Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Avila 9789048551569

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Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform

Gendering the Late Medieval and Early Modern World Series editors: James Daybell (Chair), Victoria E. Burke, Svante Norrhem, Elizabeth Rhodes, and Merry Wiesner-Hanks This series provides a forum for studies that investigate women, gender, and/ or sexuality in the late medieval and early modern world. The editors invite proposals for book-length studies of an interdisciplinary nature, including, but not exclusively, from the fields of history, literature, art and architectural history, and visual and material culture. Consideration will be given to both monographs and collections of essays. Chronologically, we welcome studies that look at the period between 1400 and 1700, with a focus on any part of the world, as well as comparative and global works. We invite proposals including, but not limited to, the following broad themes: methodologies, theories and meanings of gender; gender, power and political culture; monarchs, courts and power; constructions of femininity and masculinity; gift-giving, diplomacy and the politics of exchange; gender and the politics of early modern archives; gender and architectural spaces (courts, salons, household); consumption and material culture; objects and gendered power; women’s writing; gendered patronage and power; gendered activities, behaviours, rituals and fashions.

Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila

Bárbara Mujica

Amsterdam University Press

The publication of this book is made possible by grants from Georgetown University.

Cover illustration: [Artist unknown; no date] Bl. Anne of Jesus, Saint Teresa of Ávila and Bl. Anne of St. Bartholomew, Carmelite Saints, The Church Stella Maris, Haifa, Israel. Dreams­t ime Stock Photos. Cover design: Coördesign, Leiden Lay-out: Crius Group, Hulshout isbn 978 94 6372 343 5 e-isbn 978 90 4855 156 9 doi 10.5117/9789463723435 nur 685 © B. Mujica / Amsterdam University Press B.V., Amsterdam 2020 All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the author of the book.



Table of Contents

Prologue

7

Introduction

9

Part I  María de San José 1. The (Almost) Silenced Epistolary Pen of María de San José

25

2. Drama in Seville

39

3. On to Portugal: The Lisbon Carmel, 1584–1603

63

4. Battles: The English, The Dutch, and the Discalced Hierarchy

79

5. Trials: Prison, Illness, and Death

111

Part II  Ana de Jesús 6. Paris and Beyond

137

7. In the Low Countries

173

Part III  Ana de San Bartolomé 8. Who Was Ana de San Bartolomé?

207

9. Ana and the French

237

10. The Antwerp Foundation

261

11. Friends and Enemies: The Last Years

281

12. The Ones Who Stayed Behind: The Letters of Catalina de Cristo to Ana de San Bartolomé

303

Conclusion

315

About the Author

319

Index

321

Prologue When I began my book Teresa de Ávila, Lettered Woman (Vanderbilt University Press, 2009), my intention was to produce a study of the epistolary writing not only of Saint Teresa, but also of the women who carried the Discalced Carmelite reform beyond Spain. However, it soon became evident that the abundance of material on the subject merited more than one volume. My research on Teresa took me to Madrid, Valladolid, and the Vatican, but my work on her disciples has sent me further afield. Thanks to several grants from Georgetown University, I was able to visit convent archives and rare book holdings in Valladolid, Lisbon, Paris, and Antwerp. In addition, John Buchtel, former Director of the Georgetown University Booth Family Center for Special Collections, generously procured many rare documents for me, while Patricia O’Callaghan, Librarian of the Carmelitana Collection at Whitefriars Hall in Washington, D.C., provided me with access to the library’s rich resources. I am indebted to the University, Dr. Buchtel, and Ms. O’Callaghan, as well as to the convents in Spain and Belgium that allowed me access to their holdings. Writing this book has been a personal journey. The profound spiritual wisdom of Teresa’s disciples, their bravery, pluck, and determination to share the Teresian charism with those hungry for the interior life, despite opposition from local authorities and even members of the male hierarchy of their own order, have been an inspiration to me. These women ventured into war zones, faced language barriers and cultural challenges, and stood up to powerful ecclesiastics. They were involved in every aspect of convent life—from homeopathic nursing to architectural design. They often suffered intense poverty, but they maintained their rituals whether in a comfortable convent, a private home, or a leaky, dilapidated church building. They were fighters, tough and resolute, foremothers of today’s female pioneers who break old barriers and set new records. Today, most of their achievements are barely known, but I am hoping that this book will focus new attention on these extraordinary women and inspire further study by future generations of scholars.

