. See Relation iii. Sec. 13.

8. Anton. a Sancto Joseph, in his notes on this passage, is
anxious to save the Thomist doctrine that one of the Divine
Persons cannot be seen without the other, and so he says that the
Saint speaks of the Three Persons as she saw Them--not as They
are in Themselves.

9. 2 Maccab. ix. 10, 12: "Eum nemo poterat propter intolerantiam
foetoris portare, . . . . nec ipse jam foetorem suum
ferre posset."

10. Cassian, Collat. vii. cap. iv. p. 311: "Nec enim si quis
ignarus natandi, sciens pondus corporis sui ferre aquarum
liquorem non posse, experimento suae voluerit imperitiae definire,
neminem penitus posse liquidis elementis solida carne
circumdatum sustineri."

11. Anton. a Sancto Joseph says that the Saint meant to write
four-and-twenty, in allusion to Apoc. iv. 4.

12. Apoc. viii. 4.



Relation VI.


The Vow of Obedience to Father Gratian Which the Saint Made
in 1575.


1. In the year 1575, in the month of April, when I was founding
the monastery of Veas, Fra Jerome of the Mother of God Gratian
happened to come thither. [1]  I began to go to confession to him
from time to time, though not looking upon him as filling the
place of the other confessors I had, so as to be wholly directed
by him.  One day, when I was taking food, but without any
interior recollection whatever, my soul began to be recollected
in such a way that I thought I must fall into a trance; and I had
a vision, that passed away with the usual swiftness, like a
meteor.  I seemed to see close beside me Jesus Christ our Lord,
in the form wherein His Majesty is wont to reveal Himself, with
F. Gratian on His right.  Our Lord took his right hand and mine,
and, joining them together, said to me that He would have me
accept him in His place for my whole life, and that we were both
to have one mind in all things, for so it was fitting.  I was
profoundly convinced that this was the work of God, though I
remembered with regret two of my confessors whom I frequented in
turn for a long time, and to whom I owed much; that one for whom
I have a great affection especially caused a terrible resistance.
Nevertheless, not being able to persuade myself that the vision
was a delusion, because it had a great power and influence over
me, and also because it was said to me on two other occasions
that I was not to be afraid, that He wished this,--the words were
different,--I made up my mind at last to act upon them,
understanding it to be our Lord's will, and to follow that
counsel so long as I should live.  I had never before so acted
with any one, though I had consulted many persons of great
learning and holiness, and who watched over my soul with great
care,--but neither had I received any such direction as that I
should make no change; for as to my confessors, of some I
understood that they would be profitable to me, and so also
of these.

2. When I had resolved on this, I found myself in peace and
comfort so great that I was amazed, and assured of our Lord's
will; for I do not think that Satan could fill the soul with
peace and comfort such as this: and so, whenever I think of it, I
praise our Lord, and remember the words, "posuit fines tuos
pacem," [2] and I wish I could wear myself out in the praises
of God.

3. It must have been about a month after this my resolve was
made, on the second day after Pentecost, when I was going to
found the monastery in Seville, that we heard Mass in a hermitage
in Ecija, and rested there during the hottest part of the day.
Those who were with me remained in the hermitage while I was by
myself in the sacristy belonging to it.  I began to think of one
great grace which I received of the Holy Ghost, on one of the
vigils of His feast, [3] and a great desire arose within me of
doing Him some most special service, and I found nothing that was
not already done,--at least, resolved upon,--for all I do must be
faulty; and I remembered that, though I had already made a vow of
obedience, it might be made in greater perfection, and I had an
impression it would be pleasing unto Him if I promised that which
I was already resolved upon, to live under obedience to the
Father-Master, Fr. Jerome.  On the other hand, I seemed to be
doing nothing, because I was already bent on doing it; on the
other hand, it would be a very serious thing, considering that
our interior state is not made known to the superiors who receive
our vows, and that they change, and that, if one is not doing his
work well, another comes in his place; and I believed I should
have none of my liberty all my life long, either outwardly or
inwardly, and this constrained me greatly to abstain from making
the vow.  This repugnance of the will made me ashamed, and I saw
that, now I had something I could do for God, I was not doing it;
it was a sad thing for my resolution to serve Him.  The fact is,
that the objection so pressed me, that I do not think I ever did
anything in my life that was so hard--not even my
profession--unless it be that of my leaving my father's house to
become a nun. [4]  The reason of this was that I had forgotten my
affection for him, and his gifts for directing me; yea, rather, I
was looking on it then as a strange thing, which has surprised
me; feeling nothing but a great fear whether the vow would be for
the service of God or not: and my natural self--which is fond of
liberty--must have been doing its work, though for years now I
have no pleasure in it.  But it seemed to me a far other matter
to give up that liberty by a vow, as in truth it is.  After a
protracted struggle, our Lord gave me great confidence; and I saw
it was the better course, the more I felt about it: if I made
this promise in honour of the Holy Ghost, He would be bound to
give him light for the direction of my soul; and I remembered at
the same time that our Lord had given him to me as my guide.
Thereupon I fell upon my knees, and, to render this tribute of
service to the Holy Ghost, made a promise to do whatever he
should bid me do while I lived, provided nothing were required of
me contrary to the law of God and the commands of superiors whom
I am more bound to obey.  I adverted to this, that the obligation
did not extend to things of little importance,--as if I were to
be importunate with him about anything, and he bade me cease, and
I neglected his advice and repeated my request,--nor to things
relating to my convenience.  In a word, his commands were not to
be about trifles, done without reflection; and I was not
knowingly to conceal from him my faults and sins, or my interior
state; and this, too, is more than we allow to superiors.  In a
word, I promised to regard him as in the place of God, outwardly
and inwardly.  I know not if it be so, but I seemed to have done
a great thing in honour of the Holy Ghost--at least, it was all I
could do, and very little it was in comparison with what I
owe Him.

4. I give God thanks, who has created one capable of this work: I
have the greatest confidence that His Majesty will bestow on him
great graces; and I myself am so happy and joyous, that I seem to
be in every way free from myself; and though I thought that my
obedience would be a burden, I have attained to the
greatest freedom.  May our Lord be praised for ever!


1. See Foundations, ch. xxii.

2. Psalm cxlvii. 14: "He hath made thy borders peace."

3. Perhaps the Saint refers to what she has written in her Life,
ch. xxxviii. Secs. 11, 12.

4. Life, ch. iv. Sec. 1.



Relation 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.


1. This nun took the habit forty years ago, and from the first
began to reflect on the mysteries of the Passion of Christ our
Lord, and on her own sins, for some time every day, without
thinking at all of anything supernatural, but only of created
things, or of such subjects as suggested to her how soon the end
of all things must come, discerning in creatures the greatness of
God and His love for us.

2. This made her much more willing to serve Him: she was never
under the influence of fear, and made no account of it, but had
always a great desire to see God honoured, and His glory
increased.  To that end were all her prayers directed, without
making any for herself; for she thought that it mattered little
if she had to suffer in purgatory in exchange for the increase of
His glory even in the slightest degree.

3. In this she spent about two-and-twenty years in great
aridities, and never did it enter into her thoughts to desire
anything else; for she regarded herself as one who, she thought,
did not deserve even to think about God, except that His Majesty
was very merciful to her in allowing her to remain in His
presence, saying her prayers, reading also in good books.

4. It must be about eighteen years since she began to arrange
about the first monastery of Barefooted Carmelites which she
founded.  It was in Avila, three or two years before,--I believe
it is three,--she began to think that she occasionally heard
interior locutions, and had visions and revelations interiorly.
She saw with the eyes of the soul, for she never saw anything
with her bodily eyes, nor heard anything with her bodily ears;
twice, she thinks, she heard a voice, but she understood not what
was said.  It was a sort of making things present when she saw
these things interiorly; they passed away like a meteor most
frequently.  The vision, however, remained so impressed on her
mind, and produced such effects, that it was as if she saw those
things with her bodily eyes, and more.

5. She was then by nature so very timid, that she would not dare
to be alone even by day, at times.  And as she could not escape
from these visitations, though she tried with all her might, she
went about in very great distress, afraid that it was a delusion
of Satan, and began to consult spiritual men of the Society of
Jesus about it, among whom were Father Araoz, who was Commissary
of the Society, and who happened to go to that place, and Father
Francis, who was Duke of Gandia,--him she consulted twice; [1]
also a Provincial, now in Rome, called Gil Gonzalez, and him also
who is now Provincial of Castille,--this latter, however, not so
often,--Father Baltasar Alvarez who is now Rector in Salamanca;
and he heard her confession for six years at this time; also the
present Rector of Cuenca, Salazar by name; the Rector of Segovia,
called Santander; the Rector of Burgos, whose name is
Ripalda,--and he thought very ill of her when he heard of these
things, till after he had conversed with her; the Doctor Paul
Hernandez in Toledo, who was a Consultor of the Inquisition, him
who was Rector in Salamanca when she talked to him; the Doctor
Gutierrez, and other fathers, some of the Society, whom she knew
to be spiritual men, these she sought out, if any were in those
places where she went to found monasteries.

6. With the Father Fra Peter of Alcantara, who was a holy man of
the Barefooted Friars of St. Francis, she had many
communications, and he it was who insisted so much upon it that
her spirit should be regarded as good.  They were more than six
years trying her spirit minutely, as it is already described at
very great length, [2] as will be shown hereafter: and she
herself in tears and deep affliction; for the more they tried
her, the more she fell into raptures, and into trances very
often,--not, however, deprived of her senses.

7. Many prayers were made, and many Masses were said, that our
Lord would lead her by another way, [3] for her fear was very
great when she was not in prayer; though in everything relating
to the state of her soul she was very much better, and a great
difference was visible, there was no vainglory, nor had she any
temptation thereto, nor to pride; on the contrary, she was very
much ashamed and confounded when she saw that people knew of her
state, and except with her confessors or any one who would give
her light, she never spoke of these things, and it was more
painful to speak of them than if they had been grave sins; for it
seemed to her that people must laugh at her, [4] and that these
things were womanish imaginations, which she had always heard of
with disgust.

8. About thirteen years ago, more or less, after the house of
St. Joseph was founded, into which she had gone from the other
monastery, came the present Bishop of Salamanca, Inquisitor, I
think, of Toledo, previously of Seville, Soto by name. [5]  She
contrived to have a conference with him for her greater security,
and told him everything.  He replied, that there was nothing in
all this that concerned his office, because everything that she
saw and heard confirmed her the more in the Catholic faith, in
which she always was, and is, firm, with most earnest desires for
the honour of God and the good of souls, willing to suffer death
many times for one of them.

9. He told her, when he saw how distressed she was, to give an
account of it all, and of her whole life, without omitting
anything, to the Master Avila, who was a man of great learning in
the way of prayer, and to rest content with the answer he should
give.  She did so, and described her sins and her life.  He wrote
to her and comforted her, giving her great security.  The account
I gave was such that all those learned men who saw it--they were
my confessors--said that it was very profitable for instruction
in spiritual things; and they commanded her to make copies of it,
and write another little book [6] for her daughters,--she was
prioress,--wherein she might give them some instructions.

10. Notwithstanding all this, she was not without fears at times,
for she thought that spiritual men also might be deceived like
herself.  She told her confessor that he might discuss these
things with certain learned men, though they were not much given
to prayer, for she had no other desire but that of knowing
whether what she experienced was in conformity with the sacred
writings or not.  Now and then she took comfort in thinking
that--though she herself, because of her sins, deserved to fall
into delusions--our Lord would not suffer so many good men,
anxious to give her light, to be led into error.

11. Having this in view, she began to communicate with fathers of
the Order of the glorious St. Dominic, to which, before these
things took place, she had been to confession--she does not say
to them, but to the Order. [7]  These are they with whom she
afterwards had relations.  The Father Fra Vicente Barron, at that
time Consultor of the Holy Office, heard her confessions for
eighteen months in Toledo, and he had done so very many years
before these things began.  He was a very learned man.
He reassured her greatly, as did also the fathers of the Society
spoken of before.  All used to say, If she does not sin against
God, and acknowledges her own misery, what has she to be afraid
of?  She confessed to the Father Fra Pedro Ibanez, who was reader
in Avila; to the Father-Master Fra Dominic Banes, who is now in
Valladolid as rector of the college of St. Gregory, I confessed
for six years, and whenever I had occasion to do so communicated
with him by letter; also to the Master Chaves; to the
Father-Master Fra Bartholomew of Medina, professor in Salamanca,
of whom she knew that he thought ill of her; for she, having
heard this, thought that he, better than any other, could tell
her if she was deceived, because he had so little confidence in
her.  This was more than two years ago.  She contrived to go to
confession to him, and gave him a full account of everything
while she remained there; and he saw what she had written, [8]
for the purpose of attaining to a better understanding of the
matter.  He reassured her so much, and more than all the rest,
and remained her very good friend.

