Chapter VI: Carlin’s Nest (8)

Father Baker explains mystic contemplation as follows: “In the second place, there is a mystic contemplation which is, indeed, truly and properly such, by which a soul, without discoursings and curious speculations, without any _perceptible use_ of the internal senses or sensible images, by a pure, simple, and reposeful operation of the mind, in the obscurity of faith, simply regards God as infinite and incomprehensible verity, and with the whole bent of the will rests in him as (her) infinite, universal, and incomprehensible good.… This is properly the exercise of angels, for their knowledge is not by discourse (discursive), but by one simple intuition all objects are represented to their view at once with all their natures, qualities, relations, dependencies, and effects; but man, that receives all his knowledge first from his senses, can only by effects and outward appearances with the labor of reasoning collect the nature of objects, and this but imperfectly; but his reasoning being ended, then he can at once contemplate all that is known unto him in the object.… This mystic contemplation or union is of two sorts: 1. Active and ordinary.… 2. Passive and extraordinary; the which is not a state, but an actual grace and favor from God.… And it is called passive, not but that therein the soul doth actively contemplate God, but she can neither, when she pleases, dispose herself thereto, nor yet refuse it when that God thinks good to operate after such a manner in the soul, and to represent himself unto her _by a divine particular image, not at all framed by the soul, but supernaturally infused into her_.… As for the former sort, which is active contemplation, we read in mystic authors――Thaulerus, Harphius, etc.――that he that would become spiritual ought to practise the drawing of his external senses inwardly into his internal, there losing and, as it were, annihilating them. Having done this, he must then draw his internal senses into the superior powers of the soul, and there annihilate them likewise; and those powers of the intellectual soul he must draw into that which is called their unity, which is the principle and fountain from whence those powers do flow, and in which they are united. And, lastly, that unity (which alone is capable of perfect union with God) must be applied and firmly fixed on God; and herein, say they, consist the perfect divine contemplation and union of an intellectual soul with God. Now, whether such expressions as these will abide the strict examination of philosophy or no I will not take on me to determine; certain it is that, by a frequent and constant exercise of internal prayer of the will, joined with mortification, the soul comes to operate more and more abstracted from sense, and more elevated above the corporal organs and faculties, so drawing nearer to the resemblance of the operations of an angel or separated spirit. Yet this abstraction and elevation (perhaps) are not to be understood as if the soul in these pure operations had no use at all of the internal senses or sensible images (for the schools resolve that cannot consist with the state of a soul joined to a mortal body); but surely her operations in this pure degree of prayer are so subtile and intime, and the images that she makes use of so exquisitely pure and immaterial, that she cannot perceive at all that she works by images, so that spiritual writers are not much to be condemned by persons utterly inexperienced in these mystic affairs, if, delivering things as they perceived by their own experience, they have expressed them otherwise than will be admitted in the schools.”[36]

That kind of contemplation which is treated of in mystical theology is, therefore, a state or an act of the mind in which the intellectual operation approaches to that of separate spirits――that is, of human souls separated from their bodies, and of pure spirits or angels who are, by their essence unembodied, simply intellectual beings. Its direct and chief object is God, other objects being viewed in their relation to him. The end of it is the elevation of the soul above the sphere of the senses and the sensible world into a more spiritual condition approaching the angelic, in which it is closely united with God, and prepared for the beatific and deific state of the future and eternal life. The longing after such a liberation from the natural and imperfect mode of knowing and enjoying the sovereign good, the sovereign truth, the sovereign beauty, through the senses and the discursive operations of reason, is as ancient and as universal among men as religion and philosophy. It is an aspiration after the invisible and the infinite. When it is not enlightened, directed, and controlled by a divine authority, it drives men into a kind of intellectual and spiritual madness, produces the most extravagant absurdities in thought and criminal excesses in conduct, stimulates and employs as its servants all the most cruel and base impulses of the disordered passions, and disturbs the whole course of nature. Demons are fallen angels who aspired to obtain their deification through pride, and the fall of man was brought about through an inordinate and disobedient effort of Eve to become like the gods, knowing good and evil. An inordinate striving to become like the angels assimilates man to the demons, and an inordinate striving after a similitude to God causes a relapse into a lower state of sin than that in which we are born. The history of false religions and philosophies furnishes a series of illustrations of this statement. In the circle of nominal Christianity, and even within the external communion of the Catholic Church, heretical and false systems of a similar kind have sprung up, and the opinions and writings of some who were orthodox and well-intentioned in their principles have been tinctured with such errors, or at least distorted in their verbal expression of the cognate truths. This remark applies not only to those who are devotees of a mystical theology more or less erroneous, but also to certain philosophical writers with their disciples. Ontologism is a kind of mystical philosophy; for its fundamental doctrine ascribes to man a mode of knowledge which is proper only to the purely intellectual being, and even a direct, immediate intuition of God which is above the natural power not only of men but of angels.

