CHAPTER VII.

SHE SHOWS BY WHAT DEGREES SHE WENT ON J.O8IXG THE FAVOBS WHICH OUR LORD HAD SHOWN HER, AND HOW WICKED HER LIFE BEGAN TO BE.
I BEGAN from one pastime to another, from vanity to vanity, and from one occasion to another, to cast myself very deeply into very great occasions ; and my soul became so disordered with many vanities, that 1 already grew ashamed to approach to God with that familiarity, such as frequent prayer requires ; and what helped me on to this was, that as my sins increased, the joy and delight which I had found in the exercise of virtue began to fail me. I now perceived very clearly, 0 my Lord ! that these blessings were wanting to me, because I had first been wanting to Thee. This was the most terrible deceit which the devil could bring upon me, when I began to fear to practice men tal prayer ; because I saw myself in so bad a way, that 1 thought it would be better for me to proceed as the multi tude did — since I was one of the worst of sinners, arid to pray only as much as I was obliged, and that but vocally ,
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since a person who deserved to be with devils should not make use of :nentai rjrayer, nor hold so close a communica tion with God . and that I was only deceiving the world, because I had an outward appearance of virtue. But for this reason, the house wherein 1 lived did not deserve any blame, because by my cunning I managed that people should have » good opinion of me, though I did not act in this way purposely — to counterfeit piety; for as regards hypocrisy and vain -glory, I thank God that I remember not to have offended Him therein — as far as I can perceive ; for, on the very first motion to commit that kind of sin, I felt so much trouble that the devil went away with loss, and I gained thereby ; and thus he tempted me but very little in this respect. If, however, God had allowed him to tempt me as strongly in this as he did in other things, I should have fallen into this sin also : but hitherto His Majesty has been pleased to preserve me, for which may He be forever blessed ! But I was rather much troubled, that they should have such a good opinion of me, considering what I knew of myself privately. The reason why they believed me not to be so wicked was, that they saw me retire — being so young — many times and on several occasions to solitude and to prayer. They noticed that I read much and prayed much, and spoke of God ; that I was fond of making pictures of our Saviour, and putting them up in many places; of making oratories, and of placing there whatever tended to excite devotion ; that I spoke ill of no one ; and other things of the like na ture they observed, which bore an appearance of virtue ; and I knew well (so vain was I) how to gain esteem for myself in those things, which the world is accustomed to prize.
By these observations of theirs, they allowed me as much, and even more liberty, than to the older religious women of the house : and they had great confidence in me, for as to iny taking any liberties, or doing anything without leave, or even speaking with any one by night in holes or corners, was what I could never think of; even so far as to talk of any such thing in a monastery I never did, because our Lord held me by His hand. It seemed to me (for I reflected much and attentively on many things), that to expose the honor of so many Religious to chance, they being so good
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and I so wicked, would have been a very unworthy action in me. But why do I speak of my having avoided the com mission of evil, as if other things which I did had been wall done ? The truth is, that the evil which I did was not done with so much reflection as this would have required, though still it was too much.
On this account, it seems to me, that not living in a monas tery which was enclosed did me much harm, though those who were good might continue in it without any disadvan tage, because they were bound to no more, not having made a vow of enclosure : but as for me, who am so wicked, I should certainly have been carried to hell, had not our Lord drawn me out of this danger by many especial favors and remedies ; and so I think that a monastery of women having such liberty, is very dangerous for them : in my eyes it seems to be more a road leading to hell those who desire to be wicked, than a remedy for their weakness. What I say docs not refer to my monaster}-, for therein are so many who truly and with great perfection serve our Lord, that His Majesty (being so good) cannot fail to confer favors upon them ; and this monastery is not one of those which are most relaxed, for every kind of good discipline is observed in it : but I speak of other houses which I have seen and known. I say then that these excite my compassion, for the Religious have need of particular calls from our Lord — not once, but often — in order to be saved, considering how much the honors and amusements of the world are authorized there, and how little they understand the obligations which bind them. God grant that they may not consider as virtue, that which is sinful, as I myself often did ; and there is so much difficulty in making this understood, that it is necessary our blessed Lord himself should, in reality, put His hand to the work.