12. She went to confession also to Fra Philip de Meneses, when
she founded the monastery of Valladolid, for he was rector of the
college of St. Gregory.  He, having before that heard of her
state, had gone to Avila, that he might speak to her,--it was an
act of great charity,--being desirous of ascertaining whether she
was deluded, so that he might enlighten her, and, if she was not,
defend her when he heard her spoken against; and he was
much satisfied.

13. She also conferred particularly with Salinas, Dominican
Provincial, a man of great spirituality; with another licentiate
named Lunar, who was prior of St. Thomas of Avila; and, in
Segovia, with a reader, Fra Diego de Yanguees.

14. Of these Dominicans some never failed to give themselves
greatly to prayer, and perhaps all did.  Some others also she
consulted; for in so many years, and because of the fear she was
in, she had opportunities of doing so, especially as she went
about founding monasteries in so many places.  Her spirit was
tried enough, for everybody wished to be able to enlighten her,
and thereby reassured her and themselves.  She always, at all
times, wished to submit herself to whatever they enjoined her,
and she was therefore distressed when, as to these spiritual
things, she could not obey them.  Both her own prayer, and that
of the nuns she has established, are always carefully directed
towards the propagation of the faith; and it was for that
purpose, and for the good of her Order, that she began her
first monastery.

15. She used to say that, if any of these things tended to lead
her against the Catholic faith and the law of God, she would not
need to seek for learned men nor tests, because she would see at
once that they came from Satan.  She never undertook anything
merely because it came to her in prayer; on the contrary, when
her confessors bade her do the reverse, she did so without being
in the least troubled thereat, and she always told them
everything.  For all that they told her that these things came
from God, she never so thoroughly believed them that she could
swear to it herself, though it did seem to her that they were
spiritually safe, because of the effects thereof, and of the
great graces which she at times received; but she always desired
virtues more than anything else; and this it is that she has
charged her nuns to desire, saying to them that the most humble
and mortified will be the most spiritual.

16. All that is told and written she communicated to the
Father-Master Fra Dominic Banes, who is now in Valladolid, and
who is the person with whom she has had, and has still, the most
frequent communications.  He sent her writings to the Holy Office
in Madrid, so it is said.  In all this she submits herself to the
Catholic faith and the Roman Church.  Nobody has found fault with
them, because these things are not in the power of any man, and
our Lord does not require what is impossible.

17. The reason why so much is known about her is that, as she was
in fear about herself, and described her state to so many, these
talked to one another on the subject and also the accident that
happened to what she had written. [9]  This has been to her a
very grievous torment and cross, and has cost her many tears.
She says that this distress is not the effect of humility, but of
the causes already mentioned.  Our Lord seems to have given
permission [10] for this torture for if one spoke more harshly of
her than others, by little and little he spoke more kindly
of her.

18. She took the greatest pains not to submit the state of her
soul to any one who she thought would believe that these things
came from God, for she was instantly afraid that the devil would
deceive them both.  If she saw any one timid about these things,
to him she laid bare her secrets with the greater joy; though
also it gave her pain when, for the purpose of trying her, these
things were treated with contempt, for she thought some were
really from God, and she would not have people, even if they had
good cause, condemn them so absolutely; neither would she have
them believe that all were from God; and because she knew
perfectly well that delusion was possible, therefore it was that
she never thought herself altogether safe in a matter wherein
there might be danger.

19. She used to strive with all her might never in any way to
offend God, and was always obedient; and by these means she
thought she might obtain her deliverance, by the help of God,
even if Satan were the cause.

20. Ever since she became subject to these supernatural
visitations, her spirit is always inclined to seek after that
which is most perfect, and she had almost always a great desire
to suffer; and in the persecutions she underwent, and they were
many, she was comforted, and had a particular affection for her
persecutors.  She had a great desire to be poor and lonely, and
to depart out of this land of exile in order to see God.
Through these effects, and others like them, she began to find
peace, thinking that a spirit which could leave her with these
virtues could not be an evil one, and they who had the charge of
her soul said so; but it was a peace that came from diminished
weariness, not from the cessation of fear.

21. The spirit she is of never urged her to make any of these
things known, but to be always obedient. [11]  As it has been
said already, [12] she never saw anything with her bodily eyes,
but in a way so subtile and so intellectual that at first she
sometimes thought that all was the effect of imagination; at
other times she could not think so.  These things were not
continual, but occurred for the most part when she was in some
trouble: as on one occasion, when for some days she had to bear
unendurable interior pains, and a restlessness of soul arising
out of the fear that she was deluded by Satan, as it is described
at length in the account she has given of it, [13] and where her
sins, for they have been so public, are mentioned with the rest:
for the fear she was in made her forget her own good name.

22. Being thus in distress such as cannot be described, at the
mere hearing interiorly these words, [14] "It is I, be not
afraid," her soul became so calm, courageous, and confident, that
she could not understand whence so great a blessing had come; for
her confessor had not been able--and many learned men, with many
words, had not been able--to give her that peace and rest which
this one word had given her.  And thus, at other times, some
vision gave her strength, for without that she could not have
borne such great trials and contradictions, together with
infirmities without number, and which she still has to bear,
though they are not so many,--for she is never free from some
suffering or other, more or less intense.  Her ordinary state is
constant pain, with many other infirmities, though since she
became a nun they are more troublesome, if she is doing anything
in the service of our Lord.  And the mercies He shows her pass
quickly out of memory, though she often dwells on those
mercies,--but she is not able to dwell so long upon these as upon
her sins; these are always a torment to her, most commonly as
filth smelling foully.

23. That her sins are so many, and her service of God so scanty,
must be the reason why she is not tempted to vainglory.
There never was anything in any of these spiritual visitations
that was not wholly pure and clean, nor does she think it can be
otherwise if the spirit be good and the visitations supernatural,
for she utterly neglects the body and never thinks of it, being
wholly intent upon God.

24. She is also living in great fear about sinning against God,
and doing His will in all things; this is her continual prayer.
And she is, she thinks, so determined never to swerve from this,
that there is nothing her confessors might enjoin her, which she
considers to be for the greater honour of our Lord, that she
would not undertake and perform, by the help of our Lord.
And confident that His Majesty helps those who have resolved to
advance His service and glory, she thinks no more of herself and
of her own progress, in comparison with that, than if she did not
exist, so far as she knows herself, and her confessors think
so too.

25. All that is written in this paper is the simple truth, and
they, and all others who have had anything to do with her for
these twenty years, can justify it.  Most frequently her spirit
urged her to praise God, and she wished that all the world gave
itself up to that, even though it should cost her exceedingly.
Hence the desire she has for the good of souls; and from
considering how vile are the things of this world, and how
precious are interior things, with which nothing can be compared,
she has attained to a contempt of the world.

26. As for the vision about which you, my father, wish to know
something, it is of this kind: she sees nothing either outwardly
or inwardly, for the vision is not imaginary: but, without seeing
anything, she understands what it is, and where it is, more
clearly than if she saw it, only nothing in particular presents
itself to her.  She is like a person who feels that another is
close beside her; but because she is in the dark she sees him
not, yet is certain that he is there present.  Still, this
comparison is not exact; for he who is in the dark, in some way
or other, through hearing a noise or having seen that person
before, knows he is there, or knew it before; but here there is
nothing of the kind, for without a word, inward or outward, the
soul clearly perceives who it is, where he is, and occasionally
what he means. [15]  Why, or how, she perceives it, she knoweth
not; but so it is; and while it lasts, she cannot help being
aware of it.  And when it is over,--though she may wish ever so
much to retain the image thereof,--she cannot do it, for it is
then clear to her that it would be, in that case, an act of the
imagination, not the vision itself,--that is not in her power;
and so it is with the supernatural things.  And it is from this
it comes to pass that he in whom God works these graces despises
himself, and becomes more humble than he was ever before, for he
sees that this is a gift of God, and that he can neither add to
it nor take from it.  The love and the desire become greater of
serving our Lord, who is so mighty that He can do that which is
more than our imagination can conceive here, as there are things
which men, however learned they may be, can never know.
Blessed for ever and ever be He who bestows this!  Amen.


1. See Life, ch. xxiv. Sec. 4.

2. See Life, ch. xxv. Sec. 18.

3. See Life, ch. xxv. Sec. 20, and ch. xxvii. Sec. 1.

4. See Life, ch. xxvi. Sec. 5.

5. Don Francisco de Soto y Salazar was a native of Bonilli de la
Sierra, and Vicar-General of the Bishops of Astorga and Avila,
and Canon of Avila; Inquisitor of Cordova, Seville, and Toledo;
Bishop, successively, of Albarracin, Segorve, and Salamanca.
He died at Merida, in 1576, poisoned, it was suspected, by the
sect of the Illuminati, who were alarmed at his faithful zeal and
holy life (Palafox, note to letter 19, vol. i. ed. Doblado).
"She went to the Inquisitor, Don Francisco Soto de Salazar--he
was afterwards Bishop of Salamanca--and said to him: 'My lord, I
am subject to certain extraordinary processes in prayer, such as
ecstasies, raptures, and revelations, and do not wish to be
deluded or deceived by Satan, or to do anything that is not
absolutely safe.  I give myself up to the Inquisition to try me,
and examine my ways of going on, submitting myself to its
orders.'  The Inquisitor replied: 'Senora, the business of the
Inquisition is not to try the spirit, nor to examine ways of
prayer, but to correct heretics.  Do you, then, commit your
experience to writing, in all simplicity and truth, and send it
to the Father-Master Avila, who is a man of great spirituality
and learning, and extremely conversant with matters of prayer;
and when you shall have his answer, you may be sure there is
nothing to be afraid of'" (Jerome Gratian, Lucidario, cap. iii.).

6. This book is the Way of Perfection, written by direction of
F. Banes.

7. The Saint had such great affection for the Order of
St. Dominic, that she used to say of herself, "Yo soy la Dominica
in passione," meaning thereby that she was in her heart a
Dominicaness, and a child of the Order (Palafox, note to letter
16, vol. i. ed. Doblado).

8. When this father had read the Life, he had it copied, with the
assent of F. Gratian, and gave the copy thus made to the Duchess
of Alba (De la Fuente).

9. See Foundations, ch. xvii. Sec. 12, note.

10. Life, ch. xxiii. Sec. 15.

11. Life, ch. xxvi. Sec. 5.

12. Sec. 4.

13. Life, ch. xxv. Sec. 19.

14. Life, ch. xxv. Sec. 22.

15. See Life, ch. xxvii. Sec. 5.



Relation VIII.


Addressed to F. Rodrigo Alvarez.


1. These interior things of the spirit are so difficult to
describe, and, still more, in such a way as to be
understood,--the more so as they pass quickly away,--that, if
obedience did not help me, it would be a chance if I succeeded,
especially in such difficult things.  I implore you, my father,
to take for granted that it is not in my mind to think this to be
correct, for it may well be that I do not understand the matter;
but what I can assure you of is this, that I will speak of
nothing I have not had experience of at times, and,
indeed, often.

2. I think it will please you, my father, if I begin by
discussing that which is at the root of supernatural things; for
that which relates to devotion, tenderness, tears, and
meditations, which is in our power here to acquire by the help of
our Lord, is understood.

3. The first prayer of which I was conscious,--in my opinion,
supernatural,--so I call that which no skill or effort of ours,
however much we labour, can attain to, though we should prepare
ourselves for it, and that preparation must be of great
service,--is a certain interior recollection [1] of which the
soul is sensible; the soul seems to have other senses within
itself then, which bear some likeness to the exterior senses it
possesses; and thus the soul, withdrawing into itself, seeks to
go away from the tumult of its outward senses, and accordingly it
drags them away with itself; for it closes the eyes on purpose
that it may neither see, nor hear, nor understand anything but
that whereon the soul is then intent, which is to be able to
converse with God alone.  In this prayer there is no suspension
of the faculties and powers of the soul; it retains the full use
of them; but the use of them is retained that they may be
occupied with God.  This will be easily understood by him whom
our Lord shall have raised to this state; but by him whom He has
not, not; at least, such a one will have need of many words
and illustrations.

4. Out of this recollection grow a certain quietude and inward
peace most full of comfort; for the soul is in such a state that
it does not seem to it that it wants anything; for even speaking
wearies it,--I mean by this, vocal prayer and meditation; it
would do nothing but love.  This lasts some time, and even a
long time.

5. Out of this prayer comes usually what is called a sleep of the
faculties; but they are not so absorbed nor so suspended as that
it can be called a trance; nor is it altogether union.