There are two fundamental errors underlying all these false systems of mystical theology――or more properly theosophy――and philosophy. One is distinctively anti-theistic, the other distinctively anti-Christian; but we may class both under one logical species with the common _differentia_ of denial of the real essence and personality, and the real operation _ad extra_, of the Incarnate Word. The first error denies his divine nature and creative act, the second his human nature and theandric operation. By the first error identity of substance in respect to the divine nature and all nature is asserted; by the second, identity of the human nature and its operation with that nature which is purely spiritual. The first error manifests itself as a perversion of the revealed and Catholic doctrine of the deification of the creature in and through the Word, by teaching that it becomes one with God in its mode of being by absorption into the essence whose emanation it is, in substantial unity. The second manifests itself by teaching that the instrumentality and the process of this unification are purely spiritual. The first denies the substantiality of the soul and the proper activity which proceeds from it and constitutes its life. The second denies the difference of the human essence as a composite of spirit and body, which separates it from purely spiritual essences and marks it as a distinct species. The first error is pantheism; for the second we cannot think of any designating term more specific than idealism. Both these errors, however disguised or modified may be the forms they assume, conduct logically to the explicit denial of the Catholic faith, and even of any form of positive doctrinal Christianity. Their extreme developments are to be found outside of the boundaries of all that is denominated Christian theology. Within these boundaries they have developed themselves more or less imperfectly into gross heresies, and into shapes of erroneous doctrine which approach to or recede from direct and palpable heresy in proportion to the degree of their evolution. Our purpose is not directly concerned with any of the openly anti-Christian forms of these errors, but only with such as have really infected or have been imputed to the doctrines and writings of mystical authors who were Catholics by profession, and have flourished within the last four centuries. There is a certain more or less general and sweeping charge made by some Catholic authors of reputation, and a prejudice or suspicion to some extent among educated Catholics, against the German school of mystics of the epoch preceding the Reformation, that they prepared the way by their teaching for Martin Luther and his associates. This notion of an affinity between the doctrine of some mystical writers and Protestantism breeds a more general suspicion against mystical theology itself, as if it undermined or weakened the fabric of the external, visible order and authority of the church through some latent, unorthodox, and un-Catholic element of spiritualism. We are inclined to think, moreover, that some very zealous advocates of the scholastic philosophy apprehend a danger to sound psychological science from the doctrine of mystic contemplation as presented by the aforesaid school of writers. Those who are canonized saints, indeed, as St. Bonaventure and St. John of the Cross, cannot be censured, and their writings must be treated with respect. Nevertheless, they may be neglected, their doctrine ignored, and, through misapprehension or inadvertence, their teachings may be criticised and assailed when presented by other authors not canonized and approved by the solemn judgment of the church; and thus mystical theology itself may suffer discredit and be undervalued. It is desirable to prove that genuine mystical theology has no affinity with the Protestant heresies which subvert the visible church with its authority, or those of idealistic philosophy, but is, on the contrary, in perfect harmony with the dogmatic and philosophical doctrine of the most approved Catholic schools. It is only a modest effort in that direction which we can pretend to make, with respect chiefly to the second or philosophical aspect of the question. We must devote, however, a few paragraphs to its first or theological aspect.

From the mystery of the Incarnation necessarily follows the substantial reality of human nature as a composite of spirit and body, the excellence and endless existence, in its own distinct entity, not only of the spiritual but also of the corporeal part of man and of the visible universe to which he belongs as being an embodied spirit. The theology which springs out of this fundamental doctrine teaches a visible church, existing as an organic body with visible priesthood, sacrifice, sacraments, ceremonies, and order, as mediums subordinate to the theandric, mediatorial operation of the divine Word acting through his human nature. Sound philosophy, which is in accordance with theology, teaches also that the corporeal life and sensitive operation of man is for the benefit of his mind and his intellectual operation. He is not a purely intellectual being, but a rational animal. He must therefore derive his intelligible species or ideas by abstraction from sensible species furnished by the corporeal world to the senses, and then proceed by a discursive process of reasoning from these general ideas to investigate the particular objects apprehended by his faculties. False theology denies or undervalues the being of the created universe or the corporeal part of it. Under the pretence of making way for God it would destroy the creature, and, to exalt the spiritual part of the universe, reduce to nothing that part which is corporeal. Hence the denial of the visible church, the sacraments, the Real Presence, the external sacrifice and worship, the value of reason, the merit of good works, the essential goodness of nature, and the necessity of active voluntary co-operation by the senses and the mind with the Spirit of God in attaining perfection. The corporeal part of man, and the visible world to which it belongs, are regarded as unreal appearances, or as an encumbrance and impediment, at the best but temporary provisions for the earliest, most imperfect stage of development.