Introduction Abstract Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform tells the story of the Carmelite expansion beyond the death of Teresa de Jesús, showing how three of her most dynamic disciples, María de San José, Ana de Jesús, and Ana de San Bartolomé, struggled to continue her mission in Portugal, France, and the Low Countries. Like Teresa, these women were prolific letter writers. Catalina de Cristo, a Carmelite nun who never left Spain, also produced a corpus of letters that reveals the distress of those who anxiously waited for news of their sisters abroad. In devoting themselves so assiduously to letter-writing, these women, as Joan Ferrante has shown, were continuing a long monastic tradition that had begun in the Middle Ages. Keywords: early modern women’s letter-writing, Teresa de Jesús (de Ávila), María de San José (Salazar), Ana de Jesús (Lobrera), Ana de San Bartolomé (García), Carmelite reform

The sixteenth century was a period of crisis in the Catholic Church. Monastic reorganization was a major issue, and women were at the forefront of charting new directions in convent policy. The story of the Carmelite Reform has been told before, but never from the perspective of the women on the front lines. Nearly all accounts of the movement focus on Teresa de Ávila (1515–1582), known as Teresa de Jesús in the Spanish-speaking world, and end with her death in 1582. Founder of the order of Discalced Carmelites, Teresa was one of the most dynamic leaders of the Counter-Reformation and left a large corpus of written material. Accounts of her movement are based mostly on her treatises and on early histories and biographies, in particular, those of Diego de Yepes and Francisco de Ribera. My book Teresa de Ávila, Lettered Woman (henceforth Lettered Woman) provides an in-depth view of Teresa’s correspondence and describes the reform as Teresa experienced it and as events unfolded. Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila continues the story of the reform beyond the death of the

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_intro

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Foundress, showing how the next generation of Carmelite nuns struggled well into the seventeenth century to continue her mission both in Spain and abroad. What distinguishes Women Religious is the primacy of female-authored sources, in particular, letters. Teresa’s most dynamic disciples, María de San José, Ana de Jesús, and Ana de San Bartolomé, were all prolific letter writers, although much of their epistolary writing has been lost. The book concludes with the letters of Catalina de Cristo, a Carmelite nun who never left Spain, but whose reflections reveal the distress of those who, in an age of painfully slow communications, waited anxiously for news of their sisters abroad. All of the women studied here produced a substantial corpus of writing. Following Teresa’s example, they wrote treatises, spiritual memoirs, poetry, and, above all, letters. Letter-writing was clearly essential to Teresa’s mission, but it also responded to her natural tendency toward nurturing and sociability. Over the span of her career, Teresa may have produced as many as 15,000 missives, of which only 450 survive.1 María Leticia Sánchez Hernández and Nieves Baranda Leturio have seen epistolary production as the “epicenter” of her writing activity. They argue that “Teresa of Ávila was the first nun who abundantly and systematically produced letters” (“Conventual,” 87). However, Joan Ferrante and her associates have shown that, in devoting herself so thoroughly to letter-writing, Teresa was actually continuing a long monastic tradition that had begun in the Middle Ages. Vidas (spiritual memoirs with autobiographical material) are another significant source for research on early modern nuns, but vidas were nearly always written at the behest of spiritual directors anxious to examine their charges’ orthodoxy. The defensive nature of much of this material necessarily skews it. Although, when writing letters to men in authority, nuns often used the same self-protective strategies as in their vidas, their letters to close friends paint a more authentic picture of their lives.2 Their personal correspondence supplements and enriches their autobiographies, enabling us to assess their circumstances more accurately.

Pen and Prayer: Writing in Medieval Convents Throughout the middle ages, women wrote letters. Ferrante and her associates have collected hundreds of letters by women, both secular and religious, 1 According to Efrén de la Madre y Dios and Otger Steggink. For other estimates of the number of letters that Teresa produced, see Mujica, Lettered Woman, 9. 2 See Lettered Woman, 63–67.

