MASTER NEGATIVE NO. 91-80446 MICROFILMED 1992 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES/NEW YORK as part of the "Foundations of Western Civilization Preservation Project" Funded by the ENDOWMENT FOR THE HUMANITIES Reproductions may not be made without permission from Columbia University Library COPYRIGHT STATEMENT Sl e copvrisht law of the United States ~ Title 17, United ^ t- _^ Q Code - concerns the making of photocopies or other reductions of copyrighted material... Columbia University Library reserves the right to refuse to accept a copy order if, in its judgement, fulfillment of the order would mvolve violation of the copyright law. AUTHOR: OILMAN, BRADLEY TirLE: SAINT THERESA OF AVILA PLACE: BOSTON DA TE : 1889 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT Master Negative # BIBLIOGRAPHIC MICROFORM TARGET Restrictions on Use: Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record •P ■ 936.09 T273 Oilman, Mary Rebecca (Foster) ''Mrs. Bradley Gilman," 1859- ... Saint Theresa of Avila, by Mrs. Bradley Oilman. Boston, Roberts brothers, 1889. xii, 203 p. 17i"". (Half-title: Famous women) Series title also at head of t.-p. **List of authorities" : p. ixij-xii. f ) #« 1. Teresa, Saint, 1515-in82. Library of Congress 4-16959/2 921 B TECHNICAL MICROFORM DATA FILM SIZE:__3±?}!2 IMAGE PLACEMENT: lA QIA; IB IIB DATE FILMED: z/tT^^ INITI ALS./^P REDUCTION RATIO:„Ji2<. HLMEDBY: RESEARCH PLfBLICATIONS. INC WOODBRIDGE. CT Association for Information and Image Management 1100 Wayne Avenue. Suite 1100 Silver Spring, Maryland 20910 301/587-8202 Centimeter 1 2 3 iiiiliiiiliiiilii|ilii | ilii|ilii|ilii|i iT|TTT I I I I II I II 5 il Hi 6 7 8 Iniiliiiiliiiiliiiiliiiiliiiilni ^M 9 10 liiiiliiiil iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniii 11 I 12 13 iiliiiiliiiiliii TTT 14 15 mm iiiiliiiiliiiil Inches 1.0 I.I 1.25 1*3 »i u Hi 2.8 3.2 14.0 1.4 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.8 .6 MRNUFRCTURED TO fillM STPNDRRDS BY fiPPLIED IMRG^. INC. Columbia jHnitJf tiSitp LIBRARY i ifamous momtn. SAINT THERESA. > K Already published: George Eliot. By Mathilde Blind. Emily Bronte. By Miss Robinson. George Sand. By Miss Thomas. Mary Lamb. By Mrs. Gilchrist. Margaret Fuller. By Julia Ward Howe. Maria Edgeworth. By Miss Zinimern. Elizabeth Fry. By Mrs. E. R. Pitman. The Countess of Albany. By Vernon Lee. Mary Wollstonecraft. By Mrs. E. R. Pennell. Harriet Martineau. By Mrs. F. Fenwick Miller. Rachel. By Mrs. Nina H. Kennard. Madame Roland. By Mathilde Blind. Susanna Wesley. By Eliza Clarke. Margaret of Angouleme. By Miss Robinson. Mrs. Siddons. By Mrs. Nina H. Kennard. Madame de Stael. By Bella Duffy. Hannah More. By Charlotte M. Yonge. Adelaide Ristori. An Autobiography. Eliz. Barrett Browning. By J. H. Ingram. Jane Austen. By Mrs. Charles Maiden Saint Theresa. By Mrs. Bradley Gilman. SAINT THERESA OF AVI LA. BY MRS. BRADLEY CILMAN. / . BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1889. \ k ~«m /I PREFACE. -f "Lis Cof>yri:,'hl, ISS'J, liV ROUERTS bROTllLKS. University Prfss: John Wil.sun anu Son, Cambkiook. tJ CO o ^ -s Oi "Was Saint Theresa a real character? I always associated her with Saint Margaret and the Dragon," remarked an intelligent friend of the writer soon after this little book was be- gun. To the student of Christian history or of Spanish literature, Saint Theresa has an hon- ored place ; but to the general reader she is no more real than the enchanted princess of the fairy-tale, or the Lorelei of the Rhine. To make her a living, breathing human being, with feelings and foibles like our own, has been the most delicate part of the writer's task. For more than three hundred years well- meaning biographers have endeavored to laud the memory of Theresa ; but their efforts have resulted in relegating her to the realm of ro- mance, and substituting for the crown of laurels she so richly deserves that which less becomes her, — the spectral halo of the saint. To de- 106566 VI PREFACE. PREFACE. vu scribe the woman Theresa, with all her strength and tenderness, her courage and humility, with- out withdrawing her wholly from the prismatic atmosphere of religious fancy in which she was born and bred, has been the writer's earnest purpose. If Theresa, the mediaeval saint, illu- mined and exalted by the fervor of religious zealots, be unreal and fantastic, Theresa the prosaic itinerant prioress is a figure for whom no one can arouse the least enthusiasm. To give to this famous woman the place in his- tory which she so richly deserves, without dis- engaging from her life the exquisite legends that have twined around it so tenderly for cen- turies, has been no easy matter. The facts herein given about Theresa's life are all historic ; the many quotations from her letters will indicate this. The multitudinous legends are only, the natural outgrowth of the age in which she lived ; without them her character would still retain all the essential elements of greatness. In the letters and memories of Charles Kings- ley is to be found the following passage. He had been writing a life of Saint Elizabeth of Hungary for a present to his wife on their wedding day, and he says: "When it is fin- ished, I have another work of the same kind to begin, — the life of Saint Theresa as a speci- men of the dreamy Mystic, in contrast with the working ascetic. Saint Elizabeth, and to contrast the celibate saint with the married one." Now, among the list of Kingsley's pub- lished writings this work has not found a place. If such a life had been prepared, the writer of this sketch would have found her pleasant work unnecessary ; for surely Charles Kingsley would have treated Saint Theresa's life more ration- ally than have any of her score of ecclesiastical biographers. In order to make Theresa's life seem real, the writer has thought best to allow her letters and journals to speak for themselves, and has en- deavored to retain in her translations the quaint expressions of the time. For French translations from the Spanish of these journals and letters the writer wishes to ■ express her obligations to Mr. Martin Brimmer ; and for other valuable books of reference thanks are due to the kind courtesy of the librarians \ Vlll PREFACE, of the Boston Athenoeum, the Harvard College Library, and the Worcester Public Library. In preparing this biography, as Theresa's own autobiography fills many volumes, and as there have been exhaustive lives of her written by members of very many different monastic orders, there has been surely no dearth of material. But the selecting process has been arduous ; and it is hoped that in the mass of waste ma- terial consigned to the scrap-basket, nothing of importance has been overlooked. Inmates of monasteries in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had time to write and time to read much which readers in this busy age of book- making would disdainfully reject. The story of Theresa's life, told as nearly as is*possible in her own words, — this is what our little volume purports to be. If it increase the number of her admirers and make her stand out more clearly as an historic personage, the writer's purpose will be accomplished. M. R. F. G. CONTENTS. Concord, N. H., September 7, 1889. i Chapter I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. Page . . . I Childhood THERESA WITH THE AUGUSTINIAN NUNS 16 Theresa takes the Veil 3^ PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL TRIALS ... 45 Theresa's Perfect Conversion ... 60 Peter of Alcantara 'J^ Theresa plans her Reform .... »$ SECRET REMOVAL TO ST. JOSEPH'S . . 97 Two New Convents "^ Saint John of the Cross ... - 121 Durvelo.— Valladolid »34 The Princess Eboli ^4° Theresa Prioress of the Incarnation 154 160 Rebellious Nuns ^ The Beginning of the End ...184 ... 195 The End LIST OF AUTHORITIES. 