Teresa, My Love: An Imagined Life of the Saint of Avila

Perhaps La Madre is a normal woman after all. Though Sylvia Leclercq already thinks so, she’s somewhat taken aback by such goings-on beneath the rough woolen habit. Two hundred years before Diderot’s The Nun, a scandal in its day. But on closer inspection, is Teresa indulging in a carnal freedom forbidden by her religion, or is she, on the contrary, activating the interior (as La Madre would say) message of that religion? It’s an unconscious message as far as Sylvia is concerned, which acquits desire of guilt, provided the desire is for the father. Well then, let it be proclaimed, let it happen in words rather than deeds! And if matters should get so muddled that sin does ensue, the weight can still be lifted through the senses and in words, over and over again. Isn’t it more enjoyable that way? The jouissance of everything and nothing, from words to flesh and back again. Physical frustration heightens the power of fantasies, while fantasies sharpen sensation to the max. There’s no possession as satisfying as abstention. This could be the delights of masochism, or alternatively an inversion of sadism into an objectless exhilaration, in the omnipotence of narcissism; Sylvia Leclercq is not sure what to think anymore. She is disposed — almost — to admire, while concealing her Voltairean smile.

LAURENCIA. May God pardon the “butterflies.”…(Pause.) I am talking about our Carmelites in Seville, lucky enough to enjoy my Eliseus. It’s a great hardship for me. (Reads.) “I can’t help envying them, but it is a great joy for me that they are so diligently seeking to provide some relief for Paul, and so inconspicuously.”¹⁷ I like women, too, I won’t deny it. Oh, I understand, Eliseus my son, I even approve. Up to a point. God alone knows which point…

Sylvia is practically rubbing her hands. What a windfall! This deathbed is a positive psychotherapist’s couch.

ANGELA. Are you taking revenge on me, adored Pablo? (Sighs, reads.) The time left to you after my death — a long time, never fear—“will bring you to lose a little of your simplicity, which I certainly understand to be that of a saint.”¹⁸ (Humbly.) But be on your guard! The sisters are young, and the thought of you spending the summer in Seville is alarming. (Touching voice.) Needless to say you’ll be working against our enemies, like those Jesuits who are giving us a hard time. I used to call them “ravens,” to amuse you; and what about the “cats” and the “wolves”—the more malicious of our discalced brothers, hard to believe, but they exist, and they were after you; not to mention the “night owls,” those dismal calced nuns who can’t stop conspiring…and of course Methuselah, the apostolic nuncio…always the same ones…among so many others determined to scupper us! (Irritated chuckle.) I wrote to you extensively at the time on these urgent topics, in order to guide you, of course. And now, at the end of my allotted span, I only have two counsels for you. (Reads.) Primo, “One gains a great deal from being attached to the Society of Jesus”: a rule not to be forgotten. Secundo, “Believe that I understand woman’s nature better than you.” That’s a fact. The devil likes nothing better than to make a woman’s least whims appear attainable.¹⁹

(Silence from Father Gratian.)

LA MADRE. Why won’t you speak to me? (Pleading voice.) Say something? It pains me to remind you of the rumors that hurt me so greatly…and against which I defended you with all my might. It’s only natural, being your daughter and your mother at once.…No need to thank me…not that you are thanking me, for that matter. Anyhow, I washed the opprobrium off you with all the friendly solicitude of the wretched sinner I am.…(Pause.) At least I hope so, it’s not definite, the future is highly uncertain, and needless to say I’m more afraid for yours than for mine. (Threatening voice.) You engaged in carnal relations with the nuns…you spent the night in such-and-such a convent, you were spotted naked in another…oh, I know.…(Tragic voice.) Our enemies make the most of imagination, just to cause us harm.…Just to prevent my reforms.…(Hopeless voice, cough, nausea.) But please be careful all the same.

La Madre’s blood pressure shoots up, irrigates her brain. A final apoplexy? Teresita and Ana de San Bartolomé jump nervously to their feet. But the old lady has not done with score-settling on earth.