Life of St Teresa of Jesus by Teresa of Avila (paper ebook reader .TXT) 📖

me, I never observed anything

wrong in it, though it might have been of greater purity.

There were also occasions wherein he might have most grievously

offended, if he had not kept himself in the near presence of God.

As I said before, [7] I would not then have done anything I knew

was a mortal sin. And I think that observing this resolution in

me helped him to have that affection for me; for I believe that

all men must have a greater affection for those women whom they

see disposed to be good; and even for the attainment of earthly

ends, women must have more power over men because they are good,

as I shall show hereafter. I am convinced that the priest is in

the way of salvation. He died most piously, and completely

withdrawn from that occasion of sin. It seems that it was the

will of our Lord he should be saved by these means.

14. I remained three months in that place, in the most grievous

sufferings; for the treatment was too severe for my constitution.

In two months—so strong were the medicines—my life was nearly

worn out; and the severity of the pain in the heart, [8] for the

cure of which I was there was much more keen: it seemed to me,

now and then, as if it had been seized by sharp teeth. So great

was the torment, that it was feared it might end in madness.

There was a great loss of strength, for I could eat nothing

whatever, only drink. I had a great loathing for food, and a

fever that never left me. I was so reduced, for they had given

me purgatives daily for nearly a month, and so parched up, that

my sinews began to shrink. The pains I had were unendurable, and

I was overwhelmed in a most deep sadness, so that I had no rest

either night or day.

15. This was the result; and thereupon my father took me back.

Then the physicians visited me again. All gave me up; they said

I was also consumptive. This gave me little or no concern; what

distressed me were the pains I had—for I was in pain from my

head down to my feet. Now, nervous pains, according to the

physicians, are intolerable; and all my nerves were shrunk.

Certainly, if I had not brought this upon myself by my sins, the

torture would have been unendurable.

16. I was not more than three months in this cruel distress, for

it seemed impossible that so many ills could be borne together.

I now am astonished at myself, and the patience His Majesty gave

me—for it clearly came from Him—I look upon as a great mercy of

our Lord. It was a great help to me to be patient, that I had

read the story of Job, in the Morals of St. Gregory (our Lord

seems to have prepared me thereby); and that I had begun the

practice of prayer, so that I might bear it all, conforming my

will to the will of God. All my conversation was with God.

I had continually these words of Job in my thoughts and in my

mouth: “If we have received good things of the hand of our Lord,

why should we not receive evil things?” [9] This seemed to give

me courage.

17. The feast of our Lady, in August, came round; from April

until then I had been in great pain, but more especially during

the last three months. I made haste to go to confession, for I

had always been very fond of frequent confession. They thought I

was driven by the fear of death; and so my father, in order to

quiet me, would not suffer me to go. Oh, the unreasonable love

of flesh and blood! Though it was that of a father so Catholic

and so wise—he was very much so, and this act of his could not

be the effect of any ignorance on his part—what evil it might

have done me!

18. That very night my sickness became so acute, that for about

four days I remained insensible. They administered the Sacrament

of the last Anointing, and every hour, or rather every moment,

thought I was dying; they did nothing but repeat the Credo, as if

I could have understood anything they said. They must have

regarded me as dead more than once, for I found afterwards drops

of wax on my eyelids. My father, because he had not allowed me

to go to confession, was grievously distressed. Loud cries and

many prayers were made to God: blessed be He Who heard them.

19. For a day-and-a-half the grave was open in my monastery,

waiting for my body; [10] and the Friars of our Order, in a house

at some distance from this place, performed funeral solemnities.

But it pleased our Lord I should come to myself. I wished to go

to confession at once. I communicated with many tears; but I do

not think those tears had their source in that pain and sorrow

only for having offended God, which might have sufficed for my

salvation—unless, indeed, the delusion which I laboured under

were some excuse for me, and into which I had been led by those

who had told me that some things were not mortal sins which

afterwards I found were so certainly.