If parents would take my advice (since they will not place their daughters where they may walk in the way of salvation, but rather where they will encounter more danger than if they were in the world), I would advise them to consider their own honor, and rather to marry them very meanly, than to place them in such monasteries — unless they be virtuously inclined : and God grant that even this may profit
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them. If the parents do not like what I recommend, they might keep their daughters at home ; for if they wish to be wicked, they can keep it secret only for a short time ; but in the monastery, their wickedness may remain hidden for a long time, though in the end our Lord is accustomed to dis cover it. But they hurt not only themselves, but all the others also ; and sometimes these poor creatures arc not to be blamed, because they only do that which they find prac ticed. It is a pity to see how many, who desire to separate themselves from the world, and to avoid its dangers, think ing that they go to the monastery to serve God, do, never theless, find themselves cast into ten worlds, where they know not what to do, nor how to help themselves. Youth, and sensuality, and the devil incline them to follow some things, which belong to the world, and so they come to con sider them good. In this respect methinks they are like those unhappy heretics, who wish to blind themselves, and then persuade themselves that those opinions which they follow are sound ; and so they believe them to be true, though in reality it is not the case, for they have something within them which tells them they are wrong. 0 the misery, the extreme misery, of those Religious (and 1 speak now of men as well as women), among whom discipline is not ob served, and where in the same monastery two different ways are kept : one, the way of virtue and discipline ; and the other quite the opposite, though both are considered almost alike — or rather, I should say, just the same. On account of our sins, it happens that we walk along that way which is the most dangerous ; and as the greater number go along it, this makes the road more agreeable to us. Thus so little is true religion observed, that both religious men and women, who wish to commence in earnest to follow their vocation, have more reason to fear the very persons with whom they live, than even the devils themselves : and they are obliged to be more cautious in speaking of the love which they ought to have for God, than of those friendships and affections which the devil introduces into these monasteries. I see no reason, then, why we should be astonished on beholding so many evils in the Church, since those who ought to be patterns of virtue to others, have allowed the spirit of their holy
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founders to be extinguished in them. May God apply such a remedy as lie sees necessary. Amen.
In the meantime, when I began lo use such conversations as these, I little thought that so great distractions and other damages would come to my soul by such kind of acquaint ances, since I saw they were so much used by others ; and I conceived, that so general a tiling as it is to make visits, in many monasteries, would be no greater prejudice to me than it was to others whom I knew to be good. But I considered not that those others were much more virtuous than myself; and that those tilings which were of greater danger to me, were not, perhaps, so very dangerous to them ; though yet I fear there must be some danger; and, at best, I am quite sure that it is no better than time very ill spent. Being once with a certain person, our Lord was pleased to give me to understand, in the very beginning of our acquaintance, that such friendships would in no way be profitable to me ; for Christ our Lord represented Himself before me with great severity (in l!is countenance), and gave me to under stand how much He was disgusted at my conduct. I saw Him only with the eyes of my soul, but yet much more dis tinctly and more clearly than I could possibly have done with the eyes of my body : arid He remained so deeply im printed there, that although this happened to me above twenty-six years ago, metliinks He is still as present to me now as he was then. I became so altered, and was also so astonished, that I intended to see that person no more. It did me a great deal of harm that I knew not, at the time, it was possible for one to see anything but with the eyes of the body ; and the devil was careful enough to make me con tinue in that erroneous opinion, and to make me still be lieve it was impossible, and therefore that I had but fancied these things to myself, and that perhaps it might be a delu sion ; though I was still convinced it was God, and no delu sion at all. But, because it was against my inclination, I tried to deceive myself; and as I durst not confer with any one about, the matter, though greatly importuned to do it, assuring myself that there could b ; no evil m seeing such a person, and that there would be no loss, but rather gain by it, I returned to the same conversation, and even on some
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occasions to others ; and for many years I took this pestilen tial recreation ; and being once engaged in it, it seemed to me not to be so very bad as it indeed was, though some times I perceived clearly enough that it was not good. But yet no other conversation distracted me so much as this did, on account of the great affection I had for the person.
Another time, when I was in company with the same indi vidual, both of us saw coming towards us (and there were others also present who saw it), something in the shape of a great toad, which passed on with much greater speed than such animals usually do. I could not understand how such a filthy beast could get into the room, through that part whence it came, and even at nooa-day; such a thing had never been seen there before. The effect which this appear ance wrought in me seems not to have been without some mystery, and it was an event which I could never forget. Oh, Greatness of God ! with how much care and pity didst thou admonish me in so many ways, and how little was the profit I derived thereby !
There was in this house a certain elderly nun, a great servant of God, and who was a relation of mine : she some times gave me good advice ; but I not only not believed her, but I was even disgusted with her, thinking she was offended with me without cause. All this I relate here, in order that both my wickedness and the great goodness of God may be the better understood, and that it may appear how well I deserved hell for my ingratitude : and another object I also have, that if our Lord should so ordain, and should be pleased that any religious women should read this discourse, they may take warning by me. I beg of them, for the love of our Lord, that they will fly from such recreations as these ; and I beseech His Majesty, that some of those whom I have de ceived may be disabused, for I told them there was no harm in those things ; and (being in great blindness at that time) I assured them also there was no danger ; and, as I have be fore said, by the bad example which I gave them, I was the cause of much harm to them, though I thought I was doing no harm at all.
