Life of St Teresa of Jesus, Teresa of Avila [top ten books to read TXT] 📗

them before the many nuns who heard me. I was

so full of my own reputation, that I was disturbed, and therefore

did not sing what I had to sing even so well as I might have

done. Afterwards, I ventured, when I did not know it very well,

to say so. At first, I felt it very much; but afterwards I found

pleasure in doing it. So, when I began to be indifferent about

its being known that I could not sing well, it gave me no pain at

all, and I sang much better. This miserable self-esteem took

from me the power of doing that which I regarded as an honour,

for every one regards as honourable that which he likes.

27. By trifles such as these, which are nothing,—and I am

altogether nothing myself, seeing that this gave me pain,—by

little and little, doing such actions, and by such slight

performances,—they become of worth because done for God,—His

Majesty helps us on towards greater things; and so it happened to

me in the matter of humility. When I saw that all the nuns

except myself were making great progress,—I was always myself

good for nothing,—I used to fold up their mantles when they left

the choir. I looked on myself as doing service to angels who had

been there praising God. I did so till they—I know not

how—found it out; and then I was not a little ashamed, because

my virtue was not strong enough to bear that they should know of

it. But the shame arose, not because I was humble, but because I

was afraid they would laugh at me, the matter being so trifling.

28. O Lord, what a shame for me to lay bare so much wickedness,

and to number these grains of sand, which yet I did not raise up

from the ground in Thy service without mixing them with a

thousand meannesses! The waters of Thy grace were not as yet

flowing beneath them, so as to make them ascend upwards. O my

Creator, oh, that I had anything worth recounting amid so many

evil things, when I am recounting the great mercies I received at

Thy hands! So it is, O my Lord. I know not how my heart could

have borne it, nor how any one who shall read this can help

having me in abhorrence when he sees that mercies so great had

been so ill-requited, and that I have not been ashamed to speak

of these services. Ah! they are only mine, O my Lord; but I am

ashamed I have nothing else to say of myself; and that it is that

makes me speak of these wretched beginnings, in order that he who

has begun more nobly may have hope that our Lord, who has made

much of mine, will make more of his. May it please His Majesty

to give me this grace, that I may not remain for ever at the

beginning! Amen. [9]

1. 2 Cor. ii. 11: “Non enim ignoramus cogitationes ejus.”

2. Ch. xxvii. § 4.

3. See Inner Fortress, vi. ch. iv. § 12.

4. Way of Perfection, ch. lxv. § 2; but ch. xxxvi. of the

previous editions.

5. See ch. x. § 10.

6. Ch. xiii. § 3.

7. Ch. xx. § 38.

8. Ch. xxx. § 25.

9. Don Vicente de la Fuente thinks the first “Life” ended here;

that which follows was written under obedience to her confessor,

F. Garcia of Toledo, and after the foundation of the monastery of

St. Joseph, Avila.

Chapter XXXII.

Our Lord Shows St. Teresa the Place Which She Had by Her Sins

Deserved in Hell. The Torments There. How the Monastery

of St. Joseph Was Founded.

1. Some considerable time after our Lord had bestowed upon me the

graces I have been describing, and others also of a higher

nature, I was one day in prayer when I found myself in a moment,

without knowing how, plunged apparently into hell. I understood

that it was our Lord’s will I should see the place which the

devils kept in readiness for me, and which I had deserved by my

sins. It was but a moment, but it seems to me impossible I

should ever forget it even if I were to live many years.

2. The entrance seemed to be by a long narrow pass, like a

furnace, very low, dark, and close. The ground seemed to be

saturated with water, mere mud, exceedingly foul, sending forth

pestilential odours, and covered with loathsome vermin. At the

end was a hollow place in the wall, like a closet, and in that I

saw myself confined. All this was even pleasant to behold in

comparison with what I felt there. There is no exaggeration in

what I am saying.

3. But as to what I then felt, I do not know where to begin, if I

were to describe it; it is utterly inexplicable. I felt a fire

in my soul. I cannot see how it is possible to describe it.

My bodily sufferings were unendurable. I have undergone most

painful sufferings in this life, and, as the physicians say, the

greatest that can be borne, such as the contraction of my sinews

when I was paralysed, [1] without speaking of others of different

kinds, yea, even those of which I have also spoken, [2] inflicted

on me by Satan; yet all these were as nothing in comparison with

what I felt then, especially when I saw that there would be no

intermission, nor any end to them.

