Chapter 31

She speaks of certain outward temptations and appearances of the devil, and of the torments which she suffered from him, and also offers some excellent counsel to persons travelling the way of perfection

NOW that I have recorded some temptations and secret, inner disturbances aroused in me by the devil, I will describe certain others which he inflicted on me almost in public, and in which it was impossible not to recognize his agency.

Once when I was in an oratory he appeared on my left hand, in a hideous form. I particularly noticed his mouth, because he spoke to me, and it was terrifying. A great flame seemed to issue from his body, which was intensely bright and cast no shadow. He said to me in a dreadful voice that I had indeed escaped from his clutches, but that he would capture me still. I was greatly frightened and made shift to cross myself, whereupon he disappeared, but immediately came back again. This happened twice and I did not know what to do. There was some holy water near by, some drops of which I threw in his direction, and he did not return again. On another occasion I was tormented for five hours with such terrible pains and such inward and outward disquiet that I do not believe I could have stood it any longer. The sisters who were with me were terrified, and had no more idea what to do for me than I had of how to help myself.

It is my custom when pains and bodily sufferings are most unbearable to make the best act of inner resignation that I can, begging the Lord, if it be His pleasure, to grant me patience – and so long as I have that I can continue in this state until the end of the world. So this time, when I found my suffering so cruel I helped myself to bear it by resorting to these acts and resolutions. The Lord plainly wished me to understand that this was the devil’s work; for I saw close beside me a most hideous little Negro gnashing his teeth, as if in despair at losing what he had tried to win. When I saw him, I burst out laughing, and had no fear. But there were some sisters there who were helpless, and did not know how to relieve my pain. For he made me thresh about with my body, head, and arms, and I was powerless to prevent him. But worst of all was my inner disquiet, from which I could get no relief in any way. I dared not ask for holy water for fear of alarming my companions and of their realizing what the trouble was.

I have learnt from the experience of several occasions that there is nothing the devils fly from more promptly, never to return, than from holy water. They fly from the Cross also, but return again. So there must be a great virtue in holy water. For my part I feel a special and most notable solace in my soul when I take it up. In fact I am generally conscious of a refreshing power in it which I could not describe; it is like an inner delight that comforts my whole soul. This is not fancy, or something that I have experienced once only; it has happened again and again, and I have observed it with great care. It is as if one were very hot and very thirsty, and were suddenly to drink from a jug of cold water; one’s whole being seems to feel refreshed. I often reflect on the great importance of everything ordained by the Church, and it delights me greatly to see that her words are so mighty as to impart their power to this water and make it so very different from water that has not been blessed.

Then as my pains did not stop, I said: ‘If you wouldn’t laugh at me, I should ask for some holy water.’ So they brought me some, and sprinkled it over me, but it did no good. Then I threw some in the direction of the little Negro, and in a second he had gone. All my pain disappeared as if someone had snatched it away, except that I was left as weary as if I had received a severe beating. It was of great service to me to learn that – with the Lord’s permission – the devil can do so much harm to a body and soul, even though they do not belong to him. What will he do to them, then, I thought, when they are truly in his possession! This gave me a new desire to deliver myself from such dangerous company.

The same thing happened to me on another occasion not long ago, although it did not last so long and I was alone. I asked for some holy water and the sisters who came in after he had gone – there were two of them, most dependable women who would on no account tell a lie – smelt a very unpleasant smell, like that of brimstone. I did not smell it myself, but it lasted long enough for them to notice it. On another occasion when I was in choir, I felt a great impulse of recollection, and went out so that the sisters should not notice anything. But all who were near me heard sounds where I was, like the noise of great blows, and I myself heard talking, as if something were being discussed, but I did not know what was said. For I was so deep in prayer that I took nothing in, nor was I at all afraid. Almost always this happened at times when the Lord so favoured me as to permit some soul to make progress through my agency. What I am now going to describe is something that actually happened to me. There are many witnesses to it, in particular my present confessor, who saw an account of it in a letter. I did not tell him who had written the letter, but he knew quite well who it was.

