How she began to lose the graces the Lord had given her, and of the evil life she began to lead. A description of the dangers arising from the lack of strict enclosure in convents
So I began, by way of amusement after amusement, of vanity after vanity, and of one occasion for sin after another, to expose myself to very great dangers, and to let my soul become so distracted by many vanities that I was ashamed to turn back to God and approach Him in such intimate friendship as that of prayer. What is more, as my sins increased I began to lose my joy and pleasure in virtuous things. I saw very clearly, my Lord, that this departed from me because I departed from You. Now the devil began to practise a most terrible deception on me, under the disguise of humility. Seeing myself to be so utterly lost, I began to be afraid to pray. It seemed better to me to live like the majority, since in my wickedness I was one of the worst; to pray only so much as I was bound to, and that vocally; and not to practise mental prayer or commune with God, since I deserved to keep company with the devils, and was deceiving those about me by presenting an outward appearance of goodness. This was no fault of the convent where I was, for I skilfully managed to keep the sisters’ good opinion, though I did not do this deliberately by a pretence of piety. In the matter of ostentation and hypocrisy – glory be to God – I never remember knowingly having offended Him. If I saw the first stirrings of such a thing in me, it so distressed me that the devil departed beaten and I would be the better for it. So he has never tempted me much in this way. Perhaps, however, if God had allowed him to try this temptation upon me as he did others, I should have fallen here too; but till now His Majesty has preserved me from this, may He be blessed for ever! On the contrary, I was much distressed that they should think so well of me, since I knew what I was like within.
This belief of theirs that I was not so wicked was the result of their seeing me, although so young and so exposed to so many temptations, frequently withdraw into solitude, and pray and read a great deal, and often speak about God. They also observed that I liked to have His picture in a great many places, that I asked for an oratory of my own, and that I tried to furnish it with objects of devotion. They heard me speak ill of no one, and noted other such things about me that gave me the appearance of virtue. Yet I was vain, and knew how to get credit for those qualities usually esteemed in the world. As a result they gave me as much liberty as is given to the oldest nuns, and even more; and they placed great confidence in me. I never took any liberties or did anything so illicit as to talk through slits or over walls or by night, for the Lord placed His hand upon me. It seemed to me – for there were many things that I used to ponder deeply and with great care – that it would be very wrong of me to compromise the honour of all those sisters, who were so good while I was so wicked. As if all the other things that I did had been good! But in truth, although I often acted wrongly, my faults were never as deliberate as these would have been.
For this reason I think that it did me great harm not to be in an enclosed convent. The freedom which those good sisters could quite innocently enjoy – their obligation being limited, since they had taken no vows of enclosure – would have taken me, who am wicked, straight to hell, had not the Lord, by His special mercies, using His own means and remedies, rescued me from this peril. A convent of unenclosed nuns seems to me a place of very great peril, and more like a road to hell for those bent on wickedness than a remedy for their weaknesses. But this must not be taken as referring to that convent of mine, since there are so many there who serve the Lord in absolute sincerity and great perfection that His Majesty, in His goodness, cannot fail to show them favour. Besides it is not one of those that are entirely open, and all observances are kept there. I am speaking of others that I know and have seen.
These houses make me particularly sad. Where the standards and amusements of the world are followed and a nun’s obligations are so imperfectly understood, the Lord must call not once but many times on each of them individually, if they are to be saved. God grant that they may not all mistake sin for virtue, as I so often did! It is so difficult to make people see this that the Lord will need to take the matter right into His own hands. Parents to-day do not think of placing their daughters where they may tread the path of salvation, but let them run into greater danger than they would in the world. If they would take my advice, they would at least try to safeguard their good names. It would be better for them to make humble marriages for their girls than to put them in convents of this kind, unless they are most devoutly inclined. May God turn their virtues to good purpose, or else they will be better off at home. If they mean to be wicked there, they cannot hide their evil ways for long, but in a convent their goings-on will be hidden for a very long time, and in the end it will be the Lord who reveals them. These poor girls do harm not only to themselves but to everyone else, and often they are not to blame, since they merely follow the ways they are shown. Many of them are to be pitied; wishing to withdraw from the world, and thinking that they are going to serve the Lord and avoid the perils of the flesh, they find themselves in a place ten times as bad, without knowing what to do, or how to help themselves. Youth, sensuality, and the devil invite and incline them to follow certain ways which are essentially worldly; and they see such conduct counted as, so to speak, all right. They seem to me, in a way, like those unhappy heretics, who wilfully blind themselves and argue that the path they follow is good, believing it to be so, yet without real belief in it because they have something inside them that tells them it is wrong.
