The Difference Between Union and Rapture. What Rapture Is.
The Blessing It Is to the Soul. The Effects of It.
1. I wish I could explain, with the help of God, wherein union
differs from rapture, or from transport, or from flight of the
spirit, as they speak, or from a trance, which are all one. [1]
I mean, that all these are only different names for that one and
the same thing, which is also called ecstasy. [2] It is more
excellent than union, the fruits of it are much greater, and its
other operations more manifold; for union is uniform in the
beginning, the middle, and the end, and is so also interiorly.
But as raptures have ends of a much higher kind, they produce
effects both within and without. [3] As our Lord has explained
the other matters, so also may He explain this; for certainly, if
He had not shown me in what way and by what means this
explanation was in some measure possible, I should never have
been able to do it.
2. Consider we now that this last water, of which I am speaking,
is so abundant that, were it not that the ground refuses to
receive it, we might suppose that the cloud of His great Majesty
is here raining down upon us on earth. And when we are giving
Him thanks for this great mercy, drawing near to Him in earnest,
with all our might, then it is our Lord draws up the soul, as the
clouds, so to speak, gather the mists from the face of the earth,
and carries it away out of itself,--I have heard it said that the
clouds, or the sun, draw the mists together, [4]--and as a cloud,
rising up to heaven, takes the soul with Him, and begins to show
it the treasures of the kingdom which He has prepared for it.
I know not whether the comparison be accurate or not; but the
fact is, that is the way in which it is brought about.
During rapture, the soul does not seem to animate the body, the
natural heat of which is perceptibly lessened; the coldness
increases, though accompanied with exceeding joy
and sweetness. [5]
3. A rapture is absolutely irresistible; whilst union, inasmuch
as we are then on our own ground, may be hindered, though that
resistance be painful and violent; it is, however, almost always
impossible. But rapture, for the most part, is irresistible.
It comes, in general, as a shock, quick and sharp, before you can
collect your thoughts, or help yourself in any way, and you see
and feel it as a cloud, or a strong eagle rising upwards, and
carrying you away on its wings.
4. I repeat it: you feel and see yourself carried away, you know
not whither. For though we feel how delicious it is, yet the
weakness of our nature makes us afraid at first, and we require a
much more resolute and courageous spirit than in the previous
states, in order to risk everything, come what may, and to
abandon ourselves into the hands of God, and go willingly whither
we are carried, seeing that we must be carried away, however
painful it may be; and so trying is it, that I would very often
resist, and exert all my strength, particularly at those times
when the rapture was coming on me in public. I did so, too, very
often when I was alone, because I was afraid of delusions.
Occasionally I was able, by great efforts, to make a slight
resistance; but afterwards I was worn out, like a person who had
been contending with a strong giant; at other times it was
impossible to resist at all: my soul was carried away, and almost
always my head with it,--I had no power over it,--and now and
then the whole body as well, so that it was lifted up from
the ground.
5. This has not happened to me often: once, however, it took
place when we were all together in choir, and I, on my knees, on
the point of communicating. It was a very sore distress to me;
for I thought it a most extraordinary thing, and was afraid it
would occasion much talk; so I commanded the nuns--for it
happened after I was made Prioress--never to speak of it. But at
other times, the moment I felt that our Lord was about to repeat
the act, and once, in particular, during a sermon,--it was the
feast of our house, some great ladies being present,--I threw
myself on the ground; then the nuns came around me to hold me;
but still the rapture was observed.
6. I made many supplications to our Lord, that He would be
pleased to give me no more of those graces which were outwardly
visible; for I was weary of living under such great restraint,
and because His Majesty could not bestow such graces on me
without their becoming known. It seems that, of His goodness, He
has been pleased to hear my prayer; for I have never been
enraptured since. It is true that it was not long ago. [6]
7. It seemed to me, when I tried to make some resistance, as if a
great force beneath my feet lifted me up. I know of nothing with
which to compare it; but it was much more violent than the other
spiritual visitations, and I was therefore as one ground to
pieces; for it is a great struggle, and, in short, of little use,
whenever our Lord so wills it. There is no power against
His power.
