A golden treatise of mental prayer

Front matter

A

GOLDEN TREATISE

OF

Prologue

BRIEF RELATION

OF

THE LIFE AND DEATH

OF

THE BLESSED FATHER,

FR. PETER DE ALCANTARA,

FRANCISCAN FRIAR,

WRITTEN BY GILES WILLOUGHBY, OF THE SAME ORDER AND OBSERVANCE.

THE PROLOGUE.

Misericordias Domini in aeternum cantabo: "I will sing the mercies of our Lord for ever," saith that kingly Prophet David. And not without cause ; for, so great and unspeakable are the mercy-works of the Almighty, which out of the bowels of his infinite goodness, he hath shewed to mankind, from the first instant of his creation, that the tongues of men and angels are never able to express them.

How wonderful was this benefit ; that creating man after his own image and likeness, he would have made him partaker of eternal felicity, and vested with his original justice? without death, or any passage by misery, would have associated him with the company of angels, if he had not, by his own default, violated the laws of his creator. Notwithstanding this act of malice, the divine clemency would not suffer the work of his powerful hands so to perish, but he, according to the diversity of times, always ordained opportune remedies, to reduce wandering man to the right way of his own salvation. Now manifesting his divine pleasure, by the means of angels, now sending the patriarchs replenished with his heavenly grace, who by their good example, might stir them up to piety; then sending the prophets illuminated with his holy spirit, not only to preach the present benefits exhibited to mankind, but also to foretell the future incarnation of the Son of God, with the mystery of his death and passion, by means of which, man should be loosed from the power of Satan, and eased of the heavy load of his transgressions. Thus far hath that impenetrable abyss of the divine clemency sweetly disposed all things, requisite for the saving of the soul of man. But if we will extend our thoughts a little further, and call to mind the great benefits, still heaped upon man, after the ascension of our Blessed Saviour, we shall find them innumerable. Who is not astonished at the vocation of mankind, that the apostolical trumpet of a few men, sounding to human ears, the evangelical truth, through the whole world, shall rouse up souls, making them happy, and thrice happy, to forsake all worldly vanities? to betake themselves to a state of perfection; to sell all they have and give to the poor; to live in perpetual chastity, and simple obedience, to spend their days in rigorous penance, watching, fasting, and prayer, and finally to renounce all the seeming pleasures, for true there are none, which the flattering world could afford unto them.

These things are daily put in practice by many, who profess the gospel of Christ. For, where Catholic religion flourisheth, we see di- vers monasteries of men and women, filled with religious souls, who consecrate themselves a perpetual sacrifice to the Almighty.

How many religious do we see honored with priestly function, an office requiring more than human purity, and a burthen scarcely to be supported by angel's shoulders, executing their charge with great integrity of mind; careful of their own, and zealous of the saving of their neighbors' souls: who, by their holy doctrine and exemplary lives, preach to the Christian world a reformation; who spare no pains or tedious travels, to propagate the faith of Jesus Christ to heathens and infidels; who courageously labor in Almighty God's vineyard, exposing their lives for the name of Jesus. Indies, both east and west, are witnesses of

the great purity required to priestly function saying, "Sacrosancta religio quae Catholicam continet disciplinam, tantam sibi reverentiam vendicat, ut ad eam nam, quilibet nisi pura conscientia, non audeat pervenire ; nam quomodo ad divini mysterii consecrationem coelestis spiritus invocatus adveniat, si sacerdos et qui eam adesse deprecatur criminosis plenus actionibus reprobetur?" 1 q. 1 c. SACROSANCTA. Although a wicked priest doth consecrate and administer the sacraments truly, yet he sinneth grievously in consecrating and administering unworthily: "Sacrificia impiorum eis ipsis oberunt qui offerunt impie." 1 a. 1 c. PER ISAIAM. "Necesse est, ut esse munda studeat manus, quae diluere sordes curat: ne tacta quaeque deterius inquinet, si sordida ipsa stercoris Iutum tenet." Greg. in regesto. l. 1. Epist. 24, et ponitur 1 a. 1 c. NECESSE EST. their zealous and heroic spirits, there they sealed the truth of the gospel with the effusion of their sacred blood: yea, what acts memorable in the Church of God are there, wherein these men have not had a very great stroke? And, finally, they so well employ and multiply those talents which the great Commander of heaven and earth hath bestowed upon them here, that assuredly they may expect an eternal reward in the kingdom of heaven hereafter.