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dating from the fourth to the thirteenth century.3 Some of the nuns—for example, Radegund of Thuringia (520–587)—were not only highly literate but corresponded with influential political figures in verse. Certainly, one of the most outstanding examples of medieval epistolary production is that of the German nun Hildegard of Bingen, who used letter-writing to exert astonishing influence over powerful men. For more than 30 years, Hildegard corresponded from her cloister with persons of every class and rank, including popes, kings, clergy, and laypersons, from as far away as England and Jerusalem.4 Countless medieval women letter writers, most of them less celebrated than Hildegard but no less active, maintained relations with friends, relatives, business associates, patrons, confessors, and others through correspondence. By the late Middle Ages, correspondence was an essential part of convent life. Letters served as the means of communication by which nuns kept in touch with family members, friends, and contacts in other convents. Although most nuns were illiterate, even those who couldn’t write often had access to an amanuensis. Several studies attest to the centrality of letter-writing in medieval convents. For example, in the nineteenth century, Jakob Wichner discovered a formulary, or group of model letters that served for imitation by a twelfth-century female community at the Benedictine monastery of Admont. Early in the present century, Alison I. Beach visited the monastery and found nineteen complete letters and fragments written in Latin by Admont’s nuns. These findings document not only the interaction of nuns with the world beyond the cloister, but also their use of epistolary models to perfect their letter-writing. At various times throughout the Middle Ages, the Church attempted to curb nuns’ letter-writing. In 1298, Pope Boniface III issued an order, known as Periculoso (Danger), requiring that all nuns be cloistered, which, in some cases, was interpreted to mean that all extramural contact, including through letters, was banned. Yet, the papal order was imperfectly enforced, and many medieval nuns continued their epistolary activity. A few also wrote treatises, meditations, or poetry, and some even produced books. For example, thirteenth-century Dominican nuns in Germany and Switzerland made psalters for their own use, disregarding prohibitions on the practice issued in 1249, 1254, and 1263 (Oliver, 106). In an effort to eradicate such activity, clerics sometimes went so far as to ban the possession of writing instruments in convents, a trend that became more pronounced after the Council of 3 These have been published online at Epistolae, https://epistolae.ctl.columbia.edu/. 4 Much of her correspondence has been preserved and published in a modern edition by Joseph L. Baird.

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Trent (Lowe, 7). At the highly literate Dutch Augustinian monastery in Windesheim, where nuns were required not only to read in the vernacular, but also to know some Latin, the sisters developed a system of “praying with the pen”—copying down passages to memorize for meditation—and created spiritual guidebooks, or “instructions for living,” written by women for women. However, in 1455, the local chapter forbade nuns to describe their visions or mystical experiences in writing, thereby putting an end to much of their production of spiritual literature (Scheepsma, 242).5

“The Woman Question” and Early Modern Women’s Writing The Renaissance affinity for codifying the behavior of different classes of individuals sparked a spate of conduct literature, including Machiavelli’s The Prince and Castiglione’s The Book of the Courtier. The prescriptive approach to education is especially evident in the conduct manuals for women that proliferated during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Georgina Dopico Black asserts that “the sheer number of conduct manuals” written during this period is “staggering,” and mentions scores of them (17). The explosion of such books reflects a new preoccupation with the querelle des femmes, or “woman question,” an intense debate among theologians and moralists, beginning around 1500, on the nature and proper position of woman. One issue of concern was education. In the opinion of some misogynists, women could not be educated, as they were capable only of parroting ideas, not thinking for themselves. Juan Huarte de San Juan (1529–1588) even urged parents to do everything possible to beget male children, as females, he contended, lacked rationality and understanding (Ingenio, 607, 614). On the other hand, Agrippa von Nettesheim (1486–1535), an avid champion of women, argued that women were actually superior to men and deserved to receive the best education possible. In his influential treatise, On the Education of a Christian Woman (1524), Juan Luis Vives (c. 1492/3–1540) sought to redefine woman as a crucial component of the family, and thus, of the social structure. Like Agrippa and other pro-woman moralists, Vives was an avid defender of women learning to read. On the subject of writing, however, he was less enthusiastic. While it was fine for women to copy inspirational passages to reinforce their virtue, he argued, teaching girls to write could lead to unhealthy correspondence and undue interest in the affairs of their husbands or fathers. 5

A “chapter” is a meeting of clergy.

