Of Visions. The Graces Our Lord Bestowed on the Saint.
The Answers Our Lord Gave Her for Those Who Tried Her.
1. I have wandered far from the subject; for I undertook to
give reasons why the vision was no work of the imagination.
For how can we, by any efforts of ours, picture to ourselves the
Humanity of Christ, and imagine His great beauty? No little time
is necessary, if our conception is in any way to resemble it.
Certainly, the imagination may be able to picture it, and a
person may for a time contemplate that picture,--the form and the
brightness of it,--and gradually make it more perfect, and so lay
up that image in his memory. Who can hinder this, seeing that it
could be fashioned by the understanding? But as to the vision of
which I am speaking, there are no means of bringing it about;
only we must behold it when our Lord is pleased to present it
before us, as He wills and what He wills; and there is no
possibility of taking anything away from it, or of adding
anything to it; nor is there any way of effecting it, whatever we
may do, nor of seeing it when we like, nor of abstaining from
seeing; if we try to gaze upon it--part of the vision in
particular--the vision of Christ is lost at once.
2. For two years and a half God granted me this grace very
frequently; but it is now more than three years since He has
taken away from me its continual presence, through another of a
higher nature, as I shall perhaps explain hereafter. [1]
And though I saw Him speaking to me, and though I was
contemplating His great beauty, and the sweetness with which
those words of His came forth from His divine mouth,--they were
sometimes uttered with severity,--and though I was extremely
desirous to behold the colour of His eyes, or the form of them,
so that I might be able to describe them, yet I never attained to
the sight of them, and I could do nothing for that end; on the
contrary, I lost the vision altogether. And though I see that He
looks upon me at times with great tenderness, yet so strong is
His gaze, that my soul cannot endure it; I fall into a trance so
deep, that I lose the beautiful vision, in order to have a
greater fruition of it all.
3. Accordingly, willing or not willing, the vision has
nothing to do with it. Our Lord clearly regards nothing but
humility and confusion of face, the acceptance of what He wishes
to give, and the praise of Himself, the Giver. This is true of
all visions without exception: we can contribute nothing towards
them--we cannot add to them, nor can we take from them; our own
efforts can neither make nor unmake them. Our Lord would have us
see most clearly that it is no work of ours, but of His Divine
Majesty; we are therefore the less able to be proud of it: on the
contrary, it makes us humble and afraid; for we see that, as our
Lord can take from us the power of seeing what we would see, so
also can He take from us these mercies and His grace, and we may
be lost for ever. We must therefore walk in His fear while we
are living in this our exile.
4. Our Lord showed Himself to me almost always as He is
after His resurrection. It was the same in the Host; only at
those times when I was in trouble, and when it was His will to
strengthen me, did He show His wounds. Sometimes I saw Him on
the cross, in the Garden, crowned with thorns,--but that was
rarely; sometimes also carrying His cross because of my
necessities,--I may say so,--or those of others; but always in
His glorified body. Many reproaches and many vexations have I
borne while telling this--many suspicions and much persecution
also. So certain were they to whom I spoke that I had an evil
spirit, that some would have me exorcised. I did not care much
for this; but I felt it bitterly when I saw that my confessors
were afraid to hear me, or when I knew that they were told of
anything about me.
5. Notwithstanding all this, I never could be sorry that I
had had these heavenly visions; nor would I exchange even one of
them for all the wealth and all the pleasures of the world.
I always regarded them as a great mercy from our Lord; and to me
they were the very greatest treasure,--of this our Lord assured
me often. I used to go to Him to complain of all these
hardships; and I came away from prayer consoled, and with renewed
strength. I did not dare to contradict those who were trying me;
for I saw that it made matters worse, because they looked on my
doing so as a failure in humility. I spoke of it to my
confessor; he always consoled me greatly when he saw me
in distress.