Some of the German mystics, especially Eckhardt and the author of the _Theologia Germanica_, undoubtedly prepared the way for the errors of Luther and the pantheists who followed him. But the doctors of mystic theology, the canonized saints of the church and their disciples, have invariably taught that as the human nature of Christ is for ever essentially and substantially distinct from the divine nature in the personal union, so much more the beatified, in their separate personalities, remain for ever distinct in essence and substance from God. So, also, as they teach that the body of Christ is immortal and to be adored for ever with the worship of _latria_, they maintain that the union of the soul with the body and the existence of corporeal things is for the advantage of the soul, and perpetual. It is only by comparison with supernatural life in God that natural life is depreciated by the Catholic mystics, and by comparison with the spiritual world that the corporeal world is undervalued. In a word, all things which are created and visible, even the humanity of the Word, are only mediums and instruments of the Holy Spirit; all nature is only a pedestal for grace; and the gifts and operations of grace are only for the sake of the beatific union with Christ in the Holy Spirit, in whom he is one with the Father. All things, therefore, are to be valued and employed for their utility as means to the final end, but not as ends in themselves; and, consequently, the lower are to give place to the higher, the more remote to the proximate, and that which is inferior in nature is to be wholly subordinated to that which is highest. Mystical theology is in doctrine what the lives of the great saints have been in practice. Neither can be blamed without impiety; and when the actions or doctrines of those whose lives or writings have not received solemn sanction from the church are criticised, it must be done by comparing them with the speculative and practical science of the saints as a standard.

The psychological doctrine of the doctors and other canonized authors who have treated scientifically of the nature of mystic contemplation, is not, however, placed above all critical discussion. A few important questions excepted, upon which the supreme authority of the Holy See has pronounced a judgment, the theory of cognition is an open area of discussion, and therefore explanations of the phenomena of the spiritual life, given by any author in accordance with his own philosophical system, may be criticised by those who differ from him in opinion. Those who follow strictly the psychology of St. Thomas, as contained in modern writers of the later Thomistic school, may easily be led by their philosophical opinions to suspect and qualify as scientifically untenable the common language of mystical writers. The passage quoted from Father Baker at the head of this article will furnish an illustration of our meaning. Those who are familiar with metaphysics will understand at once where the apparent opposition between scholastic psychology and mystical theology is found. For others it may suffice to explain that, in the metaphysics of the Thomists, no origin of ideas is recognized except that which is called abstraction from the sensible object, and that the precise difference of the human mind in respect to the angelic intellect is that the former is naturally turned to the intelligible in a sensible phantasm or image, whereas the latter is turned to the purely intelligible itself. Now, as soon as one begins to speak of a mode of contemplation similar to that of the angels――a contemplation of God and divine things without the intervention of images――he passes beyond the known domain of metaphysics, and appears to be waving his wings for a flight in the air, instead of quietly pacing the ground with the peripatetics.

Now, assuming the Thomistic doctrine of the origin of ideas and the specific nature of human cognition to be true, it is worthy of careful inquiry how the statements of mystical authors respecting infused contemplation are to be explained in accordance with this system. We cannot prudently assume that there is a repugnance between them. Practically, St. Thomas was one of those saints who have made the highest attainments in mystic contemplation. He is the “Angelical,” and the history of his life shows that he was frequently, and towards the close of his life almost habitually, rapt out of the common sphere of the senses, so as to take no notice of what went on before his eyes or was uttered in his hearing. His last act as an instructor in divine wisdom was an exposition of the Canticle of Solomon to the monks of Fossa Nuova, and he could no doubt have explained according to his own philosophical doctrine all the facts and phenomena of mystic contemplation, so far as these can be represented in human language. There cannot be any sufficient reason, therefore, to regard the two as dissonant or as demanding either one any sacrifice of the other.

In respect to the purely passive and supernatural contemplation, there seems, indeed, to be no difficulty whatsoever in the way. There is no question of an immediate intuition of the divine essence in this ecstatic state, so that, even if the soul is supposed to be raised for a time to an equality with angels in its intellectual acts, the errors of false mysticism and ontologism are excluded from the hypothesis. For even the angels have no such natural intuition. That the human intellect should receive immediately from angels or from God infused species or ideas by which it becomes cognizant of realities behind the veil of the sensible, and contemplates God through a more perfect glass than that of discursive reason, does not in any way interfere with the psychology of scholastic metaphysics. For the cause and mode are professedly supernatural. In the human intellect of our Lord, the perfection of infused and acquired knowledge, the beatific vision and the natural sensitive life common to all men co-existed in perfect harmony. It is even probable that Moses, the Blessed Virgin, and St. Paul enjoyed temporary glimpses of the beatific vision. Therefore, although it is true that, without a miracle, no mere man “can see God and live,” and that the ecstasies of the saints, in which there is no intuitive vision of the divine essence, but only a manifestation of divine things, naturally tend to extinguish bodily life, yet, by the power of God, the operations of the natural life can be sustained in conjunction with those which are supernatural, because they are not essentially incongruous. The only question is one of fact and evidence. Whatever may be proved to take place in souls so highly elevated, philosophy has no objection to offer; for these things are above the sphere of merely human and rational science.

