37
Juliana
2 April
I have now been here a week, and I am still trying to accustom myself to the life here. As I approached my new home, I did note that the white building had a certain simple beauty. The windows were large, but allowed no view of the interior, as is proper. The carved wooden double doors seemed to be designed to keep the world out more than the inhabitants within. I hoped that this impression proved true, and that I would find the refuge that I sought.
The convent includes everything that could be desired for this life. In addition to the church, with its sacristy and choir area, there is a courtyard, a workroom, and areas to be used by those who must attend to the administrative needs of the convent. I have been assigned my own area, which is very spacious. The food that we are served is good, though spicier than I am accustomed to.
Most of the sisters have one or two maids, but I will wait for Luisa’s arrival. For now, I cherish my solitary moments, in which I must deceive no one. It has been so long since I could be myself. I pray that in time I will feel at home here, and at one with the other sisters.
Upon arriving, I relinquished the name of Silvia. I told our abbess, Madre Mónica, that I wished to take the name of Santa Teresa de Ávila, who also lived out her life in a convent, though I could never aspire to her level of devotion or erudition. Madre approved of my choice. I am Sor Teresa.
18 April
Although many of the sisters here are from families with means, there is a diversity in our characters. Many have come from a sincere desire to answer Christ’s call to the religious life, but there are also some who have sought the convent as a refuge, as have I. Several have chosen the convent over an undesirable arranged marriage. Some here are widows, who aspire to the peace of this life after having lived a full one abroad in the world, as faithful wives and mothers. It seems that having had so little time to themselves for so many years, they relish the opportunity to pursue their own inclinations, whether those be private devotions or other interests.
There are a few here who have chosen to maintain silence much of the time, out of a sincere search for holiness and communion with Our Lord, but most are such as I, and are not capable of such self-negation. The life of many is not so different from that of a dependent woman in the household of a wealthy relative. They do needlework, gossip, read, see to the management of the servants, though here there are no nieces and nephews on whom one might lavish a woman’s love.
I sometimes look at my sisters surreptitiously and wonder how they would judge me if they knew my reason for being here. How many of them, like so much of society, and even my own father, would blame me for my shame? What would they think of my plan to bring my tainted child here under false pretenses?
Each day I wake with a vague feeling of loss and for just a moment struggle to define its origin. Then I remember that I have left my child, and my heart begins another day of longing. At idle moments, often when it is time for prayer, I find myself wondering what she is doing or how she has changed since last I saw her, for, though three weeks is not long, as a portion of her short life it is not insignificant.
25 April
Today the abbess sent for me to take care of some final details relating to my acceptance to the convent, and to ask me how I feel I am fitting in here. As I approached her room, I caught her unawares; she had neglected to close the doors of the large cabinet that extends along one entire wall of her room, from floor to ceiling. To my astonishment, therein were contained hundreds of books! Even in the house of my father, who was considered extremely well read, there were not so many books. I could make out no titles from where I stood, but just the sight of them keenly sparked my curiosity.
I thought that all reminders of my old life would cause me such pain that I would instinctively shirk them, but I am desperate to see what works are contained in those cupboards in Madre’s office. How much more resides there than a Holy Bible and accounts of the lives of the saints?
27 April
Madre Mónica’s library contains so many marvelous books, more than I could have hoped for! In addition to the classics and tomes on philosophy and history, there are works in prose and poetry, and many plays, by Cervantes, Lope de Vega, and Calderón, among others. I know that I should not have done it, but I have removed two of the books and brought them to my room. What a joy reading them gives to me, unencumbered by another’s expectations of my reactions. The works can speak to me, and I can answer them in my own heart, in my own way. Now I have something to keep me going while I wait for my Mercedes to arrive. Thank you for this, my dear Lord!
9 May
After prayers this morning, Madre Mónica asked me if I could come to her room. I feared that somehow she had discovered that I had taken her books, yet how could she have missed those two from among so many? Still, we had finished the last of the details pertaining to my entrance into the convent, and I could not imagine any other reason she would wish to see me.
To my surprise, she asked me to help her with some paperwork. She mentioned that she has some problems with her eyesight, not to complain, but rather to explain why she required my assistance. When I happily consented to her request, she immediately began work and pulled out a list of items that the convent had recently received. Although a friar is nominally in charge of the business of the convent, there is much administrative work that falls to our abbess. The convent strives to be as self-sufficient as possible, but as I began to peruse the list, I realized how much we rely on the outside world to complete our comforts. I found both solace and unease in this fact. I wish to feel that the convent is an isolated haven, but at the same time I do not want it to be totally separated from the outside world.