4. These sufferings were nothing in comparison with the anguish

of my soul, a sense of oppression, of stifling, and of pain so

keen, accompanied by so hopeless and cruel an infliction, that I

know not how to speak of it. If I said that the soul is

continually being torn from the body, it would be nothing, for

that implies the destruction of life by the hands of another but

here it is the soul itself that is tearing itself in pieces.

I cannot describe that inward fire or that despair, surpassing

all torments and all pain. I did not see who it was that

tormented me, but I felt myself on fire, and torn to pieces, as

it seemed to me; and, I repeat it, this inward fire and despair

are the greatest torments of all.

5. Left in that pestilential place, and utterly without the power

to hope for comfort, I could neither sit nor lie down: there was

no room. I was placed as it were in a hole in the wall; and

those walls, terrible to look on of themselves, hemmed me in on

every side. I could not breathe. There was no light, but all

was thick darkness. I do not understand how it is; though there

was no light, yet everything that can give pain by being seen

was visible.

6. Our Lord at that time would not let me see more of hell.

Afterwards, I had another most fearful vision, in which I saw the

punishment of certain sins. They were most horrible to look at;

but, because I felt none of the pain, my terror was not so great.

In the former vision, our Lord made me really feel those

torments, and that anguish of spirit, just as if I had been

suffering them in the body there. I know not how it was, but I

understood distinctly that it was a great mercy that our Lord

would have me see with mine own eyes the very place from which

His compassion saved me. I have listened to people speaking of

these things, and I have at other times dwelt on the various

torments of hell, though not often, because my soul made no

progress by the way of fear; and I have read of the diverse

tortures, and how the devils tear the flesh with red-hot pincers.

But all is as nothing before this; it is a wholly different

matter. In short, the one is a reality, the other a picture; and

all burning here in this life is as nothing in comparison with

the fire that is there.

7. I was so terrified by that vision,—and that terror is on me

even now while I am writing,—that, though it took place nearly

six years ago, [3] the natural warmth of my body is chilled by

fear even now when I think of it. And so, amid all the pain and

suffering which I may have had to bear, I remember no time in

which I do not think that all we have to suffer in this world is

as nothing. It seems to me that we complain without reason.

I repeat it, this vision was one of the grandest mercies of our

Lord. It has been to me of the greatest service, because it has

destroyed my fear of trouble and of the contradiction of the

world, and because it has made me strong enough to bear up

against them, and to give thanks to our Lord, who has been my

Deliverer, as it now seems to me, from such fearful and

everlasting pains.

8. Ever since that time, as I was saying, everything seems

endurable in comparison with one instant of suffering such as

those I had then to bear in hell. I am filled with fear when I

see that, after frequently reading books which describe in some

manner the pains of hell, I was not afraid of them, nor made any

account of them. Where was I? How could I possibly take any

pleasure in those things which led me directly to so dreadful a

place? Blessed for ever be Thou, O my God! and, oh, how manifest

is it that Thou didst love me much more than I did love Thee!

How often, O Lord, didst Thou save me from that fearful prison!

and how I used to get back to it contrary to Thy will.

9. It was that vision that filled me with the very great distress

which I feel at the sight of so many lost souls,—especially of

the Lutherans,—for they were once members of the Church by

baptism,—and also gave me the most vehement desires for the

salvation of souls; for certainly I believe that, to save even

one from those overwhelming torments, I would most willingly

endure many deaths. If here on earth we see one whom we

specially love in great trouble or pain, our very nature seems to

bid us compassionate him; and if those pains be great, we are

troubled ourselves. What, then, must it be to see a soul in

danger of pain, the most grievous of all pains, for ever?

Who can endure it? It is a thought no heart can bear without

great anguish. Here we know that pain ends with life at last,

and that there are limits to it; yet the sight of it moves our

compassion so greatly. That other pain has no ending; and I know

not how we can be calm, when we see Satan carry so many souls

daily away.

10. This also makes me wish that, in a matter which concerns us

so much, we did not rest satisfied with doing less than we can do

on our part,—that we left nothing undone. May our Lord

vouchsafe to give us His grace for that end! When I consider

that, notwithstanding my very great wickedness, I took some pains

to please God, and abstained from certain things which I know the

world makes light of,—that, in short, I suffered grievous

infirmities, and with