But that which is more admirable to see, a multitude of the weaker sex abandon all worldly pleasures, they who in the world might have swum in bravery, and have had all things at their own command, to inclose themselves in a retired cloister; there to spend their days in penance, and to consecrate the very flower of their springing youth a sweet-smelling sacrifice to their celestial spouse, Jesus Christ. These, truly, are those that fill and beautify the garden of paradise with lilies of purity: these are the flowers of our holy mother, the Catholic Church, which make her glorious and fruitful. These are they that make that happy change, a moment's fading pleasure for an immortal crown of glory.

Thus we see perpetual rivers streaming from the fountain of Almighty God's mercy. But let us descend a little further into his abundant charity, and take notice of his Fatherly providence, that in process of declining times, when the blood of our Redeemer hath often begun to wax cold in the hearts of men, he would not suffer it altogether to be extinguished, but according to variety of times, never ceased to repair his church, by the ministry of some elected servants, whom he sent into this world as second Apostles, who by their example and doctrine, might draw men out of the mire of their sins, renew the fervor of our Blessed Saviour's passion, and reduce collapsed discipline to her former rigor. Many hath he sent for this end, and amongst many this blessed saint, St. Peter de Alcantara, a man, from his very cradle, consecrated to evangelical perfection; he was a faithful laborer in our Lord's vineyard, with great fidelity performing his commanded task, as it will plainly appear by that which followeth in his life.

Of the birth and education of Blessed Alcantara and of his entering into religion

CHAPTER I.

OF THE BIRTH AND EDUCATION OF BLESSED ALCANTARA AND OF HIS ENTERING INTO RELIGION.

This blessed Saint was born at Norba Caesarea, vulgarly called Alcantara, in the year of our Lord 1499, in the reign of Pope Alexander the Sixth, and Ferdinando, Catholic King of Spain. His father was called Bachilier Garavito, and his mother Maria Villela de Senabria, both of good quality, but especially honored for their virtues.

They brought up their young son in the fear of God, and sowed in him the seeds of virtue; they put him to school where, as he profited in learning, so his obedience towards his parents did likewise increase. Although he was a child, yet he withdrew himself from the common sports of children, and sorted himself amongst men, whom he saw inclined to devotion. In these his tender years, he addicted himself to the works of mercy: he applied himself seriously to learn the Christian doctrine; he often visited churches, and holy places, he frequented the sacraments, and continually employed himself in good works: all which did abundantly presage his future sanctity; but more confirmed it, by that which followed immediately, for he was scarce sixteen years of age, when, before he knew, he began to loath the world, and when the young sparks of his virtues began to break into a flame of devotion. He opened the doors of his soul to the inspirations of the Holy Ghost: and as he excelled his fellow students in science, so he knew that all science, was ignorance without the right knowledge of God. Therefore, from that time forward he applied his mind to heavenly wisdom, and busied himself chiefly to know what should be most acceptable to his Sacred Majesty.

About that time, there was a famous and reformed monastery of Franciscans in the province of St. Gabriel, three miles from Valentia, whither he addressed himself, there to bring his good desires to a joyful period. But as he went along towards this place, he came to a great river, called Tiartar, which, without boat, was impossible to be passed over. He seeing this unexpected bar, to stop his happy journey, looked about, hoping to espy some waterman, who might carry him over, but when he could see none to give him any assist- ance, he cast his eyes to heaven, and with great anxiety lamented this unhappy hinderance. Behold! upon the sudden (as he himself related), he was miraculously transported on the other side of the river, without any notable motion, that he could perceive.

This miracle was not unlike to that, when the river Jordan stood still for the children of Israel to pass; or when St. Peter walked upon the waves of the sea; and, indeed, it was no small beginning of Almighty God's many favors, exhibited to this blessed saint.

This obstacle being removed, he passed the other part of his way (the Holy Ghost being his guide) without any difficulty, and at length arrived to his desired harbor, this solitary monastery, situated amongst great rocks, which they commonly call Los Manxeredes, where he came to the fathers, and asked the habit of St. Francis of them, who did grant it to him with as much charity, as he begged it with humility.