I read the lists to Madre, and she seemed to be making a mental note of what was to be done with some of the items, how they were to be distributed, how long they would last, and how they would be paid for. Some of our necessities are donated to us by the common people of the city, who wish to show their love of God by making this sacrifice for those who are dedicated to His service. For other materials, particularly those required to maintain our chapel and the precious objects entrusted to our care, we must appeal to wealthy benefactors, some within our region but some as far away as Spain herself, where the order has more influence and connections than here in New Spain.
The morning’s work progressed slowly as I helped Madre Superior make her way through various tasks. It was particularly difficult to concentrate, when my mind kept turning to the cabinet, wondering about all of the treasures hidden within.
After dictating three letters to various important men in her family, requesting help or advice for the business of the convent, Madre asked me to read to her a letter from her sister-in-law, Concepción. Hearing this letter seemed to be the reward that she gave herself after the tedious work of the more formal letters. Concepción’s letter contained many details about the abbess’s nieces and nephews, and even a description of a play that Madre’s brother and Concepción had recently seen. It was apparently quite entertaining, and was currently very popular in Madrid. To my surprise, Madre was interested in all the worldly details of the letter, and even asked me to reread sections of the description of the play that she found particularly amusing. I could not help but be reminded of my one night at the theater, which had seemed so exciting but had culminated in the shattering of my life.
16 May
I find some days more difficult than others, with a heart that is empty of all but a longing to see Mercedes. I have always been taught that prayer can offer solace in all of life’s trials, and it seems that it should especially be true within my current home. But it is not so.
2 June
Since I arrived here, I have endeavored to dedicate myself to this new life. I have tried as much as I can to put aside the impatience I feel to see my child, but as the time Luisa and I set for her to bring Mercedes to the convent approaches, I find it very difficult to concentrate on anythi
ng, so great is my excitement at the thought that soon my sweet one will be here with me. I look forward to seeing Luisa, too, even more than I would have thought. I understand now how much her kind and gentle manner were a balm to ease my tribulations.
8 June
I am thankful that I have continued to assist Madre Superior with her clerical duties, and I believe that she is beginning to have more confidence in my abilities, and also in my discretion. I have come to feel that of all the sisters here, she is the one with whom I have the most in common. Although she is much older than I and holds authority over all who live within these walls, I feel a kind of kinship of spirit with her. In the last several weeks, I have realized that Madre also seems to recognize in me a like soul, and that she suspected this even before I did. It now seems evident that our abbess much exaggerated her difficulties with her eyesight, and I believe that it was her desire to better get to know me, and to test my skills and knowledge, that she first called me to her. She no longer uses the excuse of poor vision, but straightforwardly ever more frequently requires my assistance, which I am happy to give.
Madre spends much of her time reading and writing, not only in the performance of her duties as the spiritual and material head of the convent, but also from her own desire for intellectual nourishment. This is a characteristic that I have not found in most of the other sisters here, and it is no wonder. Even for a boy in sophisticated Madrid, my level of education would have been unusual. Scholarship was looked upon as an unnecessary encumbrance to a young girl’s charms, and boys were not always required to study at length, since gentlemen can always find something more entertaining to do with their time. Yet Madre Mónica seems extremely learned, and from our discussions I believe that she has recognized in me a desire to expand my knowledge, though it be from within these confining walls.
13 June
Tomorrow is the day that Luisa and I agreed that she is to bring Mercedes to the convent’s doorstep. I pray with all my strength that our plan will come to fruition.
21 June
It is now several days since Luisa and Mercedes have arrived at the convent. Contrary to our plan, Luisa presented herself on the same day that she left Mercedes outside the convent door, saying that she sought to work within the walls as a servant, feeling that she was not worthy of any higher calling. The nuns saw in Luisa an answer to their dilemma, for none of them quite knew what to do with the infant who had been left only hours before. Luisa seemed to them to have been sent by Providence, as she proclaimed that she had cared for her younger siblings. Indeed, I heard it commented that she showed herself most efficient and loving in her handling of the new foundling child.
Although my child’s presence here is now secured, I must fight a sense of despondence. I have had only a few stolen moments when I could speak to Luisa, and she filled those with her urgent explanation about why she went against my wishes and came to the convent on the same day as she brought Mercedes. She said that she feared that the nuns would not know the special foods that she had been giving to Mercedes since her weaning, and on which the babe did seem to thrive. In those brief meetings I looked upon my child, and even held her in my arms for a few precious minutes, until we heard someone approaching. Since then, I have seen Mercedes only at a distance, cradled in Luisa’s arms or playing on the floor under her watchful eye. I see little chance of being able to explain an uncommon interest in the babe, and I have been assigned no duties that would cause me to be near her. Perhaps when she gets older, there will be a chance for me to work with her, and even to share with her what learning I can offer. For now I must love her from afar and feed my love with rare glimpses of her precious form.