8. At other times He is pleased to be satisfied when He makes us
see that He is ready to give us this grace, and that it is not He
that withholds it. Then, when we resist it out of humility, He
produces those very effects which would have resulted if we had
fully consented to it.
9. The effects of rapture are great: one is that the mighty power
of our Lord is manifested; and as we are not strong enough, when
His Majesty wills it, to control either soul or body, so neither
have we any power over it; but, whether we like it or not, we see
that there is one mightier than we are, that these graces are His
gifts, and that of ourselves we can do nothing whatever; and
humility is deeply imprinted in us. And further, I confess that
it threw me into great fear, very great indeed at first; for when
I saw my body thus lifted up from the earth, how could I help it?
Though the spirit draws it upwards after itself, and that with
great sweetness, if unresisted, the senses are not lost; at
least, I was so much myself as to be able to see that I was being
lifted up. The majesty of Him who can effect this so manifests
itself, that the hairs of my head stand upright, [7] and a great
fear comes upon me of offending God, who is so mighty. This fear
is bound up in exceedingly great love, which is acquired anew,
and directed to Him, who, we see, bears so great a love to a worm
so vile, and who seems not to be satisfied with attracting the
soul to Himself in so real a way, but who will have the body
also, though it be mortal and of earth so foul, such as it is
through our sins, which are so great.
10. Rapture leaves behind a certain strange detachment also,
which I shall never be able to describe; I think I can say that
it is in some respects different from--yea, higher than--the
other graces, which are simply spiritual; for though these effect
a complete detachment in spirit from all things, it seems that in
this of rapture our Lord would have the body itself to be
detached also: and thus a certain singular estrangement from the
things of earth is wrought, which makes life much more
distressing. Afterwards it causes a pain, which we can never
inflict of ourselves, nor remove when once it has come.
11. I should like very much to explain this great pain, and I
believe I shall not be able; however, I will say something if I
can. And it is to be observed that this is my present state, and
one to which I have been brought very lately, after all the
visions and revelations of which I shall speak, and after that
time, wherein I gave myself to prayer, in which our Lord gave me
so much sweetness and delight. [8] Even now I have that
sweetness occasionally; but it is the pain of which I speak that
is the most frequent and the most common. It varies in its
intensity. I will now speak of it when it is sharpest; for I
shall speak later on [9] of the great shocks I used to feel when
our Lord would throw me into those trances, and which are, in my
opinion, as different from this pain as the most corporeal thing
is from the most spiritual; and I believe that I am not
exaggerating much. For though the soul feels that pain, it is in
company with the body; [10] both soul and body apparently share
it, and it is not attended with that extremity of abandonment
which belongs to this.
12. As I said before, [11] we have no part in causing this pain;
but very often there springs up a desire unexpectedly,--I know
not how it comes,--and because of this desire, which pierces the
soul in a moment, the soul begins to be wearied, so much so that
it rises upwards above itself, and above all created things. God
then so strips it of everything, that, do what it may, there is
nothing on earth that can be its companion. Neither, indeed,
would it wish to have any; it would rather die in that
loneliness. If people spoke to it, and if itself made every
effort possible to speak, it would be of little use: the spirit,
notwithstanding all it may do, cannot be withdrawn from that
loneliness; and though God seems, as it were, far away from the
soul at that moment, yet He reveals His grandeurs at times in the
strangest way conceivable. That way is indescribable; I do not
think any one can believe or comprehend it who has not previously
had experience of it. It is a communication made, not to
console, but to show the reason why the soul must be weary;
because it is far away from the Good which in itself comprehends
all good.
13. In this communication the desire grows, so also does the
bitterness of that loneliness wherein the soul beholds itself,
suffering a pain so sharp and piercing that, in that very
loneliness in which it dwells, it may literally say of
itself,--and perhaps the royal prophet said so, being in that
very loneliness himself, except that our Lord may have granted to
him, being a saint, to feel it more deeply,--"Vigilavi, et factus
sum sicut passer solitarius in tecto." [12] These words
presented themselves to me in such a way that I thought I saw
them fulfilled in myself. It was a comfort to know that others
had felt this extreme loneliness; how much greater my comfort,
when these persons were such as David was! The soul is then--so
I think--not in itself, but on the house-top, or on the roof,
above itself, and above all created things; for it seems to me to
have its dwelling higher than even in the highest part of itself.