But, when this blessed Saint considered his poor habitation, sequestered from the company of men, and abstracted from all worldly tumults; and when he saw himself vested in his penitential weed, we may well imagine with what meditations he spurred himself forward in Almighty God's service. He spake to his own soul these or the like words: behold, thou hast now accomplished thy desire, thou art now arrived to the land of promise, and climbed up to the highest mountain of Almighty God's favor to mortal man in this vale of misery, (that is,) the sacred state of a religious life, where, by how much more thou art sequestered from the pleasures of the flattering world, the more thou enjoyest the freedom of thy spirit. Thou art now come to the house of God, in which it is better for thee to be an abject than to dwell in the courts of princes. All occasions of offending thy Creator are now taken away, thy soul is now sure not to be defiled with the pitch of evil conversation. Thy company now are terrestrial angels, who, though they live on earth, yet they have their conversation in heaven, all whose actions incite thee to nothing else but to aspire unto perfection. Thou findest here no snares to entangle thee into worldly vanities, no flatterers to applaud thee when thou dost offend, or any thing else to withdraw thy affection from the cross of Christ. Thy beloved spouse hath brought thee now into this holy desert, to recreate thy soul with his heavenly consolations here abstracted from all worldly tumults, it may attend only to divine wisdom, and the noise of all temporal cares, being hushed and silent, it may be wholly employed in sacred contemplation, and ravished with eternal pleasures. Almighty God hath now wafted thee over this troublesome sea, and placed thee here, in the quiet harbor of thy salvation, in which state, in respect of thy former, thou art far more sure to fall more seldom, rise sooner, stand more securely, live more sweetly, and die more confidently. Go to, I say, why standest thou still? why earnest thou hither? Consider thy coarse habit, and see what penance it exacteth? Look upon the place, and reflect what spirit it teacheth thee? be courageous and make no delay, thy death is certain, and thy hour uncertain, the judge is at hand. Alas! the pleasure of this world is short, but the punishment for it perpetual. A little suffering here and infinite glory hereafter. Thus, this new soldier of Christ spent his time, in holy discourses, sometimes of the majesty of Almighty God, sometimes of his own misery: although his precedent conversation to religion was a mirror of perfection, yet he stood not still in that grace he had already gotten, but continually aspired to higher, in which he far excelled his fellow novices. Two virtues were chiefly eminent in him: simplicity and purity. He likewise had a perfect oblivion of all worldly things. He greedily desired, and willingly accepted of the inferior and basest employments of the monastery. Neither did he esteem it a dishonor to him to cast himself at the feet of the friars, but was most willing to serve everyone at their beck. In this his first year, he laid such grounds of humility, that in his whole life after, he was a rare example and pattern of this virtue. Neither when he was promoted to superiority, did he leave off his humble exercises. Thus going from grace to grace, from virtue to virtue, his good example was a burning lamp to give others light, to imitate his virtues, that the whole monastery began every day more and more to flourish in regular observance, and in the opinion of the world, to get a great name of sanctity.

— his natural gifts, and of his prudence and mortification of his eyes

CHAPTER II.

OF 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, 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.

— his religious simplicity, and mortification of his eyes

CHAPTER III.

OF HIS RELIGIOUS SIMPLICITY, AND MORTIFICATION OF HIS EYES.

But to descend to particulars, wherein his religious simplicity was manifested. 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 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 prejudicial 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.

With what austerity and mortification the holy Father lived

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 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. "Almighty God bereaved us of a man of admirable example, when he took out of this life Father Peter of Alcantara. The world, it seemeth, 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 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 on his feet, nor other garment, but his habit of coarse cloth, without any other thing next his skin, and this as straight as could be endured, and a short cloak of the same upon it. He told me that when it was very cold he did put it off, and opened the door and little window of his cell; that afterwards, when he did put his cloak on again, and shut his door, he might give some contentment and recreate his body, which before was frozen with cold. He did very ordinarily eat but once in three days; and he asked me at what I marvelled, for it was very possible for one that accustomed himself to it. His poverty was extreme, and likewise his mortification in his youth. With all his sanctity, he was very affable, though he used not many words, if he were not spoken to, for then he was very pleasing, having a good understanding. And a little after, "His end was like his life, preaching and admonishing his friars. When he saw death draw nigh, he said the psalm: "Laetatus sum in his, quae dicta sunt mihi," and kneeling down, departed. Since our Lord hath let me enjoy him more then in his life, giving me advice and counsel in many things, I have seen him many times in ex- ceeding great glory. The first time he appeared unto me, he said, "O happy penance which did merit such a reward!" and many other things. A year before he died, he appeared to me, being absent, and I knew that he should die, and I sent him word, being some leagues from hence. When he gave up the ghost, he appeared to me and said, that he went to rest, I believed it not, I told some of it, and eight days after the news came that he was dead, or rather began to live for ever. Behold here his austerity endeth with so great glory, he seemed to comfort me more than when he was in this world. Our Lord told me once, that nothing should be asked in his name which he would not hear. I have seen many things fulfilled, which I have desired him to ask of our Lord; he be blessed for ever. Amen." And in the thirtieth chapter of her life, she sayeth as follows: "Our Lord vouchsafed to remedy a great part of my trouble, and for that time the whole, by bringing to this place the Blessed Father Peter of Alcantara, of whom I have already made mention, and spoken something of his penance; for amongst other things, I was certified, that for twenty years he had worn a cilice of plate continually. He is the author of certain little books of prayer, which are now much used in the Spanish tongue, for as one that hath exercised it well, he wrote very profitably, giving most excellent rules to those who addicted themselves to prayer. He observed the first rule of St. Francis with all rigor, and other things which I have related before." Thus she, and so much shall suffice to speak of, but part of his rigorous penance, it was his fervent zeal, and love of God, not strength of body, which made this crabbed way of penance easy to his heroic spirit; whose example may (though not in so great a measure as he did,) justly move us to shake off that old and self-love excuse of ours, in saying, our bodies are weak, when alas! our wills are frozen, and so nice, that we are afraid to expose our body but to a poor trial. The heathen Seneca will check our indevotion, who saith: "Not because certain things are hard, therefore we dare not do them, but because we dare not do them, therefore they are hard."

