The Means Whereby Our Lord Quickened Her Soul, Gave Her Light in
Her Darkness, and Made Her Strong in Goodness.
1. My soul was now grown weary; and the miserable habits it had
contracted would not suffer it to rest, though it was desirous of
doing so. It came to pass one day, when I went into the oratory,
that I saw a picture which they had put by there, and which had
been procured for a certain feast observed in the house. It was
a representation of Christ most grievously wounded; and so
devotional, that the very sight of it, when I saw it, moved
me--so well did it show forth that which He suffered for us.
So keenly did I feel the evil return I had made for those wounds,
that I thought my heart was breaking. I threw myself on the
ground beside it, my tears flowing plenteously, and implored Him
to strengthen me once for all, so that I might never offend Him
any more.
2. I had a very great devotion to the glorious Magdalene, and
very frequently used to think of her conversion--especially when
I went to Communion. As I knew for certain that our Lord was
then within me, I used to place myself at His feet, thinking that
my tears would not be despised. I did not know what I was
saying; only He did great things for me, in that He was pleased I
should shed those tears, seeing that I so soon forgot that
impression. I used to recommend myself to that glorious Saint,
that she might obtain my pardon.
3. But this last time, before that picture of which I am
speaking, I seem to have made greater progress; for I was now
very distrustful of myself, placing all my confidence in God.
It seems to me that I said to Him then that I would not rise up
till He granted my petition. I do certainly believe that this
was of great service to me, because I have grown better
ever since. [1]
4. This was my method of prayer: as I could not make reflections
with my understanding, I contrived to picture Christ as within
me; [2] and I used to find myself the better for thinking of
those mysteries of His life during which He was most lonely.
It seemed to me that the being alone and afflicted, like a person
in trouble, must needs permit me to come near unto Him.
5. I did many simple things of this kind; and in particular I
used to find myself most at home in the prayer in the Garden,
whither I went in His company. I thought of the bloody sweat,
and of the affliction He endured there; I wished, if it had been
possible, to wipe away that painful sweat from His face; but I
remember that I never dared to form such a resolution--my sins
stood before me so grievously. I used to remain with Him there
as long as my thoughts allowed me, and I had many thoughts to
torment me. For many years, nearly every night before I fell
asleep, when I recommended myself to God, that I might sleep in
peace, I used always to think a little of this mystery of the
prayer in the Garden--yea, even before I was a nun, because I had
been told that many indulgences were to be gained thereby.
For my part, I believe that my soul gained very much in this way,
because I began to practise prayer without knowing what it was;
and now that it had become my constant habit, I was saved from
omitting it, as I was from omitting to bless myself with the sign
of the cross before I slept.
6. And now to go back to what I was saying of the torture which
my thoughts inflicted upon me. This method of praying, in which
the understanding makes no reflections, hath this property: the
soul must gain much, or lose. I mean, that those who advance
without meditation, make great progress, because it is done by
love. But to attain to this involves great labour, except to
those persons whom it is our Lord's good pleasure to lead quickly
to the prayer of quiet. I know of some. For those who walk in
this way, a book is profitable, that by the help thereof they may
the more quickly recollect themselves. It was a help to me also
to look on fields, water, and flowers. [3] In them I saw traces
of the Creator--I mean, that the sight of these things was as a
book unto me; it roused me, made me recollected, and reminded me
of my ingratitude and of my sins. My understanding was so dull,
that I could never represent in the imagination either heavenly
or high things in any form whatever until our Lord placed them
before me in another way. [4]
7. I was so little able to put things before me by the help of my
understanding, that, unless I saw a thing with my eyes, my
imagination was of no use whatever. I could not do as others do,
who can put matters before themselves so as to become thereby
recollected. I was able to think of Christ only as man. But so
it was; and I never could form any image of Him to myself, though
I read much of His beauty, and looked at pictures of Him. I was
like one who is blind, or in the dark, who, though speaking to a
person present, and feeling his presence, because he knows for
certain that he is present--I mean, that he understands him to be
present, and believes it--yet does not see him. It was thus with
me when I used to think of our Lord. This is why I was so fond
of images. Wretched are they who, through their own fault, have
lost this blessing; it is clear enough that they do not love our
Lord--for if they loved Him, they would rejoice at the sight of
His picture, just as men find pleasure when they see the portrait
of one they love.