O, what terrible harm, what terrible harm befalls religious people – I am speaking now as much of men as of women – where the rules of religion are not properly kept, where two ways are open, one of virtue and observance, and the other of irreligion, and where both are almost equally trodden! No, I am wrong, they are not equally trodden, since for our sins the less perfect is the more frequented, and as it is the broader it is the more favoured. The way of true religion is so little used that friars or nuns who begin truly to follow their calling have more to fear from members of their own communities than from all the devils. They have to be more cautious and exercise greater dissimulation when speaking of the friendship that they wish to have with God, than on the subject of those other friendships or desires that the devil ordains shall flourish in religious houses. I do not know why we are surprised that there are so many evils in the Church, when these, who should be the models from whom all derive virtue, so nullify the work wrought on the religious Orders by the spirits of the saints of old. May His divine Majesty be pleased to find a remedy for this, as He sees needful. Amen.
So, when I began to indulge in these conversations, seeing that they were customary, it did not seem to me that they would bring the harm and distraction to my soul that I afterwards found such behaviour to entail. As the receiving of visitors is such a common practice in many convents, I did not think that it would hurt me any more than it hurt the others, who were, as I saw, good women. I did not realize that they were much better than I, and that what was a danger to me was not so dangerous to others. Yet I have no doubt that there was always some harm in it, if only because it was a waste of time.
Once when I was with one person, at the very beginning of our acquaintance, the Lord was pleased to show me that such friendships were not good for me, and to warn me and give me light in my great blindness. Christ appeared before me, looking most severe, and giving me to understand that there was something about this that displeased Him. I saw Him with the eyes of my soul more clearly than I could ever have seen Him with the eyes of the body, and the vision made such an impression on me that, although it was more than twenty-six years ago, I seem to see His presence even now. I was greatly astonished and disturbed, and I never wanted to see that person again.
I was much harmed at that time by not knowing that one can see things with other eyes than those of the body. It was the devil who encouraged me in my ignorance, and made me think any other form of sight impossible. He made me believe that I had imagined it, that it might be his own work, and other things of that sort. The thought remained with me, nevertheless, that it was of God and not of the imagination. But as the vision was not to my liking, I made myself lie to myself. Then, as I dared not discuss the matter with anyone and great pressure was put on me once more, as I was assured too that there was no harm in my seeing such a person, and that by doing so I should not injure my reputation, but rather enhance it, I resumed these conversations and even later got to know other people in the same way. I spent many years in this pestilent pastime which, when I was engaged in it, never seemed as bad as it was, though I clearly saw at times that it was evil. But no one caused me the same distraction as the person I am speaking of, for I was very fond of her.
On another occasion when I was with this person, we saw coming towards us – and other persons who were there saw this also – something like a great toad, but moving much more swiftly than toads move. I do not understand how such a creature could have emerged from the place in question in broad daylight. None had ever done so before, and the occurrence had such an effect on me that I do not think it was a natural one. What is more I have never forgotten it. O mighty God, with what care and compassion did You warn me in every way, and what little advantage did I take of Your warnings!
There was a nun in that house, an elderly relative of mine and a great servant of God, who was most strict in her observances. She also gave me warnings from time to time. Yet not only did I not listen to her, but I took offence, for I thought that she was shocked for no reason. This I mention in order to illustrate my wickedness and God’s great goodness, and to show how richly I deserved hell for my great ingratitude. Moreover should it be the Lord’s will and pleasure that some nun may read this book one day, I would wish her to take warning by me. I implore all nuns, for the love of our Lord, to avoid such pastimes as these. May it please His Majesty that I may now set right some of the many whom I have led astray. I used to tell them that there was nothing wrong in this practice, and assure them that they were in no danger. This I did in blindness, for I would not have deceived them deliberately. But, as I have said, through the bad example that I gave I was the cause of much evil, though I never thought that I was doing any harm.