6. Sometimes, and even often, the soul is aware that the will
alone is in union; and this it sees very clearly,--that is, it
seems so to it.  The will is wholly intent upon God, and the soul
sees that it has no power to rest on, or do, anything else; and
at the same time the two other faculties are at liberty to attend
to other matters of the service of God,--in a word, Martha and
Mary are together. [2]  I asked Father Francis [3] if this was a
delusion, for it made me stupid; and his reply was, that it
often happened.

7. When all the faculties of the soul are in union, it is a very
different state of things; for they can then do nothing whatever,
because the understanding is as it were surprised.  The will
loves more than the understanding knows; but the understanding
does not know that the will loves, nor what it is doing, so as to
be able in any way to speak of it.  As to the memory, the soul, I
think, has none then, nor any power of thinking, nor are the
senses awake, but rather as lost, so that the soul may be the
more occupied with the object of its fruition: so it seems to me.
They are lost but for a brief interval; it passes quickly away.
By the wealth of humility, and other virtues and desires, left in
the soul after this may be learnt how great the blessing is that
flows from this grace, but it cannot be told what it is; for,
though the soul applies itself to the understanding of it, it can
neither understand nor explain it.  This, if it be real, is, in
my opinion, the greatest grace wrought by our Lord on this
spiritual road,--at least, it is one of the greatest.

8. Raptures and trance, in my opinion, are all one, only I am in
the habit of using the word trance instead of rapture, because
the latter word frightens people; and, indeed, the union of which
I am speaking may also be called a trance.  The difference
between union and trance is this, that the latter lasts longer
and is more visible outwardly, because the breathing gradually
diminishes, so that it becomes impossible to speak or to open the
eyes; and though this very thing occurs when the soul is in
union, there is more violence in a trance for the natural warmth
vanishes, I know not how, when the rapture is deep; and in all
these kinds of prayer there is more or less of this.  When it is
deep, as I was saying, the hands become cold, and sometimes stiff
and straight as pieces of wood; as to the body, if the rapture
comes on when it is standing or kneeling, it remains so; [4] and
the soul is so full of the joy of that which our Lord is setting
before it, that it seems to forget to animate the body, and
abandons it.  If the rapture lasts, the nerves are made to
feel it.

9. It seems to me that our Lord will have the soul know more of
that, the fruition of which it has, in a trance than in union,
and accordingly in a rapture the soul receives most commonly
certain revelations of His Majesty, and the effects thereof on
the soul are great,--a forgetfulness of self, through the longing
it has that God our Lord, who is so high, may be known and
praised.  In my opinion, if the rapture be from God, the soul
cannot fail to obtain a deep conviction of its own helplessness,
and of its wretchedness and ingratitude, in that it has not
served Him who, of His own goodness only, bestows upon it graces
so great; for the feeling and the sweetness are so high above all
things that may be compared therewith that, if the recollection
of them did not pass away, all the satisfactions of earth would
be always loathsome to it; and hence comes the contempt for all
the things of the world.

10. The difference between trance and transport [5] is this,--in
a trance the soul gradually dies to outward things, losing the
senses and living unto God.  A transport comes on by one sole act
of His Majesty, wrought in the innermost part of the soul with
such swiftness that it is as if the higher part thereof were
carried away, and the soul leaving the body.  Accordingly it
requires courage at first to throw itself into the arms of our
Lord, that He may take it whithersoever He will; for, until His
Majesty establishes it in peace there whither He is pleased to
take it--by take it I mean the admitting of it to the knowledge
of deep things--it certainly requires in the beginning to be
firmly resolved to die for Him, because the poor soul does not
know what this means--that is, at first.  The virtues, as it
seems to me, remain stronger after this, for there is a growth in
detachment, and the power of God, who is so mighty, is the more
known, so that the soul loves and fears Him.  For so it is, He
carries away the soul, no longer in our power, as the true Lord
thereof, which is filled with a deep sorrow for having offended
Him, and astonishment that it ever dared to offend a Majesty so
great, with an exceedingly earnest desire that none may
henceforth offend Him, and that all may praise Him.  This, I
think, must be the source of those very fervent desires for the
salvation of souls, and for some share therein, and for the due
praising of God.

11. The flight of the spirit--I know not how to call it--is a
rising upwards from the very depths of the soul.  I remember only
this comparison, and I made use of it before, as you know, my
father, in that writing where these and other ways of prayer are
explained at length, [6] and such is my memory that I forget
things at once.  It seems to me that soul and spirit are one and
the same thing; but only as a fire, if it is great and ready for
burning; so, like fire burning rapidly, the soul, in that
preparation of itself which is the work of God, sends up a
flame,--the flame ascends on high, but the fire thereof is the
same as that below, nor does the flame cease to be fire because
it ascends: so here, in the soul, something so subtile and so
swift, seems to issue from it, that ascends to the higher part,
and goes thither whither our Lord wills.  I cannot go further
with the explanation; it seems a flight, and I know of nothing
else wherewith to compare it: I know that it cannot be mistaken,
for it is most evident when it occurs, and that it cannot
be hindered.

12. This little bird of the spirit seems to have escaped out of
this wretchedness of the flesh, out of the prison of this body,
and now, disentangled therefrom, is able to be the more intent on
that which our Lord is giving it.  The flight of the spirit is
something so fine, of such inestimable worth, as the soul
perceives it, that all delusion therein seems impossible, or
anything of the kind, when it occurs.  It was afterwards that
fear arose, because she who received this grace was so wicked;
for she saw what good reasons she had to be afraid of everything,
though in her innermost soul there remained an assurance and a
confidence wherein she was able to live, but not enough to make
her cease from the anxiety she was in not to be deceived.

13. By impetus I mean that desire which at times rushes into the
soul, without being preceded by prayer, and this is most
frequently the case; it is a sudden remembering that the soul is
away from God, or of a word it has heard to that effect.
This remembering is occasionally so strong and vehement that the
soul in a moment becomes as if the reason were gone, just like a
person who suddenly hears most painful tidings of which he knew
not before, or is surprised; such a one seems deprived of the
power of collecting his thoughts for his own comfort, and is as
one lost.  So is it in this state, except that the suffering
arises from this, that there abides in the soul a conviction that
it would be well worth dying in it.  It seems that whatever the
soul then perceives does but increase its suffering, and that our
Lord will have its whole being find no comfort in anything, nor
remember that it is His will that it should live: the soul seems
to itself to be in great and indescribable loneliness, and
abandoned of all, because the world, and all that is in it, gives
it pain; and because it finds no companionship in any created
thing, the soul seeks its Creator alone, and this it sees to be
impossible unless it dies; and as it must not kill itself, it is
dying to die, and there is really a risk of death, and it sees
itself hanging between heaven and earth, not knowing what to do
with itself.  And from time to time God gives it a certain
knowledge of Himself, that it may see what it loses, in a way so
strange that no explanation of it is possible; and there is no
pain in the world--at least I have felt none--that is equal or
like unto this, for if it lasts but half an hour the whole body
is out of joint, and the bones so racked, that I am not able to
write with my hands: the pains I endure are most grievous. [7]

14. But nothing of all this is felt till the impetus shall have
passed away.  He to whom it comes has enough to do in enduring
that which is going on within him, nor do I believe that he would
feel if he were grievously tortured: he is in possession of all
his senses, can speak, and even observe; walk about he
cannot,--the great blow of that love throws him down to the
ground.  If we were to die to have this, it would be of no use,
for it cannot be except when God sends it.  It leaves great
effects and blessings in the soul.  Some learned men say that it
is this, others that it is that, but no one condemns it.  The
Father-Master d'Avila wrote to me and said it was good, and so
say all.  The soul clearly understands that it is a great grace
from our Lord; were it to occur more frequently, life would not
last long.

15. The ordinary impetus is, that this desire of serving God
comes on with a certain tenderness, accompanied with tears, out
of a longing to depart from this land of exile; but as the soul
retains its freedom, wherein it reflects that its living on is
according to our Lord's will, it takes comfort in that thought,
and offers its life to Him, beseeching Him that it may last only
for His glory.  This done, it bears all.

16. Another prayer very common is a certain kind of wounding; [8]
for it really seems to the soul as if an arrow were thrust
through the heart, or through itself.  Thus it causes great
suffering, which makes the soul complain; but the suffering is so
sweet, that it wishes it never would end.  The suffering is not
one of sense, neither is the wound physical; it is in the
interior of the soul, without any appearance of bodily pain; but
as I cannot explain it except by comparing it with other pains, I
make use of these clumsy expressions,--for such they are when
applied to this suffering.  I cannot, however, explain it in any
other way.  It is, therefore, neither to be written of nor spoken
of, because it is impossible for any one to understand it who has
not had experience of it,--I mean, how far the pain can go; for
the pains of the spirit are very different from those of earth.
I gather, therefore, from this, that the souls in hell and
purgatory suffer more than we can imagine, by considering these
pains of the body.

17. At other times, this wound of love seems to issue from the
inmost depth of the soul; great are the effects of it; and when
our Lord does not inflict it, there is no help for it, whatever
we may do to obtain it; nor can it be avoided when it is His
pleasure to inflict it.  The effects of it are those longings
after God, so quick and so fine that they cannot be described and
when the soul sees itself hindered and kept back from entering,
as it desires, on the fruition of God, it conceives a great
loathing for the body, on which it looks as a thick wall which
hinders it from that fruition which it then seems to have entered
upon within itself, and unhindered by the body.  It then
comprehends the great evil that has befallen us through the sin
of Adam in robbing us of this liberty. [9]

18. This prayer I had before the raptures and the great
impetuosities I have been speaking of.  I forgot to say that
these great impetuosities scarcely ever leave me, except through
a trance or great sweetness in our Lord, whereby He comforts the
soul, and gives it courage to live on for His sake.

19. All this that I speak of cannot be the effect of the
imagination; and I have some reasons for saying this, but it
would be wearisome to enter on them: whether it be good or not is
known to our Lord.  The effects thereof, and how it profits the
soul, pass all comprehension, as it seems to me.

20. I see clearly that the Persons are distinct, as I saw it
yesterday when you, my father, were talking to the Father
Provincial; only I saw nothing, and heard nothing, as, my father,
I have already told you.  But there is a strange certainty about
it, though the eyes of the soul see nothing; and when the
presence is withdrawn, that withdrawal is felt.  How it is, I
know not; but I do know very well that it is not an imagination,
because I cannot reproduce the vision when it is over, even if I
were to perish in the effort; but I have tried to do so.  So is
it with all that I have spoken of here, so far as I can see; for,
as I have been in this state for so many years, I have been able
to observe, so that I can say so with this confidence.  The truth
is,--and you, my father, should attend to this,--that, as to the
Person who always speaks, I can certainly say which of Them He
seems to me to be; of the others I cannot say so much.  One of
Them I know well has never spoken.  I never knew why, nor do I
busy myself in asking more of God than He is pleased to give,
because in that case, I believe, I should be deluded by Satan, at
once; nor will I ask now, because of the fear I am in.

21. I think the First spoke to me at times; but as I do not
remember that very well now, nor what it was that He spoke, I
will not venture to say so.  It is all written,--you, my father,
know where,--and more at large than it is here; I know not
whether in the same words or not. [10]  Though the Persons are
distinct in a strange way, the soul knows One only God.  I do not
remember that our Lord ever seemed to speak to me but in His
Human Nature; and--I say it again--I can assure you that this is
no imagination.

22. What, my father, you say about the water, I know not; nor
have I heard where the earthly paradise is.  I have already said
that I cannot but listen to what our Lord tells me; I hear it
because I cannot help myself; but, as for asking His Majesty to
reveal anything to me, that is what I have never done.  In that
case, I should immediately think I was imagining things, and that
I must be in a delusion of Satan.  God be praised, I have never
been curious about things, and I do not care to know more than I
do. [11]  What I have learnt, without seeking to learn, as I have
just said, has been a great trouble to me, though it has been the
means, I believe, which our Lord made use of to save me, seeing
that I was so wicked; good people do not need so much to make
them serve His Majesty.

23. I remember another way of prayer which I had before the one I
mentioned first,--namely, a presence of God, which is not a
vision at all.  It seems that any one, if he recommends himself
to His Majesty, even if he only prays vocally, finds Him; every
one, at all times, can do this, if we except seasons of aridity.
May He grant I may not by my own fault lose mercies so great, and
may He have compassion on me!


1. Inner Fortress, iv. ch. iii.

2. See Life, ch. xvii. Sec. 5.

3. Compare Life, ch. xxiv. Sec. 4.

4. See Life, ch. xx. Sec. 23.

5. "Arrobamiento y arrebatamiento."

