She tells how it pleased God to carry her in the spirit to a place in hell that she had deserved for her sins. She describes a tithe of what was shown her there and begins to tell of the ways and means by which the convent of St Joseph was founded on its present site
SOME long time after the Lord had bestowed on me many of the favours that I have described, together with others that were very great, one day when I was at prayer, I found myself, without knowing how, plunged, as I thought, into hell. I understood that the Lord wished me to see the place that the devils had ready for me there, and that I had earned by my sins. All this happened in the briefest second; but even if I should live for many years, I do not think I could possibly forget it. The entrance seemed to me like a very long, narrow passage, or a very low, dark, and constricted furnace. The ground appeared to be covered with a filthy wet mud, which smelt abominably and contained many wicked reptiles. At the end was a cavity scooped out of the wall, like a cupboard, and I found myself closely confined in it. But the sight of all this was pleasant compared with my feelings. There is no exaggeration in what I am saying.
I do not think that my feelings could possibly be exaggerated, nor would anyone understand them. I felt a fire inside my soul, the nature of which is beyond my powers of description, and my physical tortures were intolerable. I have endured the severest bodily pains in the course of my life, the worst, so the doctors say, that it is possible to suffer and live, among them the contraction of my nerves during my paralysis, and many other agonies of various kinds, including some, as I have said, caused by the devil. But none of them was in any way comparable to the pains I felt at that time, especially when I realized that they would be endless and unceasing. But even this was nothing to my agony of soul, an oppression, a suffocation, and an affliction so agonizing, and accompanied by such a hopeless and distressing misery that no words I could find would adequately describe it. To say that it was as if my soul were being continuously torn from my body is as nothing. The fact is that I can find no means of describing that inward fire and that despair which is greater than the severest torments or pains. I could not see my torturer, but I seemed to feel myself being burnt and dismembered; and, I repeat, that interior fire and despair were the very worst of all.
In that pestilential spot, deprived of all hope of comfort, it was impossible for me to sit or lie down; there was no room to do so. I had been put in what seemed a hole in the wall, and the very walls, which are hideous to behold, pressed in on me and completely stifled me. There is no light there, only the deepest darkness. Yet, although there was no light, it was possible to see everything that brings pain to the sight; I do not know how this can be. It was not the Lord’s will that I should at that time see more of hell itself; since then I have seen another vision of frightful things that are the punishment for certain vices. But although these seemed to me a much more dreadful sight, yet they alarmed me less, for then I felt no physical pain. In the first vision, however, it was the Lord’s will that I really should feel these torments and afflictions of spirit, just as if my body were actually suffering them. I do not know how it was, but I quite clearly realized that this was a great favour, and that the Lord wished me to see with my very eyes the place from which His mercy had delivered me. It is nothing to read an account of it, or to think, as I sometimes have – though rarely, for my soul has made little progress by the way of fear – of the various kinds of torment, of how devils tear the flesh with pincers, and of other forms of torture that I have read about. None of these pains is in any way comparable to this, which is a wholly different matter. In fact, they are like a picture set up against the reality, and burning on earth is a trifle compared with this fire.
I was terrified, and though this happened six years ago, I am still terrified as I write; even as I sit here my natural heat seems to be drained away by fear. I can think of no time of trial or torture when everything that we can suffer on earth has not seemed to me trifling in comparison with this. In fact, as I see it, on most occasions, we complain without reason. I repeat that this vision was one of the greatest mercies that the Lord has bestowed on me. It has benefited me very much, both by freeing me from fear of the tribulations and oppositions of this life, and by giving me the strength, whilst bearing them, to give thanks to the Lord, who, as I now believe, has delivered me from these continuous and terrible torments.
Since that time, I repeat, everything has seemed endurable to me in comparison with a single moment of the suffering that I had to bear then. It shocks me to think that after having so often read books which tell something of the pains of hell, I was neither afraid of them, nor realized what they are. What could I have been thinking of? How could I possibly have taken pleasure in things that were driving me directly to that awful place? O God, may You be blessed for ever, for now I see that You loved me far more than I love myself. How often, Lord, did you deliver me from that dread prison, only for me to shut myself in again, in defiance of Your will!
It was this vision that filled me with the very deep distress which I feel on account of the great number of souls who bring damnation on themselves – of the Lutherans in particular, since they were members of the Church by baptism. It has also given me a fervent desire to help other souls. Indeed I believe that if I could free a single one from these dreadful tortures, I would most willingly suffer many deaths. For if we see someone on earth whom we especially love suffering great trials or pains, our very nature seems to awaken our compassion, and the more dire his sufferings the greater our distress. Who, then, could bear to see a soul endlessly tormented in this most terrible trial of all? No heart could possibly endure it without the most hideous affliction. For if earthly tortures, which we know to have their limits and to end with death, move us to such compassion, I do not know how we can look calmly on those others that are endless, and see the devil carrying off as many souls as he does every day.