14. On other occasions, the soul seems to be, as it were, in the
utmost extremity of need, asking itself, and saying, "Where is
Thy God?" [13] And it is to be remembered, that I did not know
how to express in Spanish the meaning of those words.
Afterwards, when I understood what it was, I used to console
myself with the thought, that our Lord, without any effort of
mine, had made me remember them. At other times, I used to
recollect a saying of St. Paul's, to the effect that he was
crucified to the world. [14] I do not mean that this is true of
me: I know it is not; but I think it is the state of the
enraptured soul. No consolation reaches it from heaven, and it
is not there itself; it wishes for none from earth, and it is not
there either; but it is, as it were, crucified between heaven and
earth, enduring its passion: receiving no succour from either.
15. Now, the succour it receives from heaven--which, as I have
said, [15] is a most marvellous knowledge of God, above all that
we can desire--brings with it greater pain; for the desire then
so grows, that, in my opinion, its intense painfulness now and
then robs the soul of all sensation; only, it lasts but for a
short time after the senses are suspended. It seems as if it
were the point of death; only, the agony carries with it so great
a joy, that I know of nothing wherewith to compare it. It is a
sharp martyrdom, full of sweetness; for if any earthly thing be
then offered to the soul, even though it may be that which it
habitually found most sweet, the soul will have none of it; yea,
it seems to throw it away at once. The soul sees distinctly that
it seeks nothing but God; yet its love dwells not on any
attribute of Him in particular; it seeks Him as He is, and knows
not what it seeks. I say that it knows not, because the
imagination forms no representation whatever; and, indeed, as I
think, during much of that time the faculties are at rest.
Pain suspends them then, as joy suspends them in union and in
a trance.
16. O Jesus! oh, that some one would clearly explain this to you,
my father, were it only that you may tell me what it means,
because this is the habitual state of my soul! Generally, when I
am not particularly occupied, I fall into these agonies of death,
and I tremble when I feel them coming on, because they are not
unto death. But when I am in them, I then wish to spend therein
all the rest of my life, though the pain be so very great, that I
can scarcely endure it. Sometimes my pulse ceases, as it were,
to beat at all,--so the sisters say, who sometimes approach me,
and who now understand the matter better,--my bones are racked,
and my hands become so rigid, that I cannot always join them.
Even on the following day I have a pain in my wrists, and over my
whole body, as if my bones were out of joint. [16] Well, I think
sometimes, if it continues as at present, that it will end, in
the good pleasure of our Lord, by putting an end to my life; for
the pain seems to me sharp enough to cause death; only, I do not
deserve it.
17. All my anxiety at these times is that I should die: I do not
think of purgatory, nor of the great sins I have committed, and
by which I have deserved hell. I forget everything in my
eagerness to see God; and this abandonment and loneliness seem
preferable to any company in the world. If anything can be a
consolation in this state, it is to speak to one who has passed
through this trial, seeing that, though the soul may complain of
it, no one seems disposed to believe in it.
18. The soul is tormented also because the pain has increased so
much, that it seeks solitude no longer, as it did before, nor
companionship, unless it be that of those to whom it may make its
complaint. It is now like a person, who, having a rope around
his neck, and being strangled, tries to breathe. This desire of
companionship seems to me to proceed from our weakness; for, as
pain brings with it the risk of death,--which it certainly does;
for I have been occasionally in danger of death, in my great
sickness and infirmities, as I have said before, [17] and I think
I may say that this pain is as great as any,--so the desire not
to be parted, which possesses soul and body, is that which raises
the cry for succour in order to breathe, and by speaking of it,
by complaining, and distracting itself, causes the soul to seek
means of living very much against the will of the spirit, or the
higher part of the soul, which would not wish to be delivered
from this pain.