6. See Life, chs. xx. and xxi.

7. Life, ch. xx. Sec. 16; Inner Fortress, vi. c. xi.

8. See Life, ch. xxix. Sec. 17.

9. See Life, ch. xvii. Sec. 9.

10. See Relation, iii. Sec. 6.

11. See St. John of the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel,
bk. ii. ch. xxii.



Relation IX.


Of Certain Spiritual Graces She Received in Toledo and Avila in
the Years 1576 and 1577.


1. I had begun to go to confession to a certain person [1] in the
city wherein I am at present staying, when he, though he had much
good will towards me, and always has had since he took upon
himself the charge of my soul, ceased to come here; and one
night, when I was in prayer, and thinking how he failed me, I
understood that God kept him from coming because it was expedient
for me to treat of the affairs of my soul with a certain person
on the spot. [2]  I was distressed because I had to form new
relations--it might be he would not understand me, and would
disturb me--and because I had a great affection for him who did
me this charity, though I was always spiritually content when I
saw or heard the latter preach; also, I thought it would not do
because of his many occupations.  Our Lord said to me: "I will
cause him to hear and understand thee.  Make thyself known unto
him; it will be some relief to thee in thy troubles."  The latter
part was addressed to me, I think, because I was then so worn out
by the absence of God.  His Majesty also said that He saw very
well the trouble I was in; but it could not be otherwise while I
lived in this land of exile: all was for my good; and he
comforted me greatly.  So it has been: he comforts me, and seeks
opportunities to do so; he has understood me, and given me great
relief; he is a most learned and holy man.

2. One day,--it was the Feast of the Presentation,--I was praying
earnestly to God for a certain person, and thinking that after
all the possession of property and of freedom was unfitting for
that high sanctity which I wished him to attain to; I reflected
on his weak health, and on the spiritual health which he
communicated to souls; and I heard these words: "He serves Me
greatly; but the great thing is to follow Me stripped of
everything, as I was on the cross.  Tell him to trust in Me."
These last words were said because I thought he could not, with
his weak health, attain to such perfection.

3. Once, when I was thinking of the pain it was to me to eat meat
and do no penance, I understood that there was at times more of
self-love in that feeling than of a desire for penance.

4. Once, when I was in great distress because of my offences
against God, He said to me: "All thy sins in My sight are as if
they were not.  For the future, be strong; for thy troubles are
not over."

5. One day, in prayer, I felt my soul in God in such a way that
it seemed to me as if the world did not exist, I was so absorbed
in Him.  He made me then understand that verse of the Magnificat,
"Et exultavit spiritus meus," so that I can never forget it.

6. Once, when I was thinking how people sought to destroy this
monastery of the Barefooted Carmelites, and that they purposed,
perhaps, to bring about the destruction of them all by degrees, I
heard: "They do purpose it; nevertheless, they will never see it
done, but very much the reverse."

7. Once, in deep recollection, I was praying to God for
Eliseus; [3] I heard this: "He is My true son; I will never fail
him," or to that effect; but I am not sure of the latter words.

8. Having one day conversed with a person who had given up much
for God, and calling to mind that I had given up nothing for Him,
and had never served Him in anything, as I was bound to do, and
then considering the many graces He had wrought in my soul, I
began to be exceedingly weary; and our Lord said to me: "Thou
knowest of the betrothal between thee and Myself, and therefore
all I have is thine; and so I give thee all the labours and
sorrows I endured, and thou canst therefore ask of My Father as
if they were thine."  Though I have heard that we are partakers
therein, [4] now it was in a way so different that it seemed as
if I had become possessed of a great principality; for the
affection with which He wrought this grace cannot be described.
The Father seemed to ratify the gift; and from that time forth I
look at our Lord's Passion in a very different light, as on
something that belongs to me; and that gives me
great comfort. [5]

9. On the Feast of the Magdalene, when thinking of the great love
I am bound to have for our Lord, according to the words He spoke
to, me in reference to this Saint, and having great desires to
imitate her, our Lord was very gracious unto me, and said, I was
to be henceforward strong; for I had to serve Him more than I had
hitherto done. [6]  He filled me with a desire not to die so
soon, that I might have the time to occupy myself therein; and I
remained with a great resolution to suffer.

10. On one occasion, I understood how our Lord was in all things,
and how He was in the soul; and the illustration of a sponge
filled with water was suggested to me.

11. When my brothers came,--and I owe so much to one of
them, [7]--I remained in conversation with him concerning his
soul and his affairs, which wearied and distressed me; and as I
was offering this up to our Lord, and thinking that I did it all
because I was under obligations to him, I remembered that by our
Constitutions [8] we are commanded to separate ourselves from our
kindred, and I was set thinking whether I was under any
obligation, our Lord said to me: "No, My daughter; the
regulations of the Order must be only in conformity with My law."
The truth is, that the end of the Constitutions is, that we are
not to be attached to our kindred; and to converse with them, as
it seems to me, is rather wearisome, and it is painful to have
anything to do with them.

12. After Communion, on St. Augustine's Day, I understood, and,
as it were, saw,--I cannot tell how, unless it was by an
intellectual vision which passed rapidly away,--how the Three
Persons of the most Holy Trinity, whom I have always imprinted in
my soul, are One.  This was revealed in a representation so
strange, and in a light so clear, that the impression made upon
me was very different from that which I have by faith.  From that
time forth I have never been able to think of One of the Three
Divine Persons without thinking of the Three; so that to-day,
when I was considering how, the Three being One, the Son alone
took our flesh upon Him, our Lord showed me how, though They are
One, They are also distinct.  These are marvels which make the
soul desire anew to be rid of the hindrances which the body
interposes between it and the fruition of them.  Though this
passes away in a moment, there remains a gain to the soul
incomparably greater than any it might have made by meditation
during many years; and all without knowing how it happens.

13. I have a special joy on the Feast of our Lady's Nativity.
When this day was come, I thought it would be well to renew our
vows; and thereupon I saw our Lady, by an illuminative vision;
and it seemed as if we made them before her and that they were
pleasing unto her.  I had this vision constantly for some days,
and our Lady was by me on my left hand.  One day, after
Communion, it seemed to me that my soul was really one with the
most Holy Body of our Lord, then present before me; and that
wrought a great work and blessing in me.

14. I was once thinking whether I was to be sent to reform a
certain monastery; [9] and, distressed at it, I heard: "What art
thou afraid of?  What canst thou lose?--only thy life, which thou
hast so often offered to Me.  I will help thee."  This was in
prayer, which was of such a nature as to ease my
soul exceedingly.

15. Once, having a desire to render some service to our Lord, I
considered that I could serve Him but poorly, and said to myself:
"Why, O Lord, dost Thou desire my works?"  And He answered: "To
see thy good will, My child."

16. Once our Lord gave me light in a matter that I was very glad
to understand, and I immediately forgot it, so that I was never
able to call it again to mind; and so, when I was trying to
remember it, I heard: "Thou knowest now that I speak to thee from
time to time.  Do not omit to write down what I say; for, though
it may not profit thee, it may be that it will profit others."
As I was thinking whether I, for my sins, had to be of use to
others, and be lost myself, He said to me: "Have no fear."

17. I was once recollected in that companionship which I ever
have in my soul, and it seemed to me that God was present therein
in such a way that I remembered how St. Peter said: "Thou art
Christ, the Son of the living God;" [10] for the living God was
in my soul.  This is not like other visions, for it overpowers
faith; so that it is impossible to doubt of the indwelling of the
Trinity in our souls, by presence, power, and essence.  To know
this truth is of the very highest gain; and as I stood amazed to
see His Majesty in a thing so vile as my soul, I heard: "It is
not vile, My child, for it is made in My image." [11]  I also
learnt something of the reason why God delights in souls more
than in any other creatures: it is so subtile that, though the
understanding quickly comprehended it, I cannot tell it.

18. When I was in such distress, because of the troubles of our
father, [12] that I had no rest, and after Communion one day was
making most earnestly my petition to our Lord that, as He had
given him to me, I might not lose him, He said to me: "Have
no fear."

19. Once, with that presence of the Three Persons which I have in
my soul, I was in light so clear that no doubt of the presence of
the true and living God was possible; and I then came to the
knowledge of things which afterwards I could not speak of. One of
these things was, how the person of the Son only took human
flesh.  I cannot, as I have just said, explain it at all; for
some of these things were wrought in the secret recesses of the
soul, and the understanding seems to grasp them only as one who
is in his sleep, or half awake, thinks he comprehends what is
told him.  I was thinking how hard it was to remain alive, seeing
that it was living on that robbed us of that marvellous
companionship; and so I said to myself: "O Lord, show me some way
whereby I may bear this life!"  He said unto me: "Think, my
child, when life is over, thou canst not serve Me as thou art
serving Me now, and eat for Me, and sleep for Me.  Whatsoever
thou doest, let it be done for Me as if thou wert no longer
living, but I; for that is what St. Paul said." [13]

20. Once, after Communion, I saw how His Father within our soul
accepts the most Holy Body of Christ.  I have understood and seen
how the Divine Persons are there, and how pleasing is this
offering of His Son, because He has His joy and delight in Him,
so to speak, here on earth; for it is not the Humanity only that
is with us in our, souls, but the Divinity as well, and thus is
it so pleasing and acceptable unto Him, and gives us graces so
great.  I understood also that He accepts the sacrifice, though
the priest be in sin; but then the grace of it is not
communicated to his soul as it is to their souls who are in a
state of grace: not that the inflowings of grace, which proceed
from this Communion wherein the Father accepts the sacrifice,
cease to flow in their strength, but because of his fault who has
to receive them; as it is not the fault of the sun that it does
not illumine a lump of pitch, when its rays strike it as it
illumines a globe of crystal.  If I could now describe it, I
should be better understood; it is a great matter to know this,
because there are grand secrets within us when we are at
Communion.  It is sad that these bodies of ours do not allow us
to have the fruition thereof.

21. During the Octave of All Saints, [14] I had two or three days
of exceeding anguish, the result of my remembrance of my great
sins, and I was also in great dread of persecutions, which had no
foundation except that great accusations were brought against me,
and all my resolutions to suffer anything for God failed me:
though I sought to encourage myself, and made corresponding acts,
and saw that all would be a great pain for me, it was to little
purpose, for the fear never left me.  It was a sharp warfare.
I came across a letter, in which my good father [15] had written
that St. Paul said that our God does not suffer us to be tempted
beyond our power to bear. [16]  This was a very great relief to
me, but was not enough; yea, rather, on the next day I was in
great distress at his absence, for I had no one to go to in this
trouble, for I seemed to be living in great loneliness.  And it
added to my grief to see that I now find no one but he who can
comfort me, and he must be more than ever away, which is a very
sore trouble.

22. The next night after this, reading in a book, I found another
saying of St. Paul, with which I began to be comforted; and being
slightly recollected, I remained thinking how I had our Lord
before present within me, so that I truly saw Him to be the
living God.  While thinking on this He spoke to me, and I saw Him
in my inmost being, as it were beside my heart, in an
intellectual vision; His words were: "I am here, only I will have
thee see how little thou canst do without Me."  I was on the
instant reassured, and my fears left me; and while at Matins that
very night our Lord Himself, in an intellectual vision so clear
as to seem almost imaginary, laid Himself in my arms, as He is
painted in the pictures of our Lady of Anguish. [17]  The vision
made me very much afraid, for it was so clear, and so close to
me, that it made me think whether it was an illusion or not.
He said to me, "Be not afraid of it, for the union of My Father
with thy soul is incomparably closer than this."  The vision has
remained with me till now.  What I have said of our Lord
continued more than a month: now it has left me.

23. I was one night in great distress, because it was then a long
time since I had heard anything of my father; [18] and, moreover,
he was not well the last time he wrote to me.  However, my
distress was not so great as that I felt before, for I had hopes,
and distress like that I never was in since; but still my anxiety
hindered my prayer.  He appeared to me on the instant; it could
not have been the effect of imagination, for I saw a light within
me, and himself coming by the way joyous, with a face all fair.
It must have been the light I saw that made his face fair, for
all the saints in heaven seem so; and I considered whether it be
the light and splendour proceeding from our Lord that render them
thus fair.  I heard this: "Tell him to begin at once without
fear, for the victory is his."

24. One day, after he came, when I was at night giving thanks to
our Lord for the many mercies He had given unto me, He said to
me: "O my child, what canst thou ask that I have not done?"

25. Our Lord said to me one day, in the monastery of Veas, that I
was to present my petition to Him, for I was His bride.
He promised to grant whatever I might ask of Him, and, as a
pledge, gave me a very beautiful ring, with a stone set in it
like an amethyst, but of a brilliancy very unlike, which He put
on my finger.  I write this to my own confusion, considering the
goodness of God, and my wretched life; for I have deserved hell.
Ah! my daughters, pray to God for me, and be devout to
St. Joseph, who can do much.  This folly I write . . . folly
I write. . . .