While I was yet very infirm in those first days, before I knew how to help myself, I conceived an extreme desire to
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do others good, which is a very common temptation for be ginners, though it happened to succeed well with me. As I loved my father very dearly, I desired he might receive the same benefit which I thought I had gained myself, bv means of mental prayer ; and being of opinion, that in this life there was no greater blessing than to practice such kind of prayer, I began, by indirect discourses, to try all in my power that he might obtain it, and for this object I gave him some books. Being so virtuous a man, as I have already men tioned, he applied himself so diligently to this exercise, that within five or six years he advanced so much, that I blessed our Lord very much for the favor, and it gave me the greatest consolation. The troubles he endured were various and very severe, all of which he endured with much con formity (to God's will). He often came to see me, and de rived great comfort by speaking on holy things. But when now I was living in such distraction that I left off mental prayer, and as I saw that he still thought me to be the very same that I had been before, I was not able to endure this without undeceiving him. I had passed a year and more without prayer, thinking it was more humility in me to ab stain, which was the greatest temptation I ever had, as I shall afterwards mention, for by this means I ran headlong towards my total ruin ; whereas, when I practiced prayer, if I offended God one day, I recollected myself the next, and removed myself farther from the occasion. Wherefore, as my good father came when I was in this state, thinking that I still conversed with God, as I formerly had done, it was too much for me to see him so greatly deceived ; and so I told him that I no longer used mental prayer, though I did not mention the cause. I alleged, however, my infirmities as the obstacle ; for although I had recovered from my severe illness, still I always had afflictions, and very great ones too ; of late years they were not indeed so violent and painful, but they failed not still to continue in many ways. For twenty years together, in particular, I had vomitings every morning to such a degree, that I could never break my fast till noon was over — yea, and sometimes Inter. That I am now able to receive the blessed Sacrament more frequently proceeds from this cause — that these vomitings come on at 8
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night before I go to bed, and then they give much more pain, for I am obliged to hasten them by means of feathers and other things ; because if I have not these vomits, the pain which I feel is extreme. But I think I am seldom or ever without many pains, and sometimes these are very sharp, especially at my heart, though still all my sickness, £c., which used to come upon me so thickly, now come only sel dom — such as the dreadful palsy, and other fevers, which used to attack me, so that now I often find myself in good health. But I have made so little account of these sufferings for the last eight years, that sometimes I am even glad I have them, thinking that our Lord may be somewhat served thereby. As my father believed that this was the cause of my omission, and as he never told an untruth himself, he had no reason to think but that I told the truth, considering on what subject I was then discoursing with him. And that he might believe me the more, I told him also that I had enough to do to be able to assist in the choir (though I saw clearly this was not a sufficient excuse), to make me omit such a practice, since for such an action there is no need of corporeal strength, but only of love and habit, because our Lord will always give us an opportunity, if we ourselves have the will and inclination. I say, " always" because, though infirmities and other causes may sometimes hinder one from spending many hours in solitude, yet we shall have some other times wherein we may have health enough for being in solitude, and even during the same sickness ; for, on such occasions, the best prayer may be made (since it is the soul which loves), by offering up our pains to God ; by remem bering for whose sake they are endured; and by conforming ourselves to His will, and in a thousand other ways tha' may offer themselves. Thus we may exercise our love ; for there is no necessity, either for one to be in solitude, or to use mental prayer at all. If we take a little care, we may obtain great blessings, even when our Lord takes away from us opportunities for prayer, by sending us sickness : and I myself found this to be true, as long as I kept my conscience pure. But my father, through the opinion which he had of me, and the love he bore me, not only believed all I said, but pitied me. As he now found himself raised to such an
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eminent degree of prayer, he did not remain very long with me, considering his stay to be loss of time, and therefore he returned home. Being desirous of spending my time on other vanities, I was little troubled at his departure.
But I not only persuaded him, but others also, to apply themselves to prayer, even while I was in the midst of these vanities ; as I found them fond of vocal prayer, I told them how to make use of meditation, and gave them books and did them good, for I still had a desire that others should serve God, even from the time that I began to practice mental prayer, as I before mentioned. It seemed to me, that as I did not serve our Lord so well as I should, I was desirous that the light which His Majesty had bestowed upon me might not be lost, but that others should serve Him by my means. I relate this here to show the great blindness in which I was, which exposed me to the danger of losing myself, while I was endeavoring to do good to others.