19. I am not sure that I am correct in what I say, nor do I know
how to express myself, but to the best of my knowledge it comes
to pass in this way. See, my father, what rest I can have in
this life, now that what I once had in prayer and
loneliness--therein our Lord used to comfort me--has become in
general a torment of this kind; while, at the same time, it is so
full of sweetness, that the soul, discerning its inestimable
worth, prefers it to all those consolations which it formerly
had. It seems also to be a safer state, because it is the way of
the cross; and involves, in my opinion, a joy of exceeding worth,
because the state of the body in it is only pain. It is the soul
that suffers and exults alone in that joy and contentment which
suffering supplies.
20. I know not how this can be, but so it is; it comes from the
hand of our Lord, and, as I said before, [18] is not anything
that I have acquired myself, because it is exceedingly
supernatural, and I think I would not barter it for all the
graces of which I shall speak further on: I do not say for all of
them together, but for any one of them separately. And it must
not be forgotten that, as I have just said, these impetuosities
came upon me after I had received those graces from our Lord [19]
which I am speaking of now, and all those described in this book,
and it is in this state our Lord keeps me at this moment. [20]
21. In the beginning I was afraid--it happens to me to be almost
always so when our Lord leads me by a new way, until His Majesty
reassures me as I proceed--and so our Lord bade me not to fear,
but to esteem this grace more than all the others He had given
me; for the soul was purified by this pain--burnished, or refined
as gold in the crucible, so that it might be the better enamelled
with His gifts, and the dross burnt away in this life, which
would have to be burnt away in purgatory.
22. I understood perfectly that this pain was a great grace; but
I was much more certain of it now and my confessor tells me I did
well. And though I was afraid, because I was so wicked, I never
could believe it was anything wrong: on the other hand, the
exceeding greatness of the blessing made me afraid, when I called
to mind how little I had deserved it. Blessed be our Lord, who
is so good! Amen.
23. I have, it seems, wandered from my subject; for I began by
speaking of raptures, and that of which I have been speaking is
even more than a rapture, and the effects of it are what I have
described. Now let us return to raptures, and speak of their
ordinary characteristics. I have to say that, when the rapture
was over, my body seemed frequently to be buoyant, as if all
weight had departed from it; so much so, that now and then I
scarcely knew that my feet touched the ground. But during the
rapture itself the body is very often as if it were dead,
perfectly powerless. It continues in the position it was in when
the rapture came upon it--if sitting, sitting; if the hands were
open, or if they were shut, they will remain open or shut. [21]
For though the senses fail but rarely, it has happened to me
occasionally to lose them wholly--seldom, however, and then only
for a short time. But in general they are in disorder; and
though they have no power whatever to deal with outward things,
there remains the power of hearing and seeing; but it is as if
the things heard and seen were at a great distance, far away.
24. I do not say that the soul sees and hears when the rapture is
at the highest,--I mean by at the highest, when the faculties are
lost, because profoundly united with God,--for then it neither
sees, nor hears, nor perceives, as I believe; but, as I said of
the previous prayer of union, [22] this utter transformation of
the soul in God continues only for an instant; yet while it
continues no faculty of the soul is aware of it, or knows what is
passing there. Nor can it be understood while we are living on
the earth--at least, God will not have us understand it, because
we must be incapable of understanding it. I know it
by experience.
25. You, my father, will ask me: How comes it, then, that a
rapture occasionally lasts so many hours? What has often
happened to me is this,--I spoke of it before, when writing of
the previous state of prayer, [23]--the rapture is not
continuous, the soul is frequently absorbed, or, to speak more
correctly, our Lord absorbs it in Himself; and when He has held
it thus for a moment, the will alone remains in union with Him.
The movements of the two other faculties seem to me to be like
those of the needle of sun-dials, which is never at rest; yet
when the Sun of Justice will have it so, He can hold it still.
26. This I speak of lasts but a moment; yet, as the impulse and
the upraising of the spirit were vehement, and though the other
faculties bestir themselves again, the will continues absorbed,
and causes this operation in the body, as if it were the absolute
mistress; for now that the two other faculties are restless, and
attempt to disturb it, it takes care--for if it is to have
enemies, the fewer the better--that the senses also shall not
trouble it: and thus it comes to pass that the senses are
suspended; for so our Lord wills it. And for the most part the
eyes are closed, though we may not wish to close them; and if
occasionally they remain open, as I said just now, the soul
neither discerns nor considers what it sees.