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In spite of the opposition of some moralists, educational prospects for women improved in the sixteenth century. In Spain, girls as well as boys increasingly had access to education. Spanish noblewomen were “literate, numerate, and proficient in Latin,” which enabled some of them to exert political influence and function as litigators or negotiators (Nader, 6). However, not only noblewomen but also the daughters of wealthy merchants and artisans commonly learned to read (Howe, Education, 59ff). Nieves Baranda Leturio points out that female literacy rose in Ávila throughout the sixteenth century until, by the early seventeenth century, nearly 25 percent of women could read (“L’Éducation,” 30).6 The religious sphere reflected the same ambivalence toward women’s writing as society in general, even among women themselves. Teresa clearly championed female literacy and stipulated in the Constitutions of her order that all Discalced Carmelite nuns were to learn to read—although though not necessarily to write—and that prioresses were to supply them with inspirational books.7 Imitating Teresa, who composed four treatises, letters, short prose pieces, and poetry, many nuns wrote down their spiritual experiences or dictated them to a confessor or an amanuensis. Isabelle Poutrin asserts that some convents were veritable beehives of literary activity (Voile, 131–134). In Untold Sisters, Electa Arenal and Stacey Schlau published the writings of many early modern Spanish and Spanish American nuns, demonstrating the richness and variety of their production. Yet, as in the late Middle Ages, some priests considered nuns’ writing, especially letter-writing, a direct and incontestable violation of enclosure. When, in 1563, the Council of Trent reinstated claustration for all nuns, it remained silent on the subject of epistolary exchange. The text reads simply: “The holy council, renewing the constitution of Boniface VIII […] commands all Bishops that […] the enclosure of nuns be restored wherever it has been violated and that it be preserved where it has not been violated […]” (Session 25: 5. 224). Enforcement was left up to the superiors of the order.8 Sánchez and Baranda assert that the Tridentine rules on enclosure, ratified in 1565, did not put a stop to epistolary exchange and that as in the Middle Ages, nuns perforated the cloister walls through writing (“Conventual,” 87). Baranda and María Carmen Marín Pina argue that “many people maintained relationships with nuns,” for “the cloister was a permeable space in close 6 Baranda reminds us, however, that, among peasants, virtually none could read. 7 See my article, “Was Saint Teresa a Feminist?” 8 As John O’Malley explains, a number of issues were left unresolved. For a complete discussion of the session, see O’Malley, Trent, 240.

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communion with its environs” (36). The Mexican nun Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz defended herself from clerics who censored her writing by arguing that “the Church permits writing by women saints and those who are not saints alike” (91). Yet, the issue was not so clear-cut. Although certain convents permitted and even encouraged letter-writing, others forbade it, holding that writing interfered with nuns’ spiritual lives. Meredith K. Ray and Lynn Lara Westwater note that “a variety of decrees in the later sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries repeatedly tried to regulate and even prevent nuns from writing letters […] fearing that epistolary communication offered too much interaction with the secular world, that it might expose nuns to influences from which they ought to be protected” (20). In Italy, for example, the Patriarch of Venice Lorenzo Priuli and Antonio Grimani issued regulations restricting letter-writing by nuns in 1591 and 1592. They insisted that abbesses review all letters written or received by their nuns to make certain that both content and correspondent were suitable. In 1644, another order “exhorted nuns not to write letters at all, even to their most immediate family” (Ray and Westwater, 20). Similarly, in the English convent of Louvain, the confessor Richard White determined that epistolary activity was antithetical to spiritual life. In 1668, he warned the prioress that “no time is more unprofitably spent, nor no greater occasion of distraction, than in idle correspondence of unnecessary letters” (qtd. in Walker, 162). He specified that prioresses should limit themselves to two letters to family per year, if possible, and he restricted the number of letters ordinary nuns could write to one each year. Claire Walker postulates that such limitations on epistolary activity were especially common in cloisters of exiled English nuns, like the one in Louvain, because the women were more anxious to maintain ties to home through letters than in convents where relatives lived nearby. As we shall see in the chapters on María de San José, some clerics objected to the influence nuns could wield through the pen. They feared that, through letters, belligerent nuns could stir up insurgence and challenge their authority. In the case of María, the Discalced Carmelite hierarchy found her correspondence so threatening that they forbade her to write letters and had her existing letters burned. Of course, not all priests discouraged nuns from writing. Many maintained vigorous epistolary exchanges with sisters and encouraged them to write not only letters, but also vitae, spiritual guidebooks, and chronicles. Teresa de Ávila’s most frequent correspondent was her colleague Fray Jerónimo Gracián, who commanded her to write The Interior Castle, generally considered her masterpiece. Teresa probably did not resent the command to write,