About this time my father fell ill of the sickness of which he died, and which continued only a few days. I went to attend him, being more sick in my soul than he was in the body, on account of my numerous vanities, though not to such a degree as to think I was in mortal sin, even in the worst time of my wickedness ; for, certainly, if I had thought so, I would never have continued therein. 1 suffered much during his illness, and I think, in some slight way, I made up for the trouble ho took with me when I was ill. Though very unwell then, I endeavored to assist him all I could ; for I reflected l:ow in losing him, I should lose all my joy and comfort, for in him I placed them. But I animated myself in such a way as not to show him I was in any pain, and con tinued till he expired as if I felt no trouble at all ; thongh when I saw him on the point of death, it seemed as if my soul had been torn from my body, for I loved him much.
The death of my father caused me to praise our Lord, to gether with the desire he had to die, and the good counsels he gave us after he had received extreme unction ; and how he charged us to recommend him to God, and to beg for mercy for him, exhorting us always to serve Him, and to con sider how everything ccmes to an end. He told us also, with tears, how very grieved he was at not having served God better,
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and that he wished he had been a Ileligious in the strictest Order that existed. I consider it certain, that, some fifteen days before, our Lord gave him to understand he was to die ; because before that time he did not think himself very ill, though he was so in reality ; but afterwards, though he seemed to grow better, and the doctors told him so, yet he paid no attention to them, but only thought of putting his soul in order. His sickness began with a very grievous pain in his shoulders, which never left him, and sometimes it was so severe that he suffered exceedingly. I told him that since he had been so devoted to that part of our Lord's passion in which He carried His cross, he should consider our Lord was pleased that he should feel something of what He himself then suffered ; and he was so comforted by this thought, that I do not remember to have heard him complain any more. For three days he seemed to have lost his reason ; but, on the day he died, our Lord restored it to him so entirely, that we were all amazed thereat ; and so he continued reciting the Creed, and when he came to the middle of it he expired. When he was dead, he looked like an angel ; and such, in my opinion, he was (so to speak), both in soul and disposition ; this latter was extremely good. I do not know why I have spoken so much of him, unless it be to condemn my own wickedness^ inasmuch as, after having witnessed such a death, and known he led such a life, T ought to have reformed mine, so as to have in some degree resembled my father. His con fessor, who was a Dominican, and a very learned man, asserted that he had no doubt my father would go straight to heaven ; for he had been his confessor for many years, and spoke much of the purity of his conscience.
This Dominican father, being a very worthy man, and a true servant of God, did me a great deal of good, for I "con fessed " to him : he undertook the care of my soul with great diligence, and made me understand the way of perdition, in which I was walking. He also made me communicate every fifteen days ; and when I spoke to him about the nature of my prayer, he told me I must not fail to use it, for that I could not in any way practice it without deriving advantage. I began, therefore, to use it again ; and from that time forward I never left it off, though I did not then quit the occasions
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of sin. In the mean time I passed a most miserable life, for in my prayer I came to know my faults ; God called me on the one hand, and on the other the world ; all the things of God gave me great pleasure, but the vanities of the world held me in chains ; and it seems 1 had a desire to reconcile these two contraries, which are such enemies one to another, viz., a spiritual life, and the pleasures and pastimes of the world In prayer I endured great affliction, because my soul was not master, but a slave ; and thus I was unable to retire within my heart (which was my method of proceeding I formerly used in prayer), without at the same time shutting up with me a thousand vanities. In this way I passed several years, so that I am now astonished how it happened that I did not correct my faults, or that I did not abandon prayer. I know well that it was no longer in my power to abandon prayer, for He held me in His hands who had resolved to do me greater favors. Oh ! that I could declare the occasions of doing ill, which God removed from me in those years, and how I put myself again into them ; that I could mention the danger I was in, from which he delivered me, of losing all my reputation ; how I endeavored to discover by my actions what kind of a creature I was, and how our Lord concealed my faults, and made me know the little virtue I possessed, — if indeed I had any at all, — so that it appeared great in the eyes of all men, in such a way that they always esteemed me much. For though my vanities sometimes shone through my actions, yet, as they noticed other things in me which appeared good, they would not believe my wickedness. But the cause of this was, that He who knoweth all things saw this was necessary, in order that when afterwards I should exhort persons to devote themselves to His service, they might give me some credit. His sovereign goodness did not so much consider my great sins, as those desires which I sometimes felt to serve Him, and the great trouble I experienced in not having strength to execute them.