27. What the body then can do here is still less in order that,
when the faculties come together again, there may not be so much
to do. Let him, therefore, to whom our Lord has granted this
grace, be not discouraged when he finds himself in this
state--the body under constraint for many hours, the
understanding and the memory occasionally astray. The truth is
that, in general, they are inebriated with the praises of God, or
with searching to comprehend or understand that which has passed
over them. And yet even for this they are not thoroughly awake,
but are rather like one who has slept long, and dreamed, and is
hardly yet awake.
28. I dwell so long on this point because I know that there are
persons now, even in this place, [24] to whom our Lord is
granting these graces; and if their directors have had no
experience in the matter, they will think, perhaps, that they
must be as dead persons during the trance--and they will think so
the more if they have no learning. It is piteous to see what
those confessors who do not understand this make people suffer.
I shall speak of it by and by. [25] Perhaps I do not know what I
am saying. You, my father, will understand it, if I am at all
correct; for our Lord has admitted you to the experience of it:
yet, because that experience is not very great, it may be,
perhaps, that you have not considered the matter so much as I
have done.
29. So then, though I do all I can, my body has no strength to
move for some time; the soul took it all away. Very often, too,
he who was before sickly and full of pain remains healthy, and
even stronger; for it is something great that is given to the
soul in rapture; and sometimes, as I have said already, [26] our
Lord will have the body rejoice, because it is obedient in that
which the soul requires of it. When we recover our
consciousness, the faculties may remain, if the rapture has been
deep, for a day or two, and even for three days, so absorbed, or
as if stunned,--so much so, as to be in appearance no
longer themselves.
30. Here comes the pain of returning to this life; here it is the
wings of the soul grew, to enable it to fly so high: the weak
feathers are fallen off. Now the standard of Christ is raised up
aloft, which seems to be nothing else but the going up, or the
carrying up, of the Captain of the fort to the highest tower of
it, there to raise up the standard of God. The soul, as in a
place of safety, looks down on those below; it fears no dangers
now--yea, rather, it courts them, as one assured beforehand of
victory. It sees most clearly how lightly are the things of this
world to be esteemed, and the nothingness thereof. The soul now
seeks not, and possesses not, any other will but that of doing
our Lord's will, [27] and so it prays Him to let it be so; it
gives to Him the keys of its own will. Lo, the gardener is now
become the commander of a fortress! The soul will do nothing but
the will of our Lord; it will not act as the owner even of
itself, nor of anything, not even of a single apple in the
orchard; only, if there be any good thing in the garden, it is at
His Majesty's disposal; for from henceforth the soul will have
nothing of its own,--all it seeks is to do everything for His
glory, and according to His will.
31. This is really the way in which these things come to pass; if
the raptures be true raptures, the fruits and advantages spoken
of abide in the soul; but if they did not, I should have great
doubts about their being from God--yea, rather, I should be
afraid they were those frenzies of which St. Vincent speaks. [28]
I have seen it myself, and I know it by experience, that the soul
in rapture is mistress of everything, and acquires such freedom
in one hour, and even in less, as to be unable to recognize
itself. It sees distinctly that all this does not belong to it,
neither knows it how it came to possess so great a good; but it
clearly perceives the very great blessing which every one of
these raptures always brings. No one will believe this who has
not had experience of it, and so they do not believe the poor
soul: they saw it lately so wicked, and now they see it pretend
to things of so high an order; for it is not satisfied with
serving our Lord in the common way,--it must do so forthwith in
the highest way it can. They consider this a temptation and a
folly; yet they would not be astonished, if they knew that it
comes not from the soul, but from our Lord, to whom it has given
up the keys of its will.