1/ Vie de Sainte Tirlse, par Le P. Francois de Ribera^ de la cofnpagnie de Jtsus. Paris, 1884. Histoire de Sainte Thirhe^ d^aprls les Bollandisies ses divers historiens et ses a^uvres completes, Paris, 1888. Vie de Sainte Tdrhe^ icrite par elle-meme, traduite d^aprh les tnanuscrits originaux^ avec commentaire histo- rique completant son ricit^ par Le P. Marcel Brieux, Paris, 1884. Vie de Sainte Tirlse^ par F. Z, Collombet. Paris, i860. Les Mystiques Espagnols^ par Rousselot. Paris, 1869. The Life of Saint Theresa^ by the ajithor of ^^Devo- tions Before and After Holy Communion^ London, 1875. The Life of Saint Teresa of the Order of our Lady of Mount Carmely edited with a preface by his Grace the Archbishop of Westminster, London, 1865. (Called Manning's Life.) Osgood^ s Saint Theresa and the Devotees of Spain. Vol. xlvi. Christian Examiner. March, 1849. Xll LIST OF AUTHORITIES, TkknoTy George. History of Spanish Literature. New York, 1849. Prescotty William H. History of the Reign of Philip II, King of Spain. Boston, 1855. Les CEuvres et les Hommes, par Jules Amid^e Barbey dAurevilly. Vol. I. Paris, i860. Portraits de Femmes, par Madame Arvitle. Barine, 1874. Coleridge, Henry James. The Life and Letters of Saint Teresa. London, 1881-88. Vols. I., II., III. SAINT THERESA OF AVILA. CHAPTER I. CHILDHOOD. If a chronicler living in the year 15 15 had been asked to relate the striking events of that year in Europe, he would doubtless have men- tioned early in the list the great victory achieved by Francis I. over the Swiss near Marignano; afterwards, if conversant with the progress of the arts, he might have recorded the comple- tion of Michael Angelo's great statue, Moses; then, if keenly sensitive to the theological ten- dencies of the times, he might have seen such significance in the Wittenberg lectures as would warrant him in making note of the lecturer, — the stout German monk, Luther, just returned from Rome, filled with indignation against that corrupt city. AH these signs of the times he I il SAINT THERESA OF A VILA, CHILDHOOD. might have recorded, and perhaps many more. He certainly, however, would have overlooked one event, at that time seemingly insignificant, yet really destined to be productive of far- reaching results to the inhabitants of at least one European country. It is this unheeded event of the year 151 5 — the birth of the tiny Spanish infant, Teresa Sanchez Cepeda d'Avila y Ahumada, together with the remarkable life of which it was the beginning — that most concerns us. No miracles or marvels are recorded as clus- tering around the little saint's cradle, doubtless because Theresa was the seventh child in order of birth, and as such was greeted with no great enthusiasm by any of her kinsfolk. Her father had been twice married, and her own mother, Beatrix de Ahumada, had spent most of her married life as an invalid confined to her sofa. Contemporary writers tell us that this mother was a frail, sensitive, romantic woman, as much given to novel-reading as are the feeble, fash- ionable women of our own day. Saint Theresa, born of the delicate, imaginative Beatrix, and ** t I the stern, pious Alfonso, saw the light, then, in Avila, the city of *' Saints and stones," on the twenty-eighth day of March, 15 15. It is not difficult for us to picture the saint's native town, for it stands to-day with its round granite towers, its nine gates, and its mediaeval fortifications, one of the few impressive monu- ments which recall vividly the half-civilized, highly-colored life of the sixteenth century. The streets of Avila are still full of curious old houses much like the one in which little Theresa was born. Her father's coat-of-arms — a castle on fire, surmounted by a cross — was sculptured over the door of the house. Above it^ projected a balcony, then, as now, the favorite resort of pet quails. The principal entrance led into a vast hall, on either side of which were chambers never used except for a birth, a marriage, or a burial. On the opposite side of the hall was a door communicating with the body of the house, and facing it a door leading to a gallery that opened upon a spacious yard in which were the bakehouses and ovens. Beyond this were two great rooms, one being used as the kitchen of i 4 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA. the masters, the other of the servants. The first of these, in which no cooking was done, was used Hke a dining-hall. In it was an enor- mous fireplace, occupying the whole face of one wall. In winter, a fire was kept perpetu- ally burning there, in which sometimes whole trees were consumed. On either side of the fireplace low benches covered with wool cushions were placed, and doors led from this hall into the dwelling-rooms, which looked out upon a pretty garden. In such a great man- sion, situated upon a fashionable street, Theresa ( spent her girlhood. As the record reads, she was very much like all girls in all countries. She grew up to be pretty and fascinating, fond of the society of young people, and especially susceptible to admiration and flattery. Many descriptions of her personal appearance exist, written by her contemporaries. One of these, probably describing her as she appeared at the aee of fifteen, tells us that '' She was of middle stature, elegant, and of fair proportions, plump and perfectly well-formed, possessing a kind of beauty which advancing age did not, as it is CHILDHOOD. 5 wont, impair; her complexion was bright, the white and red distinct and clear ; her hair was black and curly, the forehead broad and smooth ; the nose was small, the mouth slightly open, with white and even teeth, short upper lip, the under lip rather full. Her eyes were dark and bright, sparkling and shining. Her hands were small, the fmgers slight and tapering; her whole appearance forming a striking combina- tion of dignity and beauty." There is an en- graving of her, taken from a portrait painted by Fra Juan dc la Miseria, later in life, and now preserved in Avila. Fra Juan was not much of an artist, and on seeing her picture, Theresa is said to have exclaimed, '* So, after all, father, you have made me blear-eyed and ugly." | Vanity was always one of Theresa's besetting sins. The children of the sixteenth century found their amusement in listening to the legends of ■ the saints and martyrs, just as the children of the nineteenth century find theirs in listen- ing to the mischievous pranks of Andersen's or ^ Grimm's heroes and heroines; and as modern SAINT THERESA OF A VI LA. children are sometimes detected trying to imi- tate the doings of their favorite story-book characters, so we are not surprised to find the little Spanish girl inciting her younger brother to run away with her to undergo martyrdom in the country of the Moors. ** I had a brother," wrote Theresa, in describ- ing this childish experience, "about my own age, to whom, though I loved all the others much, I bore especial affection. We delighted in hearing the lives of the saints; and when we saw what tortures they endured for the love of God, it seemed to me that all this was as noth- ing to give for the enjoyment of Him. . . . My brother and I often discoursed together upon the matter, and at last we agreed that we would go into the country of the Moors, asking alms, that so we might come to be beheaded." Thus when onl}^ seven years of age, these two little mites toddled off to a distant country to die for their religion ; but like many other imaginative children, they were brought home in disgrace before they had passed beyond the city walls. They were grievously disappointed CHILDHOOD. at the failure of their plan, and Theresa, when asked to explain herself, said : *' I ran away because I want to see God, and because I must die before I see Him." Another childish en- terprise was the construction, in the garden, of a little hermitage, in which Theresa and her brother Roderick expected to live like hermits in the desert, spending their time in fasting and prayer. But this plan, like the other, proved a failure; for the baby herm.itage was not " founded upon a rock," and when the rain de- scended and the wind blew, it fell, and one morning the children arose to find it only a heap of stones. In the pastimes and plays of children the atmosphere of the times is often clearly mani- i fcsted. Of all the countries in Europe, Spain had retained the most religious zeal and en- thusiasm. The constant presence of the Moors for so many centuries, and the difficulty of sub- duing the followers of Mahomet, had united the whole Spanish nation in a loyal, almost fanatical devotion to their Church. While in Germany, France, and England the Catholic 8 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA, Church was being rent by hostile factions, and serious theological difficulties had revealed themselves even before Luther's time, in Spain the necessity of protecting the Church from the invasion of the Moslems had tended to har- monize all differences. A faith which had cost so much blood was surely worth preserving intact; and men, women, and children were eager to sacrifice their lives and their property to keep their cherished faith from a taint of heresy. Martyrdom in that age was sought by many devotees ; and a bishop excited the wrath of the people, and was even accused of apos- tasy, because he blamed those Christians who unnecessarily insulted the prophet Mahomet. The Church and the Cross, the joys of heaven and the torments of hell, were the most power- ful forces in the life of Spain in the sixteenth century. To many, they were far more real than the exciting bull-fights or the brilliant assemblies. The warring of good and evil spirits, the thought of eternity, the " forever and forever " of the exceeding glory or the in- — tense anguish of the world beyond the grave, mi ! 