6. As my visions grew in frequency, one of those who used to
help me before--it was to him I confessed when the
father-minister [2] could not hear me--began to say that I was
certainly under the influence of Satan. He bade me, now that I
had no power of resisting, always to make the sign of the cross
when I had a vision, to point my finger at it by way of
scorn, [3] and be firmly persuaded of its diabolic nature. If I
did this, the vision would not recur. I was to be without fear
on the point; God would watch over me, and take the vision
away. [4] This was a great hardship for me; for, as I could not
believe that the vision did not come from God, it was a fearful
thing for me to do; and I could not wish, as I said before, that
the visions should be withheld. However, I did at last as I was
bidden. I prayed much to our Lord, that He would deliver me from
delusions. I was always praying to that effect, and with many
tears. I had recourse also to St. Peter and St. Paul; for our
Lord had said to me--it was on their feast that He had appeared
to me the first time [5]--that they would preserve me from
delusion. I used to see them frequently most distinctly on my
left hand; but that vision was not imaginary. These glorious
Saints were my very good lords.
7. It was to me a most painful thing to make a show of
contempt whenever I saw our Lord in a vision; for when I saw Him
before me, if I were to be cut in pieces, I could not believe it
was Satan. This was to me, therefore, a heavy kind of penance;
and accordingly, that I might not be so continually crossing
myself, I used to hold a crucifix in my hand. This I did almost
always; but I did not always make signs of contempt, because I
felt that too much. It reminded me of the insults which the Jews
heaped upon Him; and so I prayed Him to forgive me, seeing that I
did so in obedience to him who stood in His stead, and not to lay
the blame on me, seeing that he was one of those whom He had
placed as His ministers in His Church. He said to me that I was
not to distress myself--that I did well to obey; but He would
make them see the truth of the matter. He seemed to me to be
angry when they made me give up my prayer. [6] He told me to say
to them that this was tyranny. He gave me reasons for believing
that the vision was not satanic; some of them I mean to repeat by
and by.
8. On one occasion,when I was holding in my hand the cross
of my rosary, He took it from me into His own hand. He returned
it; but it was then four large stones incomparably more precious
than diamonds; for nothing can be compared with what is
supernatural. Diamonds seem counterfeits and imperfect when
compared with these precious stones. The five wounds were
delineated on them with most admirable art. He said to me, that
for the future that cross would appear so to me always; and so it
did. I never saw the wood of which it was made, but only the
precious stones. They were seen, however, by no one else,--only
by myself. [7]
9. When they had begun to insist on my putting my visions to
a test like this, and resisting them, the graces I received were
multiplied more and more. I tried to distract myself; I never
ceased to be in prayer: even during sleep my prayer seemed to be
continual; for now my love grew, I made piteous complaints to our
Lord, and told Him I could not bear it. Neither was it in my
power--though I desired, and, more than that, even strove--to
give up thinking of Him. Nevertheless, I obeyed to the utmost of
my power; but my power was little or nothing in the matter; and
our Lord never released me from that obedience; but though He
bade me obey my confessor, He reassured me in another way, and
taught me what I was to say. He has continued to do so until
now; and He gave me reasons so sufficient, that I felt myself
perfectly safe.
10. Not long afterwards His Majesty began, according to His
promise, to make it clear that it was He Himself who appeared, by
the growth in me of the love of God so strong, that I knew not
who could have infused it; for it was most supernatural, and I
had not attained to it by any efforts of my own. I saw myself
dying with a desire to see God, and I knew not how to seek that
life otherwise than by dying. Certain great impetuosities [8] of
love, though not so intolerable as those of which I have spoken
before, [9] nor yet of so great worth, overwhelmed me. I knew
not what to do; for nothing gave me pleasure, and I had no
control over myself. It seemed as if my soul were really torn
away from myself. Oh, supreme artifice of our Lord! how tenderly
didst Thou deal with Thy miserable slave! Thou didst hide
Thyself from me, and didst yet constrain me with Thy love, with a
death so sweet, that my soul would never wish it over.