The real matter of difficult and perplexing investigation relates to certain abnormal or preternatural phenomena, which seem to indicate a partial liberation of the soul from the conditions of organic life and union with the body, and to that state of mystic contemplation which is called active or acquired. In these cases there is no liberty allowed us by sound theology or philosophy of resorting to the supernatural in its strict and proper sense. We are restricted to the sphere of the nature of man and the operations which can proceed from it or be terminated to it according to the natural laws of its being. There is one hypothesis, very intelligible and perfectly in accordance with psychology, which will remove all difficulty out of the way, if only it is found adequate to explain all the certain and probable facts and phenomena which have to be considered. Father Baker furnishes this explanation as a probable one, and it no doubt amply suffices for the greatest number of instances. That is to say, we may suppose that whenever the mind seems to act without any species, image, or idea, originally presented through the medium of the senses, and by a pure, spiritual intuition, it is really by a subtile and imperceptible image which it has elaborated by an abstractive and discursive process, and which exists in the imagination, that the intellect receives the object which it contemplates.

But let us suppose that this hypothesis is found insufficient to explain all the facts to which it must be applied. Can it be admitted, without prejudice to rational psychology, that the soul may, by an abnormal condition of its relations to the body, or as the result of its efforts and habits, whether for evil or good, lawfully or unlawfully, escape from its ordinary limits in knowing and acting, and thus draw nearer to the state of separate spirits?

We must briefly consider what is the mode of knowing proper to separate spirits before we can find any data for answering this question. Here we avail ourselves of the explication of the doctrine of St. Thomas given by Liberatore in his interesting treatise on the nature of man entitled _Dell’Uomo_.[37]

St. Thomas, following St. Augustine, teaches that in the creation, the divine idea in the Word was communicated in a twofold way, spiritual and corporeal. In the latter mode this light was made to reverberate from the visible universe. In the former it was made to shine in the superior and intellectual beings――that is, the angels――producing in them ideally all that which exists in the universe really. As they approximate in intelligence to God, these ideas or intelligible species by which they know all things have a nearer resemblance to the Idea in the Divine Word――that is, approach to its unity and simplicity of intuition――are fewer and more general. As their grade of intelligence is more remote from its source, they depart to a greater and greater distance from this unity by the increasing multiplicity of their intelligible species. Moreover, the inferior orders are illuminated by those which are superior; that is, these higher beings present to them a higher ideal universe than their own, and are as if reflectors or mirrors of the divine ideas, by which they see God mediately in his works. The human soul, being the lowest in the order of intelligent spirits, is not capable of seeing objects distinctly, even in the light of the lowest order of angels. It is made with a view to its informing an organized body, and it is aided by the bodily senses and organic operations to come out of the state of a mere capacity of intelligence, in which it has no innate or infused ideas, into actual intelligence. It is naturally turned, as an embodied spirit, to inferior objects, to single, visible things, for the material term of its operation, and from these abstracts the universal ideas which are the principles of knowledge. The necessity of turning to these sensible phantasms is therefore partly the inchoate state of the intelligence of man at the beginning of his existence, partly its essential inferiority, and, in addition, the actual union of the soul with the body. There is, however, in the soul, a power, albeit inferior to that of angels, of direct, intellectual vision and cognition, without the instrumentality of sensation. When the soul leaves the body and goes into the state of a separate spirit, it has the intuition of its own essence, it retains all its acquired ideas, and it has a certain dim and confused perception of higher spiritual beings and the ideas which are in them. It is therefore, in a certain sense, more free and more perfect in its intellectual operation in the separate state than it was while united with the body. All this proceeds without taking into account in the least that supernatural light of glory which enables a beatified spirit to see the essence of God, and in him to see the whole universe.