In those early days, when I was still ill and did not know how to help myself, I felt a very great desire to be of use to others. This is a very usual temptation in beginners; in my case, however, it led to good results. I was so fond of my father that I wanted him to receive the benefit that I seemed to be deriving from the practice of prayer. I thought that there could be no greater good in this life, and so by roundabout ways and as best I could, I began to prevail on him to pray, and gave him books on the subject. Since he was, as I have said, a very good man, this practice took a hold on him, so much so that in five or six years, as far as I remember, he had made such progress that I used to praise God for it. This encouraged me greatly. He had very great trials of various kinds, and bore them all with the greatest resignation. He often came to see me, for it comforted him to speak of divine matters.
Now that I had become so distracted and no longer prayed, I could not bear him to think, as I saw he did, that I was still as I had been. So I undeceived him, since I had been a year or more without praying, thinking that to refrain was an act of greater humility. This, as I shall explain later, was the greatest temptation that I fell into, and almost caused my ruin. For while I practised prayer, if I offended God one day I recollected myself on the days that followed, and withdrew further from opportunities of sin. When that blessed man came to visit me, it was very hard to see him under the false impression that I was communing with God as before. I told him, therefore, that I no longer prayed, but did not tell him the reason. I put forward my infirmities as an excuse. For though I had recovered from the worst of them I have suffered from indispositions and sometimes from grave ones, ever since. Lately my complaints have not been so troublesome, but they still bother me in many ways. In particular, for the last twenty years I have suffered from morning sickness, and cannot take any food until past midday – sometimes not until much later. Now that I take Communion more frequently, I have to bring it on at night before I go to bed, with feathers or in some other way; and this is much more disturbing. But if I do not, I feel much worse. I think I am never quite free, either, from aches and pains, which are sometimes very severe, especially around the heart, though the fainting-fits, which were then so continuous, are now very rare, and I have been free for the last eight years from the paralysis and from those attacks of fever that I used to have so often. But I take my complaints so lightly now that often I rejoice in them, believing that the Lord is in some way served by them.
My father believed me when I gave him that excuse, since he never told a lie himself; and, considering the relations between us, I ought never to have told one. The better to convince him – for I clearly saw that I had no excuse – I told him that it was as much as I could do to attend the services in choir; not that this would have been sufficient reason for giving up something which demanded no physical effort, but only love and constant habit. Our Lord always gives us the opportunity if we want it. I say always, for though one is sometimes prevented by chance and sickness from enjoying spells of solitude, there are always other times when we have the necessary health; and in sickness itself, or amidst casual happenings, so long as the soul is a loving one it is always possible to pray by offering up the distraction itself and remembering Him for whom we are suffering it. At the same time we must resign ourselves to it and to the countless other things that may happen to us. It is here that love comes in; for we are not certain to pray when we are alone, nor necessarily unable to do so when we are not.
With a little care we may find great blessings at times when the Lord sends us trials that deprive us of our hours for prayer, and I had found them myself when my conscience was clear. But, having the good opinion of me that he had, and loving me as he did, my father believed what I told him, and in fact was sorry for me. As he had attained such heights of prayer himself, he used not to stay with me very long, but went away once he had seen me, for staying, he said, was a waste of time. As I was wasting mine on other vanities, I did not take much notice of this remark.
My father was not the only person whom I prevailed upon to practise prayer, though I was walking in vanity myself. There were certain nuns as well, whom I saw to be much given to vocal prayer, and whom I taught how to make a meditation. I helped them and gave them books. For, as I have said, ever since I started prayer I have always felt the desire that others should serve God. Now that I no longer served the Lord as I knew how to, I thought that the knowledge His Majesty had given me ought not to be lost, and wanted others to serve Him through me. I say this to show how blind I was to let myself be lost while trying to save others.