9 CHILDHOOD. 9 were realities impressed on the minds of that sensuous, pleasure-loving Spanish people in a way we can hardly conceive to-day. The feel- ing which drove so many men and women to seek a cloistered life or a martyr's death in that century was not very exalted, but it was very intense. To them, earthly joys seemed paltry and short-lived beside the never-ending joys they were told awaited them in eternity. In its ultimate analysis, the feeling was selfish and calculating; but the strange thing to understand in our materialistic and sceptical age is the power those unseen, unproven pains and pleas- ures had over that unspiritual people. The God of the Spanish Catholic, however cruel and anthropomorphic he may have been, was a present God, a real Being to even the chil- dren of that day ; we find the young Theresa stealing away to tell her beads and recite her various prayers, and at a very early age ex- pressing a wish to be either a saint or a niin. However, just as a boy playing with his toy- boats longs to be a sailor, but forgets his wish as soon as he tires of his game, so Theresa, as n ^1 lO SAINT THERESA OF A VI LA. CHILDHOOD. II soon as she learned to read, and was introduced into the world of romance and poetry, gave up her early aspirations for the conventual life. Don Alfonso de Cepeda was a highly edu- cated man, for the age in which he lived, and possessed a library of considerable size. When Theresa was but nine years old her father taught her to read. At that period it was not un- common for a woman to grow up in a rich and noble Spanish family without even this amount of education. In later years, we find Theresa complaining of four novices from noble families, none of whom could read even their prayer- books. But Don Alfonso was a student, and himself taught his children. His library con- tained the works of the great Latin authors, of the Church Fathers, much religious poetry, and above all a great many romances. These latter books were forbidden fruit to the children ; yet secretly, and without her father's knowledge, the young Spanish maiden managed to read them. Like many a naughty modern girl of thirteen, she stole down to the library at night and returned bearing her treasured story-book, forgetful of everything, including her obedience to her parents and her religion, in her inter- est in the prowess and amours of the Spanish cavaliers. ♦* My mother," she tells us in her narrative of these years, " was particularly fond of reading books of romance, though she did not imbibe so much evil by this entertainment as I did, because it did not hinder her usual work; but it made her omit many duties, that so she might read these books. And perhaps my mother read them that thus her thoughts might not dwell on the great troubles she endured, and her children might so occupy themselves as not to fall into other more dangerous things. My father, however, was so particular on this point, that great care was taken lest he should know anything on this subject. But I continued in the habit of reading these books; and this slight fault of mine, which I perceived in myself, began to cool my good desires, and was the cause of my failing in other things. I fancied, however, there was no harm, though I spent many hours both of the night and day in so vain an exer- 12 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA. cise, unknown to my father. But I was so much addicted to this habit, that if I could not obtain some new book it seemed to me I could not be happy. I began also to wear fine clothes, and to desire to appear handsome. I took great care of my hands and of my hair, and was fond of perfumes, together with all those vanities I was able to attain, which were many ; for I was very curious in this respect." The result of this novel-reading is easily antici- pated. All thoughts of a cloister life vanished, and Theresa's head became completely filled with what wc, in our plain-speaking age, should ordinarily term *' nonsense." The early death of Dona Beatrix left the care of the whole large family upon Don Alfonso's hands; and for a time Theresa, pretty and fascinating, was left free to amuse herself about as she pleased. Her amusements she found with a host of young cousins who ran in and out of the house, whose flattery and attention did much to spoil the young girl completely. A girl of thirteen is naturally gay and lively, and Theresa was a typical young girl. She was fond of bright CHILDHOOD. 13 ribbons and pretty gowns, and not a Httle vain of her pink and white cheeks and soft brown eyes. Spanish etiquette was very strict, and permitted familiar intercourse only between near relatives. But in Theresa's case even cousins did not prove safe companions ; for at fourteen we find her a pronounced flirt and coquette, secretly engaged to marry one of these rela- tives, who was allowed the unrestricted entree of her father's house. - I had cousins," she writes, '* and to them alone was given permission to enter our home. My father was too prudent to admit other visitors, and it would have been better if he had admitted none. I see now how dangerous it is for young people to be allowed so much free- dom. My cousins were near my own age. We passed much time together, and they loved me immensely. I let them talk of anything they chose. I was lively, and interested myself in their future plans, in their childish follies, and in everything which concerned them. They told me many things about the life outside my home which it would have been better for me 14 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA. not to have heard. My eldest sister was much quieter than I was, but I would not follow her example, but preferred to imitate the example of an older cousin who came often to the house, and whose conduct my mother had many times severely blamed. She and I soon became very intimate. We were always together. She con- fided her secret love-affairs to me, and encour- aged me in all my vanities. My father and sister often reproved me for this intimacy, but I would not listen to their advice; and finally, when they found out how far wrong she had led me, my father determined to send me away from home." By her own statements, Theresa was certainly engaged; but whether her self-chosen yf^;/a^ was not a suitable one in regard to age, fortune, or character, is not recorded ; evidently Don Al- fonso was alarmed at his daughter's indepen- dence, and thought it wise to rehiove her at once from these temptations. After some con- sultation with his eldest daughter, Marie, — about to be married to an excellent nobleman, Don Martin de Guzman, — it was decided to send !r CHILDHOOD. 