26. On the eve of St. Laurence, at Communion, I was so distracted
and dissipated in mind, that I had no power over it, and began to
envy those who dwell in desert places; thinking that, as they see
and hear nothing, they are exempt from distractions.  I heard
this: "Thou art greatly deceived, My daughter; on the contrary,
the temptations of Satan are more violent there.  Have patience
while life lasts, it cannot be helped."  While dwelling on this,
I became suddenly recollected, and I saw a great light within me,
so that I thought I was in another world, and my spirit found
itself interiorly in a forest and in a garden of delights, which
made me remember those words of the Canticle: [19] "Veniat
dilectus meus in hortum suum."  I saw my Eliseus [20] there, not
at all swarthy, but in strange beauty: around his head was a
garland of precious stones; a multitude of damsels went before
him with palms in their hands, all singing hymns of praise unto
God.  I did nothing but open my eyes, to see whether I could not
distract myself from the vision, but that failed to divert my
attention; and I thought there was music also,--the singing of
birds and of angels,--which filled my soul with joy, though I did
not hear any.  My soul was in joy, and did not consider that
there was nobody else there.  I heard these words: "He has
merited to be among you, and all this rejoicing which thou
beholdest will take place on the day he shall set aside for the
honour of My Mother; [21] and do thou make haste, if thou wouldst
reach the place where he is."  This vision lasted more than an
hour and a half.  In this respect--differently from my other
visions--I could not turn away from it, and it filled me with
delight.  The effect of the vision was a great affection for
Eliseus, and a more frequent thinking of him in that beauty.
I have had a fear of its being a temptation, for work of the
imagination it could not possibly be. [22]

27. The day after the presentation of the Brief, [23] as I was in
the most eager expectation, which utterly disturbed me, so that I
could not even pray,--for I had been told that our father was in
great straits because they would not let him come away, and that
there was a great tumult,--I heard these words: "O woman of
little faith, be quiet; everything is going on perfectly well."
It was the Feast of the Presentation of our Lady, in the year
1575.  I resolved within myself, if our Lady obtained from her
Son that we might see ourselves and our father free of these
friars, to ask him to order the solemn celebration of that feast
every year in our monasteries of the Barefooted Carmelites.
When I made this resolution, I did not remember what I had heard
in a former vision, that he would establish this solemnity.
Now, in reading again this little paper, I think this must be the
feast referred to. [24]


1. F. Yepes, then prior of St. Jerome's, Toledo (De la Fuente).

2. Don Alonzo Velasquez, canon of Toledo, to whom Relation xi. is
addressed.  The Saint speaks of this in a letter to Fra Gratian
in 1576.  The letter is numbered 82 in the edition of Don
Vicente, and 23 in the fourth volume of the edition of Doblado.

3. Fra Jerome Gratian (De la Fuente).

4. 1 St. Peter iv. 13: "Communicantes Christi
passionibus, gaudete."

5. This took place in 1575, when she was going to found her
monastery in Seville (Ribera, l. iv. c. v. n. 110).

6. See Sec. 4, above.

7. This was in 1575, when the Saint was founding the monastery of
Seville; and the brother was Don Lorenzo, returned from the
Indies, and who now placed himself under the direction of his
sister (De la Fuente).

8. In the Chapter "De la Clausura," Sec. 16: "De tratar con deudos
se desvien lo mas que pudieren."

9. The monastery of Paterna, of the unreformed Carmelites.
This was in 1576 (De la Fuente).

10. St. Matt. xvi. 16: "Tu es Christus, Filius Dei vivi."

11. Gen. i. 26: "Ad imaginem et similitudinem Nostram."

12. Fra Jerome Gratian.  This took place during the persecution
that fell on the reformed Carmelites at the end of the year 1575,
and during the following year.  See the last paragraph of this
Relation (De la Fuente; see, also, Relation vi. Sec. 1).

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

14. A.D. 1577 (De la Fuente).

15. Jerome Gratian (id.).

16. 1 Cor. x. 13: "Fidelis autem Deus est qui non patietur vos
tentari supra id quod potestis."

17. Don Vicente says, that here is a proof--if any were
wanting--that the Saint wrote this after her sojourn in Seville;
because in Avila and in Castile and Aragon the expression is,
"our Lady of Dolors;" while in Andalucia it is our Lady of
Anguish--"Nuestra Senora de las Angustias."

18. Fra Jerome Gratian.

19. Cant. v. 1.

20. This was the name given to Fra Jerome Gratian, when the Saint
was driven, by the persecution raised against her, to distinguish
her friends by other designations than those by which they were
usually known: this fragment cannot have been written before the
year 1578 (De la Fuente).

21. See the last section.

22. Don Vicente published Secs. 25 and 26 as fragments separately
(vol. i. pp. 524-526); but, as they seem to form a part of the
series of events spoken of in this Relation, they have been
placed here.

23. Fra Jerome Gratian exhibited the brief which made him
Visitor-Apostolic to the unreformed Carmelites, who were very
angry thereat, and rude in their vexation.

24. See Sec. 26.



Relation X.


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


In St. Joseph of Avila, on Pentecost eve, in the hermitage of
Nazareth, thinking of one of the greatest graces our Lord had
given me on that day some twenty years before, [1] more or less,
my spirit was vehemently stirred and grew hot within me, [2] and
I fell into a trance.  In that profound recollection I heard our
Lord say what I am now going to tell: I was to say to the
Barefooted Fathers, as from Him, that they must strive to observe
four things; and that so long as they observed them, the Order
would increase more and more; and if they neglected them, they
should know that they were falling away from their first estate.

The first is, the superiors of the monasteries are to be of
one mind.


The second, even if they have many monasteries, to have but few
friars in each.

The third, to converse little with people in the world, and that
only for the good of their souls.

The fourth, to teach more by works than by words.

This happened in the year 1579; and because it is a great truth,
I have put my name to it.

Teresa de Jesus.


1. See Life, ch. xxxviii. Sec. 11.

2. Psalm xxxviii. 3: "Concaluit cor meum intra me."



Relation 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. [1]


Jesus.

1. Oh, that I could clearly explain to your Lordship the peace
and quiet my soul has found! for it has so great a certainty of
the fruition of God, that it seems to be as if already in
possession, [2] though the joy is withheld.  I am as one to whom
another has granted by deed a large revenue, into the enjoyment
and use of which he is to come at a certain time, but until then
has nothing but the right already given him to the revenue.
In gratitude for this, my soul would abstain from the joy of it,
because it has not deserved it; it wishes only to serve Him, even
if in great suffering, and at times it thinks it would be very
little if, till the end of the world, it had to serve Him who has
given it this right; for, in truth, it is in some measure no
longer subject, as before, to the miseries of this world; though
it suffers more, it seems as if only the habit were struck, for
my soul is, as it were, in a fortress with authority, and
accordingly does not lose its peace.  Still, this confidence does
not remove from it its great fear of offending God, nor make it
less careful to put away every hindrance to His service, yea,
rather, it is more careful than before.  But it is so forgetful
of its own interests as to seem, in some measure, to have lost
itself, so forgetful of self is it in this.  Everything is
directed to the honour of God, to the doing of His will more and
more, and the advancement of His glory.

2. Though this be so, yet, in all that relates to health and the
care of the body, it seems to me that I am more careful than I
was, that I mortify myself less in my food, and do fewer
penances: it is not so with the desires I had; they seem to be
greater.  All this is done that I may be the better able to serve
God in other things, for I offer to Him very often, as a great
sacrifice, the care I take of my body, and that wearies me much,
and I try it sometimes in acts of mortification; but, after all,
this cannot be done without losing health, and I must not neglect
what my superiors command.  Herein, and in the wish for health,
much self-love also must insinuate itself; but, as it seems to
me, I feel that it would give me more pleasure, and it gave me
more pleasure when I was strong, to do penance, for, at least, I
seemed to be doing something, and was giving a good example, and
I was free from the vexation which arises out of the fact that I
am not serving God at all.  Your Lordship will see what it will
be best to do in the matter.

3. The imaginary visions have ceased, but the intellectual vision
of the Three Persons and of the Sacred Humanity seems ever
present, and that, I believe, is a vision of a much higher kind;
and I understand now, so I think, that the visions I had came
from God, because they prepared my soul for its present state;
they were given only because I was so wretched and so weak: God
led me by the way which He saw was necessary; but they are, in my
opinion, of great worth when they come from God.

4. The interior locutions have not left me, for, whenever it is
necessary, our Lord gives me certain directions; and now, in
Palencia, were it not for these, there would have been committed
a great blunder, though not a sin. [3]

5. The acts and desires do not seem to be so vigorous as they
used to be, for, though they are great, I have one much greater
to see the will of God accomplished and His glory increased; for
as the soul is well aware that His Majesty knoweth what is
expedient herein, and is so far removed from all self-seeking,
these acts and desires quickly end, and, as it seems to me, have
no strength.  Hence the fear I have at times though without
disquietude and pain as formerly, that my soul is dulled, and
that I am doing nothing, because I can do no penance; acts of
desire for suffering, for martyrdom, and of the vision of God,
have no strength in them, and, most frequently, I cannot make
them.  I seem to live only for eating and drinking, and avoiding
pain in everything; and yet this gives me none, except that
sometimes, as I said before, I am afraid that this is a delusion;
but I cannot believe it, because so far as I can see, I am not
under the sway of any strong attachment to any created thing, not
even to all the bliss of heaven, but only to the love of God; and
this does not grow less,--on the contrary, I believe it is
growing, together with the longing that all men may serve Him.

6. But, for all this, one thing amazes me: I have not the
feelings I had formerly, so strong and so interior, which
tormented me when I saw souls go to their ruin, and when I used
to think I had offended God.  I cannot have these feelings now,
though I believe my desire that God be not sinned against is not
less than it was.

7. Your Lordship must consider that in all this, in my present as
well as in my previous state, I can do no more, and that it is
not in my power to serve Him better: I might do so, if I were not
so wicked.  I may say, also, that if I were now to make great
efforts to wish to die, I could not, nor can I make the acts I
used to make, nor feel the pains I felt for having offended God,
nor the great fears I had for so many years when I thought I was
under a delusion: and accordingly, I have no need of learned men,
or of speaking to anybody at all, only to satisfy myself that I
am going the right road now, and whether I can do anything.
I have consulted certain persons on this point, with whom I had
taken counsel on the others, with Fra Dominic [i.e., Banes], the
Master Medina, and certain members of the Society.  I will be
satisfied with the answer which you, my Lord, may give me,
because of the great trust I have in your Lordship.  Consider it
carefully, for the love of God!  Neither do I cease to learn that
certain souls of people connected with me when they died are in
heaven: of others I learn nothing.  Oh, in what solitude I find
myself when I consider that the comparison of which I spoke to
you, concerning the return from Egypt, does not apply to the
child at my mother's breast. [4]

8. I am at peace within; and my likings and dislikings have so
little power to take from me the Presence of the Three Persons,
of which, while it continues, it is so impossible to doubt, that
I seem clearly to know by experience what is recorded by
St. John, that God will make His dwelling in the soul: [5] and
not only by grace, but because He will have the soul feel that
presence, and it brings with it so many blessings, particularly
this, that there is no need to run after reflections to learn
that God is there.  This is almost always the state I am in,
except when my great infirmities oppress me.  Sometimes, God will
have me suffer without any inward comfort; but my will never
swerves--not even in its first movements--from the will of God.
This resignation to His will is so efficacious, that I desire
neither life nor death, except for some moments, when I long to
see God; and then the Presence of the Three Persons becomes so
distinct as to relieve the pain of the absence, and I wish to
live--if such be His good pleasure--to serve Him still longer.
And if I might help, by my prayers, to make but one soul love Him
more, and praise Him, and that only for a short time, I think
that of more importance than to dwell in glory.

The unworthy servant and daughter of your Lordship,
Teresa de Jesus.


1. This Relation is usually printed among the letters of the
Saint, and Don Vicente did not change the practice, assigning as
his reason the Saint's reference in Sec. 4 to certain transactions
in which she was engaged.  The letter is the 333rd (336th in the
second edition), and the 4th of vol. ii., ed. Doblado, and is
probably the latest account of the state of her soul, for she
died on October 4 in the following year.

2. See Inner Fortress, vii. ch. ii.

3. This relates to the taking of the hermitage of our Lady de la
Calle, in Palencia (De la Fuente).  See Foundations, ch. xxix.