But, 0 thou Lord of my soul ! how shall I be able to ex press with gratitude the favors Thou didst bestow on me during these years ? And how, at the very time I was offending Thee most, Thou didst in a short time dispose me for a most profound sorrow, that so I might enjoy Thy favors
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and consolations. The truth is, 0 my King ! Thou didst adopt as one means, the most exquisite and sharp kind of punishment which could be found for me : for 'J hou knewest well what would prove most afflicting to me, viz. — that my sins should be punished by receiving sorrow from Thee ! It is no foolish thing which I utter, though one should not be surprised if I became foolish, when I recall the memory of my ingratitude and wickedness against Thee. But it was much more grievous for me to receive favors, when at the same time I was committing great faults, than it would have been to have endured severe punishments : hence, even one of those favors received seems capable of confounding and afflicting me, more than many corporal infirmities and other troubles united. As to the latter, I saw that I deserved them, and I thought I had made some satisfaction by them for my sins, though all indeed were but little, considering the multitude of my sins. But to see myself again receiving fresh favors, though I made such a bad return for those I had received before, was a most terrible punishment for me : and I think it will be considered so by all who have any knowl edge or love of God. Hence flowed my tears and came my indignation, seeing what I found in myself, that I was still on the point of falling again, though my desires and resolutions were then firm — I mean as long as the favors lasted. It is a great misfortune for a soul to be alone amidst such dangers ; and methinks if I knew any one to whom I could have spoken on '-hese matters, it would have helped me from not falling again : at least, I should have been prevented through shame, even had I no shame in offending God.
Those, therefore, who make use of mental prayer, es pecially at the beginning thereof, would do well to be on terms of friendship and familiarity with other persons who practice this kind of prayer ; for this is very important, though it should serve no other purpose than to be assisted by each other's prayers, and how much more so when so many advantages are to be gained ! And if in the commerce and intercourse of the world, though vain and useless it be, we endeavor to procure friends to assuage our sorrows, and to make us enjoy ourselves the more by the recital of our vain pleasures, I do not see why they who begin to love and
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serve God in earnest, should not be permitted to communicate to some one their joys and their sorrows — for those who practice prayer, experience both. For if he be sincere who desires to be in friendship with His Majesty, he need not fear vain-glory : and should he be attacked by any temptations thereto, he will come off with merit. I believe that whoever shall, with this intention, speak to others on such matters, will both profit himself and those who hear him, and will also become more enlightened in his understanding, as well as' more skilful in instructing his friends. He who should be exposed to vain-glory when thus speaking, would also be exposed whenever he is seen devoutly to hear Mass, and by doing other things likewise which he is bound to do — under pain of not being a good Christian : and yet these things must not be omitted, through fear of vain-glory.
This point is of such great importance for the welfare of all those souls who are not yet strengthened in virtue (as there are so many adversaries, and even friends, ready to excite them to evil), that I know not how to express its im portance. It seems to me, that the devil has made use of this device — as being something very advantageous to him — viz., that men should as carefully hide themselves from those who understand t'.em, and who sincerely endeavor to make the:n love and please God, as he (the devil) has induced others to discover their evil inclinations to each other ; and this latter practice is now so common, as to pass for a kind of gallantry — and thus men publish the offences which, by this means, they commit against God.
I know not if what I say be nonsense ; if it be, I trust your Reverence will tear it up ; but if not, I beseech you to assist my simplicity, by adding much of your own experience to the subject. For divine things are now so little attended to, that they who desire to serve God have need of each other's help in order to advance in virtue ; so very much in fashion are the vanities and pleasures of the world, that few see any evil in them. But whenever any one begins to give himself to God, so many blame him, that he will find it necessary to seek for some one to defend him, until he shall become strong enough not to be uneasy under suffering ; but should he be sorrowful, he may himself fall into great
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difficulties. This, perhaps, may be the reason why some saints have retired into deserts. But as it is a part of humility not to put any confidence in one's self, so we should believe that God will not fail to help us to live among those with whom we are obliged to converse. And thus charity will increase by being communicated ; and there are a thou sand other benefits, of which I should not dare to speak, had I not great experience of their importance. True it is, that I am both the weakest and the most wicked of all creatures : but yet I believe, that whoever will humble himself — though he be strong — and not trust in himself, but in one who has experience in these matters, will not lose anything. Respect ing myself, I am able to say, that if our Lord had not dis covered this truth to me, and had not also given me means to treat, in a very familiar manner, with persons who were given to mental prayer, I should still have gone over — falling and rising — till I had fallen headlong into hell. For I had many friends who would have helped me to fall : but in en deavoring to rise up again, I found myself so much alone, that now I am astonished I did not always remain in a fallen state. I praise the mercy of God, for He alone it was who gave me a helping hand : may he be praised forever and ever. A men.