15 Theresa within the enclosure of the Augustine Convent. She was permitted to stay at home through the festivities of her sister's wedding, and on the day following this great event her clothes were packed, and, much against her own will, the young girl was taken away from her pleasant, cheerful home, and given into the charge of the Augustinian nuns. i6 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA. WITH THE A UGUSTINIAN NUNS, 1 7 CHAPTER II. THERESA WITH THE AUGUSTINIAN NUNS. The Augustine Convent, where Don Alfonso sent his daughter, was built in 1508, on the site of an ancient Moslem mosque. It was situated in the centre of Avila, and was a favorite edu- cational establishment for those daughters of noble families who for any reason could not be trained in their own homes. In this place forty nuns divided among themselves the care of the young girls committed to their charge. These good women were known to be strict in their discipline, regular in their instruction, and faithful to all the necessary religious observ- ances. Surely, the gay young Theresa would here be kept from temptation, and would turn her attention towards more serious things. The faithful tell us that some days before Theresa entered the Augustinian Convent, a starlike light appeared in the midst of the choir, and, having circled about the religious, v/as seen to disappear in the bosom of Dona Maria Briceno, the mistress of the pensioners. This is interpreted by the Jesuit historians to mean that a brilliant light was for a time to be intrusted to Dona Maria Briceiio's care. This li^ht, however, showed no signs of its brilliancy at first ; for there never was a girl who rebelled more openly at the necessary restraints of con- vent life. Theresa regarded the walls as prison bars. The perpetual silence, the yoke of obedi- ence, the monotony of the days, and even the placid, peaceful faces of the kind sisters seemed to her unendurable. At first she wept from morning to night, and besought her teachers to let her return to her own home. But nothing she could do or say moved them. Her friends from outside — doubtless the particular cousin on whose account she had been sent away — came often to visit her during the first week, and brought her presents. But this could not be allowed by the sisters, and soon ceased at their request. Years later, the saint wrote with pious contempt of those people who "sought of 'k i8 SAINT THERESA OF A VI LA. means to trouble my rest with messages and presents ; " but we may be sure that at this time in her life she would gladly have had these <^limpses of the outer world permitted to con- tinue. The days dragged heavily, and the poor bird beat her wings vainly against the iron bars of her cage, but could not obtain her freedom; then, with the adaptability of youth, she wisely resolved to make the best of her new situation. Soon in the convent, as in the world, she be- came the centre of an admiring circle. To meet the approval of those around her was an instinct with Theresa, and she ingenuously wrote, '' All the nuns were pleased with me, for our Lord gave me the grace to please every one wherever I might be." 4jL$: The sister who had charge of the young pupils was a woman wise in knowledge of the human heart. She studied Theresa sufficiently to discover that she was not a commonplace girl, and determined to win her confidence and affection. She saw that she was ready to give herself body and soul into the hands of any one whom she loved; and to win this lovc Dofla WITH THE AUGUSTINIAN NUNS. 1 9 Briceiio made for the time being her great ob- ject. Impulsive and passionate, deprived of her family and friends, Theresa must needs find some outlet for her warm human feelings. Dona Briceno was agreeable in conversation, winning in manner, and gave Theresa all that love and sympathy which her young heart craved. It was therefore not strange that her plan suc- ceeded. ''One of the sisters," Theresa wrote, ** had especial charge of the pupils. She slept in our dormitory, and was with us constantly. Her conversation was charming. I loved to listen to her." So, little by little, the young girl's heart was won, and as soon as she found some one upon whom to lavish her love she began to be happy. It was in loving that she was always to find peace. The quiet convent days passed quickly, and she no longer wept for her friends outside the walls. She became accustomed to the regular life, grew attached to the inmates, and, above all, was devoted to the gentle preceptress. Doila Briceno, so soon as she had gained the confidence of the young girl, began to try to arouse her religious 20 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA. nature. She worked upon her morbidly sensi- tive imagination by telling her of the " reward our Lord gives to those who forsake all things for his sake." Then she gave her an account of her own conversion, and related how she had resolved to quit the world and devote herself to Christ. ^* But still," Theresa writes, '* I did not wish to be a nun, and hoped that God would not be pleased I should be one, though at the same time I was afraid of marriage." Here we see the only alternatives open to a woman in the sixteenth century ; namely, the cloister or the hearth ; moreover, a nun in those days had more independence than a married woman, who was expected to be wholly under the subjection of her husband. There were ab- solutely no channels open, into which a woman of genius could direct her energy and ambition. The Roman Church taught that wedded life, however pure and noble, was distinctly lower than virginity; and some natures found it easier to vow obedience to God than to an unknown and often unworthy husband. WITH THE AUGUSTINIAN NUNS. 21 During the year and a half that Theresa spent with the Augustinian nuns she had time to be- come thoroughly impregnated with all the fun- damental doctrines of the Roman Church. Her religious nature had always been sensitive, and soon succumbed to the gentle influences of the cloister life. Her friendship with Dona Maria banished in some degree her dislike for the con- vent, but she still resisted the vocation the good sisters tried to urge upon her. The '' flesh-pots of Egypt," in the shape of romances, bull-fights, and court assemblies, had not yet lost their power to charm her, and the hair-shirt and scourge she could not make up her mind to endure without complaint. The sensitive young pupil had a physical fear of austerities, and at that time a worldly horror of pious books. But the natural instincts in that age of asceticism had little chance of being allowed to assert themselves, and the pressure brought to bear upon Theresa by the .good sisters was almost beyond her power of resistance. As the time drew near for her to leave the convent, the necessity for deciding upon her future life dis- I 22 SAINT THERESA OF A VI LA. turbcd her greatly. On the one side were all the nuns, who were constantly telling her that the joys of the world were but fleeting pleasures, and that her mind ought to be fastened securely upon heavenly things. On the other side were her natural youthful feelings, leading her to shrink before the prospect of giving up forever the innocent pleasures and beauties of God's earthly world. The child was motherless, and had no friend she could trust. Marriage, now that her first love-affair was ended, — for noth- ing is heard of her early love again, — seemed Hke slavery; and it was a slavery without the approval of her conscience, taught as she had been by the nuns to believe that matrimony was not an honorable estate. Thus, between Scylla and Charybdis, slavery and isolation, the poor girl stood ; and we do not wonder that her troubled mental state worked upon her nerves, and her nerves upon her body, and that she soon became too ill to make any decision her- self. Before her second year at the convent was ended, her father had to be requested to take her home ; then began a long period of invalid- WITH THE AUGUSTINIAN NUNS, 23 ism for the nervous girl. That her disease was chiefly mental is evident from her last message to Dona Briceiio. She begged her teacher and all the sisters " to pray God to call her to the state in life where she could best serve him; and yet," she adds, '' I had a horror of being a nun, and a fear of marriage." ^ Don Alfonso, although distressed at his young daughter's condition, was delighted to welcome her back to his lonely home. He thought that a change of air, with young companions, would soon restore her to health; and he took her with him to make a visit at her married sister's country home, situated some miles from Avila, in the pretty village of Castellanos de la Canada. Here the beautiful mountain scenery, the coun- try sights and sounds, and above all, the com- panionship of her sister and her sister's children, soon affected her body and mind. She now grew more cheerful, her old vivacity returned, and soon she was here, as everywhere, the life of the' house. " Marie would have liked to have me stay with her always," she wrote, " and her husband also treated me with much 24 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA. affection." But Don Alfonso, glad to have his daughter with him, was unwilling to give