A person came to me who had been living for two and a half years in mortal sin of the most abominable kind I have ever heard of; and all that time he never confessed it or ceased from it, yet went on saying Mass. He confessed other sins, but would say to himself of this one: ‘How can I confess to anything so foul?’ He had a strong desire to be rid of it, but could not bring himself to do so I felt great pity for him, and was deeply grieved to see God offended in this way. I promised him to pray earnestly for his amendment and to request others who were better than I to do the same. I wrote also to a certain person, who – as that priest said – would be able to distribute the letters. So it came about that he made his confession at the first opportunity. For, on account of the many very holy persons to whom I had spoken of him and who had prayed for him, the Lord God was pleased to bestow His mercy on his soul; and I, wretched creature though I am, had taken all possible pains to the same end. He wrote to me that he had so far recovered that days passed without his falling into this sin, but that he was so tormented by the temptation that, to judge by his sufferings, he seemed to be in hell. He asked me to commend him to God. I spoke of him again to my sisters, whose prayers must have caused God to grant me this favour, and they took his plight greatly to heart. Nobody had any idea of his identity. I implored His Majesty to moderate his tortures and temptations, and to let these same devils torment me instead, so long as this did not cause me to sin against Him. Thus it was that I suffered a month of great torments; and it was during that time that the two incidents I have described took place.

The Lord was pleased to deliver him from the devils – as I was informed in a letter – for I had written to tell him what was happening to me during that month. His soul gained strength, and he remained quite free from his sin, for which he could not give enough thanks to Our Lord and to me – as if I had done anything for him, unless he had been helped by the belief that God was granting me favours. He said that when he found himself hard pressed, he read my letters and the temptation left him; and that he was greatly astonished to hear of my sufferings, also at the manner of his own deliverance. I was astonished too, but I would have suffered as much for many years more to see that one soul delivered. May Our Lord be praised for all things. The prayers of those who serve Him, as I believe the sisters of this house do, can achieve great things. But the devils must have visited their special anger on me because all this happened through my agency, and the Lord permitted them to do so on account of my sins. One night, during this time, I thought that the devils were suffocating me, and when the sisters sprinkled a great deal of holy water, I saw a huge crowd of them running away as if they were going to cast themselves over a precipice. These accursed creatures have tormented me so often, and I am so little afraid of them now that I see they cannot stir without Our Lord’s permission, that I should weary your Reverence, and myself too, if I were to write any more about them.

May what I have said help the true servant of God to despise those bogeys that the devils set up to frighten us. Let him realize that every time we ignore them they lose some of their power, and the soul gains greater control. We always derive some benefit from these experiences, but of this I will not write for fear of being too long. I will only describe something that happened to me one All Souls’ night. I was in an oratory and, after saying one nocturn, was repeating some very devotional prayers which come after it and are to be found in our breviary, when the devil actually alighted on my book to prevent me finishing my reading. When I crossed myself he went away. But when I began again he returned. I believe that he did this three times, and I could not go on until I had sprinkled some holy water. At that moment I saw several souls coming out of purgatory; their time must have been almost up, and I thought perhaps the devil was trying to prevent their deliverance. I have seldom seen him in bodily form, but often in the sort of vision that I have described when, although he took no form, I have clearly known that he was there.

I also want to record another incident which greatly frightened me. One Trinity Sunday, I was in the choir of a certain convent and saw, while in a rapture, a great battle between angels and devils. I could not understand the meaning of this vision, but before a fortnight had gone by I realized that it referred to a dispute between some sisters who practised prayer and many more who did not, which was doing the house great harm. The dispute lasted a long time and caused great disturbance. On another occasion, I saw a huge crowd of devils around me, but I seemed to be completely enveloped in a great light, which prevented their coming near me. I realized that God was guarding me so that they should not approach me and make me sin against Him. From what I had observed about myself on other occasions I knew that this was a true vision. The fact is that I am now aware of how little their power is unless I am fighting against God, and so I am scarcely afraid of them any more. For their strength is nothing if they do not see souls surrendering to them like cowards; only then do they show their power. Sometimes, during these temptations that I have described, I would feel that all my weaknesses and vanities of past times were reawakening within me; and then I had to commend myself to God indeed. Until my confessor set my mind at rest, I was tortured by the idea that since these ideas arose in my mind I must be wholly possessed by the devil. For it seemed to me that no one who had received such favours from the Lord ought to have even the first impulse towards a wicked thought. At other times I was greatly distressed – as I still am – by finding myself much respected, especially by people of importance, and by hearing myself well spoken of. I have suffered a great deal from this, and I still do. Then I turn to the life of Christ or to those of the saints, and realize that my life is the reverse of theirs, for they met with nothing but contempt and insults. This makes me go forward in fear, like one who does not dare to lift her head, for I do not want to appear to be doing what I am not.

