A Golden Treatise of Mental Prayer. St. Peter de Alcántara
HIS NATURAL GIFTS, AND OF HIS PRUDENCE AND MORTIFICATION OF HIS EYES.
He was an elected vessel, beautified with all the jewels of virtues, and as his mind was replenished with supernatural gifts, so his body wanted not its natural graces. He was of a spare body, but comely, he had a grave and modest look, his eyes were sparkling tokens of the fire of divine love, which was in his soul invisible to the eye. There was not one member in that man which was not subordinate to the rule of reason. His speech was meek and humble, his conversation angelical. He had an excellent natural wit, joined with a happy memory: he had likewise a singular good judgment (as appeared in his government:) he was courageous in going through with business, which did tend to the honor of Almighty God, and the good of religion ; he was grateful to all, giving to every one their due respect: he was dexterous in his actions, modest in correcting: and a peace-maker, reconciling those who upon any occasion, had been at jars. In his sermons he was hot, but moving: in hearing of confessions he was a helper, a counsellor,
THE LIFE OF
and a comforter: in his ordinary speech he was not fawning, nor biting, and his conversation without any pertinacity : and to conclude all in a few words : he was a man of another world, of whom we may justly say as* Alexander Halensis said of St. Bonaventure, that he was a man, in whom Adam seemed not to have sinned. He was a reformer, Prelate, Master, and pattern of perfection, of the Seraphical Order of our Holy Father St. Francis, who through so many provinces and remote kingdoms, illustrated this sacred institution ; as another Apostle pre-ordained by Almighty God for this happy end.
* Antonius Possevinus in sacro apparatu de scripto- ribus Eccles. torn. 1. de D. Bonavent.
BLESSED ALCANTARA.
CHAPTER III.
OF HIS RELIGIOUS SIMPLICITY, AND MORTIFICATION
OF HIS EYES.
But to descend to particulars, wherein his religious simplicity was nnanifested. He was so absorbed in Almighty God, that he minded nothing of exterior things. When he was a brother, keeping the keys of the pantry, for the space of six months, there were in the pantry grapes and pomegranates, which lay so palpably, that none could choose but see them, but he, for that space, neither saw, nor smelt, much less touched them: being asked why he did not give them unto the brothers, he humbly answered, that he knew of none that were there. Another time, living four years in another cloister, he never took notice of a great tree which stood in the midst of the court, which was obvious to every one's eye. Being a year in another place, and asked what his cell was made of, he answered, he knew not whether it was of stone, or brick, or wood. And a chapel which he frequented above others, yet he knew neither situation, form, or any ornament which did belong thereunto. He was wont to say to blessed Theresa, his ghostly child, that he never knew a brother in
THE LIFE OF
his monastery, but only by his speech. Moreover, he was so mortified in his eyes, that wheresoever he was, he knew no difference in places, no distance of cells: and, finally, he was a dead man to all exterior things. Neither was this mortification any stupidity of nature, or want of senses, but his continual busying his thoughts upon Almighty God, a more noble, and higher object. Who could but think this chaste child of St. Francis, to have made a covenant with his eyes, not to behold a virgin? and well he might be styled that son of a dove, whose eyes were washed with the milk of innocency. He kept such a continual guard over his eyes, that he never knew any woman by her face. There was a certain noble matron famous for her virtue, who was wont, at Placentia, sometimes to visit the holy Father, for his spiritual counsel, she meeting him at Abula, saluted him, and expressed to him the difficulties of her state ; he modestly denied that he ever saw the woman. If ever he opened his eyes, it was in the choir ; though he had so good a memory, that he knew most part of the office without book. Being Superior, he did particularly correct this imperfection with severity: knowing nothing to be more preju- dicial to the soul, than to set open those windows, at which doth enter the greater part of sin, that doth defile the heart of man.
BLESSED ALCANTARA.
CHAPTER IV.
WITH WHAT AUSTERITY AND MORTIFICATION THE
HOLY FATHER LIVED.
Because for the most part this Holy Father lived in solitary convents, most remote from worldly tumults, or rather hermitages, all his rigorous penance could not be taken notice of by any. Nevertheless, we will set down some, which he could not hide from those with whom he conversed.
He did wear, for seven years together, a hair shirt, full of hard knots. St. Theresa affirmeth that he wore it twenty years.
Besides plates of iron, and other things wherewith he tyrannized ever his tender flesh. His disciplines were so frequent and bloody, that he seemed rather the trunk of a tree than a human body. He would never cover his head although it rained ever so fast, or the sun shined ever so hot. His diet was so slender and mean, that, in his youth, and old age, he did eat nothing but brown bread, and the most musty crusts that he could find. If sometimes he recreated himself with a few boiled herbs, he would not be so delicious as to eat them with oil. Being Superior he caused as many beans and peas to be boiled at once, as
THE LIFE OF
should serve the convent for seven days together, which austerity his subjects most willingly embraced, being glad, in some measure, to imitate their chief. But he seasoned his own portion with ashes, or some ungrateful liquor, lest his palate should take pleasure in his meat.
Mother Theresa hath heard his companions say, that sometimes he lived eight days together without any meat or drink, especially when with more violence, he addicted himself to devotion. For he suffered in his prayers frequent raptures and extacies, of which (saith she) I am witness. He never drank wine, but water, though, for the infirmity of his stomach, it was prescribed to him by the physician: but he constantly refused it, saying, that nothing was so repugnant to holy purity and abstinence as flesh and wine, the one being an enemy to chastity, the other to contemplation, both which, as long as he lived, by God's grace, he would enjoy. I will set down for the satisfaction of the devout reader, the words of ever blessed Theresa, the glory and foundress of the discalceated Carmelites, to whom he was sometimes ghostly father, of whom she confesseth to have received much spiritual comfort; whose authority, by reason of her renowned sanctity, and living at the same time with him, is without control. Her words be these.*
* Ex vita B. Theresæ. cap. 27.
BLESSED ALCANTARA.
"Almighty God bereaved us of a man of admirable example, when he took out of this life Father Peter of Alcantara. The world, it scemeth, could endure no longer so great a perfection. They say, that our health is not so good ; that now those times be past, this holy man was of this time, he was fat in spirit, as those of other ages ; he had also the world under his feet, for, though we do not go barefoot, nor do such austere penance as he did, there are many things (as I have said elsewhere) to tread down the world withal. And our Lord teacheth them, when he seeth such a mind, as he gave, in great measure, to this holy man, which I speak of, to continue forty-seven years together in such austere penance, as all know. I will declare some part of it, for I know that it is all true. He told it to me and to another, from whom he concealed little, and the cause why he told it me, was the great love which he bore me, and which our Lord gave him to defend me, and encourage me, in the time of so great necessity, as that was, which I have spoken of, and will declare further. It seemeth to me, that he told me, that he had slept no more than an hour and a half betwixt day and night for the space of forty years, and this was the greatest difficulty he found in his penance at the beginning, to overcome his sleep, and for this cause he did always, either kneel or stand, and when he slept it was sitting, leaning: his head against a little
THE LIFE OF
piece of wood, which he had driven into the wall, he could not lie down, though he would, for his cell, as is known, was no longer than four feet and a half. In all these years he never put on his capuce, how great sun-shine or rain soever was ; neither had he any thing