Illness and Patience of the Saint. The Story of a Priest Whom
She Rescued from a Life of Sin.
1. I forgot to say how, in the year of my novitiate, I suffered
much uneasiness about things in themselves of no importance; but
I was found fault with very often when I was blameless. I bore
it painfully and with imperfection; however, I went through it
all, because of the joy I had in being a nun. When they saw me
seeking to be alone, and even weeping over my sins at times, they
thought I was discontented, and said so.
2. All religious observances had an attraction for me, but I
could not endure any which seemed to make me contemptible.
I delighted in being thought well of by others, and was very
exact in everything I had to do. All this I thought was a
virtue, though it will not serve as any excuse for me, because I
knew what it was to procure my own satisfaction in everything,
and so ignorance does not blot out the blame. There may be some
excuse in the fact that the monastery was not founded in great
perfection. I, wicked as I was, followed after that which I saw
was wrong, and neglected that which was good.
3. There was then in the house a nun labouring under a most
grievous and painful disorder, for there were open ulcers in her
body, caused by certain obstructions, through which her food was
rejected. Of this sickness she soon died. All the sisters, I
saw, were afraid of her malady. I envied her patience very much;
I prayed to God that He would give me a like patience; and then,
whatever sickness it might be His pleasure to send, I do not
think I was afraid of any, for I was resolved on gaining eternal
good, and determined to gain it by any and by every means.
4. I am surprised at myself, because then I had not, as I
believe, that love of God which I think I had after I began to
pray. Then, I had only light to see that all things that pass
away are to be lightly esteemed, and that the good things to be
gained by despising them are of great price, because they are for
ever. His Majesty heard me also in this, for in less than two
years I was so afflicted myself that the illness which I had,
though of a different kind from that of the sister, was, I really
believe, not less painful and trying for the three years it
lasted, as I shall now relate.
5. When the time had come for which I was waiting in the place I
spoke of before [1]--I was in my sister's house, for the purpose
of undergoing the medical treatment--they took me away with the
utmost care of my comfort; that is, my father, my sister, and the
nun, my friend, who had come from the monastery with me,--for her
love for me was very great. At that moment, Satan began to
trouble my soul; God, however, brought forth a great blessing out
of that trouble.
6. In the place to which I had gone for my cure lived a priest of
good birth and understanding, with some learning, but not much.
I went to confession to him, for I was always fond of learned
men, although confessors indifferently learned did my soul much
harm; for I did not always find confessors whose learning was as
good as I could wish it was. I know by experience that it is
better, if the confessors are good men and of holy lives, that
they should have no learning at all, than a little; for such
confessors never trust themselves without consulting those who
are learned--nor would I trust them myself: and a really learned
confessor never deceived me. [2] Neither did the others
willingly deceive me, only they knew no better; I thought they
were learned, and that I was not under any other obligation than
that of believing them, as their instructions to me were lax, and
left me more at liberty--for if they had been strict with me, I
am so wicked, I should have sought for others. That which was a
venial sin, they told me was no sin at all; of that which was
most grievously mortal, they said it was venial. [3]
7. This did me so much harm, that it is no wonder I should speak
of it here as a warning to others, that they may avoid an evil so
great; for I see clearly that in the eyes of God I was without
excuse, that the things I did being in themselves not good, this
should have been enough to keep me from them. I believe that
God, by reason of my sins, allowed those confessors to deceive
themselves and to deceive me. I myself deceived many others by
saying to them what had been said to me.
8. I continued in this blindness, I believe, more than seventeen
years, till a most learned Dominican Father [4] undeceived me in
part, and those of the Company of Jesus made me altogether so
afraid, by insisting on the erroneousness of these principles, as
I shall hereafter show. [5]
9. I began, then, by going to confession to that priest of whom I
spoke before. [6] He took an extreme liking to me, because I had
then but little to confess in comparison with what I had
afterwards; and I had never much to say since I became a nun.
There was no harm in the liking he had for me, but it ceased to
be good, because it was in excess. He clearly understood that I
was determined on no account whatever to do anything whereby God
might be seriously offended. He, too, gave me a like assurance
about himself, and accordingly our conferences were many. But at
that time, through the knowledge and fear of God which filled my
soul, what gave me most pleasure in all my conversations with
others was to speak of God; and, as I was so young, this made him
ashamed; and then, out of that great goodwill he bore me, he
began to tell me of his wretched state. It was very sad, for he
had been nearly seven years in a most perilous condition, because
of his affection for, and conversation with, a woman of that
place; and yet he used to say Mass. The matter was so public,
that his honour and good name were lost, and no one ventured to
speak to him about it. I was extremely sorry for him, because I
liked him much. I was then so imprudent and so blind as to think
it a virtue to be grateful and loyal to one who liked me.