4. "La soledad que me hace pensar no se puede dar aquel sentido a
el que mama los pechos de mi madre, la ida de Egito!"
This passage, Don Vicente observes, was omitted in all editions
prior to his; he does not know what it means; and the translator
can give no corresponding English words.  [Transcriber's note:
The Spanish quoted here was printed in the body of the text,
p. 479; English rendition supplied from Corrigenda, p. [viii].]

5. St. John xiv. 23: "Mansionem apud eum faciemus."




Index.


Abecedario, Tercer, iv. 8.

Agony in raptures, xx. 15.

Ahumada, de, Antonio, iv. 1.

Ahumada, de, Dona Beatriz, mother of St. Teresa, death of, i. 7;
seen in heaven by the Saint, xxxviii. 1.

Ahumada, de, Juana, sister of the Saint, xxxiii. 13.

Alcala, monastery founded in, xxxvi. 29, note.

Alcantara.  See St. Peter of Alcantara.

Almsgiving of the Saint, i. 6, Rel. ii. 3.

Alvarez, F. Baltasar, xxiv. 6, xxv. 18; mortifies the Saint,
xxvi. 4; humility of, xxviii. 20; promise of, to protect the
Saint, xxviii. 21; always consoled the Saint, xxix. 5; hesitates
about the new foundation, xxxii. 16; commands the Saint to
abandon it, xxxiii. 4; orders her to proceed, xxxiii. 13.

Alvarez, F. Rodrigo, Rel. viii.

Amendment of life, the work of prayer, viii. 6-12.

Amusements, vii. 1, Rel. i. 14.

Angels and evil spirits, vision of, xxxi. 11.

Angel, the Saint's vision of the, xxix. 16-18.

Answers to the Saint's prayers, xxxix. 1-7.

Antony, St., of Padua, xxii. 10.

Aranda, de, Don Gonzalo, xxxvi. 18.

Aridity, how it comes on in the second state of prayer, xv. 15.

Art, the, of serving God, xii. 2.

Ascent of the Mount, xxiii. 13.

Assumption, the, vision of, xxxix. 37.

Attachments, evil effects of worldly, xi. 5; xxiii. 5.

Augustin, St., Confessions of, ix. 8; effect of reading them on
the Saint, ix. 9; saying of, xiii. 4.

Avila, birthplace of St. Teresa, troubled by the new foundation:
xxxvi. 14.

Avila, Bl., Juan of, Rel. vii. 9.

Banes, Fr. Dom., xxxvi. 15; transmits the Saint's writings to the
Inquisition, Rel. vii. 16.

Barrientos.  See Martin.

Barron, Fra Vicente, confessor of the Saint's father, vii. 26;
hears the confession of the Saint, vii. 27, xix. 19.

Beauty of our Lord, xxviii. 2, xxix. 2, xxxvii. 5;
unimaginable, xxviii. 7.

Beginners, must toil, xi. 13; and persevere, xi. 15-17; not to be
afraid of the cross, xi. 25; must be content, xii. 2; certain
temptations of, vii. 16, xiii. 9; must begin humbly, xv. 19.

Bernard, St., xxii. 10.

Betrothal spiritual, of the Saint, Rel. ix. 8, 25.

Bird, the soul likened to a, xviii. 13, xix. 22.

Bishopric, a, the Saint consulted about the acceptance of,
xl. 21.

Blessed, the, joys of, x. 3.

Blindness healed through the prayer of the Saint, xxxix. 1.

Body, the, shares the joy of the soul in certain states of
prayer, xvii. 14, xviii. 15; state of, in raptures, xx. 2, 4, 23;
our Lord seen by the Saint always in His glorified, xxix. 4.

Book, a living, xxvi. 6.

Books insufficient without a director, xxii. 3.

Borja, de, St. Francis.  See Francis.


Brief, the, sanctioning the observances of St. Joseph's,
xxxiv. 2, xxxvi. 1, xxxix. 20.

Brizeno, Dona Maria, ii. 12; influences the Saint, iii. 1.

Bulls, the Sabbatine, xxxviii. 40.

Cardona, de, Dona Catalina, Rel. iii. 12.

Carmel, the Order of, vision concerning, Rel. iii. 14; advice to,
Rel. x.

Caterpillar of self-respect, xxxi. 24.

Catherine, St., of Siena, xxii. 10.

Censoriousness of the world, xxxi. 19.

Cepeda, de, Alfonso Sanchez, father of the Saint, fond of
spiritual books, i. 1; gives his daughter Maria in marriage,
ii. 4, note, 8; places the Saint at school in a monastery, ii. 8;
would not consent to her becoming a nun, iii. 9; takes her to
Bezadas to be cured, v. 5, 6; brings her to his house in Avila,
v. 15; hinders her from making her confession in an illness,
v. 17; persuaded by the Saint to practise mental prayer, vii. 16;
makes progress therein, vii. 20; holy death of, vii. 22-25; seen
in heaven by the Saint, xxxviii. 1.

Cepeda, de, Don Lorenzo, finds money for the new monastery of
St. Joseph, xxxiii. 13.

Cepeda, de, Maria, sister of the Saint, ii. 4; sudden death of,
xxxiv. 24; seen in heaven by the Saint, xxxiv. 25.

Cerda, de la, Dona Luisa, xxxiv. 1; attracted by the Saint,
xxxiv. 4; visited by St. Peter of Alcantara, xxxv. 6; tries to
amuse the Saint by showing her diamonds, xxxviii. 5; the Saint's
watchfulness over herself in the house of, xxxix. 11.

Cheerfulness, importance of, xii. 1.

Cherubim, xxix. 16.

Choice of a director, xiii. 28, 29.

Church, the, ceremonies of, xxxi. 4; the Saint's reverence for,
xxxiii. 6.

Clare, St., encourages the Saint, xxxiii. 15.

Comforts, worldly, the Saint's fear of, xxxiv. 4.

Communion, effects of the Saint's, xvi. 3-10, xviii. 10-18,
xxx. 16, xxxviii. 24, Rel. iv. 5, Rel. ix. 13; the Saint's
longing for, xxxix. 31; graces of, Rel. ix. 20.

Complaint, loving, of the Saint, xxxvii. 13.

Confession, frequent, of the Saint, v. 17; matter of, Rel. v. 11.

Confessors, the Saint's difficulty in finding, iv. 8, 13; harm
done by ill-instructed, v. 6, 20, vi. 6; one of them misleads the
Saint, viii. 15; unskilful, xx. 28; wrong counsel of, xxvi. 5; of
the Saint harsh with her, xxx. 15; obedience of the Saint to her,
xxiii. 19, xxxiii. 4, 5, Rel, i. 9; the Saint rebuked for her
affection to her, xxxvii. 6; names of the Saint's, Rel. vii. 5,
11, 12, 13.

Consecration, power of the words of, xxxviii. 30.

Consolations, xi. 21; not to be sought for, xxii. 15.

Contemplation, xxii. 1; why granted to imperfect souls,
xxii. 22, 23.

Contempt, Satan shuns, xxxi. 10; the Saint directed to treat her
visions with, xxix. 6.

Contradiction of good people, xxviii. 24, xxx. 6.

Conversation, worldly, vii. 10; danger of, ii. 5, vii. 10;
delight of our Lord in spiritual, xxxiv. 20.

Conversion of a wicked priest, v. 12; of a sinner, xxxix. 5.

Courage of the Saint, viii. 10; necessity of, x. 8; effects of,
xiii. 3; necessary in the way of perfection, xxxi. 19.

Covetousness, xxxiii. 14.

Cowardice, spiritual, xiii. 6.

Creator, the, traces of, in things visible, ix. 6.

Crosses, xi. 8; desired by souls in the prayer of imperfect
union, xvi. 9.

Cross, the, way of, xi. 8, xv. 17, 21; necessity of carrying,
xxvii. 14.

Daza, Gaspar, xxiii. 6; thought the Saint was deluded by an evil
spirit, xxiii. 16; approved of the new foundation, xxxii. 21.

Delusion, a, into which the Saint fell, xxii. 3; the Saint always
prayed to be delivered from, xxix. 6.

Delusions incidental to locutions, xxv. 3, 11.

Desires, good, xiii. 8, xxi. 9, Rel. xi. 5.

Desolation, spiritual, of the Saint, xxx. 10.

Detachment, blessing of, xi. 2, xxxiv. 20; necessity of, for
prayer, xi. 16, xv. 17; of the perfect, xv. 18; an effect of
raptures, xviii. 8, xx. 10; takes away the fear of death,
xxxviii. 7; the Saint's, from kindred, xxxi. 22, Rel. ii. 5,
Rel. ix. 11; from directors, Rel. iv. 3.

Detraction, avoided by the Saint, vi. 4, vii. 3; insensibility
to, Rel. ii. 4.

Detractors, the Saint prays for her, xix. 11.

Devotion, sweetness in, never asked for by the Saint, ix. 10; but
once, ix. 11; those who seek it censured, xi. 21; the Saint's,
increased by difficulties, xxviii. 10.

Die, either to, or suffer, xl. 27.

Direction, unskilful, viii. 15, 16; importance of, xiii. 4;
methods of wrong, xiii. 25; not to be the same for all,
xxxix. 16.

Directors ought to be experienced, xiii. 21; and prudent,
xiii. 24; and learned, xiii. 26; choice of, xiii. 28; charity of,
xiii. 29; should be secret, xxiii. 14; and humble, xxxiv. 15;
should be trusted, xxxix. 35; necessary, xl. 12; the Saint
preferred those who distrusted her, Rel. vii. 18.

Discouragements, xi. 15; must be resisted, xix. 6; certain causes
of, xxxi. 21.

Discretion, xi. 23, xiii. 2; excessive, xiii. 8.

Distraction of the understanding in the prayer of quiet, xv. 10,
xxx. 19; in monasteries not caused by poverty, xxxv. 3.

Distrust of self, viii. 18, ix. 3; necessity of, xix. 20.

"Domine, da mihi aquam," xxx. 24.

Dominicans, the, help St. Teresa, v. 8, Rel. vii. 11-14.

Dominion, true, xl. 21.

Dove, vision of a, xxxviii. 13, 14.

Ecija, vow of the Saint in the hermitage of, Rel. vi. 3.

Ecstasy, xx. 1; how wrought, xx. 2; fear during, xx. 9; first, of
the Saint, xxiv. 7.

Egypt, flesh-pots of, xv. 5.

Elevation of the spirit not to be attempted in union, xviii. 8.

Eliseus.  See Jerome, Fra, of the Mother of God.

Enclosure, observance of, how important, vii. 5.

Endowments not accepted by the Saint for her monasteries,
xxxv. 4, 5; offered for St. Joseph, xxxvi. 19; and forbidden by a
Brief, xxxix. 20.

Envy, a holy, xxxix. 19.

Exorcisms, the Saint threatened with, Boll. 211, xxix. 4.

Experience, more valuable than books, xiv. 10; a safeguard
against delusion, xiv. 11.

Faith, the, Satan was never able to make the Saint doubt,
xix. 13; blessed effects of, xxv. 16.

Falls turn to our good, xix. 8.

Fear, xxv. 27; of God, xxvi. 1.

Founders of religious Orders, xxxii. 17.

Francis, St., xxii. 10.

Francis, St., de Borja visits the Saint, xxiv. 4; consulted by
her, Rel. vii. 5.

Friendship, advantages of spiritual, vii. 33-37, xxx. 6; with
God, xv. 8; the Saint's detachment from, xxiv. 8.

Friendship, worldly, dangers of, ii. 4, v. 9; deceitfulness of,
xxi. 1.

Garden, the prayer in the, ix. 5; the soul likened to a, xi. 10,
xiv. 13.

Gifts of God, the, importance of discerning, x. 4; demand our
gratitude, x. 7; supply strength, x. 8; a grace to understand,
xvii. 7; the Saint erroneously advised to conceal, xxvi. 5; given
according to His will, xxxiv. 14, xxxix. 12; the Saint's joy when
others received, xxxiv. 21.

God, sense of the presence of, x. 1; helps those who love Him,
xi. 19; never fails those who trust Him, xiii. 15; munificence
of, xviii. 5; the Saint has a vision of, xl. 13, 14; pain of
absence from, Rel. iv. 6.

Grace, prayer the door of, viii. 13; comes after trials, xi. 18;
the Saint's distress because she could not know whether she was
in a state of, xxxiv. 12; vision of a soul in, Rel. iii. 13.

Guzman, de, y Barrientos, Don Martin, sudden death of, xxxiv. 24.

Hardships of the religious life, xiii. 30.

Health, anxiety about, v. 3-8; importance of, in the spiritual
life, xi. 23; to be made little of, xiii. 9.