When I am undergoing persecutions, although my body is hurt and I am afflicted in other ways, my soul is completely mistress of itself. I cannot understand how this can be, but that is how it is. The soul seems at such times to be in its own kingdom and to have everything beneath its feet. I had this experience several times and it lasted for quite a few days; it seemed to be a kind of virtue and humility, but now I clearly see that it was a temptation. A Dominican father, a man of great learning, showed me this plainly. When I thought that these favours which the Lord grants me might become public knowledge, my sufferings were so intense as greatly to disturb my soul. They reached such a pitch indeed that at the mere idea of it, I decided that I would rather be buried alive than have these things known. So when these spells of deep recollection or rapture came on me, and I could not resist them even in public, I was so ashamed afterwards that I was unwilling to appear where anyone would see me.

Once when I was extremely worried about this, the Lord asked me what I was afraid of, for only one of two things could happen: either they would speak ill of me or praise Him. By this He meant that those who believed it was His work would praise Him, and those who did not would condemn me, though I should be guiltless. Consequently I should be the gainer in either case, and need not worry. This greatly calmed me, and I am comforted when I think of it. The temptation reached such a pitch that I wanted to leave the place and to take my dowry to another convent, much more strictly enclosed that the one I was in. I had heard this place very well spoken of. It belonged to my own Order and was a long way away. But the distance would have been a great consolation to me, for then I should have been in a place where no one knew me. But my confessor refused to let me go.

These fears deprived me of much freedom of spirit; but later I came to realize that all this disturbance of mind was no true humility. The Lord taught me one truth: if I resolutely and positively believed that anything good in me was not mine at all but came from God, then, just as I was not troubled when I heard other persons praised, but rather delighted and consoled to see that God was revealing Himself through them, so I should not be troubled if He showed His works in me.

I fell into another excess as well, which was to beseech God, and to make it my special prayer, that when a person thought there was any good in me, His Majesty should reveal my sins to him, so that he might see how utterly undeserving I was of these favours. This is always a great desire of mine. My confessor told me that I should not do this, but I have continued the practice almost to this day. Whenever I have noticed anyone thinking very well of me, I have managed, in any roundabout way that I could, to make him aware of my sins. This has seemed to bring me some relief. My sins have made me very scrupulous in the matter.

This practice did not spring from humility, I think, but was very often the result of a temptation. I seemed to be deceiving everybody, though really, when they believed that there was some good in me, they were deceiving themselves, I had no desire to deceive them and never attempted to do so; yet for some reason the Lord permitted these misjudgements. I never discussed anything even with my confessors unless I thought it was necessary; it would have caused me great scruples to do so. I realize now that all these little fears and distresses and semblances of humility were just imperfections, due to my lack of mortification. For a soul resigned into God’s hands does not care whether it is well or ill spoken of, so long as it has right understanding. Of course when the Lord is pleased to grant it the favour of understanding, it must clearly realize that it has nothing of its own. Let it trust the Giver, and it will learn why He reveals His gifts; and let it prepare itself for persecution, for it is certain that at times like the present it will come to anyone, when the Lord is pleased to make it known that He is granting him such favours as these. Then a thousand eyes are fixed on such a soul, whereas a thousand souls of a different stamp are observed by none.