Cursed be that loyalty which reaches so far as to go against the
law of God. It is a madness common in the world, and it makes me
mad to see it. We are indebted to God for all the good that men
do to us, and yet we hold it to be an act of virtue not to break
a friendship of this kind, though it lead us to go against Him.
Oh, blindness of the world! Let me, O Lord, be most ungrateful
to the world; never at all unto Thee. But I have been altogether
otherwise through my sins.
10. I procured further information about the matter from members
of his household; I learned more of his ruinous state, and saw
that the poor man's fault was not so grave, because the miserable
woman had had recourse to enchantments, by giving him a little
image made of copper, which she had begged him to wear for love
of her around his neck; and this no one had influence enough to
persuade him to throw away. As to this matter of enchantments, I
do not believe it to be altogether true; but I will relate what I
saw, by way of warning to men to be on their guard against women
who will do things of this kind. And let them be assured of
this, that women--for they are more bound to purity than men--if
once they have lost all shame before God, are in nothing whatever
to be trusted; and that in exchange for the gratification of
their will, and of that affection which the devil suggests, they
will hesitate at nothing.
11. Though I have been so wicked myself, I never fell into
anything of this kind, nor did I ever attempt to do evil; nor, if
I had the power, would I have ever constrained any one to like
me, for our Lord kept me from this. But if He had abandoned me,
I should have done wrong in this, as I did in other things--for
there is nothing in me whereon anyone may rely.
12. When I knew this, I began to show him greater affection: my
intention was good, but the act was wrong, for I ought not to do
the least wrong for the sake of any good, how great soever it may
be. I spoke to him most frequently of God; and this must have
done him good--though I believe that what touched him most was
his great affection for me, because, to do me a pleasure, he gave
me that little image of copper, and I had it at once thrown into
a river. When he had given it up, like a man roused from deep
sleep, he began to consider all that he had done in those years;
and then, amazed at himself, lamenting his ruinous state, that
woman came to be hateful in his eyes. Our Lady must have helped
him greatly, for he had a very great devotion to her Conception,
and used to keep the feast thereof with great solemnity.
In short, he broke off all relations with that woman utterly, and
was never weary of giving God thanks for the light He had given
him; and at the end of the year from the day I first saw him,
he died.
13. He had been most diligent in the service of God; and as for
that great affection he had for me, I never observed anything
wrong in it, though it might have been of greater purity.
There were also occasions wherein he might have most grievously
offended, if he had not kept himself in the near presence of God.
As I said before, [7] I would not then have done anything I knew
was a mortal sin. And I think that observing this resolution in
me helped him to have that affection for me; for I believe that
all men must have a greater affection for those women whom they
see disposed to be good; and even for the attainment of earthly
ends, women must have more power over men because they are good,
as I shall show hereafter. I am convinced that the priest is in
the way of salvation. He died most piously, and completely
withdrawn from that occasion of sin. It seems that it was the
will of our Lord he should be saved by these means.
14. I remained three months in that place, in the most grievous
sufferings; for the treatment was too severe for my constitution.
In two months--so strong were the medicines--my life was nearly
worn out; and the severity of the pain in the heart, [8] for the
cure of which I was there was much more keen: it seemed to me,
now and then, as if it had been seized by sharp teeth. So great
was the torment, that it was feared it might end in madness.
There was a great loss of strength, for I could eat nothing
whatever, only drink. I had a great loathing for food, and a
fever that never left me. I was so reduced, for they had given
me purgatives daily for nearly a month, and so parched up, that
my sinews began to shrink. The pains I had were unendurable, and
I was overwhelmed in a most deep sadness, so that I had no rest
either night or day.
15. This was the result; and thereupon my father took me back.
Then the physicians visited me again. All gave me up; they said
I was also consumptive. This gave me little or no concern; what
distressed me were the pains I had--for I was in pain from my
head down to my feet. Now, nervous pains, according to the
physicians, are intolerable; and all my nerves were shrunk.
Certainly, if I had not brought this upon myself by my sins, the
torture would have been unendurable.
16. I was not more than three months in this cruel distress, for
it seemed impossible that so many ills could be borne together.
I now am astonished at myself, and the patience His Majesty gave
me--for it clearly came from Him--I look upon as a great mercy of
our Lord. It was a great help to me to be patient, that I had
read the story of Job, in the Morals of St. Gregory (our Lord
seems to have prepared me thereby); and that I had begun the
practice of prayer, so that I might bear it all, conforming my
will to the will of God. All my conversation was with God.