We see from the foregoing that the necessity for using sensible images in operations of the intellect does not arise from an intrinsic, essential incapacity of the human mind to act without them. As Father Baker says, and as Liberatore distinctly asserts after St. Thomas, it is “the state of a soul joined to a mortal body” which impedes the exercise of a power inherent and latent in the very nature of the soul, as a form which is in and by itself substantial and capable of self-subsistence and action in a separate state. Remove the impediment of the body, and the spirit starts, like a spring that has been weighted down, into a new and immortal life and activity. The curtain has dropped, and it is at once in the world of spirits. The earth, carrying with it the earthly body, drops down from the ascending soul, as it does from an aeronaut going up in a balloon. “Animæ, secundum illum modum essendi, quo corpori est unita, competit modus intelligendi per conversionem ad phantasmata corporum, quæ in corporeis organis sunt. Cum autem fuerit a corpore separata, competit ei modus intelligendi per conversionem ad ea, quæ sunt intelligibilia simpliciter, sicut et aliis substantiis separatis”――“To the soul, in respect to the mode of being by union with a body, belongs a mode of understanding by turning toward the phantasms of bodies which are in the bodily organs. But when it is separated from the body, a mode of understanding belongs to it in common with other separate substances, by turning toward things simply intelligible.”[38] “Hujusmodi perfectionem recipiunt animæ separatæ a Deo, mediantibus angelis”――“This kind of perfection the separate souls receive from God through the mediation of angels.”[39] “Quando anima erit a corpore separata plenius percipere poterit influentiam a superioribus substantiis, quantum ad hoc quod per hujusmodi influxum intelligere poterit absque phantasmate _quod modo non potest_”――“When the soul shall be separated from the body, it will be capable of receiving influence from superior substances more fully, inasmuch as by an influx of this kind it can exercise intellectual perception without a phantasm, _which in its present state it cannot do_.” This language of St. Thomas and other schoolmen explains the hesitation of Father Baker in respect to certain statements of mystical authors, especially Harphius. He says, as quoted above: “This abstraction and elevation (perhaps) are not to be understood as if the soul in these pure operations had no use at all of _the internal senses or sensible images_ (for the schools resolve that cannot consist with the state of a soul joined to a mortal body).” He says “perhaps,” which shows that he was in doubt on the point. The precise question we have raised is whether there is reason for this doubt in the shape of probable arguments, or conjectures not absolutely excluded by sound philosophy. The point to be considered, namely, is whether the reception of this influx and the action of the intellect without the medium of sensible images is made absolutely impossible, unless by a miracle, by the union of the soul and body. It is a hindrance, and ordinarily a complete preventive of this kind of influx from the spiritual world into the soul, and this kind of activity properly belonging to a separate spirit. But we propose the conjectural hypothesis that there may be, in the first place, some kind of extraordinary and abnormal condition of the soul, in which the natural effect of the union with a body is diminished, or at times partially suspended. In this condition the soul would come in a partial and imperfect manner, and quite involuntarily, into immediate contact with the world of spirits, receive influences from it, and perceive things imperceptible to the senses and the intellect acting by their aid as its instruments. In the second place, that it is possible to bring about this condition unlawfully, to the great damage and danger of the soul by voluntarily yielding to or courting preternatural influences, and thus coming into immediate commerce with demons. In the third place, that it is possible, lawfully, for a good end and to the soul’s great benefit, to approximate to the angelical state by abstractive contemplation, according to the description given by Harphius and quoted by Father Baker. As for passive, supernatural contemplation, it is not possible for the soul to do more than prepare itself for the visitation of the divine Spirit with his lights and graces. In this supernatural condition it is more consonant to the doctrine of St. John of the Cross, who was well versed in scholastic metaphysics and theology; of St. Teresa, whose wisdom is called by the church in her solemn office “celestial”; and to what we know of the exalted experience of the most extraordinary saints, to suppose that God acts on the soul through the intermediate agency of angels, and also immediately by himself, without any concurrence of the imagination or the active intellect and its naturally-acquired forms. The quotation from St. John of the Cross at the head of this article, if carefully reperused and reflected on, will make this statement plain, and intelligible at least to all those who have some tincture of scholastic metaphysics.

There are many facts reported on more or less probable evidence, and extraordinary phenomena, belonging to diabolical and natural mysticism, which receive at least a plausible explanation on the same hypothesis. To refer all these to subjective affections of the external or internal senses and the imagination does not seem to be quite sufficient for their full explanation. It appears like bending and straining the facts of experience too violently, for the sake of a theory which, perhaps, is conceived in too exclusive and literal a sense. At all events it is worth investigation and discussion whether the _dictum_ of St. Thomas, _intelligere absque phantasmate modo non potest_, does not admit of and require some modification, by which it is restricted to those intellectual perceptions which belong to the normal, ordinary condition of man within the limits of the purely natural order.

[35] Complete works, vol. iii. p. 208.

[36] _Sancta Sophia_, treatise iii. sec. iv. chap. i. par.
5-12.

[37] _Dell’Uomo._ Trattato del P. Matteo Liberatore,
D.C.D.G. Vol. ii. Dell’Anima Humana, seconda ed. corretta ed
accresciuta. Roma. Befani: Via delle Stimate 23, 1875. Capo
x. Dell’Anima separata dal Corpo.

[38] _Summ. Theol._, i. p. qu. 89, art i.

[39] Qq. disp. ii. _de Anima_, art. 19 ad 13.

AVILA.

Mira tu muro dichoso
Que te rodea y corona,
Pues de tantos victorioso!
Mverece (en triumpho glorioso),
Cada almena su corona.
――_Ariz grandezas de Avila._

It was on the 31st of January, 1876, we left the Escorial to visit the _muy leal, muy magnifica, y muy noble_ city of Avila――_Avila de los Caballeros_, once famed for its valiant knights, and their daring exploits against the Moors, but whose chief glory now is that it is the birthplace of St. Teresa, whom all Christendom admires for her genius and venerates for her sanctity.

Keeping along the southern base of the Guadarrama Mountains, whose snowy summits and gray, rock-strewn sides wore a wild, lonely aspect that was inexpressibly melancholy, we came at length to a lower plateau that advances like a promontory between two broad valleys opening to the north and south. On this eminence stands the picturesque city of Avila, the Pearl of Old Castile, very much as it was in the twelfth century. It is full of historic mansions and interesting old churches that have a solemn architectural grandeur. One is astonished to find so small a place inland, inactive, and with no apparent source of wealth, with so many imposing and interesting monuments. They are all massive and severe, because built in an heroic age that disdained all that was light and unsubstantial. It is a city of granite――not of the softer hues that take a polish like marble, but of cold blue granite, severe and invincible as the steel-clad knights who built it. The granite houses are built with a solidity that would withstand many a hard assault; the granite churches, with their frowning battlements, have the aspect of fortresses; and the granite convents with their high granite walls look indeed like “citadels of prayer.” Everything speaks of a bygone age, an age of conflict and chivalrous deeds, when the city must have been far more wealthy and powerful than now, to have erected such solid edifices. We are not in the least surprised to hear it was originally founded by Hercules himself, or one of the forty of that name to whom so many of the cities of Spain are attributed. Avila is worthy of being counted among his labors.