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maintains Alison Weber, but rather enjoyed having the opportunity to record her thoughts and experiences (“Three Lives”). For nuns like Teresa, who maintained an epistolary relationship with men of power, letters extended their influence far beyond the convent. Some nuns who produced vitae and prayer manuals wrote not only for the enlightenment of their sisters, but also for a broader audience. Although prohibitions existed against nuns publishing their writing, some justified sending their work to the printer by arguing that it could benefit the souls of all Christians (Baranda and Marín, 21). Often, when nuns’ writing was printed, this was done posthumously, as in the cases of Teresa and Catherine of Siena. While men of intellect often considered it essential to compile and print their correspondence, women—lay or religious—almost never did. The Italian nun Arcangela Tarabotti was an exception. She wrote secular works, including letters, which she sought to publish in order to establish herself as a literary presence, and several of her missives reveal the urgency with which she sought to gain the support of powerful male intellectuals. For the most part, though, letters were considered void of enduring significance, and most were destroyed by the recipients, either immediately after they were read or after the sender’s death (Sánchez and Baranda, 88). Unlike Tarabotti, women religious did not typically see themselves as authors, and literary aspirations among them were rare. Baranda and Marín note that, “for their contemporaries, they did not occupy the territory we include in what we now call belles lettres” (36). This does not mean that their writing lacked creativity, style, or literary value or that the writers were incognizant of the literary mechanisms and devices then in use. However, monastic writing had its own characteristics. Nuns followed certain models (the confession, the hagiography), which distinguished their works from other literary production. The custom of confessors assigning, editing, and “correcting” nuns’ work means that we cannot be certain how much convent writing actually originates in the mind of the writer. Vidas could be “not only a means of expressing spiritual restlessness and a more intense and purified devotion, but also a procedure of control and repression for ecclesiastical authorities,” writes Fernando Durán López (15). Priests could induce an exacerbated sense of sin or an inflated sense of saintliness conveyed through the relation of divine favors. Letters offer a more authentic glimpse into the minds of their authors than writing filtered through editors and censors, but even these can be problematic. As I show in Lettered Woman, although Teresa revealed her true emotions in many of her letters, she also altered her tone and language depending on the recipient. The nuns who followed Teresa

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were heirs to her epistolary practices, although not all of them were as astute as she at manipulating language to obtain the desired effect.

A Note on Epistolary Practices I have described the art and importance of letter-writing in early modern Europe in Chapter 2 of Lettered Woman, but will provide some pertinent information here.9 Epistolary practices were highly codified in sixteenthcentury Spain, and mastering epistolary art was an essential part of a humanistic education. Aristocratic young men, and later the sons of artisans and tradesmen as well, studied the numerous epistolary style manuals that circulated throughout the century, among them Erasmus’s De conscribendis epistolis (1522) and Juan Luis Vives’ book of the same name (1536). Although Teresa was aware of these manuals, she paid little attention to prevailing epistolary conventions, which she found so complex she joked that only a university professor could explain them (CWST 1, Life 38:10). Numerous scholars, such as Américo Castro, Juan Marichal, and Helmut Hatzfeld, have argued that she did not consult style manuals at all, but rather wrote as she spoke, infusing her letters with colloquialisms and refrains. However, Pilar Consejo believes she probably did consult courtesy books, and Carole Slade notes that she would have been familiar with epistolary protocols from her associations with friends with court connections (Consejo, “The Business of Courtesy”; Slade, “Teresa de Ávila and Philip II). For the most part, Teresa avoided epistolary adornment and blurred traditional distinctions between personal and off icial letters. She routinely ignored classical epistolary sequence—salutatio, exordium, narratio, conclusio—ordering her letters in any way that she deemed effective. Jane Couchman and Ann Crabb note that women often ignored established epistolary practices “to produce their own versions of decorum in shaping their letters to the recipients and to the situations” (7). In early modern Europe, letters often served as a means by which men promoted a particular image of themselves. For example, as Lisa Jardine demonstrates, Erasmus portrayed himself as a master scholar in his letters and published them to establish his authority. Although women rarely published their correspondence, in an age when their lives were largely regulated by men, they availed themselves of letters to fashion their own self-images, argues Maria Luisa Doglio (17). In the case of women religious, the objective 9 See Lettered Woman, 44–67.