32. For my part, I believe that a soul which has reached this
state neither speaks nor acts of itself, but rather that the
supreme King takes care of all it has to do. O my God, how clear
is the meaning of those words, and what good reason the Psalmist
had, and all the world will ever have, to pray for the wings of a
dove! [29] It is plain that this is the flight of the spirit
rising upwards above all created things, and chiefly above
itself: but it is a sweet flight, a delicious flight--a flight
without noise.
33. Oh, what power that soul possesses which our Lord raises to
this state! how it looks down upon everything, entangled by
nothing! how ashamed it is of the time when it was entangled! how
it is amazed at its own blindness! how it pities those who are
still in darkness, especially if they are men of prayer, and have
received consolations from God! It would like to cry out to
them, that they might be made to see the delusions they are in:
and, indeed, it does so now and then; and then a thousand
persecutions fall upon it as a shower. People consider it
wanting in humility, and think it means to teach those from whom
it should learn, particularly if it be a woman. Hence its
condemnation; and not without reason; because they know not how
strong the influence is that moves it. The soul at times cannot
help itself; nor can it refrain from undeceiving those it loves,
and whom it longs to see delivered out of the prison of this
life; for that state in which the soul itself had been before
neither is, nor seems to be, anything else but a prison.
34. The soul is weary of the days during which it respected
points of honour, and the delusion which led it to believe that
to be honour which the world calls by that name; now it sees it
to be the greatest lie, and that we are all walking therein.
It understands that true honour is not delusive, but real,
esteeming that which is worthy of esteem, and despising that
which is despicable; for everything is nothing, and less than
nothing, whatever passeth away, and is not pleasing unto God.
The soul laughs at itself when it thinks of the time in which it
regarded money, and desired to possess it,--though, as to this, I
verily believe that I never had to confess such a fault; it was
fault enough to have regarded money at all. If I could purchase
with money the blessings which I possess, I should make much of
it; but it is plain that these blessings are gained by abandoning
all things.
35. What is there that is procurable by this money which we
desire? Is it anything of worth, and anything lasting?
Why, then, do we desire it? A dismal resting place it provides,
which costs so dear! Very often it obtains for us hell itself,
fire everlasting, and torments without end. Oh, if all men would
but regard it as profitless dross, how peaceful the world would
be! how free from bargaining! How friendly all men would be one
with another, if no regard were paid to honour and money!
I believe it would be a remedy for everything.
36. The soul sees how blind men are to the nature of
pleasure--how by means of it they provide for themselves trouble
and disquietude even in this life. What restlessness! how little
satisfaction! what labour in vain! It sees, too, not only the
cobwebs that cover it, and its great faults, but also the specks
of dirt, however slight they may be; for the sun shines most
clearly; and thus, however much the soul may have laboured at its
own perfection, it sees itself to be very unclean, if the rays of
the sun fall really upon it. The soul is like water in a vessel,
which appears pellucid when the sun does not shine through it;
but if it does, the water then is found to be full of motes.
37. This comparison is literally correct. Before the soul fell
into the trance, it thought itself to be careful about not
offending God, and that it did what it could in proportion to its
strength; but now that it has attained to this state, in which
the Sun of Justice shines upon it, and makes it open its eyes, it
beholds so many motes, that it would gladly close them again.
It is not so truly the child of the noble eagle, that it can gaze
upon the sun; but, for the few instants it can keep them open, it
beholds itself wholly unclean. It remembers the words: "Who
shall be just in Thy presence?" [30] When it looks on this
Divine Sun, the brightness thereof dazzles it,--when it looks on
itself, its eyes are blinded by the dust: the little dove is
blind. So it happens very often: the soul is utterly blinded,
absorbed, amazed, dizzy at the vision of so much grandeur.
38. It is in rapture that true humility is acquired--humility
that will never say any good of self, nor suffer others to do so.
The Lord of the garden, not the soul, distributes the fruit
thereof, and so none remains in its hands; all the good it has,
it refers to God; if it says anything about itself, it is for His
glory. It knows that it possesses nothing here; and even if it
wished, it cannot continue ignorant of that. It sees this, as it
were, with the naked eye; for, whether it will or not, its eyes
are shut against the things of this world, and open to see
the truth.