her up, even to her sister, and soon started with her to return home. Avila was some leagues from Castellanos, and the travellers, stopping to break their journey at Hortijosa, visited Don Pedro Sanchez de Cepeda, Theresa's uncle. While there, Don Alfonso was sent for on business, and started away suddenly, leaving Theresa be- hind him for a fortnight under his brother's care. Don Pedro is described as ** a prudent, excellent man, a widower." Since his wife's death he had devoted himself to a holy life, though not having yet left his own home or joined any religious order. After the gay, happy days which Theresa had spent in her sister's home, she found the old man's house decidedly dull. There were no merry sounds of laughter to be heard, no games were permitted, and life took on a very sombre hue; the situation was almost as de- pressing as had been her first few days in the Augustinian Convent. Don Pedro allowed no romances to be read in his house, and no WITH THE AUGUSTINIAN NUNS, 25 frivolities of any kind to be mentioned. His days were spent in reading pious books, and his conversation was wholly upon the infinite perfections of God, and the fleeting vanities of the w^orld. Some of these pious books the good old man persuaded his niece to read aloud to him; and, as she afterwards confessed, this was not at that time a very congenial oc- cupation. *' These books," she writes, "he made me read to him; and though I did not much like them, I appeared as though I did." Poor, vain little Theresa could not be happy unless she pleased those whom she was with. Her loving, lovable nature craved the appro- bation and approval of others, and was at the mercy of those who surrounded her. At first, then, she " appeared " interested in her un- cle's religious reading to please him, and in a very short time the books he put into her hands really touched her tender, impressionable heart. Don Pedro himself was about this time con- sidering the question of giving up all his worldly possessions and becoming a monk. 26 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA, Naturally his thoughts and conversation were all directed towards spiritual themes. The books he placed in his niece's hands were the " Con- fessions of Saint Augustine," the " Letters of Jerome," and the '* Morals of Gregory," — strange reading for a lively Spanish girl of sixteen years. But Theresa was adaptable; and from the first she determined to win her lonely uncle's affection. Day after day she sat in his library, her pretty brown eyes fastened intently on the manuscript lines of the Holy Fathers which he had given her to read. Here she read over and over again that this present life and all it con- tained was only vanity ; and there close to her was a man she respected greatly, who was only too ready to confirm these pessimistic utter- ances. Don Alfonso had intended to have his daughter remain with her uncle for a short visit only; but his return was delayed, and she lingered there several weeks. What the Augus- tinian nuns had failed to accomplish, this quiet visit thoroughly effected, and Theresa left her uncle's house, resolved to adopt the convent life forever. It was not contempt of a world which WITH THE AUGUSTINIAN NUNS, 2/ she had learned from experience to despise that led her to retire from it so early, but a super- stitious fear lest she could not endure the perils and temptations she had heard so feelingly de- scribed. There were no wise friends to counsel this young girl. She had been left alone for weeks with a gloomy, unhappy man who had out- lived his usefulness, whose domestic grief natu- rally led him to take false views of life. Her constant reading had been from the writings of Jerome, the famous Monk of Bethlehem, whose confessions of rapture and despair have always had a mighty influence over the female heart. According to the Bollandist's record of our saint's life, Theresa read and re-read Jerome's " Letters to Paula Marcella and Eutichium," pondering long over such passages as : — " O Desert strewn with the flowers of Christ ! Solitude, where are to be found the mysterious pre- cious stones out of which the Apostle has built the City of God ! Holy retreat where God reveals himself with fulness ! Brother, what dost thou find in the world? Believe me, in this solitude I see more light? Here, freed from the weight of the flesh, the soul takes its flight to the skies." 28 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA. " I resolved," she wrote, " at last to force my- self to take up the religious life. I was more influenced by servile fear, I think, than by love. The Devil put before me that I could not endure the austerities of the life because of my delicate nurture." But when these doubts arose, Theresa turned again to Father Jerome s soothing words: — " What do^t thou fear? Poverty ? Jesus Christ has called it blessed to be poor. Work? What athlete is crowned without a combat? Art thou hungry? Whoever believes in Christ, God will never permit to hunger or thirst. Fearest thou to lie down naked on the cold ground? Remember that near thee the tord always sleeps. Is it the solitude which affrights thee? Lift up thy heart unto the heavens, and beheve that the sufferings of the present are not worthy to be com- pared with the glories which await thee hereafter." Comforting words like these burned them- selves into the soul of' the susceptible girl. She was dissatisfied; here she was promised satisfaction. She was passionate ; here she was promised peace. Above all, she was lonely, she had an immense craving for love and sym- pathy; and the words of the Monk of Beth- ■ ,1 WITH THE AUGUSTINIAN NUNS. 29 lehem and of Augustine bade her be assured that there was but one love which would ever satisfy her, and but one way by which she would surely gain inward peace. She read Augustine's beautiful rhapsody: — " O love which bumest ever and art never quenched ! O my God, which art love itself, set me wholly on fire with thy fire, with the love of thee, with thy sweetness ! " And shall we marvel that it awoke a re- sponse in her youthful heart? The earthly love she had heard described in the most fascinat- ing romances of chivalry was as nothing com- pared to these rapturous joys. *' The soul that loveth, goeth up often to the heavenly Jeru- salem, and runneth familiarly from street to street, visiting the patriarchs and prophets, sa- luting the apostles, wondering at the hosts of martyrs and confessors, gazing at the compa- nies of the virgins," wrote the greatest herald of the Divine love the world has ever known. Surely, Theresa thought, it was this pure, mysterious love that the human soul was alone created to enjoy; and with Saint Augustine she 30 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA, cried aloud, that "heaven and earth, and all things that are in them, call upon me without ceasing to love my Lord God." It was the hope of tasting the deep spiritual joys of Jerome and Augustine which finally led Theresa to leave her own home, to disregard her father's sacred wishes, to give up the tcn- derest of earthly ties, and to fly like a criminal to bury herself body and soul within the en- closure of the Carmelite Convent of the In- carnation ; for Don Alfonso refused to give his consent to her leaving the world. She says: *' The utmost I could get from him was that I might do as I pleased after his death." But obedience to parents has always in the Roman Church been subordinated to obedience to priests and confessors; and Theresa undoubt- edly had the approval of her religious adviser in taking this step. Kot satisfied with going away alone from her father's house, and with utterly disregarding that father's feelings, the young girl now turned her attention to per- suading her brother Antonio to join her in her flight and become a friar. This she soon WITH THE AUGUSTINIAN NUNS. 3 1 accomplished, and ** we agreed," she writes, *' to set out one day, very early in the morning, for the monastery where the friend of mine lived for whom I had so great an affection. I re- member perfectly well, and it is quite true, that the pain I felt when I left my father's house was so great, that I do not believe the pain of dying will be greater, for it seemed to me as if every bone in my body were wrenched asunder ; for as I had no love of God to destroy my love of father and kindred, this latter love came upon me with a violence so great that, if our Lord had not been my keeper, my own resolution to go on would have failed me. But he gave me courage to fight against myself, so that I executed my purpose." Thus we find Theresa setting forth, at early dawn, in company with her brother Antonio, in quest of that most elusive sangreal, — peace. 