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of correspondence was not to demonstrate the writer’s mastery of the art of the letter, but to convey information, elicit action, or assert authority. Although Teresa generally disregarded epistolary convention, she was a master of manipulating language to achieve her own ends. For example, when addressing influential clerics or nobles in her letters, she was careful to show proper deference to rank and to present herself as a humble, unlettered woman who was simply doing God’s will. In so doing, she boosted her own moral authority, which enabled her to advance her cause more effectively. In this sense, she created her own “version of decorum” to serve her reformist objectives. Like Teresa, her disciples Ana de Jesús and Ana de San Bartolomé disregarded convention except with respect to forms of address. Their letters tend to be unstructured and conversational in tone. The epistolary style of María de San José is more difficult to assess, as almost none of her personal letters remain. Her extant business letters, most of which were written to clerics in response to Nicolás Doria’s unjust treatment of her and her allies, are meticulously crafted documents filled with legal, theological, and historical arguments. Her few extant personal letters are mostly intended for groups of nuns. Their purpose is to inform her sisters about her battles with the Discalced hierarchy, console them for the hierarchy’s abuse, and encourage them to remain true to Teresian ideals. Like her business letters, these erudite missives were consciously fashioned to elicit a particular response. Epistolary exchange involved not only letter-writing, but also letter delivery, which could be complicated and costly. Early in the sixteenth century, the Taxis family created a courier connection between Spain and the Netherlands, which Philip II greatly expanded to facilitate communication with Rome and Spain’s representatives elsewhere in Europe. Although the mail service was originally established for royal correspondence, by the time Teresa had launched her reform, it was available to the general public. However, the post was not always reliable. Letters could get lost, stolen, or destroyed by bad weather. Many people preferred to entrust their letters to a friend or a paid messenger, whose fees were generally paid by the recipient, not the sender. But even messengers could be unreliable. Some were dishonest and stole valuables from the mail they were transporting. For Teresa, an additional danger was that opponents of the reform might assault the messenger and intercept secret communications. As a precaution, she often used code names for herself and her collaborators and made multiple copies of her letters.10 Although her disciples did not face this particular 10 See Lettered Woman, 46.

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obstacle, conflict within the order and ongoing wars in Europe sometimes required letter writers to exercise caution. In early modern Europe, letters often reached a far greater audience than just the addressee. The letters of women religious were routinely passed around among family members, read aloud in the convent refectory, or shared with male associates. Often, the writer instructs the recipient to show a missive to specific friends or collaborators. Chapter 12, on the letters of Catalina de Cristo, illustrates just how important letters from the foundations abroad were to the nuns of the convent of San José in Ávila. Not only did they all read Ana’s letters to her friend Catalina, but several of them appended their own messages to Catalina’s replies. For both male and female religious orders, letters were a means of maintaining a sense of community. They served to inform, encourage, and console, and they were essential to sustaining what the early Jesuits called the “union of hearts,” when members had to travel.11

The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila Except for Catalina, all the nuns included in this volume were close friends of Saint Teresa. María de San José and Ana de Jesús were prioresses who regularly corresponded with her. Ana de San Bartolomé was her personal nurse and, later, her amanuensis. In France, years after Teresa died, she too became a prioress. Ana did not correspond with the Foundress because, during Teresa’s lifetime, La Bartolomé, as the Saint liked to call her, was rarely far from her.12 However, Ana did correspond with many people of diverse ranks and circumstances, and she left a copious body of letters. Catalina de Cristo was a lay sister who professed at San José de Ávila on 20 April 1584, two years after Teresa died, and lived there until her own death in 1627. She was a close friend of Ana de San Bartolomé, and her letters provide insight into how those nuns who stayed behind in Spain coped with the absence of their spiritual sisters. María and the two Anas took the Teresian reform to Portugal, France, and the Low Countries. Their letters reflect the challenges they met along the way: the strains of travel, life in a new land, war, poverty, bitter cold, linguistic barriers, the resentment of foreigners, encroaching Protestantism, and the hostility of priests anxious to maintain control of the female religious 11 See O’Malley, The First Jesuits, 62–63. 12 I use La Bartolomé throughout this volume, not only because that is what Teresa often called her, but also to distinguish her from Ana de Jesús.

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houses. The case of María de San José is particular because her clashes with the Discalced Carmelite hierarchy led to the destruction of nearly all her letters and other writing. Yet, thanks to some serendipitous discoveries and meticulous research on the part of contemporary scholars, we are piecing together her story. The writings of the disciples of Saint Teresa provide a wealth of new information on how prioresses managed their institutions, disciplined their charges, and protected the interests of their order. They provide an intimate look at everyday life in convents, depicting nuns’ activities, such as sewing, writing, teaching, nursing, and performing music, as well as practices such as ritual whippings. Many of their letters reveal warm friendships and mutual support, but others expose the dark side of convent life: jealousy, infighting, cliquishness, and problematic “special friendships,” which Teresa condemned vehemently. These letters expose the difficulties these women faced as they struggled to spread the reform into Portugal (then part of Spain), France, and the Low Countries, and bare the emotional trauma they experienced in hostile and confusing surroundings. The fierce battles between Protestants and Catholics, between Calced and Discalced Carmelites, and between opposing Discalced factions are depicted vividly in this material. A significant number of the letters have never been published before, and almost none of them have ever been published in English. Unless otherwise indicated, all the English translations from Spanish, French, and Portuguese that appear in this book are my own. Through their letters, we hear these women’s voices and come to appreciate their bravery, determination, and loyalty to their Mother Foundress, who, they believed, continued to guide them from heaven long after her death.

