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