20. Though my sufferings were unendurable, and my perceptions

dull, yet my confession, I believe, was complete as to all

matters wherein I understood myself to have offended God. This

grace, among others, did His Majesty bestow on me, that ever

since my first Communion never in confession have I failed to

confess anything I thought to be a sin, though it might be only a

venial sin. But I think that undoubtedly my salvation was in

great peril, if I had died at that time—partly because my

confessors were so unlearned, and partly because I was so very

wicked. It is certainly true that when I think of it, and

consider how our Lord seems to have raised me up from the dead, I

am so filled with wonder, that I almost tremble with fear. [11]

21. And now, O my soul, it were well for thee to look that danger

in the face from which our Lord delivered thee; and if thou dost

not cease to offend Him out of love thou shouldst do so out of

fear. He might have slain thee a thousand times, and in a far

more perilous state. I believe I exaggerate nothing if I say a

thousand times again, though he may rebuke me who has commanded

me to restrain myself in recounting my sins; and they are glossed

over enough. I pray him, for the love of God, not to suppress one

of my faults, because herein shines forth the magnificence of

God, as well as His long-suffering towards souls. May He be

blessed for evermore, and destroy me utterly, rather than let me

cease to love Him any more!

1. Ch. iv. § 6. The person to whom she was taken was a woman

famous for certain cures she had wrought, but whose skill proved

worse than useless to the Saint (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi. § 2).

2. Schram, Theolog. Mystic., § 483. “Magni doctores scholastici,

si non sint spirituales, vel omni rerum spiritualium experientia

careant, non solent esse magistri spirituales idonei—nam

theologia scholastica est perfectio intellectus; mystica,

perfectio intellectus et voluntatis: unde bonus theologus

scholasticus potest esse malus theologus mysticus. In rebus

tamen difficilibus, dubiis, spiritualibus, præstat mediocriter

spiritualem theologum consulere quam spiritualem idiotam.”

3. See Way of Perfection, ch. viii. § 2; but

ch. v. Dalton’s edition.

4. F. Vicente Barron (Bouix).

5. See ch. xxiii.

6. § 6.

7. § 9.

8. Ch. iv. § 6.

9. Job ii. 10: “Si bona suscepimus de manu Dei, mala quare

non suscipiamus?”

10. Some of the nuns of the Incarnation were in the house, sent

thither from the monastery; and, but for the father’s disbelief

in her death, would have taken her home for burial (Ribera,

lib. i. ch. iv.).

11. Ribera, lib. i. ch. iv., says he heard Fra Bañes, in a

sermon, say that the Saint told him she had, during these four

days, seen hell in a vision. And the chronicler says that though

there was bodily illness, yet it was a trance of the soul at the

same time (vol. i. lib. i. ch. xii. § 3).

Chapter VI.

The Great Debt She Owed to Our Lord for His Mercy to Her.

She Takes St. Joseph for Her Patron.

1. After those four days, during which I was insensible, so great

was my distress, that our Lord alone knoweth the intolerable

sufferings I endured. My tongue was bitten to pieces; there was

a choking in my throat because I had taken nothing, and because

of my weakness, so that I could not swallow even a drop of water;

all my bones seemed to be out of joint, and the disorder of my

head was extreme. I was bent together like a coil of ropes—for

to this was I brought by the torture of those days—unable to

move either arm, or foot, or hand, or head, any more than if I

had been dead, unless others moved me; I could move, however, I

think, one finger of my right hand. Then, as to touching me,

that was impossible, for I was so bruised that I could not endure

it. They used to move me in a sheet, one holding one end, and

another the other. This lasted till Palm Sunday. [1]

2. The only comfort I had was this—if no one came near me, my

pains frequently ceased; and then, because I had a little rest, I

considered myself well, for I was afraid my patience would fail:

and thus I was exceedingly happy when I saw myself free from

those pains which were so sharp and constant, though in the cold

fits of an intermittent fever, which were most violent, they were

still unendurable. My dislike of food was very great.

3. I was now so anxious to return to my monastery, that I had

myself conveyed thither in the state I was in. There they

received alive one whom they had waited for as dead; but her body

was worse than dead: the sight of it could only give pain. It is

impossible to describe my extreme weakness, for I was nothing but

bones. I remained in this state, as I have already said, [2]

more than eight months; and was paralytic, though getting better,

for about three years. I praised God when I began to crawl on my

hands and knees. I bore all this with great resignation, and, if

I except the beginning of my illness, with great joy; for all

this was as nothing in comparison with the pains and tortures I

had to bear at first. I was resigned to the will of God, even if

He left me in this state for ever. My anxiety about the recovery

of my health seemed to be grounded on my desire to pray in

solitude, as I had been taught; for there were no means of doing

so in the infirmary. I went to confession most frequently, spoke

much about God, and in such a way as to edify everyone; and they

all marvelled at the patience which our Lord gave me—for if it

had not come from the hand of His Majesty, it seemed impossible

to endure so great an affliction with so great a joy.