I had continually these words of Job in my thoughts and in my
mouth: "If we have received good things of the hand of our Lord,
why should we not receive evil things?" [9] This seemed to give
me courage.
17. The feast of our Lady, in August, came round; from April
until then I had been in great pain, but more especially during
the last three months. I made haste to go to confession, for I
had always been very fond of frequent confession. They thought I
was driven by the fear of death; and so my father, in order to
quiet me, would not suffer me to go. Oh, the unreasonable love
of flesh and blood! Though it was that of a father so Catholic
and so wise--he was very much so, and this act of his could not
be the effect of any ignorance on his part--what evil it might
have done me!
18. That very night my sickness became so acute, that for about
four days I remained insensible. They administered the Sacrament
of the last Anointing, and every hour, or rather every moment,
thought I was dying; they did nothing but repeat the Credo, as if
I could have understood anything they said. They must have
regarded me as dead more than once, for I found afterwards drops
of wax on my eyelids. My father, because he had not allowed me
to go to confession, was grievously distressed. Loud cries and
many prayers were made to God: blessed be He Who heard them.
19. For a day-and-a-half the grave was open in my monastery,
waiting for my body; [10] and the Friars of our Order, in a house
at some distance from this place, performed funeral solemnities.
But it pleased our Lord I should come to myself. I wished to go
to confession at once. I communicated with many tears; but I do
not think those tears had their source in that pain and sorrow
only for having offended God, which might have sufficed for my
salvation--unless, indeed, the delusion which I laboured under
were some excuse for me, and into which I had been led by those
who had told me that some things were not mortal sins which
afterwards I found were so certainly.
20. Though my sufferings were unendurable, and my perceptions
dull, yet my confession, I believe, was complete as to all
matters wherein I understood myself to have offended God. This
grace, among others, did His Majesty bestow on me, that ever
since my first Communion never in confession have I failed to
confess anything I thought to be a sin, though it might be only a
venial sin. But I think that undoubtedly my salvation was in
great peril, if I had died at that time--partly because my
confessors were so unlearned, and partly because I was so very
wicked. It is certainly true that when I think of it, and
consider how our Lord seems to have raised me up from the dead, I
am so filled with wonder, that I almost tremble with fear. [11]
21. And now, O my soul, it were well for thee to look that danger
in the face from which our Lord delivered thee; and if thou dost
not cease to offend Him out of love thou shouldst do so out of
fear. He might have slain thee a thousand times, and in a far
more perilous state. I believe I exaggerate nothing if I say a
thousand times again, though he may rebuke me who has commanded
me to restrain myself in recounting my sins; and they are glossed
over enough. I pray him, for the love of God, not to suppress one
of my faults, because herein shines forth the magnificence of
God, as well as His long-suffering towards souls. May He be
blessed for evermore, and destroy me utterly, rather than let me
cease to love Him any more!
1. Ch. iv. § 6. The person to whom she was taken was a woman
famous for certain cures she had wrought, but whose skill proved
worse than useless to the Saint (Reforma, lib. i. ch. xi. § 2).
2. Schram, Theolog. Mystic., § 483. "Magni doctores scholastici,
si non sint spirituales, vel omni rerum spiritualium experientia
careant, non solent esse magistri spirituales idonei--nam
theologia scholastica est perfectio intellectus; mystica,
perfectio intellectus et voluntatis: unde bonus theologus
scholasticus potest esse malus theologus mysticus. In rebus
tamen difficilibus, dubiis, spiritualibus, præstat mediocriter
spiritualem theologum consulere quam spiritualem idiotam."
3. See Way of Perfection, ch. viii. § 2; but
ch. v. Dalton's edition.
4. F. Vicente Barron (Bouix).
5. See ch. xxiii.
6. § 6.
7. § 9.
8. Ch. iv. § 6.
9. Job ii. 10: "Si bona suscepimus de manu Dei, mala quare
non suscipiamus?"
10. Some of the nuns of the Incarnation were in the house, sent
thither from the monastery; and, but for the father's disbelief
in her death, would have taken her home for burial (Ribera,
lib. i. ch. iv.).
11. Ribera, lib. i. ch. iv., says he heard Fra Bañes, in a
sermon, say that the Saint told him she had, during these four
days, seen hell in a vision. And the chronicler says that though
there was bodily illness, yet it was a trance of the soul at the
same time (vol. i. lib. i. ch. xii. § 3).