Heaven, Queen of, xix. 9; revealed in raptures, xxxiii. 16,
xxxviii. 8.

Hell, a vision of, xxx. 14, xxxii. 1; effects of, on the Saint,
xxxii. 7-10.

Heretics, self-condemned, vii. 8; evil state of, xxxii. 9;
resemble a broken mirror, xl. 9.

Hilarion, St., the Saint commends herself to, xxvii. 2.

Honour, point of, xxi. 12.

Hugo, Fra, Cardinal of Santa Sabina, xxxvi. 27.

Humanity, the Sacred, xii. 3, xxii. 1; mistake of the Saint
concerning, xxii. 3; source of all grace, xxii. 9; never to be
lost sight of in prayer, xxii. 11; the Saint directed to fix her
thoughts on, xxiii. 18; the Saint renews her love of, xxiv. 2;
vision of, xxviii. 4, xxxviii. 22.

Humility, advantages of, vii. 37, xii. 9; false kinds of, x. 4,
xiii. 4; the foundation of the Christian life, xii. 5; worth more
than all the science in the world, xv. 13; grows most in the
state of perfect union, xix. 2; dangers of false, xix. 15-23;
acquired in raptures, xx. 38; foundation of prayer must be laid
in, xxii. 16; a false, the most crafty device of Satan, xxx. 12;
asking for consolations not consistent with, xxxix. 21-23.

Hypocrisy, the Saint not tempted to, vii. 2, Rel. i. 18.

Ibanez, Fra Pedro, x. 10, note, xvi. 10; note 6; consulted by the
Saint about the new foundation, xxxii. 19; encourages the Saint
to persevere, xxxii. 20; confident of success, xxxiii. 5; departs
from Avila, xxxiii. 7; advises the Saint to accept an endowment
for the new foundation, xxxv. 5; changes his opinion, xxxv. 7;
and helps the Saint, xxxvi. 23; seen by the Saint in a vision,
xxxviii. 15, 16.

Illness of St. Teresa, iv. 6, v. 4; extreme severity of, v. 14.

Image of our Lord not to be mocked, xxix. 7.

Images, devotion of the Saint to, vii. 3; effects of, on her,
ix. 1-3; great blessing of, ix. 7.

Imagination of St. Teresa not active, ix. 6; wearisome to her,
xvii. 9.

Imitation of the Saints, xiii. 5-9.

Imperfections, rooting up of, xiv. 14.

Impetuosities in prayer, xxix. 11-13, Rel. i. 3, Rel. viii. 13.

Impetuosities of divine love, xxix. 10, 11, 13, xxxiii. 9;
physical effects of, xxix. 15.

Incarnation, the monastery of the, the Saint enters, iv. 1; the
nuns of, complain of the Saint, xix. 12; the Saint tempted to
leave, xxxi. 16; the rule not strictly observed in, xxxii. 12;
the Saint's affection for, xxxii. 13, xxxiii. 3; nuns of, object
to the new foundation, xxxiii. 2; election of prioress, xxxv. 8;
the Saint returns to, from Toledo, xxxv. 10, xxxvi. 1; troubled
because of the new foundation, xxxvi. 11.

Indisposition, bodily, evil effects of, on the spiritual life,
xi. 23.

Ingratitude, delusion arising from the dread of, xxiv. 6; the
Saint bewails her, xiv. 16.

Inquisition, the, threats of denouncing the Saint to, xxxiii. 6.

Inspirations, good, not to be resisted, iv. 3.

Intentions, good, no excuse for an evil act, v. 12.

Jerome, Fra, of the Mother of God, Rel. vi. 1-3, Rel. ix. 7, 21,
23, 26.

Jerome, St., xi. 17, xxxviii. 2; the Saint reads the letters of,
iii. 8.

Jesus, the Society of, helps the Saint, v. 8; sought by her,
xxiii. 3, 19; visions concerning, xxxviii. 17, 39.

Job, patience of, v. 16; trial of, xxx. 12.

John, St., of the Cross, Rel. iii. 19.

Joseph, St., great devotion of the Saint to, vi. 9, xxx. 8,
xxxvi. 5; the teacher of prayer, vi. 12; encourages the Saint,
xxxiii. 14; vision of, xxxiii. 16.

Joseph, St., the monastery of, purchase of the site of,
xxxii. 22; not to be subject to the Order, xxxiii. 18; paradise
of God's delight, xxxv. 13; foundation of, xxxvi. 4; destruction
of, threatened by the council of the city, xxxvi. 14; obtains the
good will of the people, xxxvi. 25; goodness of the nuns of,
xxxix. 14.

Joys, of prayer, x. 3; of visions, xxvii. 13; of the saved,
xxvii. 15.

Judas, temptation of, xix. 16.

Judgment, day of, xl. 16.

Kindred, detachment from, xxxi. 22, Rel. ix. 11.

Kings, obligations of, xxi. 2, 4; wherein lies the power of,
xxxvii. 8.

Labourer, story of a, xxxviii. 26.

Laxity in religious houses, vii. 6-10.

Learning, accompanied with humility, a help to prayer, xii. 6;
useful in directors, xiii. 24-26; the Saint wishes for, xiv. 9;
not necessary in prayer, xv. 12.

Lie, a, Satan is, xxv. 26; the Saint's hatred of, xxviii. 6.

Life, the, of the Saint, under what circumstances written, x. 11.

Life, weariness of, xxi. 8; the illuminative, xxii. 1.

Light of visions, xxviii. 7, xxxviii. 3.

Locutions, divine, xix. 14, xxv. 1, 2; delusions incidental to,
xxv. 3, 11; efficacy of, xxv. 5, 12; human, xxv. 8; Satanic,
xxv. 13; tests of the Satanic, xxv. 17; nature of, xxvi. 3; state
of the understanding during, xxvii. 10; effects of the divine,
xxxviii. 19-21.

Locutions heard by the Saint, xviii. 18, xix. 13, xxiv. 7,
xxv. 22, xxvi. 3, 6, xxix. 7, xxx. 17, xxxi. 15, xxxii. 17,
xxxiii. 10, 14, xxxv. 7, 9, xxxvi. 20, xxxviii. 4, 19, 20,
xxxix. 29, 34, xl. 1, 21, 24, Rel. iii. 1, passim, Rel. iv. 4, 5,
6, Rel. ix. 1, passim.

Lord, our, accounted mad, xxvii. 15.

Love, joyous, in seeing a picture of Christ, ix. 7; servants of,
xi. 1; wherein it consists, xi. 20; vehement in perfect souls,
xv. 6; effects of divine, xxii. 21; makes itself known without
words, xxvii. 12; impetuosities of, xxix. 10, 11; fire of,
xxx. 25.

Loyalty, worldly, v. 9.

Ludolf of Saxony, xxxviii. 11.

Lukewarmness, vii. 1.

Lutherans, xxxii. 9, Rel. ii. 14; destroyers of images,
Rel. v. 5.

Madness, spiritual, xvi. 1-8, xxvii. 15.

Magdalene, the, ix. 2, xxi. 9; her example to be followed,
xxii. 19.

Mancio, F., Rel. ii. 18.

Mantles of the religious folded by the Saint, xxxi. 27.

Maria of Jesus, xxxv. 1; founds a house in Alcala de Henares,
xxxvi. 29.

Martin, Don, Guzman y Barrientos, marries a sister of the Saint,
ii. 4, note, iii. 4; sudden death of, xxxiv. 24.

Martyrdom desired by the Saint, i. 4.

Martyrs, the, sufferings of, xvi. 6.

Mary and Martha, xvii. 6, xxii. 13.

Meditation, advantage of, iv. 11; fruits of, xi. 20; example of
a, xiii. 19; the perfect may have to return to, xv. 20.

Memory, the, in the prayer of imperfect union, xvii. 5, 9;
troublesome, but not hurtful, xvii. 11.

Mendoza, de, Don Alvaro, Bishop of Avila, xxxiii. 19; protects
the new monastery of St. Joseph, xxxvi. 18.

Men, great, difficult of access, xxxvii. 7.

Mercies of God, the remembrance of, xv. 23.

Michael, St., the Saint commends herself to, xxvii. 2.

Misdirection, a, corrected by the Saint, xiii. 22.

Mitigation, the Bull of, xxxii. 12; disused in the new monastery,
xxxvi. 27, 28.

Monasteries, courts in politeness, xxxvii. 17.

Munificence of God, xviii. 5, xxii. 26.

Neatness, excessive, ii. 2, Rel. i. 23.

Novices in St. Joseph's, xxxix. 15.

Novitiate of the Saint, v. 1.

Nun, illness of a, in the monastery of the Incarnation, v. 3;
visions concerning a, xxxviii. 37, 38.

Obedience, the Saint writes under, xviii. 10; strict observance
of, in the Society of Jesus, xxxiii. 9; of the Saint to her
confessors, xxiii. 19, Rel. i. 9, 29, Rel. vii. 14.

Objects, natural, moved the Saint to devotion, ix. 6.

Ocampo, de, Mary, xxxii. 13, note.

Office, the divine, the Saint's imperfect knowledge of, xxxi. 26.

Order, vision concerning a certain, xl. 18, 19.

Osorno, Countess of, Rel. iii. 16.

Ovalle, de, Don Juan, xxxv. 14, note; providential illness of,
xxxvi. 2.

Padranos, de, Juan, xxiii. 18; directs the Saint, xxiv. 1;
removed from Avila, xxiv. 5.

Pain of raptures, xx. 11; sweetness of, xx. 19.

Paradise of His delight, xxxv. 13.

"Passer solitarius," xx. 13.

Passion, the, devotion of the Saint to, ix. 5; meditation on,
xiii. 19, 20, xxii. 8.

Patience of a nun, v. 3; of the Saint, v. 16; of God, viii. 8.

Penance, necessity of, xxvii. 14; of the Saint, xxiv. 2,
Rel. i. 5, Rel. ii. 11, Rel. xi. 2.

Perfection, xxi. 10; true safety lies in, xxxv. 15; not always
attained to because of many years spent in prayer, xxxix. 21.

Persecution, of the Saint, xix. 12, xxxvi. 12; blessings of,
xxxiii. 5.

Perseverance in prayer, viii. 5; fruits of, xi. 6; reward of,
certain, xi. 17; the Saint prays for, xiv. 17; and recommends,
xix. 7.

Peter, St., of Alcantara, xxvii. 4; penitential life of,
xxvii. 17-21, xxx. 2; power of, with God, xxvii. 22; understands
and comforts the Saint, xxx. 5, 7, Rel. vii. 6; quiets a scruple
of the Saint, xxx. 20; approves of the new foundation, xxxii. 16;
and of the observance of poverty in it, xxxv. 6; in Avila when
the Saint came back from Toledo, xxxvi. 1; death of, xxxvi. 1,
note; appears to the Saint, xxxvi. 20, 21; said that women make
greater progress than men, xl. 12.

Phoenix, the, xxxix. 33.

Pilgrims, xxxviii. 8.

Pillar, the, meditations on Christ at, xiii. 19, 31.

Politeness, monasteries courts in, xxxvii. 17.

Poverty, effects of defective, xi. 3; of spirit, xxii. 17; the
Saint's love of, xxxv. 3, Rel. i. 10, Rel. ii. 2.

Prayer, mental, viii. 7; blessings of, viii. 12; joys of, x. 3;
the Saint's four states of, xi. 12; fruit of mental, xi. 20;
vocal, xii. 3; doctrine of, difficult, xiii. 18; importance of
persevering in, xv. 5; must have its foundations in humility,
xxii. 16; of the Saint continued in sleep, xxix. 9; effects of
intercessory, xxxi. 9; two kinds of, xxxix. 8-10; the Saint's
method of, Rel. i. 1.

Preachers, xvi. 12.

Presence of God, the, xviii. 20; practice of the, xii. 3; effects
of, in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 8; different from vision,
xxvii. 6.

Priest, conversion of an evil-living, v. 9, xxxi. 7; vision
concerning a, xxxviii. 29.

Progress made in the way of raptures, xxi. 11.

Prophecies made to the Saint, xxxiv. 23; fulfilled,
Rel. ii. 6, 17.

Provincial, the, of the Carmelites offers to accept the new
foundation, xxxii. 16; then declines it, xxxii. 18; sends the
Saint to Toledo, xxxiv. 2; recalls her, xxxv. 8; reprimands the
Saint, xxxvi. 12; allows the Saint to live in the new monastery,
xxxvi. 23; death of, xxxviii. 34-36.

Purgatory, the Saint saw certain souls who were not sent to,
xxxviii. 41; and delivers others from, xxxix. 6.

Queen of heaven, the, devotion to, xix. 9.