This vision also makes me wish that in so important a matter we should not be content to do anything less than the best that is in our power. Let us neglect nothing, and may the Lord be pleased to grant us His grace to this end. Despite my very great wickedness, I recall that I took some pains to serve God, and refrained from doing certain things that I see tolerated in the world to-day as matters of no account; that I endured serious illnesses, and bore them with a great patience that was bestowed on me by the Lord; that I was not given to grumbling or slandering people, and that I was, as I think, incapable of wishing anyone ill; that I was not covetous and do not remember ever having felt so much envy as grievously to offend the Lord; that I kept myself free from many other faults, and that, vile creature though I was, I lived in the most constant fear of God. Yet look at the place where the devils had lodged me! It is true, I think, that my sins had merited even worse punishment. Nevertheless, I repeat, the torture was terrible. It is a dangerous thing indeed for a soul to follow its own pleasure, or to be calm and complacent when at every step it is falling into mortal sin. For the love of God, let us avoid occasions for sin, and the Lord will help us all as He helped me. May it please His Majesty not to let me out of His hand, for fear that I may fall again, now that I have seen the place to which that would bring me. May the Lord not let me fall, for His Majesty’s sake. Amen.
After I had seen this vision, and other great and secret things which the Lord, of His kindness, was pleased to show me, concerning the bliss that awaits the good and the pains in store for the wicked, I longed to find some ways and means of doing penance for all my evil deeds, and of becoming in some degree worthy of winning this great blessing. I wanted to avoid human company, and finally to withdraw completely from the world. My spirit was restless, yet not with a disturbing but a pleasant disquiet; I knew quite well that it was of God, and that His Majesty had given my soul this ardour so that I might digest other and stronger meat than I was then eating.
I tried to think what I could do for God, and decided that the first thing was to follow the call to a religious life that the Lord had given me, by keeping my Rule with every possible perfection. Although in the house where I was there were many servants of God and He was well served there, yet, because it was very poor, we nuns often left it for other places where we could live decently and keep our vows. Moreover the Rule was not observed there in its original strictness but, as throughout the Order, in the relaxed form permitted by the Bull of Mitigation. There were other drawbacks too, among them what seemed to me the excessive comfort that we enjoyed, for the house was a large and pleasant one. Now this habit of going on visits, though I was one who frequently indulged in it, was a serious inconvenience to me, because many people whom my superiors could not refuse liked to have me with them, and when I was invited they ordered me to go. Things reached such a pitch, indeed, that I was able to be in the convent very little; the devil must have had a hand in these frequent departures of mine, though at the same time I would always pass on to some of the nuns what I learnt from the people I met, and this was of great benefit to them.
One day, in conversation with myself and one or two other nuns, a certain person1 asked whether we were prepared to follow the practice of the Barefoot Orders, for it would be quite possible to found a convent of Discalced nuns. I had desired something of the sort myself, and so I discussed the idea with a companion who was of the same mind, that widowed lady whom I have already mentioned. She began to think out ways of finding the necessary revenue. But, as I can see now, this would not have got us very far. For my part, however, I was very happy in the house where I was. The place was pleasing to me, and so was my cell, which suited me excellently; and this held me back. Nevertheless we agreed to commend the matter most fervently to God.
One day, after Communion, the Lord earnestly commanded me to pursue this aim with all my strength. He made me great promises; that the house would not fail to be established, that great service would be done Him there, that its name should be St Joseph’s; that he would watch over us at one of its doors and Our Lady at the other; that Christ would be with us; that the convent would be a star, and that it would shed the most brilliant light. He said also that although the Rules of the religious orders were mitigated, I must not think that He was poorly served by them. For what would become of the world, if it were not for the religious? He told me to convey His orders to my confessor,1 with the request that he should not oppose them or in any way hinder my carrying them out.
This vision had a very great effect on me. For these words spoken to me by the Lord were of such a kind as to leave me in no doubt that they were from Him. They distressed me very deeply, because they gave me a partial glimpse of the great anxieties and labours that the task entailed for me. Besides, I was very happy in that house and, although I had discussed the project before, it had never been with any great measure of resolution, or with any certainty that it would be carried out. I now felt that a burden was being laid upon me and, when I saw that, a very disturbing time began for me; I did not know what to do. However, the Lord spoke to me on this subject again and again, and put so many reasons and arguments before me, as to convince me that they were valid and that this was His will. So I dared not do otherwise than speak to my confessor and give him a written account of all that had taken place.