32 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA. CHAPTER III. THERESA TAKES THE VEIL. A SHORT distance from Avila, in a little valley below the city walls, was situated a large estate which once had been the property of Dona Elvira de Medina. Two years before Theresa s birth this good woman generously offered her patrimony to the Church ; and on it was built the monastery of the Incarnation. Owing to the large amount of wealth left to found this institution, it was built to accommodate a great number of nuns; so that at one time two hun- dred sisters found a home within its walls. It stands to-day with its chapel and clock-tower intact, having been but slightly altered in all these centuries. The stranger is still shown Theresa's cell; and the nuns of to-day still reverently abstain from using the stalls during Mass, because they believe that in Theresa's THERESA TAKES THE VEIL, 33 time these stalls were always occupied by angels. When Theresa, in her walks with her father and brothers, saw this monastery, her eyes al- ways lingered on it lovingly. Its high white walls, its luxuriant gardens, its sheltered posi- tion, all suggested a peaceful retreat, where the soul could contentedly give itself up to the contemplation of God. Juano Suarez, an inti- mate friend of Theresa, had taken the veil in this convent not long before, and this fact undoubtedly had an influence in leading The- resa to choose the Carmelite Convent above all others. At the time she left the Augustinian sisters she wrote : " I resolved if I ever became a nun, not to be in any house except where my best friend, Juano Suarez, was." The human ties, we see, were not all sundered at this time ; and indeed Theresa never succeeded in wholly stifling the crying needs of her heart. She was too human a saint ever to learn to live wholly without earthly love. The sun had not yet risen, the chimes of the clocks in Avila were ringing a death-knell, and 3 34 SAINT THERESA OF AVI LA. a solemn requiem Mass sounded in the ears of Theresa, as weary and breathless she entered the Convent of the Incarnation, and declared her intention of remaining there for life. How little did the inmates of this convent dream that this runaway girl was to become a re- former of their order, and to make their con- vent famous for ages to come ! Her entrance into the Incarnation was certainly not conven- tional, and the prioress felt bound to let Don Alfonso know his daughter's decision at once. Theresa was impatient to begin her new life as soon as possible; that very day she laid aside her fashionable dress and adopted the habit of the sisters, shrouding herself completely in the folds of her white veil, and allowing her beau- tiful black hair to be sacrificed without a mur- n.ur When Don Alfonso heard of his daugh- ter's fli-ht, he was heart-broken. Again he was bereft of his children and all that made life en- durable ; but he did not dare to oppose what Theresa felt so strongly to be her vocation, and sadly retired to his lonely house, there in soli- tude to await his end. THERESA TAKES THE VEIL, 35 The excitement of the new life, with its new duties, and the prospect of taking her final vows, occupied Theresa's mind through the first months of her novitiate. She was conscientious and faithful in all her duties, and even extrava- gant in her use of discipline. We find noted that she never wearied of doing little kindnesses for her sister nuns; she would fold up their cloaks, light them to their cells, and nurse them with the utmost devotion when they were ill. " Everything in religion," she writes, " was a delight to me; and it is true that I used now and then to sweep the house during those hours of the day which I had formerly spent on my amusement or my dress ; and calling to mind that I was delivered of such follies, I was filled with a new joy that surprised me, nor could I understand whence it came." But this mysterious joy was not a continual pres- ence with Theresa. Like all other strong: feel- ings, it was only an occasional visitor. When it was gone, the young girl was wretched, and her life seemed unendurable. Then hot tears fell freely and uncontrollably; the nuns accused 36 SAINT THERESA OF AVILA. THERESA TAKES THE VEIL. 37 her of discontent, and she was very miserable. Her uneven, emotional nature, at one moment exalted and at another cast down, was not easy to live with or to understand ; her eager courtesy was misconstrued into officiousness, and her fits of depression into bad temper. She was sub- jected to a thousand petty persecutions which only women know how to inflict; and she found little more real peace within the convent than she had found in the outer world. The days of the novitiate came to an end, and Theresa pronounced her final vows. The solemn ceremonial of taking the veil occurred in the presence of a vast assembly from Avila. All the wealth and fashion of the town were there. The convent chapel was crowded with Theresa's friends and relatives. The young girl wore a white veil, a garland of flowers, pro- fusely gemmed, on her head, and a rich white bridal gown. As she entered the church she was met by a procession of priests bearing the elevated cross. When she arrived at the high altar, one of the ecclesiastical dignitaries was pre- sented with a small pair of scissors and a silver basin. He cut off one lock of the girl's short hair, and the procession then turned back and followed Theresa to the cloister. There the nuns received her, stripped her of her gay apparel, the veil, garland, gloves, and finally her stockings. She was then clad in the dark-brown garb of the Carmelite order, with the white hood and cloak. The abbess took a large pair of scissors, and, gathering her remaining locks into one single handful, cut them all off together; the latter part of the ceremony being performed in pro- found silence. Theresa pronounced the vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience, a black cloth was thrown over her, the funeral bell was tolled, she received the communion, a brief sermon was delivered, the abbess kissed her, and the gloomy ceremonies ended ; then people went away, the iron gates closed, and Theresa was forever sepa- rated from the world by an impassable gulf. From that time Don Alfonso was inconsol- able ; and Theresa gave up both her family and her fortune. '* I was only twenty years old, and I felt as if I had subdued the world, the flesh, and the devil," she wrote significantly. AtJB 38 SAINT THERESA OF A VI LA. Convent life in the sixteenth century was far from being free from the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil. It was anything but the peaceful religious life of which Theresa had dreamed. A building which held two hun- dred women drawn together through a wide variety of motives, social as well as religious, where there was no vow of seclusion, could not be a very quiet retreat. It was against human nature to expect that young girls who had been forced to take the veil should be strict and faith- ful to their vows. A poor gentleman who could not marry his daughters in his own station sent them into a convent; a superfluous daughter or sister was easily disposed of in this way, and required but a small portion. A woman whose reputation was slightly tarnished, was often un- willingly obliged by her relatives to enter one of those religious institutions for life ; and the large convents of every order had become extremely lax in their rules and regulations. Many a pretty nun led the career of a coquette with- out receiving the slightest admonition from either the abbess or her confessor. In some THERESA TAKES THE VEIL. 39 convents, plays were frequently performed by the inmates, to which outsiders were freely ad- mitted ; in many, the beauty of the nuns brought numerous young noblemen as visitors. After calling on the sisters and flirting with them, these '* gilded youth " often sent them presents of flowers and bonbons the next day; and could we have listened to the songs sung by the Spanish nuns of the Incarnation, as