Chapter XII

Of the life and death of Beatriz of the Incarnation, a nun whom the Lord led to this same house. She lived so perfect a life and her death was such that she ought to be had in remembrance.

A GIRL called Beatriz Onez, some relation to Dona Casilda, entered this convent as a nun. She came some years earlier. Her spirit filled everyone with amazement, seeing what great virtues the Lord was working in her. The nuns and the Prioress declare that in all her life there they never saw in her anything which could be considered an imperfection: nor, whatever might happen, did they ever see her behave but with a cheerful modesty which indicated clearly the inward happiness of her soul. A silence without gloom: for, although she spoke very little, it was so done that it could not be noticed as a singularity. She never was found to have spoken a word which could be found fault with: nor was any obstinacy found in her; nor did she ever make an excuse, although the Prioress, to try her, used to blame her for things she had not done, as is the custom in our houses by way of mortification. She never complained of anything, nor of any Sister; nor did she ever by word or look give offence to anyone, whatever office she held, nor give anyone occasion to think ill of her: nor was there ever any fault to accuse her of in chapter, although the correctors of faults in that house say they used to take notice of the most trifling things. In all circumstances, her outward and inward composure were extraordinary. This arose from her continually having eternity present to her thoughts, and the end for which God has created us. The praises of God were ever in her mouth, and an overflowing thankfulness; in a word, she was continually in prayer.

In the matter of obedience she never failed, but did all she was told promptly, exactly, and cheerfully. The greatest charity towards her neighbour: so that she used to say she would let herself be cut into a thousand pieces for anyone, if thereby he might not lose his soul and the fruition of her Brother Jesus Christ — for thus she used to call our Lord. Her very severe sufferings, from terrible sicknesses and sharp pains, of which I shall presently speak, she bore with as much goodwill and satisfaction as if they had been great pleasures and delights. Our Lord must have given her courage; for no otherwise would it have been possible to bear them with such joy.

It happened at Valladolid that certain people, for great crimes, were taken to be burnt. She must have heard that they were going to their death not so well prepared as was fitting "3 and she was so terribly distressed that she went to our Lord in great sorrow and earnestly besought Him for the salvation of their souls; and prayed that instead of the punishment they had deserved, or, that she might be worthy to obtain her request — for I do not accurately remember her words — she might suffer all her life all the pains and sufferings she could bear. That same night she had her first attack of fever; and until her death she was never without suffering. The criminals made a good end: whereby it appears that God heard her prayer.

Directly after this, an internal abscess formed, so acutely painful that it took all the courage our Lord had given her to bear it patiently. Being internal, no remedies they could give could do any good, until, in the Lord's good pleasure, it broke and discharged, which gave her some relief. Her appetite for suffering was not easily satisfied. Thus, on one Holy Cross Day, while listening to a sermon, the desire waxed so strong that, when the sermon was over, she went and threw herself on her bed in a passion of weeping; and when they asked what it was, she begged them to pray that God would send her severe sufferings, and then she would be satisfied.

To the Prioress she spoke of all the affairs of her soul; and that was a comfort to her.

In all her sickness she never gave the least trouble in the world, nor did anything but what the infirmarian wished, even to the drinking a little water.

It is a very common thing for souls who are given to prayer to desire sufferings when they are without them: but it is not many who, when those same sufferings are upon them, can rejoice in bearing them. Some of the Sisters were there at a time when she was so worn out that she had not long to live, and had most acute pains, and an abscess in the throat, so that she could not swallow; and she told the Prioress, who was encouraging her to bear her great pain, that she was not suffering at all, and that she would not on any account exchange with any of the Sisters who were in good health. She was so conscious of the presence of the Lord for Whom she was suffering, that she dissimulated her sufferings as well as she could, that no one might perceive how great they were: so she made very little sign of suffering, except when the pain forced it out of her.

She thought there was nobody in the world worse than herself; and thus, in everything that we could judge of, her humility was deep. She took great delight in speaking of other people's virtues.

In matters of mortification she was very severe with herself. From anything in the nature of recreation she withdrew herself so quietly that no one who was not on the look out for it would notice it. She seemed not to live or converse with creatures, so little did she concern herself about them; for,

T. F. 6 however things might turn out, she went through them so peacefully that she was always the same: so much so that a Sister once told her that she was like the people who make such a point of their honour that, if they were hungry, they would rather die of it than have anyone know. For the Sisters could not believe that she really minded certain things so little as she seemed to mind them.

All her work and her duties were done with but one endnot to miss the good of them. Thus she used to say to the Sisters, "The least thing we do is priceless, if done for the love of God. We should not so much as move our eyes, Sisters, but for love of Him and to please Him." She never meddled with anything which was not her business; and so she never noticed anybody's faults but her own. She so disliked being well spoken of herself that she was careful not to speak of others in their presence, so as not to give them pain.

She never sought relief by going into the garden or by means of any created thing; because, as she used to say, it would be a sort of discourtesy to distract herself from the pains which our Lord gave her. So she never asked for anything besides what was given her, but was content with that. She said too, that it would really have been a cross to her to receive comfort from anything but God. It is a fact that, when I questioned the Sisters of that house, there was not one who had perceived in her anything but what befitted a soul of high perfection.

When, then, the time came when our Lord was pleased to take her from this life, her pains increased: and the Sisters used from time to time to visit her, in order to praise God for the contentedness with which they saw her endure so many afflictions together. In particular, the chaplain who was the confessor of the convent, a great servant of God, was very anxious to be present at her death; for, having heard her confessions, he reckoned her a saint. It pleased God to fulfil his desire: for, while she was still in possession of her faculties, though having received unction, they sent for him to be at hand that night, if necessary, to absolve her and help her to die. A little before nine, about a quarter of an hour before her death, the chaplain and all the Sisters being present, all the pains left her, and she lifted up her eyes in a profound peace. An expression of joy, as it were a shining, overspread her countenance, and she seemed to be beholding some glad sight, for she smiled twice. So great was the spiritual joy and bliss experienced by all who were present, including the priest, that they could only say they felt as if they were in heaven. And in that same joy, with eyes raised to heaven, she expired. Her countenance was like an angel's: and so, according to our faith and according to her life, may we believe that God took her to rest in reward for her earnest desires to suffer for His sake. The chaplain declares, and has repeated it to many people, that at the moment when her body was laid in the tomb he perceived a strong and very sweet odour arising from it. The sacristan Sister also declares that of all the candles which were burnt for her funeral rites and burial not one suffered any diminution of the wax. All can be believed of the mercy of God. When I spoke of these things to one of her confessors, a Jesuit, who had been her confessor and spiritual adviser for many years, he said it was no wonder, and he was not surprised, because he knew that our Lord held frequent converse with her. May it please His Majesty, my daughters, that we may learn to profit by the example of so good a companion, and by many others which our Lord gives us in these houses! Perhaps I may say something about the others, in order that Sisters who are somewhat slack may bestir themselves to imitate them, and that we may all give thanks to our Lord, Who thus makes His greatness shine forth in a few poor weak women.