Of his great purity and humility

CHAPTER V.

OF HIS GREAT PURITY AND HUMILITY.

The man of God increasing in his rigorous penance, did not only mortify in part, but wholly subdued his passions, and made his senses subordinate to the rule of reason; he suffered nothing to enter into his soul which might separate, or in the least kind withdraw his affection from his beloved spouse, for (as much as was possible for pilgrim man,) he enjoyed the spirit of God; golden peace and divine consolation sat upon his wings of contemplation, and where others make their bodies masters, he made his a slave unto his spirit. Hence it came to pass, that many of both sex, drawn with the fragrant odour of his virtues, flocked to him, as to another Apostle, to whose counsels and admonitions they obeyed, as to a divine oracle.

Upon a time, the Count Orapsane, a devout nobleman, came to visit him, and falling into discourse, how much Almighty God was moved with the sins of the world, out of his zeal breaketh into these speeches, O Father! what do you think? what will become of this wicked world? do you think the divine justice can contain itself any longer from revenge? be- hold, how virtue is oppressed, and sin triumpheth? how wilfully do we hoard up anger against the day of anger? to which the man of God modestly answered and said, noble Sir, do not afflict yourself, a remedy will easily be found to cure this disease; the point of the difficulty consisteth only in you and me, for the general perdition of mankind floweth from this fountain, that all and every one dissembling or cloaking their own sins, accuse the whole, when the whole cannot be said to sin at all, but particular persons in the whole. Wherefore, men cry out against the wickedness of the world, that all are naught, and none that do good, when if they would but look into their own particular, they should find matter enough of sorrow, and to move themselves to do penance for their own faults; but now because they blame the whole, they neglect their own particulars, and justify themselves with a sottish presumption. Therefore, noble Sir, let your Lordship, and I, mend one a piece, and then a great part of the world will be amended; we shall appease the angry judge, and repair a great part of the ruin of mankind by our good example.

When Charles the Fifth recollected himself in a certain monastery of the Hieronymites, understanding of the sanctity and integrity of this holy Father, he sent for him, with an intent to make him his ghostly father. But he humbly refusing so great an honor, alleged some reasons, why he thought this employment not to be fitting for him. At which denial, the Emperor being a little moved with anger, said, we charge you, Father, that you would take care of our soul. He seeing this sudden alteration of Cæsar, fell down at the feet of his majesty, and earnestly desired him to defer the business to what day or hour he would please to appoint, that, in the mean time, he might commend it to Almighty God, which the Emperor granted; then he took his leave of the Emperor, and said, this renowned Cæsar, shall be a sign unto you, that it is not according to the will of God, which you have desired, if I do not return at the appointed time. Then passing to his former solitude, as he went, he complained with many sighs and groans to Almighty God, fearing by the devices of Satan, to be drawn from the embracings of his blessed spouse, Jesus Christ. He sent up his fervent prayers to the Almighty's throne, and said these or like words: "Lord, I have not, therefore, left the world, and betaken myself to this holy desart, that now at length my name should be renowned in a prince's court, and live in honor, that am a poor Franciscan friar. Why should my ears be troubled with flatterings of courtiers, who came to speak my fault in religion? I confess that this office may be exercised without sin; but whether it be expedient for my soul, sweet Jesus, tell me? And when he entered into his cell, Lord, I be- seech thee, pull me not from hence, whither thy omnipotent hand hath brought me. Here I am safe, here I am rich; because I enjoy thee, who alone can satiate my soul. Alas! without thee what is the whole empire? and with thee, this poor cell is a kingdom of content. Here let me live: Here let me die. Lord, let it please thee what I wish for, because all is thine whatsoever I desire. If thou grantest me thy petition, let this be a sign unto me, that Cæsar molesteth me no more." So rising, as being heard, did appear no more before him. Neither did the Emperor ever solicit him after.