Life of St Teresa of Jesus, Teresa of Avila [top ten books to read TXT] 📗

saw Him with the eyes of the

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