11. It is not possible for any one to understand these
impetuosities if he has not experienced them himself. They are
not an upheaving of the breast, nor those devotional sensations,
not uncommon, which seem on the point of causing suffocation, and
are beyond control. That prayer is of a much lower order; and
those agitations should be avoided by gently endeavouring to be
recollected; and the soul should be kept in quiet. This prayer
is like the sobbing of little children, who seem on the point of
choking, and whose disordered senses are soothed by giving them
to drink. So here reason should draw in the reins, because
nature itself may be contributing to it and we should consider
with fear that all this may not be perfect, and that much
sensuality may be involved in it. The infant soul should be
soothed by the caresses of love, which shall draw forth its love
in a gentle way, and not, as they say, by force of blows.
This love should be inwardly under control, and not as a caldron,
fiercely boiling because too much fuel has been applied to it,
and out of which everything is lost. The source of the fire must
be kept under control, and the flame must be quenched in sweet
tears, and not with those painful tears which come out of these
emotions, and which do so much harm.
12. In the beginning, I had tears of this kind. They left
me with a disordered head and a wearied spirit, and for a day or
two afterwards unable to resume my prayer. Great discretion,
therefore, is necessary at first, in order that everything may
proceed gently, and that the operations of the spirit may be
within; all outward manifestations should be carefully avoided.
13. These other impetuosities are very different. It is not
we who apply the fuel; the fire is already kindled, and we are
thrown into it in a moment to be consumed. It is by no efforts
of the soul that it sorrows over the wound which the absence of
our Lord has inflicted on it; it is far otherwise; for an arrow
is driven into the entrails to the very quick, [10] and into the
heart at times, so that the soul knows not what is the matter
with it, nor what it wishes for. It understands clearly enough
that it wishes for God, and that the arrow seems tempered with
some herb which makes the soul hate itself for the love of our
Lord, and willingly lose its life for Him. It is impossible to
describe or explain the way in which God wounds the soul, nor the
very grievous pain inflicted, which deprives it of all
self-consciousness; yet this pain is so sweet, that there is no
joy in the world which gives greater delight. As I have just
said, [11] the soul would wish to be always dying of this wound.
14. This pain and bliss together carried me out of myself,
and I never could understand how it was. Oh, what a sight a
wounded soul is!--a soul, I mean, so conscious of it, as to be
able to say of itself that it is wounded for so good a cause; and
seeing distinctly that it never did anything whereby this love
should come to it, and that it does come from that exceeding love
which our Lord bears it. A spark seems to have fallen suddenly
upon it, that has set it all on fire. Oh, how often do I
remember, when in this state, those words of David: "Quemadmodum
desiderat cervus ad fontes aquarum"! [12] They seem to me to be
literally true of myself.
15. When these impetuosities are not very violent they seem
to admit of a little mitigation--at least, the soul seeks some
relief, because it knows not what to do--through certain
penances; the painfulness of which, and even the shedding of its
blood, are no more felt than if the body were dead. The soul
seeks for ways and means to do something that may be felt, for
the love of God; but the first pain is so great, that no bodily
torture I know of can take it away. As relief is not to be had
here, these medicines are too mean for so high a disease.
Some slight mitigation may be had, and the pain may pass away a
little, by praying God to relieve its sufferings: but the soul
sees no relief except in death, by which it thinks to attain
completely to the fruition of its good. At other times, these
impetuosities are so violent, that the soul can do neither this
nor anything else; the whole body is contracted, and neither hand
nor foot can be moved: if the body be upright at the time, it
falls down, as a thing that has no control over itself.
It cannot even breathe; all it does is to moan--not loudly,
because it cannot: its moaning, however, comes from a keen sense
of pain.
