Life of St Teresa of Jesus by Teresa of Avila (e ink epub reader TXT) 📕

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,