Teresa

“ The sense of the reality of divine and unseen things in Teresa’s life of prayer is simply miraculous in a woman still living among things seen and temporal. Her faith is truly the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen. Our Lord was as real, as present, as near, as visible, and as affable to this extraordinary saint as ever He was to Martha, or Mary, or Mary Magdalene, or the woman of Samaria, or the mother of Zebedee’s children. ”

“ But, while that was not to be, it is the immense talent, and the unceasing toil, and the splendid faith and self-surrender that Teresa brought to bear on her intramural reformation; and, all through that, on the working out of her own salvation,—it is all these things that go to make Teresa’s long life so memorable and so impressive, not only in her own age and land and church, but wherever greatness of mind, and nobleness of heart, and sanctity of life, and stateliness of character are heard of and are esteemed. ”

“ Teresa was scarcely eighteen years of age at the time of which we are writing. God had endowed her soul with all the perfections and virtues that an angel might desire, if he left heaven in order to seek a mortal woman as his companion for eternity, just as all those perfections had been denied to her countenance, which are the only charms sought for by men, when they look on a woman as a material being. Teresa, then, was the reverse of her brother, both physically and morally; her soul was all compassion, all love, all sadness. ”

“ He put his arms about Teresa in the chapel doorway for an instant and held her close. He was feeling a call he had never felt before, the call that nature and civilization have planted in man deep as the desire for offspring, the song of the silver-singing goddess, whose marble image, on the night he had made that fatal trothing with Annabel, had been blackened by his thrown ink-well—Vesta, the personification of the hearthstone, of home.
Teresa suddenly meant that to him. Home! Not such a one as he had known at Newstead Abbey, with Hobhouse and Sheridan and Moore. ”

“ Teresa. Be more calm, I pray you.
Alhadra. And as he walked along the narrow path 190
Close by the mountain's edge, my soul grew eager;
'Twas with hard toil I made myself remember
That his Familiars held my babes and husband.
To have leapt upon him with a tiger's plunge,
And hurl'd him down the rugged precipice, 195
O, it had been most sweet!
Teresa. Hush! hush for shame!
Where is your woman's heart?
Alhadra. O gentle lady!
You have no skill to guess my many wrongs,
Many and strange! Besides, I am a Christian,
And Christians never pardon—'tis their faith! 200
Teresa. ”

“ For Maria-Teresa is there, leaning out as she used to, turning her sweet face as she used to.... How pale she is, how diaphanous; her well-remembered gestures are no more than the ghosts of those gestures!... He hardly dared breathe, fearing that the vision would vanish at the sound of his voice.... He advanced cautiously, stealthily, like a child stalking a butterfly.
"Dick!"
"Maria-Teresa!"
They are in each other's arms. The cry which has come from those pale lips is a living one. ”

“ Teresa alone ruled by a look, a word, a gesture, this impetuous character, which yielded beneath the hand of a woman, and which beneath the hand of a man might have broken, but could never have been bended. Teresa was lively and gay, but coquettish to excess. The two piastres that Luigi received every month from the Count of San-Felice’s steward, and the price of all the little carvings in wood he sold at Rome, were expended in ear-rings, necklaces, and gold hairpins. So that, thanks to her friend’s generosity, Teresa was the most beautiful and the best-attired peasant near Rome. ”

“ Teresa.
Some envious cloud
It is, that hides his beams.
Matilda.
No! it is night—
The summit of yon gilded cupola,
Where last the hues of sunset ever linger,
Has long been wrapt in gloom!
Teresa.
Is it not strange
I should regret the daylight?
Matilda.
Come—no more
Of these sad musings. You have cherished them
’Till your fair cheek is pale, and unbecoming
A youthful bride. Why look—these radiant pearls,
Whose pure transparence should have suited well
With your fresh brow, will find their whiteness shamed. [Pg 180]
Teresa. ”