1. See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. v.; Philippus a SS. Trinitate,
Theolog. Mystic. par. iii. tr. i, disp. iii., art. 3; "Hæc oratio
raptus superior est præcedentibus orationis gradibus, etiam
oratione unionis ordinariæ, et habet effectus multo
excellentiores et multas alias operationes."
2. "She says that rapture is more excellent than union; that is,
that the soul in a rapture has a greater fruition of God, and
that God takes it then more into His own hands. That is
evidently so; because in a rapture the soul loses the use of its
exterior and interior faculties. When she says that union is the
beginning, middle, and end, she means that pure union is almost
always uniform; but that there are degrees in rapture, of which
some are, as it were, the beginning, some the middle, others the
end. That is the reason why it is called by different names;
some of which denote the least, others the most, perfect form of
it, as it will appear hereafter."--Note in the Spanish edition of
Lopez (De la Fuente).
3. Anton. a Spirit. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. 4, d. i. n. 95:
"Licet oratio raptus idem sit apud mysticos ac oratio volatus,
seu elevationis spiritus seu extasis; reipsa tamen raptus aliquid
addit super extasim; nam extasis importat simplicem excessum
mentis in seipso secundum quem aliquis extra suam cognitionem
ponitur. Raptus vero super hoc addit violentiam quandam ab
aliquo extrinseco."
4. The words between the dashes are in the handwriting of the
Saint--not however, in the text, but on the margin (De
la Fuente).
5. See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. v. "Primus effectus orationis
ecstaticæ est in corpore, quod ita remanet, ac si per animam non
informaretur, infrigidatur enim calore naturali deficiente,
clauduntur suaviter oculi, et alii sensus amittuntur: contingit
tamen quod corpus infirmum in hac oratione sanitatem recuperat."
Anton. a Spirit. Sancto, Direct. Mystic. tr. iv. d. 2, § 4,
n. 150.
6. This passage could not have been in the first Life; for that
was written before she had ever been Prioress.
7. Job. iv. 15: "Inhorruerunt pili carnis meæ." (See St. John of
the Cross. Spiritual Canticle, sts. 14, 15, vol. ii p. 83,
Engl. trans.)
8. See ch. xxix.
9. See ch. xx. § 21.
10. § 9, supra.
11. § 10.
12. Psalm ci. 8: "I have watched, and become as a sparrow alone
on the house-top."
13. Psalm xli. 4: "Ubi est Deus tuus?"
14. Galat. vi. 14: "In cruce Jesu Christi: per quem mihi mundus
crucifixus est, et ego mundo."
15. §§ 9 and 12.
16. Daniel x. 16: "In visione tua dissolutæ sunt compages meæ."
See St. John of the Cross, Spiritual Canticle, st. 14,
vol. ii. p. 84, Engl. trans.; and also Relation, viii. § 13,
where this is repeated.
17. Ch. v. § 18.
18. § 12.
19. The words from "I have just said" to "our Lord" are in the
margin of the text, but in the handwriting of the Saint (De
la Fuente).
20. See § 11.
21. See Relation, viii. § 8.
22. Ch. xviii. § 16.
23. Ch. xviii. § 17.
24. Avila.
25. Ch. xxv. § 18.
26. § 9.
27. "Other will . . . Lord's will." These words--in Spanish,
"Otra voluntad, sino hacer la de nuestro Señor"--are not in the
handwriting of the Saint; perhaps it was Father Bañes who wrote
them. The MS. is blurred, and the original text seems to have
been, "libre alvedrio ni guerra" (De la Fuente).
28. St. Vincent. Ferrer, Instruct. de Vit. Spirit. c. xiv. p. 14:
"Si dicerent tibi aliquid quod sit contra fidem, et contra
Scripturam Sacram, aut contra bonos mores, ahhorreas earum
visionem et judicia, tanquam stultas dementias, et earum raptus,
sicut rabiamenta"--which word the Saint translates
by "rabiamientos."
29. Psalm liv. 7: "Quis dabit mihi pennas sicut columbæ?"
30. Job iv. 17: "Numquid homo Dei comparatione justificabitur?"