15 July
I have seen but little of my lovely child. Today I feel deeply the bitterness of all that has happened to me. The cruelty of my father and my violator condemned me to a situation that rips from my arms the only consolation their betrayals left to me.
1 August
The abbess understands my need to educate myself further, though she cannot suspect my deep desire to share knowledge with my daughter. Of all those here, she and I seem to be alone in this obsession to study. The others do not seem interested in exercising the discipline required, and many even seem to believe it is an aberration, though they are slow to directly criticize the Madre Superior.
For many, the only possible reason for a woman to study would be for her to use this knowledge to aid in the education of her children. Since they are not to fulfill this destiny, they see no reason to cultivate a life of the mind. A smaller number seem to believe that humility should be the overriding principle to be followed, and conclude that the Lord meant for them to reject their intellect and to dwell solely and unquestioningly on prayers and the functioning of the convent.
At first I was greatly troubled by these sisters of mine who believe that it is God’s will that they should reject the mind and the knowledge that He Himself has bestowed. I spent much time trying to understand this attitude and at times questioned whether I myself was guilty of some hidden sin in not subduing my curious nature. For me, three things eased my concern. First, oddly, is the memory of my father, and although all his knowledge did not teach him justice, he instilled in me a love of learning. Even though he betrayed my trust in him, I would not betray the intellectual road that he opened to me, even if it takes me along paths that neither of us could have foreseen.
Another source of my perseverance is the fact that I did not choose to come to this place, at least not freely. I do not want to embrace all of its attitudes and limitations.
Above all, I see in Madre Mónica, who I believe to be truly holy, as well as wise, a woman who is not afraid to use her mind to question, to pursue an intellectual life. I will safeguard and increase the knowledge that I obtained in my father’s house. I worked for it, and it is the only legacy that I will get from him, the only one I want.
15 August
Today I was able to see Mercedes for a brief time. She seems to me so beautiful and lively. I fancy that I can see marks of intelligence in her already. Now that she is beginning to look less like a new baby and has begun to take on a look of her own, I could not help but search for any signs that she takes after her father, while all the while dreading any slight resemblance. I thank heaven that I discerned no such likeness.
1 October
Again at prime my mind began to wander. So many things intrude when I should be thinking of Our Lord: the face of my Tía Ana, memories of my childhood in Madrid and the hopes and dreams that I had then. I think about my daughter and what I would wish for her if we were free.
3 November
My duties for the abbess break up my days. She has entrusted to me the task of opening her letters, and this has become a highlight of my week. They bring news of the outside world, even though it is usually limited to instructions from Madre’s superiors, or requests from wealthy families to consider their young daughter as a postulant.
20 April 1663
Days follow upon days. I rarely see Mercedes, and never alone. What claim could I have upon this child, when I am so clearly meant to help with convent business? Yet I cannot lament the role that Madre has set for me. It occupies my mind with subjects outside my own concerns. I could not forsake it, even for Mercedes.
1 August
Today Luisa left the convent. I had become complacent, assuming that she would always remain here, helping with the care of Mercedes and other tasks the sisters have set for her. But Luisa must see, as do I, that Mercedes no longer depends solely upon her, that there are others who show her kindness and even affection. There is nothing for Luisa here as time goes on but to be a servant, or perhaps to remain as a nun, but one without the comforts afforded to those of us who entered the convent with a plentiful purse.
Luisa desires what most women desire, what I desired: husband, children, home. She has suffered cruelly at the hands of men, and I pray that she will find a gentle husband who will treasure her. S
ince she has been here, she has sometimes ventured out of the convent to purchase things that were needed. In the past few months she has spoken of a young man whom she has come to know, and I believe that he is taken with Luisa. She told me that his dream is to leave the town and go and work the land, and she would be a great help to him. She would work hard and appreciate whatever kindness he could show her.
Since it is probable that I will never see her again, I will record here the few final words we managed to exchange. Luisa’s eyes were filled with tears, and no one questioned this, for though she left by choice, everyone felt that she had formed attachments here and that it would be most difficult for her to leave Mercedes, whom she had tended so lovingly. All of us at the convent stood in a line to bid her farewell. I did not let the tears standing in my eyes spill over, but as she approached me, I said to her in a low voice, “I owe my daughter’s life to you, as you cared for her when I had to forsake her. Whatever peace she and I may find in this place is because you made it possible.”
“It is you who gave me the chance for a new life,” and although no one could hear our whispered words, she called me by the name that I have taken here. “Sor Teresa, I hope that you find peace in this refuge, and that Mercedes will grow to cherish this place as the only home she has ever known.”
“God go with you, Luisa. I shall pray every day for the Lord’s blessing upon you.”
“As you shall remain in my prayers, always,” she replied, and though I believe that in the busy life that will be hers, she will come to forget her promise, I was grateful for the sentiment.
The Lines Between Us Page 20