Quiet, the prayer of, iv. 9, ix. 6, xiv. 1, passim; disturbed by
the memory and the understanding, xiv. 5; joy of the soul in,
xiv. 7; few souls pass beyond, xv. 3, 7; great fruits of, xv. 6;
how the soul is to order itself in, xv. 9; difference between the
true and false, xv. 15.

Rank, slavery of, xxxiv. 6.

Rapture, xx. 1; irresistible, xx. 3, xxii. 20; effects of, xx. 9,
30; pain of, xx. 11; loneliness of the soul in, xx. 13;
characteristics of, xx. 23; duration of, xx. 25; physical effects
of, xx. 29, Rel. i. 26, iv. 1; made the Saint long for heaven,
xxxviii. 8; good effects of, Rel. i. 8, 15.

Reading, spiritual, i. 1, iv. 12, 13; persevered in by the Saint,
viii. 14; long unprofitable to her, xii. 10; impossible in the
prayer of perfect union, xviii. 14; a delight, Rel. i. 7.

Recollection, prayer of, xiv. 2, Rel. viii. 3.

Recreation, xiii. 1.

Reflections, making, when dangerous in prayer, xv. 11.

Reform, the Carmelite, beginning of, xxxii. 13.

Religious must despise the world, xxvii. 16.

Resignation of the Saint, xxi. 6, Rel. i. 20.

Revelations, the Saint never spoke of her, when she consulted her
confessors, xxxii. 19.

Rosary, the, of the Saint, xxix. 8.

Rule, the Carmelite, mitigation of, xxxii. 12; restored by the
Saint, xxxvi. 27; observance of, xxxvi. 30, 31.

Salasar, de, Angel.  See Provincial.

Salazar, de, Gaspar, Rector of the Society of Jesus in Avila,
xxxiii. 9; understands the state of the Saint, xxxiii. 11; bids
the Saint go to Toledo, xxxiv. 2; vision of the Saint concerning,
xxxviii. 17.

Salcedo, de, Don Francisco, xxiii. 6; gives spiritual advice to
the Saint, xxiii. 11; fears delusions, xxiii. 12; helps the Saint
in her new foundation, xxxii. 21, xxxvi. 21; hospitable,
xxxvi. 1; gives Communion to the Saint when a priest,
Rel. iii. 7.

Samaria, the woman of, xxx. 24.

Satan, subtlety of, iv. 14; an artifice of, vii. 12, 35; suggests
a false humility, xiii. 5; and a carefulness for health, xiii. 9;
afraid of learned directors who are humble, xiii. 26; efforts of,
to deceive, how thwarted, xv. 16; tempted the Saint to give up
prayer, xix. 8; a lie, xxv. 26; unable to counterfeit
intellectual visions, xxvii. 4-8; tries to counterfeit imaginary
visions, xxviii. 15; appears to the Saint, xxxi. 2; dislikes
contempt, xxxi. 10; wiles of, Rel. i. 29.

Scandal, xxvii. 16.

Scorn, signs of, not to be made during visions, xxix. 6.

Self, contempt of, necessary in the spiritual life, xxxi. 23.

Self-denial, necessity of, xxxi. 25.

Self-knowledge, xiii. 23.

Self-love, xi. 2; strong and hurtful, xi. 4, 5.

Self-respect, harm of, xxi. 12.

Senses, the, suspension of, in the prayer of perfect union,
xviii. 19.

Sensitiveness, xi. 4.

Sermons, viii. 17; without simplicity, xvi. 12.

Shame, good fruits of, v. 9.

Sicknesses of the Saint, xxx. 9.

Sickness sent for penance, xxiv. 2.

Sight restored at the prayer of the Saint, xxxix. 1.

Sincerity of the Saint, Rel. i. 28.

Sin, occasions of, viii. 14; pain occasioned by the sins of
others, xiii. 14; original, xxx. 20; the Saint, by her prayers,
hinders a great, xxxix. 3; wickedness of, xl. 15; vision of a
soul in, Rel. iii. 13.

Sins, the Saint consents to the divulging of her, x. 10.

Solitude, longings for, i. 6, vi. 5, Rel. i. 6.

Sorcery, v. 10.

Soto, de, the Inquisitor, Rel. vii. 8.

Soul, our own, the first object, xiii. 13, 14; likened to a
garden, xi. 10, xiv. 13; in the prayer of quiet, xv. 1; growth
of, xv. 20; powers of, in the prayer of imperfect union, xvi. 1,
4; beside itself, xvi. 1-5; crucifixion of, in raptures, xx. 14;
detachment of the enraptured, xx. 33; strengthened in raptures,
xxi. 14; effects of visions in, xxvii. 11; helplessness of,
without God, xxxvii. 11; vision of a lost soul, xxxviii. 31; the
Saint's vision of her own, xl. 8; and of, in a state of grace,
Rel. iii. 13, Rel. v. 6.

Spirit, liberty of, xi. 25; poverty of, xxii. 17; flight of the,
xviii. 8, Rel. viii. 11.

Spirits, evil, put to flight, xxv. 25; by holy water, xxxi. 4.

Spirituality influenced by bodily health, xi. 24.

Suarez, Juana, iii. 2; accompanies the Saint to Bezadas, iv. 6.

Sufferings, physical, of the Saint, iv. 7, v. 4, 14, vi. 1; of
raptures, xx. 16; the Saint longs for, xl. 27.

Sweetness, spiritual, never sought by the Saint but once, ix. 11;
seekers of, censured, xi. 21; of the pain of raptures, xx. 19;
the Saint unable to resist it at times, xxiv. 1.

Tears, gift of, iv. 8, xxix. 11; of the Saint before a picture of
the Passion, ix. 1; in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 5; in the prayer
of perfect union, xix. 1, 2; the Saint prays God to accept her,
xix. 10.

Temptation, power of, xxx. 13.

Tenderness of soul, x. 2.

Teresa, St., desires martyrdom, i. 4; placed in a monastery,
ii. 8; unwilling to become a nun, ii. 10; becomes more fervent,
iii. 2; is resolved to follow her vocation, iii. 6; first
fervours of, iv. 2; failure of health, iv. 6; God sends her an
illness, v. 4; suffers grievously, vi. 1; afraid of prayer,
vi. 5; leads her father to prayer, vii. 16; present at her
father's death, vii. 22; perseveres in prayer, viii. 2; found it
hard to pray, viii. 10; delights in sermons, viii. 17; devout to
the Magdalene, ix. 2; never doubted of God's mercy, ix. 8;
depreciates herself, x. 9; willing to have her sins divulged,
x. 10; always sought for light, x. 13; complains of her memory,
xi. 9; unable to explain the state of her soul, xii. 10;
supernaturally enlightened, xii. 11; reads books on prayer to no
purpose, xiv. 10; writes with many hindrances, xiv. 12, xl. 32;
bewails her ingratitude, xiv. 16; scarcely understood a word of
Latin, xv. 12; understands her state in the prayer of imperfect
union, xvi. 3; and describes it, xvi. 6; bewails her
unworthiness, xviii. 6; writes under obedience, xviii. 10;
confesses ignorance, xviii. 20; abandons her prayers for a time,
xix. 8; evil spoken of, xix. 12; misled by false humility,
xix. 23; prays to be delivered from raptures, xx. 5, 6; never
cared for money, xx. 34; gives up her whole being to God, xxi. 7;
unable to learn from books, xxii. 3; afraid of delusions,
xxiii. 3; is directed by a layman, xxiii. 10; severe to herself,
xxiv. 2; her first ecstasy, xxiv. 7; had no visions before the
prayer of union, xxv. 14; told by her confessor that she was
deluded by Satan, xxv. 18; prays to be led by a different
spiritual way, xxv. 20, xxvii. 3, Rel. vii. 7; not afraid of
Satan, xxv. 27; spoken against, xxvi. 3; troubles of, because of
visions, xxvii. 4, xxviii. 6; her defence when told that her
visions were false, xxviii. 18, 19; afraid nobody would hear her
confession, xxviii. 20; harshly judged by her directors,
xxviii. 23; would not exchange her visions for all the pleasures
of the world, xxix. 5; vehemence of her love, xxix. 10; her
supernatural wound, xxix. 17; manifests her spiritual state to
St. Peter of Alcantara, xxx. 4; bodily trials of, xxx. 17; finds
no relief in exterior occupations, xxx. 18; buffeted by Satan,
xxxi. 3; converts a great sinner, xxxi. 7; troubled because well
thought of, xxxi. 13-17; her singing of the Office, xxxi. 26;
commanded to labour for the reform of her Order, xxxii. 14;
commanded to abandon her purpose, xxxiii. 1; her vision in the
Dominican church, Avila, xxxiii. 16; goes to Toledo, xxxiv. 3;
the nuns wish to have her as their Prioress, xxxv. 8; restores a
child to life, xxxv. 14, note; begins the Reform, xxxvi. 4; her
grievous trial, xxxvi. 6, 7; her health improved, xxxvi. 9; would
suffer all things for one additional degree of glory, xxxvii. 3;
her affection for her confessors, xxxvii. 6; supernaturally
helped when writing, xxxviii. 28; obtains sight for a blind
person, xxxix. 1; and the cure of one of her kindred, xxxix. 2;
her spiritual state became known without her consent, xl. 28;
submits all her writings to the Roman Church, Rel. vii. 16.

Theology, mystical, x. 1, xi. 8, xii. 8; the Saint says she does
not know the terms of, xviii. 4.

Thomas, St., assisted at the deathbed of Fra P. Ibanez,
  xxxviii. 15.

Throne, vision of a, xxxix. 31, 32.

Trance, a, xviii. 17, xx. 1; outward effects of, xl. 11; gradual,
Rel. viii. 10.

Transport, Rel. viii. 10.

Trials followed by graces, xi. 18; promised to the Saint,
xxxv. 9; shown her in a vision, xxxix. 25.

Trinity, the, mystery of, revealed to the Saint, xxxix. 36;
visions of, Rel. iii. 6, Rel. v. 6-8, Rel. viii. 20, Rel. ix. 12.

Truth, divine, xl. 3-7.

Ulloa, de, Dona Guiomar, xxiv. 5; takes the Saint to her house,
xxx. 3; helps the Saint to accomplish the reform, xxxii. 13; is
refused absolution, xxxii. 18.

Understanding, the, use of in prayer, xiii. 17; disorderly,
xv. 10; powerless in the state of imperfect union, xvi. 4; and of
the perfect union, xviii. 19; the Saint speaks humbly of her,
xxviii. 10.

Union, imperfect, prayer of, xvi. 1; a mystical death, ib.; the
soul resigned therein, xvii. 1; how it differs from the prayer of
quiet, xvii. 5, 6; another degree of, xvii. 7; the labour of the
soul lessens in the later states of, xviii. 1.

Union, perfect, prayer of, xviii. 1; the senses wholly absorbed
in, xviii. 3, 14; duration of, xviii. 16; fruits of, xix. 4.

Union, prayer of, iv. 9; followed by visions in the Saint,
xxv. 14.

Union, what it is, Rel. v. 2; of the faculties of the soul,
Rel. viii. 7.

Vainglory, vii. 2, 34, x. 5, Rel. i. 18, Rel. ii. 15,
Rel. vii. 23.

Vanity of possessions, xx. 35; the Saint's watchfulness over
herself herein, xxxix. 11.

Virtue, growth of, in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 6; and in that of
imperfect union, xvii. 4.

Visions, our Lord seen in, vii. 11, xxv. 14, xxvii. 3, xxviii. 2;
intellectual, xxvii. 4; different from the sense of the presence
of God, xxvii. 6; joy of, xxvii. 13; imaginary, xxviii. 5;
effects of, in the soul, xxviii. 13; Satan tried to simulate,
xxviii. 15; effects of, in the Saint, xxviii. 19; cessation of
the Saint's imaginary, xxix. 2; of the Sacred Humanity, effects
of, xxxviii. 23.

Water, holy, puts evil spirits to flight, xxxi. 4, 5, 9, 10.

Water, the first, xi. 13; the second, xiv. 1; the third, xvi. 1;
the fourth, xviii. 1.

Will, the state of, in the prayer of quiet, xiv. 4, xv. 2, 10; in
the prayer of imperfect union, xviii. 16.

Women, great care necessary in the direction of, xxiii. 14, 15;
make greater progress than men, xl. 12.

World, the, contempt of, x. 7, xxvii. 16; customs of, wearisome,
xxxvii. 15, 16; hard on good people, xxxi. 19; vanity of,
Rel. i. 21.

Wound of the soul, Rel. viii. 16; of love, Rel. viii. 17.

Ybanez. See Ibanez.

Yepes, Rel. ix. 1.

Zeal, indiscreet, xiii. 11.









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

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