How she came gradually to lose these virtues, and of the importance of associating in childhood with good people
WHAT I am about to describe is something which, I believe, began to do me great harm. I sometimes think how wrong it is of parents not to contrive that their children shall always and in every way see only what is good. For though my mother was, as I have said, extremely good herself, when I came to the age of reason I did not imitate her goodness as much as I might have done – indeed, I hardly did so at all – and evil things did me a great deal of harm. She was very fond of books of chivalry, and this amusement did not have the bad effect on her that it came to have on me, because she never neglected her duties for it. But we were always making time for reading, and she let us, perhaps in order to distract her mind from her great sufferings, or perhaps merely for the sake of amusing her children and keeping them from pursuing other wickednesses. This habit of ours so annoyed my father that we had to take care he never saw us with our books. But I began to become addicted to this reading, and this little fault, which I had observed in my mother, began to chill my desires and to lead me astray in other respects as well. It did not seem wicked to me to waste many hours of the day and the night on this vain occupation, even though I had to keep it secret from my father; and I was so enthralled by it that I do not believe I was ever happy if I had not a new book.
I began to wear finery, and to wish to charm by my appearance. I took great care of my hands and my hair, using perfumes and all the vanities I could obtain – and I obtained plenty of them, for I was very persistent. I had no bad intentions, for I should never have wished anyone to sin against God because of me. This excessive care for my appearance, together with other practices which I did not think wicked, lasted for many years, and now I see how wrong they must have been. I had some cousins, who were the only people allowed to enter my father’s house. He was very careful about this, and would to God he had been careful about them too. For I now see the danger of conversation, at an age when the virtues should be beginning to grow, with those who do not recognize the vanity of the world, but encourage one to give oneself up to it. They were about my own age, or a little older. We always went about together, and they were very fond of me. I kept conversing with them about everything that pleased them, and I heard their accounts of their affections and follies, which were anything but edifying. What was worse, my soul became exposed to what has been the cause of all its troubles.
If parents were to ask me for advice, I would tell them to take great care what people their children consort with at this age. For great harm comes of bad company, since we are inclined by nature to follow the worse rather than the better. So it was with me. I had a sister many years older than I, from whose modesty and goodness – of which she had plenty – I learnt nothing, whereas from a relative who often visited us I learnt every kind of evil. Her conversation was so frivolous that my mother had tried her hardest to prevent her coming to the house. She seems to have realized what harm this person might do me. But there were so many pretexts for these visits that my mother was powerless. I loved the company of this person. I often talked and gossiped with her, for she helped me to get all the amusements I was so fond of, and even introduced me to some others. She also told me about her friends and own pastimes. Until I knew her, and I was then a little more than fourteen – I mean until we became friends and she took me into her confidence – I do not believe that I had ever turned away from God in mortal sin, or lost my fear of Him. But I was much more afraid for my good name, and this last fear gave me strength enough never entirely to forfeit it. Indeed I do not think that I should have wavered in this resolution for anything in the world, or that there was anyone in the world for whom I felt such love that I could have been persuaded to surrender it. So since my natural inclination led me to defend everything that seemed to touch my good name, I might have had strength enough not to smirch the honour of God. But I did not see that I was losing my honour in quite a different way. In my vain anxiety to protect it I went to great extremes. Yet I took none of the steps necessary for its preservation. All that really concerned me was that I should not altogether ruin my good name.
My father and sister were most upset by this friendship, and very often took me to task. But as they could not prevent this person from coming to the house their efforts were of no avail, for I was clever at doing what was wrong. I am sometimes astonished at the harm which a single bad companion can do, and if I had no experience in the matter I should never believe it. This is particularly so when one is young, for then the evil effects are worst. I wish that parents would take warning by me, and consider this very carefully. As a result of my intercourse with this person, I was so changed that I lost nearly all my soul’s natural disposition to virtue, so influenced was I by her and by another who was given to the same kind of amusements.
From this I have learned what a great advantage is to be derived from good company; and I am quite certain that if at that age I had been friendly with good people, I should have persisted in virtue. For if when I was so young I had found anyone to teach me the fear of God, my soul would have grown strong enough not to fall. Afterwards, when I lost this fear altogether, only the concern for my honour remained, and was a torment to me in all that I did. When I thought that no one need ever know, I risked many things which were both dishonourable and sins against God.
I believe that my conversations with her harmed me from the start. But the fault must have been mine rather than hers. For afterwards my own wickedness was enough, abetted by the servants about me, whom I found disposed to help in any wrongdoing. Perhaps, if any of them had given me good advice I might have availed myself of it. But self-interest blinded them as passion blinded me. And yet I was never inclined to much evil, since I naturally loathed anything immodest, and preferred to spend my time in good company. However, when the occasion offered danger was at hand, and I exposed my father and brothers to it. From all this God delivered me, however, even though it was against my will. Thanks to Him I was not entirely lost, but my escape was not so secret as to prevent my damaging my reputation and arousing my father’s suspicions.
I could not have been pursuing these vanities for more than three months when they took me to a convent1 in the city where I lived, in which girls like myself were educated, though there were none there as depraved as I. The reason for this move was, however, so disguised that it was known only to one or two of my relatives and myself. They waited for a moment when it would arouse no surprise; and this came after my sister’s wedding,2 when it would not have been right for me to stay at home without a mother.
So great was my father’s love for me and so complete my dissimulation that he could not believe me to be so wicked, and so I was never in disgrace with him. It had been going on for such a short time that although something had leaked out nothing could be said with certainty; as I was so afraid for my reputation, I had taken every care to be secret. But I did not see that I could conceal nothing from Him who sees all things. O my God, what evil is done in the world by forgetfulness of this, and in the belief that anything done against You can be concealed! I am certain that great evils could be avoided if we could understand that our business is not to be on our guard against men but against displeasing You.
For the first week I suffered greatly, but more from the suspicion that my frivolities were known than from my being in a convent. For I was now weary of wrong-doing, and had never ceased to be much afraid of God even when I sinned against Him; and I had always contrived to make a speedy confession. At first I was very restless, but in a week, or rather less, I felt much happier than in my father’s house. All the sisters were pleased with me, for the Lord gave me the grace of pleasing wherever I might be. So I was made much of, and though I was then bitterly averse to taking the habit, yet I was delighted to see nuns who were so good. For they were all very good in that convent, most pure and observant and modest in their behaviour.
In spite of this, the devil did not cease to tempt me, and my friends outside tried to disturb me by sending me messages. But since this was not allowed, they soon stopped. Then my soul began to get used once more to the good habits of my childhood, and I saw what a mercy God does to those whom He puts in the company of good people. His Majesty seems to have been seeking and seeking how He could bring me back to Himself. Bless you, Lord, for having suffered so much from me! Amen.
There was one thing that might, I think, have provided me with some excuse, if I had not had so many faults; and that was that this friend with whom I was intimate was a person who would, I thought, greatly improve upon marriage. When I consulted the priest who confessed me and some other persons, they told me that in many respects I was not offending God. There was a nun who slept with us seculars, and through her, it seems, the Lord chose to give me the beginnings of light, as I shall now relate.