How good company reawakened her desires, and how God began to shed some light for her on the illusions under which she laboured
AS I began to enjoy this nun’s good and holy conversation, I was gladdened by the eloquent way in which she spoke of God, for she was a very sensible and saintly woman. I think that there was never an occasion when I did not delight to listen to her. She began by telling me how she had come to be a nun, merely through reading the words of the Gospel: ‘Many be called but few chosen’.1 She spoke to me of the reward which the Lord gives to those who forsake everything for Him. Her good company began to dispel the habits which bad company had formed in me, to bring back to my mind the desire for eternal things, and somewhat to rid me of my antipathy towards taking the veil, which had been very great indeed. If I saw anyone weep as she prayed, or show any other sign of a good state, I envied her extremely. For my heart was so hard in this respect that even if I had read the whole Passion through I should not have shed a tear; and this was a grief to me.
I stayed in this nunnery for a year and a half, and was much the better for it. I began to recite frequent prayers, and to ask everyone to pray to God for me, that He might put me in that place where I might serve Him. But I was still most anxious not to be a nun, for God had not yet been pleased to give me this desire, though I was afraid of marriage also. However, at the end of my stay there I was more inclined to take the veil, though not in that house, on account of certain devotional practices which prevailed there. I observed these during the latter part of my stay, and they seemed to me altogether excessive. Some of the younger sisters encouraged me in this feeling; if all the nuns had been of the same mind it would have been greatly to my profit. But I had also a close friend2 in another convent, and this made me decide that, if I was to be a nun, it should be nowhere but in the house where she was. I was more intent on the gratification of my senses and my vanity than on the good of my soul. These good thoughts of entering religion came to me every now and then, and quickly departed. I could not make up my mind to act on them.
Although I was not careless of my own good during this time, the Lord was much more anxious than I to place me in that state which would be best for me. He sent me a serious illness, which compelled me to return to my father’s house, and when I was better they took me to stay with my sister, who lived in a country village. She was extremely fond of me, and if she had had her way I should never have left her. Her husband was very fond of me too – or, at least, he showed me every kindness. This also I owe to the Lord, for I have received kindnesses everywhere – and all the service that I have done Him in return is to be what I am!
One of my father’s brothers1 lived on the way there, a sensible and most excellent man, then a widower, whom the Lord was also preparing for Himself. In his old age he gave up all his possessions and became a friar; and he made such an end that I believe he now dwells in the presence of God. This uncle insisted on my staying with him for some days. It was his practice to read good books in Spanish, and his everyday conversation was of God and the vanity of this world. He made me read these books to him, and though I did not much like them I pretended to. For I have always been most scrupulous in pleasing others, even when complaisance may have been painful to me; so much so that what would have been a virtue in others has been a great failing in me, for I have behaved most unwisely on occasions. O God, in how many ways did Your Majesty set about preparing me for the state in which He wished me to serve Him! Thus, without my willing it, the Lord compelled me to do violence to myself. Blessed be He for ever! Amen.
Although I remained only a few days with my uncle, yet thanks to the impression which the words of God, both heard and read, made upon my heart, and thanks to his good conversation, I began to understand the truth which I had heard as a child, that all is nothing, and that the world is vanity which quickly passes away. I began to fear that, if I had died of that illness, I should have gone to hell; and although I could not, even then, make up my mind to take the habit, I saw that the religious state was the best and safest; and so, gradually, I decided to make myself enter it.
I fought this battle for three months, urging this argument against myself: that the trials and hardships of the religious life could not be greater than those of purgatory; that I had thoroughly earned the pains of hell; that it would be a trifle to spend such time as I might live as though I were in purgatory, and that afterwards I should go straight to Heaven, which was my desire. In this intention of taking the habit I was more influenced by servile fear, I believe, than by love. The devil put it to me that because I had been so pampered, I should not be capable of enduring the rigours of the convent. I defended myself by citing the trials endured by Christ, and argued that it would be a small thing if I were to suffer a few for Him. I must have thought too that He would help me to bear them, but I have no memory of this last consideration. During that time I endured considerable temptations.
I had now become subject to severe fainting fits attended by fever, for I had always had very poor health. But I got fresh life from my continued fondness for good books. I would read the Epistles of Saint Jerome, which gave me such courage that I resolved to speak to my father of my resolve, which was almost like taking the habit. For I set such store by my word that I should never, I believe, on any account have turned back, once I had announced my intention. My father, however, was so fond of me that I was quite unable to obtain his consent; nor were the entreaties of others, whom I asked to speak to him, of the least avail. The most that I could get from him was that I could do as I liked after his death. I now began to distrust myself and my own weakness, and to fear that I might turn back. This delay seemed to me dangerous, and so I achieved my aims in another way, as I shall now relate.