they sat in their cells, we should have found them secular songs of the most ardent description. They sang the joys of profane rather than sacred love. Religious duties were performed perfunctorily by most of the sisters, who gave the larger part of their time and thought to talking gossip and planning new amusements. It was for this hypocritical, irregular, and unsatisfying life that Theresa had left her wid- owed father and her happy home duties. She had taken the veil despite her doubts, because she truly believed herself called to adopt the religious life, and because she knew herself to be weak in the face of worldly temptations. She had made her vows with earnestness, and 40 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA, had consecrated her whole life conscientiously to God and his work. Now, to her utter amaze- ment, she found herself almost alone in her high purposes, and surrounded by dangers and pitfalls a thousand times more seductive than any to which she had been exposed in the world. As a novice, she had been shielded from intimacy with the older sisters, and much of her time had been taken up by religious instruction; but as soon as she became one with the rest of the community, she found how different from her innocent dream was the hard reality. In those days every convent had an abbess, who was supposed to overlook the conduct of the nuns; but often the abbesses were young, and utterly unfit for their responsible positions. Many of the nuns, too, bitterly resented any in- terference ; and if they attended to their formal religious duties, they expected to be allowed to come in and go out whenever they pleased. The result was, that a constant stream of visitors, men and women alike, was to be seen commg and eoind from the convent ; and the beautiful gardens which surrounded it gave ample oppor- THERESA TAKES THE VEIL. 41 tunity for flirtations and friendships between both sexes. In the early centuries of monastic life the cells of the nuns were bare of all orna- ments; at this period they had been trans- formed into dainty boudoirs. Novel-reading, idle chattering, and singing took up the atten- tion of nearly all the inmates, who were really only separated from the outer world by their religious dress. In Spain, convent life was less openly im- moral than in France and Italy; but even in Spain the relations between the priests and the nuns were too intimate to remain always pure. The ideal of convent life had been slowly alter- ing; the institutions remained, but the spirit which had founded and filled them was dead. They had become convenient houses of refuge for unmarried women and widows, permanent boarding-houses, with all the disadvantages such institutions are sure to have. With neither regular occupations nor serious duties to fill their days, the sisters constantly quarrelled with one another ; petty jealousies and feuds were fostered; the daily life became trivial, and 42 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA, never rose to any high rcHgious level. This was a very different life from the one Theresa had imagined; she had found out the wisdom of the saying, '* Many seek to fly temptations, and do fall more grievously into them." In shut- ting out the world, she had only shut herself in with sin. Disappointed with her chosen vocation, and dissatisfied with her companions, Theresa be- came restless and unhappy. Her state of mind preyed upon her body, and she rapidly lost strength. Her physical condition was much like the modern one which we call *' nervous depression." Fainting-fits were frequent; she spent long days in the infirmary, unable to listen to either reading or conversation; she lost courage about herself, and for a time both friends and relatives imagined she was on the brink of the grave. As the relaxed rules of the Carmelites permitted the nuns to leave the cloister, Don Alfonso suggested that he should again take his daughter to visit her mar- ried sister, and try the effect of a change of air. THERESA TAKES THE VEIL. 43 \^e superior of the Incarnation directed Juano Suarez to accompany Theresa on her journey; and in the month of November, 1535, the two nuns set out for Castellanos, with Don Alfonso as an escort. Travelling in those days, in coaches without springs, over rough roads, and through wild and dangerous parts of the country, was far from agreeable. The journey was long and fatiguing for Theresa in her weak state of health; and although they rested sev- eral times on the way, she reached her sister's house in what was at first thought to be a dying condition. She rallied after a few days, how- ever, but improved only slowly. At times a trace of her old gayety would return, and Marie with her two children would delight in making her smile occasionally as she had done in the old days. But her smiles were rare, for her sufferings were too intense and continuous to allow her much peace. " For three months," she wrote, " I was suffering most cruel torture." At Castellanos, they remained nearly a year ; but at last, discouraged that his daughter did not improve in health, her father decided to 44 SAINT THERESA OF A VI LA. place Theresa under the care of a famous woman-physician who was at that time hving at Bezedas. The journey thither was made by slow stages, Marie her sister, and Juano her intimate friend, doing their best to make the invalid comfortable on the way. When they arrived, Don Alfonso confided his daughter to the woman whose cures had given her such a reputation, and the whole party hopefully waited for the result of her treatment. But the woman was utterly unable to relieve Theresa's suffering, and by dosing her with violent remedies only made her worse; some medicine given her while there affected her digestion, and for weeks she was obliged to give up eating all solid food. " My pains were unendurable," she wrote, '' and I was overwhelmed in most deep sadness, so that I had no rest cither night or day." PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL TRIALS. 45 CHAPTER IV. PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL TRIALS. During Theresa's stay in Bezedas an incident occurred which throws light on the peculiar temptations which beset young nuns in the sixteenth century. She tells us that in the place she had gone for her cure '* there lived a priest of good understanding and birth, with some learning, but not much. I went to con- fession to him, for I was always fond of learned men." This priest took "an extreme liking" to the young girl. She says : " There was no harm in the liking he had for me ; but it ceased to be good, because it was in excess. . . . Our conferences were many. But at that time, through the knowledge and fear of God which filled my soul, what gave me most pleasure in my conversations with others was to speak of God; and as I was so young, this made him 46 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA, ashamed. And then out of that great good- will he bore me he began to tell me of his wretched state." The priest, in fact, made his vile confession to this beautiful young girl. What the state of society and religion must have been to allow this familiar intimacy be- tween a corrupt man and an innocent girl, we cannot conceive. " I was extremely sorry for him," Theresa writes, " because I liked him much. I was then so imprudent and so blind as to think it a virtue to be grateful and loyal to one who liked me. I spoke to him most frequently of God ; and this must have done him good, though what touched him most was his great affection for me. He began to consider all that he had done in those years, like a man roused from a deep sleep," and died not long after, " most piously and completely withdrawn from that occasion of sin." It is needless to comment on this misuse of the confessional. Certainly the religious orders had need of be- ing reformed. Several months were passed by Theresa and her devoted family in Bezedas. Her strength ft PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL TRIALS. 