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

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 §

10 of ch. xxxii.

2. Ephes. i. 14: “Pignus hæreditatis nostræ.”

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

4. Ch. xxviii. §§ 1-5.

5. See ch. xl. § 24; Way of Perfection, ch. vii. § 1; but

ch. iv. of the previous editions.

6. See ch. xx. § 14.

7. See ch. xxx. § 19.

8. See ch. xxx. §§ 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