“ IN WHICH TERESA MAKES A JOURNEY
“Help me to remember that it is for Greece—and for himself most of all!” That was Teresa’s cry through those dreary weeks alone. The chill instinct that had seized her as Gordon held her in that last clasp had never left her. She struggled always with a grim sense of the inevitable. At times she fought the desire to follow, even to Greece, to fold him in her arms, to entreat: “Give up the cause! Come back to me—to love!” ”

“ Teresa turned and kissed her impulsively.
“A mother—yes, what does it matter, what does anything matter? Only be happy, be happy, dear!”
“I am very happy,” said Sylvia simply. “And I like so much talking to you about it.”
“Always talk to me—not to any one else.”
“Not to granny?”
“No, not to granny—not even to granny. I’m your sister, I can understand,” cried Teresa, with a protective yearning in her heart, a defiant uprising against Mrs Brodrick’s prognostications.
“But I shall talk to Walter first,” said Sylvia; “of course, I shall tell him everything.” ”

“ Yes, Lisita, she was praying. And I am sure that the good God heard her, for she said to me after a long silence, Teresa, I believe my Saviour has taken me for His own—I am a poor, guilty, and ungrateful sinner—I have waited until the last moment, and I know my sins are great, but my Saviour's love is greater. But oh, my husband!—and my children! I have done nothing to attract them to God. Oh, Teresa, take care of them! Take care of them! ”

“ Drink some of that white wine."
"You were forgetting me," murmured Teresa, as she took up her glass. "Confess that you're surprised to find how nice I really am. Had you forgotten that I'm pretty? Could you tell the colour of my eyes? You've got no memory, Basil, and therefore no soul. All you have is a habit." ”

“ Teresa, ignorant, well-meaning, and brimming over with that mere animal fondness for her foster-child uneducated women share with brute creatures, was proud of becoming the medium of what she considered an advantageous marriage for Enrica. The secluded life she led, the selfish indifference with which her aunt treated her, had long moved Teresa's passionate southern nature to a high pitch of indignation. Up to this time no man had been permitted to enter Casa Guinigi, save those who formed the marchesa's whist-party. ”

“ In imagination Teresa, in the richest and stiffest of silks, already presided over a numerous household in a sumptuous palace, instead of toiling from morning till night, ill paid and scantily fed, with no one to abuse and order about but bandy-legged Chico, who always disputed her commands. Such bright visions seemed to take ten years of age from the ambitious Teresa, and she saw with impatience and indignation the grief which showed how little Inez shared in such hopes. ”

“ For the first time in her life Teresa lost her presence of mind in an emergency. She could only sit staring at the helpless man, scarcely conscious of his condition, her mind filled with a sudden prophetic intuition of the significance of his last words. In the light of that new revelation she looked into his pale, haggard face for some resemblance to Low, but in vain. Yet her swift feminine instinct met the objection. ”

“ One day, Teresa with an air of triumph, showed us a New Testament on her return from town. Paula took it from her hand for a moment, and then returned it to our old servant after caressing the shining cover with great tenderness.
"Take it," said Teresa, "it's not only mine, but yours, and you will have more time to read it than I will."
"No, Teresa dear," and Paula sighed as she put her hands behind her back. "I know I'll get my Bible some day. That's what I've asked God for, and I know He answers prayer." ”

“ Teresa.
What mean you, sir?
Veniero.
A change of late, hath passed upon this brow
So open once and trusting. Thy light step
Hath lost its buoyancy; that drooping eye
Too often reads the ground—and meets not mine
With glance so bright and bold, as when it had
No consciousness of aught to hide. Dost cherish
A grief that I know not?
Teresa.
What should I grieve for?
You have mistaken, father.
Veniero.
Nay—perchance [Pg 156]
Thou lovest me not, as once thou didst? I am grown
Much sterner than of old;—my altered bearing
Suits not thy gentle temper.
Teresa. ”

“ Seen more closely, however, their aggressive ugliness is appalling, and Teresa, as she walked along certain streets which lay below the ascent to San Pietro in Montorio, glanced at the overgrown blocks with extreme distaste. She could see something of the emptiness and dirt of the houses, the strings of ragged clothes fluttering from balconies, the evil-looking old hags stretching out skinny hands and muttering curses on her as she passed, the children with pinched and hungry faces, bare-footed, scantily clothed, with touzled hair and a smile which belongs to Italy, and Italy only. ”