47 seemed to fail continuously, and her sufferings increased. " The severity of the pain in my heart, for the cure of which I was there," she writes, "was much more keen; it seemed to me, now and then, as if it had been seized with sharp teeth. So great was the torment, that it was feared it might end in madness. I was in pain from head to feet." Discouraged with the result of this medical treatment, Don Alfonso thought it best to take his daughter home, as he now felt sure, to die. " There was a choking in my throat because I had eaten nothing, and because of my weakness, so that I could not swallow even a drink of water. As to touching me, that was impossible; I was so bruised I could not endure it." The journey to Avila was almost like a funeral march, Theresa be- ing borne upon a sheet. Her fainting-fits grew more protracted, and she once remained so long unconscious that she was given up for dead, and her grave was prepared. When she finally re- covered consciousness, and learned her critical condition, she begged to be allowed to return to the Incarnation to die. Still borne upon a 48 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA, sheet, and pale as death, she was received there by her sister nuns on Palm Sunday, 1537. Her disease was then pronounced to be paralysis, and for two years she was confined to the in- firmary, and suffered the most excruciating pain. Her patience under her long illness was touch- ing, and all in the convent learned to love her. It grew to be the custom for the sisters to gather around her sick-bed at evening to tell the news of the day. *' I never spoke ill in the slightest degree whatever of any one," wrote Theresa; " for I used to keep most carefully in mind that I ought not to assent to nor to say of another anything I should not like said of myself" The days passed slowly for the young girl, though she writes, ** I was resigned to the will of God, even if he left me in this state forever." This, however, was not to be ; and with patience and care, after three years she was restored to her usual health. " O my God," she had some- times exclaimed during her illness, ** I only wished for health that I might serve thee bet- ter ! " But in spite of the willingness of the spirit, her flesh proved weak. With returning PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL TRIALS. 49 health came new temptations which often were too strong for Theresa to resist. Friends came frequently to congratulate her upon her re- covery, and interviews at the grated window proved more fascinating than the loneliness of the cell. Conversations with so-called *' seculars " charmed the girl, and the vivacity of her own brilliant mind attracted to her side a host of her old friends and acquaintances. The very frivolities she had condemned in others she now indulged in herself '* I went," she wrote, " from pastime to pastime, and from vanity to vanity, and from one occasion of sin to another, until I was so distracted by many vanities that I was ashamed to draw near to God in an act of such special friendship as prayer." In this confession we see the sincerity of Theresa's nature. She could not be satisfied with a for- mal piety. Her inner and her outer life must be consistent, to fulfil her own ideal of right. After her illness, Theresa was held in high esteem by all the inmates of the convent, and as much liberty was given her as was given to the oldest nuns. 4 Ni 50 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA. "The reason why," she writes, "they thought I was not so wicked, was this ; they saw that I liked to have an oratory of my own, furnished with objects of devotion, that I spoke ill of no one, and other things in me which have the ap- pearance of virtue. Yet all the while I was so vain, — I knew how to procure respect for my- self for doing those things which in the world are usually regarded with respect. In conse- quence of this they had great confidence in me. As for conversing in secret or at night, I never thought of such a thing, and I never did any- thing without leave." Still, as we have seen, the abbess and confessors left a wide margin for the sisters. Theresa's conversations with those outside the convent walls grew more frequent and more engrossing; and she found they did not increase her piety, but did chill her devo- tional feelings. In vain she tried to persuade her conscience that these interviews were harm- less ; it was too sensitive to be silenced easily, and she often felt severe pangs of remorse when in the midst of her pleasures. Once while en- gaged in an agreeable conversation with a new PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL TRIALS. 5 1 acquaintance, remorse affected her imagination so strongly that she thought Christ himself appeared before her, grave and stern, leading her to understand that much in her conduct was offensive to him. " I saw him with the eyes of the soul more distinctly than I could have seen him with the eyes of the body, and was greatly astonished and disturbed, resolving not to see again the person I was then talking with." This acquaintance must have been exceed- ingly agreeable, however, for Theresa writes : ** I went back to my conversation with the same person, and with others also ; and I spent many years in the 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." On another occa- sion, when conversing with this same lady, in company with several others, we are told that they all saw a great toad creeping towards them much faster than was natural to the animal. This trifling incident made a deep impression on our saint. She looked upon it as a super- / 52 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA, natural warning, but she continued her much- loved conversations. Exactly what was the nature of these conversations, and what were the particular sins which Theresa reproaches herself for having committed about this time, a careful study of her own writings, and of those of her different biographers, fails to re- veal. Was her conscience, like the conscience of many a religious devotee, supersensitive? Or did she at this period in her life commit some real sin for which she needed to reproach her- self ? The Roman Church calls Theresa " sin- less," and because sinless, honors her with the name of *' saint." But that Church's use of the word ''saint" has no Scriptural authority, and there are many who have won this title in their, last years, whose early lives have been far from pure. It is certain that in the year 1541. Theresa had yielded to many temptations, though what the nature of these temptations was we shall probably never know. One of the eldest and most pious of the nuns warned her of her dan-cr ; but she writes : " 1 not only did not PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL TRIALS. 53 listen to her, but was even offended, thinking she was scandalized without cause." By this time, Theresa had begun to neglect all her de- votional exercises except the vocal ones pre- scribed by the rule of the order. At one time mental prayer had been with her a delight. When she first entered the convent, she had even been eager to induce all the sisters to try it, and had converted her father, by means of good books, so that he derived spiritual comfort from this exercise. Don Alfonso used to come often to see his daughter, to talk with her upon religious themes, not knowing how little her own mind was set upon the things of God. She did not dare to tell him the truth about herself; so she said she was not strong enough to attend to any but her choir duties, thus dulling her conscience by a prevarication. " I saw clearly," she writes, '* 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; for our Lord always furnishes an opportunity for it if we but 54 SAINT THERESA OF A VILA, seek it. I say * always/ for there may be times, as in illness, and from other causes, when we cannot be much alone, yet it never can be but that 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." Don Alfonso, however, never sus- pected that his daughter was not telling him the truth. He pitied her for her ill health, but never stayed with her long, saying that he was ** wasting her time." Theresa writes : ** As I was wasting it in other vanities, I cared little about this." The time was now near at hand when Theresa was to lose her devoted father. He was living entirely alone. All his daughters had left him, and his sons had gone to seek their fortunes in the newly discovered world. When Theresa heard that he was ill, she went with all speed to nurse him ; and it was the shock of his death which first aroused her from her lethargic men- tal and moral condition. PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL TRIALS. 55