although I really desire to do so." The good father asked what it was, but because I knew it was a good thing, I was ashamed to tell it, and would not at first reply, but it ended by my yielding. When he knew what it was, he said to me, "Do not believe, my daughter, that I will ever dispense you from such a vow; on the contrary, I wish you to observe it, but on this condition, that if, when you have done what you can to accomplish it, you do not succeed, you will be guilty of no sin."

I continued then to fulfil my obligation, but always with the same difficulty, and it was not till after a long time that it diminished, and God came to my assistance with His accustomed goodness. I chanced to find one day a meditation on the Passion of our Lord, which seemed written for a person little accustomed to this holy exercise; it was divided into five points, after each of which an Ave was to be said. The first point pleased me much, and being soon convinced that I should be equally pleased with the others, I kept the book, and resolved to read this meditation every Friday on my knees. I did so for several years, exciting myself to shed a tear at each of the Aves, which I recited as devoutly as I could. It appeared that this devotion was agreeable to my Jesus, for in general I shed many tears, instead of only one. One Friday it happened that I had been much occupied until midnight, when I obtained permission to go to my room. Seeing the night so far advanced, and that my reading would take a long time, I was much tempted to pass it over for once, and it cost me much to make the effort to begin. I struggled long before I could come to any determination; at length, with the help of God, I overcame myself, and performed my

accustomed exercise. Oh, my father in Jesus Christ! if you knew the danger I ran that night, an hour after I went to bed, you would be astonished. If you wish to know, I will tell you another time, but now I will not interrupt my history. Oh, how happy that creature is, who, when assailed by temptation, holds fast by her resolution. I say this, for I know it by experience; but to return from this digression.

The ever-increasing pleasure which I felt in reading this, inspired me with the desire of substituting meditation for it. I then began to meditate on the Passion, not only on Fridays, but every day, and that for a considerable time, according to the inspiration which God gave me, without using the book. This practice procured me such an abundance of devout tears, that I could not say a rosary without weeping, even before strangers. This lasted three years before I resolved to give myself to God. I need hardly add, that the devil did his best to make me give up this holy practice. At his instigation, persons whom I could not avoid, because they lived in the house with me, misinterpreted my tears, imputing them to worldly sorrows, or ridiculous affections. Not content with thinking thus, they said it to my face, and I own that these reproaches deeply wounded my heart. Yet, by the grace of God, I came out victorious from all these combats with my resolutions unchanged. "Interpret my conduct as you will," I said to them, turning interiorly to God-" interpret my conduct as you will, I care little for your blame or your praise." And thus passed those three years, during which devotion to the Passion of Jesus Christ inundated my heart.

I fasted every Friday on bread and water, and bound myself by vow to abstain on that day from

certain habitual imperfections. Unfortunately I was not always faithful to this engagement. I often scourged every member of my body, one after the other. Every night I interrupted my sleep, and got out of bed to say a chaplet, and when I had neglected this, I said two the next time. Now that I am a nun, I no longer get up for such a purpose, nor do any good thing whatever.

During these three years I fasted two or three days a week together on bread and water, and also on the feasts of Jesus Christ and His holy Mother, but now I do nothing of the kind. I forgot to say that at the end of my meditations on the Passion, which made me shed abundance of tears, I experienced a sort of rapture, during which my soul enjoyed a peace which I cannot express; I only know that in this extraordinary state, which lasted about as long as one or two Ave Marias, my body was without feeling, like a corpse, and my soul was transported into a place of peace and delight. On coming out of this state, I often said to God with my whole heart, “O my Lord! if Thou foreseest that any worldly thing will separate me from Thee by a hair's breadth, prevent this by sending me a thousand misfortunes.” Now I understood by separation the loss of the sweetness I tasted in these moments; for at the period of which I speak I had no other way of approaching God than this. The life which I then led presented many hindrances. Can you imagine, my father, that with the exception of the short time I gave to meditation on the Passion, all the rest was sacrificed to dancing, music, promenades, and similar trifles? Reading devout books tired me or made me laugh. I had such an aversion for religious that I could scarcely bear to look at

them. Dress and frivolous reading were my delight. In short, during those three years my soul was as a prisoner, and though I struggled in my meditations and multiplied my prayers, I could not obtain the grace of full liberty. Now, my father, listen to the means by which Providence delivered me. How good Thou art, O my God! Thou knowest how to help in a thousand ways the soul that sincerely desires to apply itself to the pursuit of virtue.

CHAPTER II.

SHE RESISTS THE GRACE OF A RELIGIOUS VOCATION FOR A LONG TIME, BUT ENDS BY FOLLOWING IT WITH GENEROSITY.

GOD, in His infinite mercy, willed that my eyes, so long blinded by the profound darkness of the world, should at last open to the light of truth. Father Francis of Urbino (whose words and teaching seemed to shake my soul like thunder and lightning) came to preach the Lent at Camerino. During the whole season, he repeated those terrible words, "Fear God, fear God!" Now I felt this holy fear, for I perceived the greatness of the offences I had committed against His Majesty, and experienced such a dread of the flames of hell, that had I not known despair to be of all sins the most displeasing to God, I firmly believe that I should have despaired of His mercy. It alone was all my consolation and all my support, for I spoke to no one of what was passing in my heart. I wept night and day over my infidelities and

ingratitude, and applied myself with great contrition to meditation on the Passion of my Saviour. giving a long time to this exercise, both morning and evening. Feeling also more than ever the necessity of penance, on Fridays I only took three or four mouthfuls of bread and a glass of water. Sometimes even the whole day passed without my eating anything. I spent the night without going to bed, sleeping so little, and so lightly, that I could say with truth, "I sleep, but my heart wakes."

In this life of prayer, upon which fear made me enter, I began to hear at intervals a voice unknown. to me, a voice which seemed to come from afar, but not so far but that the words were quite intelligible: it said to me, that if I would escape the pains of hell, of which I had such fear, I must renounce the world and become a nun. My mind at the same time was enlightened by a light from heaven, which made me see clearly that unless I quitted the world I should be lost. Now these words were very bitter, and this light very insupportable, because I had not yet shaken off the chains of my evil nature, and, accustomed as I was to the pleasures of the world, I was very unwilling to renounce them. I alleged to myself many strong and persuasive reasons, but they made no impression on me, because of my ill-regulated affections, from which it is necessary to be free before we can listen to such inspirations.

During these miserable combats, I was very unhappy, and had I been abandoned to myself, I have no doubt nature would have triumphed, but my Redeemer, the true and only Friend of souls, would not permit it. Touched with compassion, He put into my mind a good thought, which I carried out without