“ Surely Teresa would see for herself, would understand, that he was not so much to blame? She, if any one, must be aware of Sylvia’s shallowness, must recognise that a man could not be content to pass through life with no other companion, would excuse, forgive—ah, if he could but make her love him, how much would not she forgive? ”

“ On one of these occasions Teresa determined to imitate them, so she hid behind the palisade, and spent the day in prayer. When discovered at last by one of her companions, and asked what she was doing, she replied, "I hide like the Mothers to pray for you, for myself, for the French, and for the Indians." "She is so constant in her faith, so well instructed, so fervent," said one of her own race, "that it would seem as if she had not been born a Huron. When she comes home she will be looked up to by the whole tribe. Her teacher must surely be one of the wisest persons in all France." ”

“ Teresa reminded Evelyn of Vittoria. She found the same unrestrained passionate realism in both; she thought of Belasquez's early pictures, and then of Ribera. Then of Ulick, who had told her that the great artist dared everything. St. Teresa had dared everything. She had dared even to discriminate between the love of God the Father and God the Son. It was God the Father that inspired in her the highest ecstasy, the most complete abandonment of self. In these supreme moments the human form of Jesus Christ was a hindrance, as in a lower level of spiritual exaltation it was a help. ”

“ Teresa.
What frenzy
Gleams in your eye! No—Foscarini—no!
You could not do so wild, so fierce a wrong,
Because the blossom of young life is blighted,
To pluck its stem of verdure from the root!
Live—for my sake! Hence from this wretched city,
Where you are watched, and sought for, as the bloodhound
Doth seek his prey! Go—go! we may not meet
On earth again.
‘Foscarini.
‘So wretched——
‘Teresa.
‘Happier far
‘Than I, since you in liberty may weep;
‘While I in secret, chided, must pour forth
‘The bitter drops that burn where’er they fall.
‘Remain not here’—we part—— Enter Matilda, hastily. ”

“ Teresa’s home is distinctly visible. The Adaja below goes winding leisurely through the broad, almost woodless landscape. Across the pale fields, in yonder peaceful valley, is the convent of the Incarnation, where Teresa’s aspirations for martyrdom were realized in a mystical sense. Her brother Rodriguez was afterwards killed in battle in South America, and St. Teresa always regarded him as a martyr, because he fell in defending the cause of religion. ”

“ Darkness out of which colours glow, colours laid on by Cimabue and Giotto, darkness shrouding in mystery those strange grave impassible faces looking down into a world which does not touch them. Teresa stood silent, squeezing her hands; Sylvia asked many questions, and Wilbraham answered them; a monk came forward and pointed out this, that, and the other; another monk arranged hideous imitation flowers on the central altar. Presently Wilbraham came back to where Teresa stood. ”

“ I can never tell you, Teresa, I can only say that I never understood, perhaps, as I do now, that nothing must come between the soul and God, and that there is no room for any other love in our hearts. ”

“ Teresa swayed into her corner of the carriage and shut her eyes.
"Don't talk about such things, dearest," implored Basil with a certain sad humility. "There's nothing that really matters to us, you know——"
"There's nothing perfect in this world," said Teresa, in a strange, quiet voice. "Not even our—not even love." ”

“ Teresa had a way of listening, and asking intelligent questions. None of her acquaintances needed much coaxing. Soon or late all blossomed into anecdote, narrative, and reflections on their lives. Some were clever men. But Teresa, when she repeated what they said to Basil, often made them appear irresistibly comic; and Basil, between roars of laughter, would add details discreetly omitted by the autobiographer. Teresa, listening to these foot-notes with drooping eyelids and contemptuous lips, said sometimes:
"I could never fall in love with a man that you knew well!" ”

“ Teresa says, that a generous soul flies to God. She does not say that it runs, but that it flies to God. Now, what are we doing? We are content to creep and crawl toward God, like worms and caterpillars. ”