At this time my father was struck down by the illness of which he died. It lasted several days. I went to look after him, myself more sick in soul than he in body, owing to my many vanities. But during all this wasted time that I am speaking of, I was never, so far as I was aware, in mortal sin. If I had known myself to be, I should on no account have continued in it. I was greatly distressed by his illness; and I think that I repaid him to some degree for what he had suffered during mine. Distressed as I was, I forced myself to be active; and though in losing him I was losing all the good and comfort of my life – for he was all that to me – and I was so determined not to show him my grief that I behaved to the end as if I felt none at all. But I felt as if my soul were being torn from my body when I saw his life depart, for I was very fond of him.
The Lord must be praised for the death that he died. Not only did he welcome death, but he gave us worthy advice after receiving Extreme Unction. He urged us to recommend his soul to God, to pray God to have mercy on him, and always to serve Him, remembering that all things come to an end. He told us with tears how deeply grieved he was not to have served Him better, for he would have liked to be a friar – a friar of the very strictest Order. I most certainly believe that a fortnight before his death the Lord had made him realize that it was approaching; for up to that time, ill though he was, he did not think that he would die. But afterwards, although he got much better and his doctors told him so, he took no notice of them, but busied himself with the ordering of his soul.
His chief distress was an acute pain in the back, which never left him; sometimes it was so severe as to be a torture. I said to him that since he used to think so devoutly of our Lord carrying the Cross on His back, he must suppose that His Majesty now wished him to feel something of the pain that He had then endured. This so comforted him that I do not believe I heard him complain again. He remained for three days almost unconscious. But on the day he died the Lord restored him his consciousness so completely that we were amazed, and he stayed conscious until, half-way through the Creed, which he was repeating with us, he suddenly expired. He lay there, looking like an angel; and it seemed to me that he was an angel, as they say, both in his soul and his disposition. For he was a very good man.
I do not know why I have said this except to make my wretched life appear more wicked. After witnessing such a death and realizing what his life had been, I ought to have made some effort to resemble him, by myself growing better. His confessor, a very learned Dominican,1 said that he had no doubt of my father’s having gone straight to heaven; he had been his confessor for some years, and praised the purity of his conscience.
This Dominican father, who was a good and god-fearing man, was a great help to me. I confessed to him, and he seriously undertook the task of setting my soul right and showing me the bad state I was in. He made me take Communion once a fortnight, and gradually, as I began to talk to him, I told him about my prayers. He charged me not to give them up, since he thought they could not possibly do me anything but good. So I began to resume them though I did not avoid occasions of sin; and I never abandoned them again. I led a very wretched life, for as I prayed I gained a clearer knowledge of my faults. On one side God called me, and on the other I followed the world. All divine things gave me great pleasure; yet those of the world held me prisoner. I seem to have wanted to reconcile two opposites as completely hostile, one to another, as the spiritual life and the joys, pleasures, and pastimes of the senses. I found great difficulty in praying, for the spirit was not the master but the slave; and so I could not shut myself inside myself-which was my whole method of procedure in prayer – without shutting a thousand vanities in with me. I spent many years in this way, and now I am astonished that anyone could have suffered so much without giving up the one or the other. I know very well that by this time it was no longer in my power to abandon prayer, for He who desired me in order to do me greater mercies, held me in His hand.
O my Lord, if only I could tell of the situations from which God delivered me, and how I plunged into them again and again; and of the dangers I incurred of utterly losing my good name, from all of which He delivered me! I continued to show by my deeds what sort of person I was, and the Lord went on covering up the evil, and revealing some little virtue, if I had any, making it look great in people’s eyes, so that they always thought much of me. Though my follies were sometimes crystal clear, they would not believe in them since they saw things in me which they considered good. This was because the Knower of all things saw it to be necessary, in order that I should receive some credence when I afterwards spoke of matters concerning His service. His supreme generosity did not look on my great sins, but on the desires that I so often felt to serve Him, and on my grief that I had not the strength in me to carry them out.