But whoever founded Avila, it afterwards became the seat of a Roman colony which is mentioned by Ptolemy. It has always been of strategic importance, being at the entrance to the Guadarrama Mountains and the Castiles. When Roderick, the last of the Goths, brought destruction on the land by his folly, Avila was one of the first places seized by the Moors. This was in 714. After being repeatedly taken and lost, Don Sancho of Castile finally took it in 992, and the Moors never regained possession of it. But there were not Christians enough to repeople it, and it remained desolate eighty-nine years. St. Ferdinand found it uninhabited when he came from the conquest of Seville. Alonso VI. finally commissioned his son-in-law, Count Raymond of Burgundy, to rebuild and fortify it.

Alonso VI. had already taken the city of Toledo and made peace with the Moors, but the latter, intent on ruling over the whole of the Peninsula, soon became unmindful of the treaty. In this new crisis many foreign knights hastened to acquire fresh renown in this land of a perpetual crusade. Among the most renowned were Henry of Lorraine; Raymond de St. Gilles, Count of Toulouse; and Raymond, son of Guillaume Tête-Hardie of Burgundy, and brother of Pope Calixtus II. They contributed so much to the triumph of the cross that Alonso gave them his three daughters in marriage. Urraca (the name of a delicious pear in Spain) fell to the lot of Raymond of Burgundy, with Galicia for her portion, and to him was entrusted the task of rebuilding Avila, the more formidable because it required numerous outposts and a continual struggle with the Moors. The flower of Spanish knighthood came to his aid, and the king granted great privileges to all who would establish themselves in the city. Hewers of wood, stone-cutters, masons, and artificers of all kinds came from Biscay, Galicia, and Leon. The king sent the Moors taken in battle to aid in the work. The bishop in pontificals, accompanied by a long train of clergy, blessed the outlines traced for the walls, stopping to make special exorcisms at the spaces for the ten gates, that the great enemy of the human race might never obtain entrance into the city. The walls were built out of the ruins left successively behind by the Moors, the Goths, and the Romans, to say nothing of Hercules. As an old chronicler remarks, had they been obliged to hew out and bring hither all the materials, no king would have been able to build such walls. They are forty-two feet high and twelve feet thick. The so-called towers are rather solid circular buttresses that add to their strength. These walls were begun May 3, 1090. Eight hundred men were employed in the work, which was completed in nine years. They proved an effectual barrier against the Saracen; the crescent never floated from those towers. How proud the people are of them is shown by the lines at the head of this sketch:

“Behold the superb walls that surround and crown thee, victorious in so many assaults! Each battlement deserves a crown in reward for thy glorious triumphs!”

It was thus this daughter of Hercules rose from the grave where she had lain seemingly dead so many years. Houses sprang up as by enchantment, and were peopled so rapidly that in 1093 there were about thirty thousand inhabitants. The city thus rebuilt and defended by its incomparable knights merited the name often given it from that time by the old chroniclers, _Avila de los Caballeros_.

One of these cavaliers, Zurraquin Sancho, the honor and glory of knighthood, was captain of the country forces around Avila. One day, while riding over his estate with a single attendant to examine his herds, he spied a band of Moors returning from a foray into Christian lands, dragging several Spanish peasants after them in chains. As soon as Zurraquin was perceived, the captives cried to him for deliverance. Whereupon, mindful of his knightly vows to relieve the distressed, he rode boldly up, though but slightly armed, and offered to ransom his countrymen. The Moors would not consent, and the knight prudently withdrew. But, as soon as he was out of sight, he alighted to tighten the girths of his steed, which he then remounted and spurred on by a different path. In a short time he came again upon the Moors, and crying “Santiago!” as with the voice of twenty men, he suddenly dashed into their midst, laying about him right and left so lustily that, taken unawares, they were thrown into confusion, and, supposing themselves attacked by a considerable force, fled for their lives, leaving two of their number wounded, and one dead on the field. Zurraquin unbound the captives, who had also been left behind, and sent them away with the injunction to be silent concerning his exploit.

A few days after, these peasants came to Avila in search of their benefactor, bringing with them twelve fat swine and a large flock of hens. Regardless of his parting admonition, they stopped on the Square of San Pedro, and related how he had delivered them single-handed against threescore infidels. The whole city soon resounded with so brave a deed, and Zurraquin was declared a peerless knight. The women also took up his praises and sang songs in his honor to the sound of the tambourine:

“Cantan de Oliveros, e cantan de Roldan,
E non de Zurraquin, ca fue buen barragan.”[40]

A second band would take up the strain:

“Cantan de Roldan, e cantan de Olivero,
E non de Zurraquin, ca fue buen caballero.”[41]

After rebuilding Avila Count Raymond of Burgundy retired to his province of Galicia, and, dying March 26, 1107, he was buried in the celebrated church of Santiago at Compostella. It was his son who became King of Castile under the name of Alonso VIII., and Avila, because of its loyalty to him and his successors, acquired a new name――_Avila del Rey_――among the chroniclers of the time.