Works Cited Primary Sources Ferrante, Joan. Epistolae: Medieval Women’s Letters. https://epistolae.ctl.columbia.edu/.

Translations Agrippa von Nettescheim, Henricus. Declamation on the Nobility and Preeminence of the Female Sex. Ed. Albert Rabil. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2007. Arenal, Electa and Stacey Schlau, eds. Untold Sisters: Hispanic Nuns in their Own Words. Trans. Amanda Powell. Alburquerque: Alburquerque University of New Mexico Press, 2010.

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Hildegard of Bingen. The Personal Correspondence of Hildegard of Bingen. Ed. Joseph L. Baird. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006. Internet resource. Juana Inés de la Cruz. The Answer: Including Sor Filotea’s Letter and New Selected Poems (La Respuesta). Trans. Electa Arenal and Amanda Powell. New York City: Feminist Press at the City University of New York, 2009. Tarabotti, Arcangela. Letters Familiar and Formal. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2012. Teresa de Ávila. The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Ávila. Trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. and Otilio Rodríguez, O.C.D. 3 vols. Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies. 1980–1987. Vives, Juan Luis. The Education of a Christian Woman. Ed. Charles Fantazzi. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000.

Secondary Sources Baranda Leturio, Nieves. “L’Éducation des femmes dans d’Espagne post-Tridentine.” Genre et identités aux Pays-Bas méridionaux: L’Éducation des femmes après le Concile de Trente. Ed. Silvia Mostaccio. Louvain-la-Neuve: ARCA, 2010. —— and María Carmen Marín Pina. Letras en la celda. Madrid and Frankfurt: Iberoamericana-Vervuert, 2014. Beach, Alison. “Voices from a Distant Land: Fragments of a Twelfth-Century Nuns’ Letter Collection.” Speculum 77.1 (2002). 34–54. Black, Georgina Dopico. Perfect Wives, Other Women. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, 2001. Consejo, Pilar. “Fórmulas sociales y estrategias retóricas en el epistolario de Teresa de Jesús.” Santa Teresa y la literatura mística hispánica: Actas del I Congreso Internacional sobre Santa Teresa y la Mística Hispánica. Madrid: EDI-6, 1984. Doglio, Maria Luisa. “Letter Writing, 1350-1650.” A History of Women’s Writing in Italy. Ed. Letizia Panizza and Sharon Wood. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2000. 13–24. Durán López, Fernando. “Religious Autobiography.” A New Companion to Hispanic Mysticism. Ed. Hilaire Kallendorf. Leiden (The Netherlands): Brill, 2010. 15–38. Howe, Elizabeth Teresa. Education and Women in the Early Modern Hispanic World. Hampshire, UK: Ashgate, 2008. Jardine, Lisa. Erasmus, Man of Letters. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993. Lowe, K.J.P. Nun’s Chronicles and Convent Culture. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Mujica, Bárbara. Teresa de Ávila, Lettered Woman. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009.

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——. “Was Teresa of Ávila a Feminist?” Approaches to Teaching Teresa of Ávila and the Spanish Mystics. Ed. Alison Weber. New York: Modern Language Association, 2009. 74–82. Nader, Helen. Power and Gender in Renaissance Spain: Eight Women of the Mendoza Family: 1450-1650. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2004. Oliver, Judith. “Worship of the Word: Some Gothic Nonnenbücher in their Devotional Context.” Women and the Book: Assessing the Visual Evidence. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997. 106–122. O’Malley, John W. Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002. Poutrin, Isabelle. Le Voile et la plume : autobiographie et sainteté féminine dans l’Espagne moderne. Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 1995. Ray, Meredith K. and Lynn Lara Westwater. “Introduction.” Arcangela Tarabotti, Letters Familiar and Formal. Ed. Meredith K. Ray and Lynn Lara Westwater. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012. 1–40. Sánchez Hernández, María Leticia, and Nieves Baranda Leturio. “Conventual Correspondence.” The Routlegde Research Companion to Early Modern Spanish Women Writers. Ed. Nieves Baranda Leturio and Anne J. Cruz. London and New York: Routledge, 2018. 87–102. Scheepsma, Wybren. Medieval Religious Women in the Low Countries: The Modern Devotion, the Canonesses of Windesheim, and their Writings. Trans. David Johnson. Woodbridge, UK: Boydell and Brewer, 2004. Slade, Carole. “The Relationship between Teresa of Ávila and Philip II: A Reading of the Extant Textual Evidence.” Archive for Reformation History 94 (2003): 223–242. ——. St. Teresa of Ávila. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995. Walker, Claire. Gender and Politics in Early Modern Europe. English Convents in France and the Low Countries. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003. Weber, Alison. “The Three Lives of the Vida: The Uses of Convent Autobiography.” Women, Texts and Authority in the Early Modern Spanish World. Ed. Martha V. Vicente and Luis Corteguera. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate 2003. 107–125. Wichner, Jakob. Kloster Admont und seine Beziehungen zur Wissenschaft und zum Unterricht, nach Archivalischen Quellen. S.l.: Selbstverlag des Verfassers, 1892.