In truth there is no small reason here for fear, and I was certainly right to be afraid. But I was being cowardly, not humble. For a soul that God permits to walk thus in the eyes of the world, may well prepare itself to be martyred by the world, since if it will not die to the world of its own free will, the world itself will kill it. Indeed there is nothing in the world that seems good to me, except its refusal to tolerate faults in good people, and its way of perfecting them by speaking ill of them. I declare that one needs more courage to follow the way of perfection if one is not perfect than for suddenly becoming a martyr. Perfection cannot be attained quickly except by one to whom the Lord is pleased to grant this favour as a particular privilege. But when the world sees anyone starting on that road, it expects him to be perfect all at once and can detect a fault in him from a mile away. Yet in him this fault may be a virtue, while his critic, in whom it is a vice, judges others by himself. They will not let this person eat or sleep or, as they say, so much as draw breath; the more highly they think of him, the more they forget that he is still in the body. For however perfect his soul may be, he is still living on earth, and however resolutely he tramples it beneath his feet he is still subject to its miseries. That is why I say that he needs great courage, for his poor soul has as yet hardly begun to walk, and they expect him to be as strong on trying occasions as they read that the saints were after they had been confirmed in grace. All this gives us cause to praise the Lord, and also for great sorrow of heart, since very many souls turn back because, poor things, they do not know how to help themselves. I believe that my soul would have done the same, had not the Lord Himself, in His compassion, done everything for me. Until He had done everything out of His own goodness, all that I did myself, as your Reverence will see, was just to fall and rise again.

I wish that I knew how to express this, because I believe that many souls are deluded at this point by trying to fly before God has given them wings. I think that I have used this comparison before, but it applies here. I will use it again, therefore, for I see some souls very much distressed by this delusion. They begin with strong desires and fervour, determined to advance in virtue, and some of them give up all outward things for God. Then they see, in others more advanced than themselves, notable accessions of virtue, given them by the Lord, for we cannot acquire them ourselves. They find in all the books written on prayer and contemplation, accounts of what we should do in order to rise to that exalted state; and as they cannot immediately accomplish all this, they lose heart. I am speaking of such things as not caring if people speak ill of us, but being more pleased than if they speak well of us; not valuing our own reputation; cultivating a detachment from our relatives, and not desiring their company but, on the other hand, finding it wearisome unless they are given to prayer, and many other things of this kind. These are gifts that must, I think, be bestowed on us by God. For they seem to me to be supernatural blessings that go counter to our natural inclinations. Let these beginners not grow weary but trust in me Lord that, if they pray and do what they can for themselves, His Majesty will make them in very deed what at present they are only in their desires. It is most necessary for our weak nature that we should have great confidence and not be faint-hearted or doubt that if we do our utmost we shall come off victorious.

As I have much experience of these matters, I will give your Reverence a little advice. Do not think – although it may seem so – that anyone has acquired a virtue unless he has tested it with its corresponding vice. We must always be distrustful of ourselves and never grow careless so long as we live. For much that is worldly will stick to us unless, as I say, God gives us the grace fully to understand the nature of everything; and in this life there is nothing which is not attended by plenty of dangers. I believed some years ago, not merely that I was not attached to my relatives, but that they wearied me; and that was certainly true, for I could not bear their conversation. Then an affair of some importance had to be settled, and I had to stay with one of my sisters1 of whom I had once been very fond. Although she is a better woman than I, I could not get along with her in conversation. For since our conditions are different, she being a married woman, we could not always talk of the things that I should have liked. So I remained alone as much as I could. But I found that I was much more affected when she was distressed than when my neighbours were, and that I was quite concerned about her. In the end I realized that I was not as free as I had thought, and that I really had to avoid occasions for sin, in order that this virtue which the Lord had implanted in me might go on growing; and, with His favour, I have endeavoured to do so ever since.

When the Lord begins to implant a virtue in us we must attach a high value to it, and on no account run the danger of losing it. This applies to the matter of our reputation and to many other things. For your Reverence may be quite sure that not all of us who think we are entirely detached really are, and it is necessary never to be careless on this point. If anyone who wants to make progress detects in himself any regard for his reputation, believe me, he should cast this attachment behind him, for it is a chain that no file can sever; only God can destroy it with the aid of prayer and much effort on our part. To my mind, it will impede him on his journey, and I am astounded at the harm it does. I see some persons who are holy in their deeds and perform such wonders that everyone is astonished. God bless me then! Why are souls like that still on earth? Why are they not at the summit of perfection? What is wrong? What can be holding back men who are doing so much for God? Oh, just a little care for the reputation! And the worst of it is that they do not wish to know that they have it, the reason sometimes being that the devil makes them think their punctiliousness is necessary.