But the city bears a title still more glorious than those already mentioned――that of _Avila de los Santos_. It was in the sixteenth century especially that it became worthy of this name, when there gathered about St. Teresa a constellation of holy souls, making the place a very Carmel, filled with the “sons of the prophets.” _Avila cantos y santos_――Avila has as many saints as stones――says an old Spanish proverb, and that is saying not a little. The city has always been noted for dignity of character and its attachment to the church.

The piety of its ancient inhabitants is attested by the number and grave beauty of the churches, with their lamp-lit shrines of the saints and their dusky aisles filled with tombs of the old knights who fought under the banner of the cross. In St. Teresa’s time it was honored with the presence of several saints who have been canonized: St. Thomas of Villanueva, St. Peter of Alcantara, St. John of the Cross, and that holy Spanish grandee, St. Francis Borgia, besides many other individuals noted for their sanctity. But St. Teresa is the best type of Avila. Her piety was as sweetly austere as the place, as broad and enlightened as the vast horizon that bounds it, and fervid as its glowing sun.

“You mustn’t say anything against St. Teresa at Avila,” said the inevitable Englishmen we met an hour after our arrival.

“We are by no means disposed to, here or anywhere else,” was our reply. On the contrary, we regarded her, with Mrs. Jameson, as “the most extraordinary woman of her age and country”; nay, “who would have been a remarkable woman in _any_ age or country.” We had seen her statue among the fathers of the church in the first Christian temple in the world, with the inscription: _Sancta Teresa, Mater spiritualis_. We had read her works, written in the pure Castilian for which Avila is noted, breathing the imagination of a poet and the austerity of a saint, till we were ready to exclaim with Crashawe:

“Oh! ’tis not Spanish, but ’tis Heaven she speaks!”

and we had come to Avila expressly to offer her the tribute of our admiration. Here she reigns, to quote Miss Martineau’s words, “as true a queen on this mountain throne as any empress who ever wore a crown!”

At this very moment we were on our way to visit the places associated with her memory. A few turns more through the narrow, tortuous streets, and we came to the ponderous gateway of San Vicente on the north side of the city, so named from the venerable church just without the walls, beloved of archæologists. But for the moment it had no attraction for us; for below, in the broad, sunny valley, we could see the monastery of the Incarnation, a place of great interest to the Catholic heart. There it was that St. Teresa, young and beautiful, took the veil and spent more than thirty years of her life. The first glimpse of it one can never forget; and, apart from the associations, the ancient towers of San Vicente on the edge of the hill, the fair valley below with its winding stream and the convent embosomed among trees, and the mountains that girt the horizon, made up a picture none the less lovely for being framed in that antique gateway. We went winding down to the convent, perhaps half a mile distant, by the _Calle de la Encarnacion_. No sweeter, quieter spot could be desired in which to end one’s days. It is charmingly situated on the farther side of the Adaja, and commands a fine view of Avila, which, indeed, is picturesque in every direction. We could count thirty towers in the city walls as we turned at the convent gate to look back. St. Teresa stopped in this same archway, Nov. 2, 1533, to bid farewell to her brother Antonio, who, on leaving her, went to the Dominican convent, where he took the monastic habit. She was then only eighteen and a half years old. The inward agony she experienced on entering the convent she relates with great sincerity, but there was no faltering in her determination to embrace the higher life. The house had been founded only about twenty years before, and the first Mass was said in it the very day she was baptized. That was more than three centuries ago. Its stout walls may be somewhat grayer, and the alleys of its large garden more umbrageous, but its general aspect must be very much the same; for in that dry climate nature does not take so kindly to man’s handiwork as in the misty north, where the old convents are all draped with moss and the ivy green. It is less peopled also. In 1550 there were ninety nuns, but now there are not more than half that number.

There is a series of little parlors, low and dim, with unpainted beams, and queer old chairs, and two black grates with nearly a yard between, through which you can converse, as through a tunnel, with the nuns. They have not been changed since St. Teresa’s time. In one of these our Lord reproved her for her conversations, which still savored too much of the world. Here, later in life, St. Francis Borgia came to see her on his way from the convent of Yuste, where he had been to visit his kinsman, Charles V. Here she saw St. Peter of Alcantara in ecstasy. In one of these parlors, now regarded as a sacred spot, she held her interviews with St. John of the Cross when he was director of the house. It is related that one day, while he was discoursing here on the mystery of the Holy Trinity, she was so impressed by his words that she fell on her knees to listen. In a short time he entered the ecstatic state, leaving St. Teresa lost in divine contemplation; and when one of the nuns came with a message, she found them both suspended in the air! For a moment they ceased to belong to earth, and its laws did not control them. A picture of this scene hangs on the wall. In a larger and more cheerful parlor some nuns of very pleasing manners of the true Spanish type showed us several objects that belonged to St. Teresa, and some of her embroidery of curious Spanish work, very nicely done, as we were glad to see; likewise, a Christ covered with bleeding wounds as he appeared to St. John of the Cross, and many other touching memorials of the past.

