Life of St Teresa of Jesus - Teresa of Avila (classic books for 11 year olds TXT) 📗

this state of

prayer, without the power of going further, and suggested to me

these comparisons, and taught me how to speak of it, and of what

the soul must do therein. Certainly, I was amazed, and in a

moment understood it all. I have often been thus, as it were,

beside myself, drunk with love, and yet never could understand

how it was. I knew well that it was the work of God, but I never

was able to understand the manner of His working here; for, in

fact, the faculties are almost all completely in union, yet not

so absorbed that they do not act. I have been singularly

delighted in that I have been able to comprehend the matter at

last. Blessed be our Lord, who has thus consoled me!

4. The faculties of the soul now retain only the power of

occupying themselves wholly with God; not one of them ventures to

stir, neither can we move one of them without making great

efforts to distract ourselves—and, indeed, I do not think we can

do it at all at this time. Many words are then uttered in praise

of God—but disorderly, unless it be that our Lord orders them

himself. At least, the understanding is utterly powerless here;

the soul longs to send forth words of praise, but it has no

control over itself,—it is in a state of sweet restlessness.

The flowers are already opening; they are beginning to send forth

their fragrance.

5. The soul in this state would have all men behold and know of

its bliss, to the praise of God, and help it to praise Him.

It would have them to be partakers of its joy; for its joy is

greater than it can bear. It seems to me that it is like the

woman in the Gospel, who would, or used to, call in her

neighbours. [3] The admirable spirit of David, the royal

prophet, must have felt in the same way, so it seems to me, when

he played on the harp, singing the praises of God. I have a very

great devotion to this glorious king; [4] and I wish all had it,

particularly those who are sinners like myself.

6. O my God, what must that soul be when it is in this state?

It wishes it were all tongue, in order that it may praise our

Lord. It utters a thousand holy follies, striving continually to

please Him by whom it is thus possessed. I know one [5] who,

though she was no poet, yet composed, without any preparation,

certain stanzas, full of feeling, most expressive of her pain:

they were not the work of her own understanding; but, in order to

have a greater fruition of that bliss which so sweet a pain

occasioned her, she complained of it in that way to God. She was

willing to be cut in pieces, soul and body, to show the delight

she felt in that pain. To what torments could she be then

exposed, that would not be delicious to endure for her Lord?

She sees clearly that the martyrs did little or nothing, so far

as they were concerned, when they endured their tortures, because

the soul is well aware that its strength is derived from

another source.

7. But what will be its sufferings when it returns to the use of

the senses, to live in the world, and go back to the anxieties

and the fashions thereof? I do not think that I have exaggerated

in any way, but rather have fallen short, in speaking of that

joy, which our Lord, of His good pleasure, gives to the soul in

this its exile. Blessed for ever be Thou, O Lord! and may all

created things praise Thee for ever!

8. O my King, seeing that I am now, while writing this, still

under the power of this heavenly madness, an effect of Thy mercy

and goodness,—and it is a mercy I never deserved,—grant, I

beseech Thee, that all those with whom I may have to converse may

become mad through Thy love, or let me converse with none, or so

order it that I may have nothing to do in the world, or take me

away from it. This Thy servant, O my God, is no longer able to

endure sufferings so great as those are which she must bear when

she sees herself without Thee if she must live, she seeks no

repose in this life,—and do Thou give her none. This my soul

longs to be free—eating is killing it, and sleep is wearisome;

it sees itself wasting the time of this life in comforts, and

that there is no comfort for it now but in Thee; it seems to be

living contrary to nature—for now, it desires to live not in

itself, but in Thee.

9. O my true Lord and my happiness! what a cross hast Thou

prepared for those who attain to this state!—light and most

heavy at the same time: light, because sweet; heavy, because now

and then there is no patience left to endure it—and yet the soul

never wishes to be delivered from it, unless it be that it may

come to Thee. When the soul remembers that it has never served

Thee at all, and that by living on it may do Thee some service,

it longs for a still heavier cross, and never to die before the

end of the world. Its own repose it counts as nothing in

comparison with doing a slight service to Thee. It knows not

what to desire; but it clearly understands that it desires

nothing else but Thee.