O Lord of my soul, how can I extol the mercies You showed me in those years? Indeed, at the very times when I most offended You, You quickly prepared me by a very great repentance, to taste Your gifts and graces. Truly, my King, You used the most refined and painful punishment that I could possibly have borne, since You well knew what would give me the greatest pain. You chastised my sins with great favours. I do not think that I am speaking foolishly, though I might well become quite distraught now that I recall my ingratitude and my wickedness. In the condition I was in, it was more painful when I had fallen into a grave fault, to receive mercies than to be punished. A single fault, I am sure, troubled, shamed, and distressed me more than many illnesses and severe trials put together. For these I knew that I deserved, and they seemed to be a partial payment for my sins, though all my sufferings were but small and my sins were great. But to find myself receiving fresh graces when I had shown so little gratitude for those already received, is a kind of torture that is terrible to me, and to everyone, I believe, who has any knowledge or love of God. By considering the state of true virtue, we can deduce our own distance from it. Hence my tears and anger when I observed my feelings, and saw myself just about to fall once more, although my resolutions and desires were then – I speak of that particular time – quite strong.
It is a dreadful thing for a soul to be alone among such perils, and I think that if I had had anyone with whom I could have spoken of all this, it would have helped me not to fall again, perhaps out of mere shame, though I felt no shame before God. For this reason I would advise those who practise prayer, especially at first, to cultivate the friendship and company of others who are working in the same way. This is a most important thing, because we can help one another by our prayers, and all the more so because it may bring us even greater benefits. Since people find comfort in the conversation and mutual sympathy of ordinary friendship, even when it is not of the best sort, and enjoy talking of their worldly pleasures, I do not know why those who are beginning truly to love and serve God should not be allowed to discuss their joys and trials with others, and those who practise prayer have plenty of both. If the friendship which they desire to have with His Majesty is sincere, there need be no fear of vainglory. When the first promptings of it assail them, they will come off victorious. I believe that anyone who will bear this thought in mind when discussing the subject will profit both himself and his hearers and will emerge more enlightened both in his own understanding and by the enlightenment of his friends.
Anyone who feels vainglory when engaged in such a discussion will feel it also when he hears Mass and is moved to devotion in the presence of others, and when he performs other acts which must be done, or he is no true Christian, and from which he cannot possibly refrain out of fear of vainglory. This is a most important consideration for souls who are not fortified in virtue, since they have so many enemies and friends to incite them to sin. Indeed I cannot sufficiently insist on its importance. Such scruples as mine are, I believe, an invention of the devil, who finds them very valuable. He uses them to persuade men who truly desire to love and please God to conceal their intentions, while he incites others to make open show of their evil purposes. This state of things is now so usual that people seem to glory in it, and offences committed in this way against God are freely proclaimed.
I do not know if what I write is foolish. If it is, your Reverence must strike it out. But if it is not, I entreat you to help me in my simplicity and add a great deal to this, for people are so lukewarm in all that pertains to God that those who serve Him must back one another up if they are to progress. It is considered a good thing to pursue the vanities and comforts of the world, and few look on them with disapproval. So if anyone begins to devote himself to God there are so many that speak ill of him that he must find companions for his protection, until such time as they are all strong enough not to be depressed by suffering. If he does not, he will find himself in great difficulties.
I think that this must have been the reason why some of the saints departed into the desert. It is a kind of humility for a man not to trust himself, but to believe that God will help him in his dealings with those whom he meets. Charity increases by being diffused, and from this there come countless blessings. I should not dare to speak of this subject if I did not know from plentiful experience how important it is. In truth, I am the weakest and wickedest of mortals. But I believe that one who humbles himself, though strong, and who trusts not in himself but in someone who has had experience in these matters, will lose nothing. Of myself I may say that if the Lord had not revealed this truth to me, and given me constant opportunities of speaking with persons who practise prayer, I should have gone on rising and falling again until I tumbled into Hell. I had plenty of friends to help me fall. But when it came to picking myself up I found myself completely alone. Indeed, I wonder now that I did not remain where I fell. Praise be to God for His mercy, for only He held out His hand. May He be blessed for ever! Amen.