8. At this time, the Confessions of St. Augustine were given me.
Our Lord seems to have so ordained it, for I did not seek them
myself, neither had I ever seen them before. I had a very great
devotion to St. Augustine, because the monastery in which I lived
when I was yet in the world was of his Order; [5] and also
because he had been a sinner--for I used to find great comfort in
those Saints whom, after they had sinned, our Lord converted to
Himself. I thought they would help me, and that, as our Lord had
forgiven them, so also He would forgive me. One thing, however,
there was that troubled me--I have spoken of it before [6]--our
Lord had called them but once, and they never relapsed; while my
relapses were now so many. This it was that vexed me.
But calling to mind the love that He bore me, I took courage
again. Of His mercy I never doubted once, but I did very often
of myself.
9. O my God, I amazed at the hardness of my heart amidst so many
succours from Thee. I am filled with dread when I see how little
I could do with myself, and how I was clogged, so that I could
not resolve to give myself entirely to God. When I began to read
the Confessions, I thought I saw myself there described, and
began to recommend myself greatly to this glorious Saint. When I
came to his conversion, and read how he heard that voice in the
garden, it seemed to me nothing less than that our Lord had
uttered it for me: I felt so in my heart. I remained for some
time lost in tears, in great inward affliction and distress. O my
God, what a soul has to suffer because it has lost the liberty it
had of being mistress over itself! and what torments it has to
endure! I wonder now how I could live in torments so great: God
be praised Who gave me life, so that I might escape from so fatal
a death! I believe that my soul obtained great strength from His
Divine Majesty, and that He must have heard my cry, and had
compassion upon so many tears.
10. A desire to spend more time with Him began to grow within me,
and also to withdraw from the occasions of sin: for as soon as I
had done so, I turned lovingly to His Majesty at once.
I understood clearly, as I thought, that I loved Him; but I did
not understand, as I ought to have understood it, wherein the
true love of God consists. I do not think I had yet perfectly
disposed myself to seek His service when His Majesty turned
towards me with His consolations. What others strive after with
great labour, our Lord seems to have looked out for a way to make
me willing to accept--that is, in these later years to give me
joy and comfort. But as for asking our Lord to give me either
these things or sweetness in devotion, I never dared to do it;
the only thing I prayed Him to give me was the grace never to
offend Him, together with the forgiveness of my great sins.
When I saw that my sins were so great, I never ventured
deliberately to ask for consolation or for sweetness. He had
compassion enough upon me, I think--and, in truth, He dealt with
me according to His great mercy--when He allowed me to stand
before Him, and when He drew me into His presence; for I saw
that, if He had not drawn me, I should not have come at all.
11. Once only in my life do I remember asking for consolation,
being at the time in great aridities. When I considered what I
had done, I was so confounded, that the very distress I suffered
from seeing how little humility I had, brought me that which I
had been so bold as to ask for. I knew well that it was lawful
to pray for it; but it seemed to me that it is lawful only for
those who are in good dispositions, who have sought with all
their might to attain to true devotion--that is, not to offend
God, and to be disposed and resolved for all goodness. I looked
upon those tears of mine as womanish and weak, seeing that I did
not obtain my desires by them; nevertheless, I believe that they
did me some service; for, specially after those two occasions of
great compunction and sorrow of heart, [7] accompanied by tears,
of which I am speaking, I began in an especial way to give myself
more to prayer, and to occupy myself less with those things which
did me harm--though I did not give them up altogether. But God
Himself, as I have just said, came to my aid, and helped me to
turn away from them. As His Majesty was only waiting for some
preparation on my part, the spiritual graces grew in me as I
shall now explain. It is not the custom of our Lord to give
these graces to any but to those who keep their consciences in
greater pureness. [8]
1. In the year 1555 (Bouix).
2. See ch. iv. § 10; ch. x. § 1.
3. See Relation, i. § 12.
4. See ch. iv. § 11.
5. Ch. ii. § 8.
6. In the Prologue.
7. § 1.
8. Ch. iv. § 11.