16. Our Lord was pleased that I should have at times a
vision of this kind: I saw an angel close by me, on my left side,
in bodily form. This I am not accustomed to see, unless very
rarely. Though I have visions of angels frequently, yet I see
them only by an intellectual vision, such as I have spoken of
before. [13] It was our Lord's will that in this vision I should
see the angel in this wise. He was not large, but small of
stature, and most beautiful--his face burning, as if he were one
of the highest angels, who seem to be all of fire: they must be
those whom we call cherubim. [14] Their names they never tell
me; but I see very well that there is in heaven so great a
difference between one angel and another, and between these and
the others, that I cannot explain it.
17. I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the
iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me
to be thrusting it at times into my heart, [15] and to pierce my
very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out
also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God.
The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so
surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could
not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing
less than God. The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the
body has its share in it, even a large one. It is a caressing of
love so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God,
that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may
think that I am lying. [16]
18. During the days that this lasted, I went about as if
beside myself. I wished to see, or speak with, no one, but only
to cherish my pain, which was to me a greater bliss than all
created things could give me. [17]
19. I was in this state from time to time, whenever it was
our Lord's pleasure to throw me into those deep trances, which I
could not prevent even when I was in the company of others, and
which, to my deep vexation, came to be publicly known.
Since then, I do not feel that pain so much, but only that which
I spoke of before,--I do not remember the chapter, [18]--which is
in many ways very different from it, and of greater worth.
On the other hand, when this pain, of which I am now speaking,
begins, our Lord seems to lay hold of the soul, and to throw it
into a trance, so that there is no time for me to have any sense
of pain or suffering, because fruition ensues at once. May He be
blessed for ever, who hath bestowed such great graces on one who
has responded so ill to blessings so great!
1. Ch. xl.
2. Baltasar Alvarez was father-minister of the house of
St. Giles, Avila, in whose absence she had recourse to another
father of that house (Ribera, i. ch. 6).
3. Y diese higas. "Higa es una manera de menosprecio que hacemos
cerrando el puño, y mostrando el dedo pulgar por entre el dedo
indice, y el medio" (Cobarruvias, in voce).
4. See Book of the Foundations, ch. viii. § 3, where the Saint
refers to this advice, and to the better advice given her later
by F. Dominic Bañes, one of her confessors. See also Inner
Fortress, vi. 9, § 7.
5. See ch. xxvii. § 3, and ch. xxviii. § 4.
6. Ch. xxv. § 18.
7. The cross was made of ebony (Ribera). It is not known where
that cross is now. The Saint gave it to her sister, Doña Juana
de Ahumada, who begged it of her. Some say that the Carmelites
of Madrid possess it; and others, those of Valladolid (De
la Fuente).
8. See Relation, i. § 3.
9. Ch. xx. § 11.
10. Inner Fortress, vi. 11, § 2; St. John of the Cross, Spiritual
Canticle, st. 1, p. 22, Engl. trans.
11. § 10.
12. Psalm xli. 2: "As the longing of the hart for the fountains
of waters, so is the longing of my soul for Thee, O my God."
13. Ch. xxvii. § 3.
14. In the MS. of the Saint preserved in the Escurial, the word
is "cherubines;" but all the editors before Don Vicente de la
Fuente have adopted the suggestion, in the margin, of Bañes, who
preferred "seraphim." F. Bouix, in his translation, corrected
the mistake; but, with his usual modesty, did not call the
reader's attention to it.
15. See Relation, viii. § 16.
16. "The most probable opinion is, that the piercing of the heart
of the Saint took place in 1559. The hymn which she composed on
that occasion was discovered in Seville in 1700 ("En las internas
entrañas"). On the high altar of the Carmelite church in Alba de
Tormes, the heart of the Saint thus pierced is to be seen; and I
have seen it myself more than once" (De la Fuente).
17. Brev. Rom. in fest. S. Teresiæ, Oct. 15, Lect. v.: "Tanto
autem divini amoris incendio cor ejus conflagravit, ut merito
viderit Angelum ignito jaculo sibi præcordia transverberantem."
The Carmelites keep the feast of this piercing of the Saint's
heart on the 27th of August.
18. Ch. xx. § 11.