Let such persons believe me, let them for God’s sake believe this insignificant ant, who speaks because it is the Lord’s will that she shall do so. If they do not brush away that caterpillar, it may not damage the whole tree. Some virtues will remain, of course, but they will all be worm-eaten. The tree will not be beautiful; it will not thrive, nor will it let its neighbours thrive, because its fruits of good example are neither sound nor likely to keep. I will repeat once more that however small our concern for reputation, its results will be as bad as when we strike a wrong note or fail to keep time when playing the organ. The whole passage becomes discordant. This concern is a thing most harmful to the soul whenever it occurs, but on this road of perfection it is a pestilence.

We are trying to obtain union with God. We want to follow the words of Christ, who was loaded with reproaches and falsely accused. Can we care then about keeping our own reputation and credit intact? The two aims are irreconcilable, since they are not on the same road. When we do violence to ourselves, and try in various ways to give up our rights, then the Lord comes to the soul. Some will say: ‘I have nothing to give up. I never get opportunities for denying myself’. But if anyone is really determined, I do not think the Lord will let him lose this blessing. His Majesty will arrange so many ways in which he may gain virtue that he will soon have more than he wants. All hands to the task! Set to work, I mean, on some matters of little or no consequence, as I used to do when I began. Try at least to deal with a few of them. These are the straws, as I have said, and I throw them on the fire. That is all I am good for. But the Lord accepts them all. May He be blessed for ever.

One of my faults was this: that I had a very imperfect knowledge of my breviary and of my duties in the choir and in general, simply because I was careless and absorbed in vanities. I saw other novices who could have taught me these things, but I never asked them any questions for fear that they should realize how little I knew. But good example soon prevails; at least it generally does so. Once God had opened my eyes a little, I would ask the girls’ opinions, even when I knew a thing, but was in a slight doubt about it; and this did no harm to my reputation or to my credit with them. In fact, I think the Lord has been pleased to improve my memory from that time. I was bad at singing, and was greatly put out if I had not previously studied the part that was assigned to me, not because of my shortcomings in the Lord’s eyes, which would have been a virtue, but because of the many who heard me. Merely on account of my reputation, I became so perturbed that I sang worse than I need have done. Later, when I did not know my part very well, I made a point of saying that it was new to me. At first I very much disliked making this admission, but after a time I came to enjoy doing so, and when I began not to mind whether people knew of my ignorance or not, then I sang much better. So this miserable regard for my honour made me unable to perform what I really regarded as an honour, for everyone interprets the word in his own way.

By such nothings as these – and really they are nothing, and I too am certainly nothing, to be hurt by such things – one’s efforts begin to improve. Such trivial actions, when performed for God, are of importance in His Majesty’s eyes and help Him to greater things. So it was with me in the matter of humility. When I saw that all the nuns were making progress except myself – I was always good for nothing – I would collect their mantles as they left the choir. I felt that in this way I was serving the angels, who had been praising God there. This I did until – I do not know how – they came to hear of it, which made me somewhat ashamed, because I was not yet virtuous enough to be willing that they should know of such a thing. But my shame did not spring from humility, only from the fear that they might laugh at me over a matter so trifling.

O Lord, how ashamed I am to think of all my wickedness, and to number all these little grains of sand which I still did not lift from the river-bed in Your service, but left all embedded in my innumerable meannesses! The water of Your grace was not yet flowing beneath all this sand, to raise it up. O my Creator, if only, among all this wickedness, I had something worth recounting, something to set beside the great favours that I have received from You. But thus it is, my Lord, and I do not know how my heart can bear it, or how anyone who reads this can fail to abhor me when he sees how ill I have repaid Your very great favours, and that I am not ashamed to count any services that I have rendered You as my own. I am ashamed, my Lord, but lack of anything else to enumerate in my favour compels me to speak of these lowly beginnings, if only in order to inspire hope in those who have begun better. For since the Lord seems to have taken notice of my small efforts, He will take still more notice of theirs. May it please His Majesty to give me grace, so that I may not always remain a beginner. Amen.