10. O my son, [6] so humble is he to whom this writing is

directed, and who has commanded me to write, that he suffers

himself to be thus addressed,—you, my father, only must see

these things, in which I seem to have transgressed all bounds;

for no reason can keep me reasonable when our Lord draws me out

of myself. Since my communion this morning, [7] I do not believe

that I am the person who is speaking; I seem to be dreaming the

things I see, and I wish I might never see any but people ill, as

I am now. I beseech you, my father, let us all be mad, for the

love of Him who for our sakes suffered men to say of Him that He

was mad. [8]

11. You, my father, say that you wish me well. I wish you would

prove it by disposing yourself so that God may bestow this grace

upon you; for I see very few people who have not too much sense

for everything they have to do: and it may be that I have more

than anybody else. Your reverence must not allow it; you are my

father, for you are my confessor, and the person to whom I have

trusted my soul; disperse my delusions by telling the truth; for

truths of this sort are very rarely told.

12. I wish we five, who now love one another in our Lord, had

made some such arrangement as this: as others in these times have

met together in secret [9] to plot wickedness and heresies

against His Majesty, so we might contrive to meet together now

and then, in order to undeceive one another, to tell each other

wherein we might improve ourselves, and be more pleasing unto

God; for there is no one that knows himself as well as he is

known of others who see him, if it be with eyes of love and the

wish to do him good. I say; in secret; for language of this kind

is no longer in use; even preachers go about arranging their

sermons so as to displease no one. [10] They have a good

intention, and their work is good; yet still few amend their

lives. But how is it that they are not many who, in consequence

of these sermons, abstain from public sins? Well, I think it is

because the preachers are highly sensible men. They are not

burning with the great fire of the love of God, as the Apostles

were, casting worldly prudence aside; and so their fire throws

out but little heat. I do not say that their fire ought to burn

like that of the Apostles, but I do wish it were a stronger fire

than I see it is. Do you, my father, know wherein much of this

fire consists? In the hatred of this life, in the desertion of

its honours, in being utterly indifferent whether we lose or gain

anything or everything, provided the truth be told and maintained

for the glory of God; for he who is courageously in earnest for

God, looks upon loss or gain indifferently. I do not say that I

am a person of this kind, but I wish I was.

13. Oh, grand freedom, to regard it as a captivity to be obliged

to live and converse with men according to the laws of the world!

It is the gift of our Lord; there is not a slave who would not

imperil everything that he might escape and return to his

country; and as this is the true road, there is no reason why we

should linger; for we shall never effectually gain a treasure so

great, so long as this life is not ended. May our Lord give us

His grace for that end! You, my father, if it shall seem good to

you, will tear up what I have written, and consider it as a

letter for yourself alone, and forgive me that I have been

very bold.

1. “The third degree, or third water, of the Saint, must begin, I

think, with the prayer of infused recollection, include that of

infused quiet, and end in that of inebriation; because it is not

in our power to draw this water—all we can do is to direct the

stream.” (Francis. de St. Thoma, Medulla Mystica,

tr. iv. ch. xii. p. 208).

2. See St. John of the Cross, Spirit. Canticle, stanza

xvii. vol. ii. p. 98, Engl. trans.

3. St. Luke xv. 9: “Convocat amicas et vicinas.”

4. Foundations, ch. xxix. § 9.

5. The Saint herself (De la Fuente).

6. This was either F. Ybañez or the Inquisitor Soto, if the

expression did not occur in the first Life. F. Dom. Bañes struck

out “son,” and wrote “father” in its place, omitting the words,

“so humble is he” (De la Fuente).

7. See § 3, above.

8. St. John x. 20: “Dæmonium habet et insanit.”

9. The Saint refers to the secret meetings of heretics in

Valladolid, under the direction of a fallen priest, the Doctor

Agostino Cazalla, whose vanity led him to imitate Luther.

Some nuns in Valladolid were imprisoned, Cazalla strangled, and

his body burnt, in 1559 (De la Fuente).

10. Father Bañes wrote here on the margin of the Saint’s MS,

“Legant prædicatores” (De la Fuente).

Chapter XVII.

The Third State of Prayer. The Effects Thereof. The Hindrance

Caused by the Imagination and the Memory.

1. Enough has been said of this manner of prayer, and of what the

soul has to do, or rather, to speak more correctly, of what God

is doing within it; for it is He who now takes upon Himself the

gardener’s work, and who will have the soul take its ease; except

that the will is consenting to the graces, the fruition of which

it has, and that it must resign itself to all that the True

Wisdom would accomplish in it—for which it is certain it has

need of courage; because the joy is so great,