We next visited the church, which is large, with buttressed walls, low, square towers, and a gabled belfry. The interior is spacious and lofty, but severe in style. There is a nave, and two short transepts with a dome rising between them. It is paved with flag-stones, and plain wooden benches stand against the stone walls. The high altar, at which St. John of the Cross used to say Mass, has its gilt retable, with colonnettes and niches filled with the saints of the order, among whom we remember the prophets who dwelt on Mt. Carmel, and St. Albert, patriarch of Jerusalem. The nuns’ choir is at the opposite end of the church. We should say _choirs_; for they have two, one above the other, with double black grates, which are generally curtained. It was at the grate of the lower choir, dim and mystic as his _Obscure Night of the Soul_, that St. John of the Cross used to preach to the nuns. What sermons there must have been from him who wrote, as never man wrote, on the upward way from night to light!

The grating of this lower choir has two divisions, between which is a small square shutter, like the door of a tabernacle, on which is represented a chalice and Host. It was here St. Teresa received the Holy Communion for more than thirty years. Here one morning, after receiving it from the hand of St. John of the Cross, she was mysteriously affianced to the heavenly Bridegroom, who called her, in the language of the Canticles, by the sweet name of Spouse, and placed on her finger the nuptial ring. She was then fifty-seven years of age. A painting over the communion table represents this supernatural event.

This choir is also associated with the memory of Eleonora de Cepeda, a niece of St. Teresa’s, who became a nun at the convent of the Incarnation. She was remarkable for her detachment from earth, and died young, an angel of purity and devotion. St. Teresa saw her body borne to the choir by angels. No Mass of requiem was sung over her. It was during the Octave of Corpus Christi. The church was adorned as for a festival. The Mass of the Blessed Sacrament was chanted to the sound of the organ, and the Alleluia repeatedly sung, as if to celebrate the entrance of her soul into glory. The dead nun, in the holy habit of Mt. Carmel, lay on her bier covered with lilies and roses, with a celestial smile on her pale face that seemed to reflect the beatitude of her soul. The procession of the Host was made around her, and all the nuns took a last look at their beautiful sister before she was lowered into the gloomy vault below.[42]

In the upper choir there is a statue of St. Teresa, dressed as a Carmelite, in the stall she occupied when prioress of the house. The nuns often go to kiss the hand as a mark of homage to her memory. The actual prioress occupies the next stall below.

It will be remembered that St. Teresa passed twenty-nine years in this convent before she left to found that of San José. She afterwards returned three years as prioress, when, at her request, St. John of the Cross (who was born in a small town near Avila) was appointed spiritual director. Under the direction of these two saints the house became a paradise filled with souls of such fervor that the heavenly spirits themselves came down to join in their holy psalmody, according to the testimony of St. Teresa herself, who saw the stalls occupied by them.

“The air of Paradise did fan the house,
And angels office all.”

One of St. Teresa’s first acts, on taking charge of the house, was to place a large statue of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel in the upper choir, and present her with the keys of the monastery, to indicate that this womanly type of all that is sweet and heavenly was to be the true ruler of the house. This statue still retains its place in the choir, and in its hand are the keys presented by the saint.

The convent garden is surrounded by high walls. It wears the same smiling aspect as in the saint’s time, but it is larger. The neighboring house occupied by St. John of the Cross, with the land around it, has been bought and added to the enclosure. The house has been converted into an octagon chapel, called the _Ermita de San Juan de la Cruz_. The unpainted wooden altar was made from a part of St. Teresa’s cell. In this garden are the flowers and shrubbery she loved, the almond-trees she planted, the paths she trod. Here are the oratories where she prayed, the dark cypresses that witnessed her penitential tears, the limpid water she was never weary of contemplating――symbol of divine grace and regeneration. St. Teresa’s love of nature is evident on every page of her writings. She said the sight of the fields and flowers raised her soul towards God, and was like a book in which she read his grandeur and benefits. And she often compared her soul to a garden which she prayed the divine Husbandman to fill with the sweet perfume of the lowly virtues.

In the right wing of the convent is a little oratory, quiet and solitary, beloved of the saint, where an angel, all flame, appeared to the eyes of her soul with a golden arrow in his hand, which he thrust deep into her heart, leaving it for ever inflamed with seraphic love. This mystery is honored in the Carmelite Order by the annual festival of the Transverberation. Art like-wise has immortalized it. We remember the group by Bernini in the church of Santa Maria della Vittoria at Rome, in which the divine transport of her soul is so clearly visible through the pale beauty of her rapt form, which trembles beneath the fire-tipped dart of the angel. What significance in this sacred seal set upon her virginal heart, from this time rent in twain by love and penitence! _Cor contritum et humiliatum, Deus, non despicies!_ was the exclamation of St. Teresa when dying.