He did not venture definitely to tell me to abandon the project, though he saw that, humanly speaking, there was no way of carrying it out, since my companion who was to undertake it all had very small resources – indeed almost none. He told me to discuss the matter with my director, and to do as he advised me. I did not discuss these visions of mine with my director, but the lady who wanted to found the convent had a talk with him, and the Provincial, who is a friend of the religious Orders, took the idea very well. He offered her all necessary support, and told her that he would give the house his sanction. They discussed what income it would require, and for many reasons we decided that it must never contain more than thirteen nuns. Before we began these discussions, we had written to the blessed friar Peter of Alcántara, and told him all that was happening. He advised us to stick to our plans, and gave us his opinion on the whole subject.
Hardly had news of this begun to spread around the place than there fell upon us a persecution so severe that it would not be possible to describe it in a few words. They talked, they laughed at us, and they declared that the idea was absurd. Of me they said that I was in the right place where I was, and they subjected my companion to such a persecution that it quite wore her out. I did not know what to do, for they seemed to me partly right. In this state of exhaustion, I turned to God, and His Majesty began to comfort and encourage me. I could now see, He said, what sufferings those saints who had founded religious orders had gone through, and indeed they had had to endure much more than I could imagine, but we must not let that trouble us. He told me certain things to say to my companion, and to my very great astonishment we at once felt comforted by what had happened, and courageous enough to stand up to everybody. And so we did, for there was hardly anyone among the prayerful, or indeed in the whole place, who was not against us, and did not consider our project absolutely absurd.
There was so much chatter and fuss in my own convent that the Provincial thought it would be difficult to oppose everybody, and so changed his mind. He now withdrew his backing, saying that the income was not assured, that in any case it would be insufficient, and that the plan was meeting with heavy opposition. In all this he seemed to be right. So he put the matter aside and refused to sanction it. We appeared to have taken the first blows and were much distressed, myself in particular at finding the Provincial against me, for his previous approval had justified me in everyone’s eyes. My companion was refused absolution if she did not abandon the idea; it was incumbent on her, she was told, to remove the scandal. She went to talk things over with a very learned man who was a great servant of God and of the Order of St Dominic,1 and told him the whole story. She did this even before the Provincial withdrew his support, for we had no one in the whole place to whom we could look for an opinion; and for that reason people said that the whole idea was our own fancy. The lady gave that holy man an account of everything. She told him how much revenue she derived from her estate, and she very much hoped that he would help us since he was at that time the most learned man in the town, and there were few more learned in his whole Order. I myself told him all that we were proposing to do, and some of our reasons; I did not mention any of my revelations to him, but merely set out the natural reasons that prompted me, for I did not want him to base his opinion on any grounds but these. He said that we must allow him a week before he replied, and asked if we would definitely follow his judgement. I said that we would. But although I said so, and I think that we should have done so, I never for a moment wavered in my confidence that the convent would be founded. My companion had even more faith, and would never have given up the project for anything that might have been said to her.
For my part, although, as I have said, the abandonment of the project seemed to me impossible, I merely believed the revelation to be true in the sense that it was not contrary to what is written in the Holy Scriptures, or to the laws of the Church, which we are obliged to keep. Although I believed that my revelation was really from God, if that learned man had told us that we could not act upon it without offending Him, and that it would be a violation of conscience, I think I should have given the plan up on the spot and sought for some other way. But the Lord showed me no other way. Later, that servant of God told me that at first he had definitely decided that he must urge us to give the project up, because he had become aware of the popular outcry and because the idea seemed as foolish to him as to everyone else. He said that a certain gentleman, having learnt that we had gone to him for advice, had sent him a warning to be careful what he did, and not to help us; but that when he had begun to consider the terms of his answer, to think the matter over and to reflect on the intentions that prompted us, on our way of setting to work and on our concern for our Order, he had decided that we should be rendering God a great service and that the scheme must not be abandoned. His answer was therefore, that we should hasten to carry it out, and he suggested ways and means by which this could be done. He said that, though our resources were small, we must to some extent put our trust in God. He told us to send anyone who opposed us further to him for an answer, and he always helped us in this way, as I shall show by and by.
We were greatly comforted by this, and by the fact that several saintly persons who had hitherto been against us now became reconciled, some of them even helping us. Among these was that pious gentleman of whom I have already written. He now believed that the project, being wholly founded upon prayer – as indeed it was – would be a means of great perfection. Whilst still believing that the foundation would be difficult or even impracticable, he renounced his former view and agreed that the idea might be from God. Here Our Lord Himself must have inspired him, as He inspired that learned cleric and servant of God, to whom, as I have said, I had spoken in the first place, who is an example to the whole town, and whom God keeps there for the help and profit of many souls.1 He also came forward to help me in this affair. While things were in this state, aided by the continual help of many people’s prayers, we practically completed the purchase of a house. It was a small one, but this did not trouble me in the least, for the Lord had told me to start in the best way I could and in due course I should see what His Majesty would do. And how well I have seen it! So, though I knew that our income would be small, I believed that the Lord would manage things in other ways and would give us help.