1.

The (Almost) Silenced Epistolary Pen of María de San José Abstract Teresa de Ávila had hoped that María de San José (1548–1603) would succeed her as foundress of convents and head of the Carmelite reform. However, María clashed with the Discalced hierarchy when the Provincial, Nicolás Doria, sought to modify the Constitutions of the order. She and Ana de Jesús appealed to the Pope in what came to be known as the “nuns’ revolt”, but, in the end, Doria won out. María was imprisoned and eventually exiled to a remote convent, where she soon died. María had received an excellent education as a child at the palace of Duchess Luisa de la Cerda, and she wrote many well-reasoned, legalistic letters defending her position. Keywords: María de San José (Salazar), women’s education in early modern Europe, early modern Portugal, Discalced Carmelites in Portugal, “nuns’ revolt”, early modern women’s letter-writing

María de San José (1548–1603) was one of Saint Teresa de Ávila’s closest friends, the one whom Teresa hoped would succeed her as foundress of convents and head of the Carmelite reform. On 17 March 1582, months before she died, Teresa wrote to María: “if my opinion were followed, they would elect you foundress after my death. And even if I were living I would be eagerly in favor, as you know much more than I do” (Letters 2, 435; 522).1 However, María did not become Teresa’s successor. She died at age 55 in a remote convent in Spain and, until recently, almost disappeared from Carmelite history. In The Mirror of Carmel, the nearly 800-page digest of his earlier works on the story of the Carmelites, Joachim Smet makes no 1 Unless otherwise indicated, translations of Saint Teresa’s letters are from The Collected Letters of Saint Teresa, Volumes 1 and 2, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh. Letters 1 or 2 refers to the volume. The number immediately following the volume name refers to the number assigned to the letter by Kavanaugh. The number following the semicolon refers to the page.

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch01

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mention of her. We know from Teresa’s comments that María was one of her favorite correspondents and an avid letter writer who was not afraid to engage powerful men, even the Pope, in epistolary exchange. María’s detractors found her audacious and brash. Some found her letter-writing so threatening that they sought to put an end to it and had her correspondence burned. If almost none of María’s epistolary writing survives, what is her place in this study? In order to answer that question, it is worthwhile to examine María’s life in the light of some recent studies and newly discovered documents.

Who Was María de San José? Unlike Teresa, María did not write a Vida. Her best-known book-length work, Libro de recreaciones [Book for the Hour of Recreation; henceforth, Recreation], is not an autobiography, although it contains some autobiographical material.2 Although María tells us nothing about her early life, scholars have pieced together her story. Born in Toledo, María was undoubtedly of noble background, as she was sent to be raised in the palace of Doña Luisa de la Cerda at a young age. Doña Luisa was the sister of the Duke of Medinaceli and widow of Don Arias Pardo de Saavedra, Lord of Malagón and Mariscal de Castilla, a close adviser to the King. María’s lineage is unclear. Scholars have identified her parents as either Sebastián de Salazar and María de Torres, or Pedro de Velasco and María de Salazar. Both couples were related to Medinaceli and either could have sent her to be raised by Doña Luisa (Simeón de la Sagrada Familia, 11). Some scholars (Manero Sorolla, Weber) have suggested that she may have been the illegitimate daughter of an aristocrat. If so, this would explain the dearth of certifiable information about her family. It might also explain why Doña Luisa took her in and provided her with such an excellent education.3 Doña Luisa had herself given birth to an illegitimate daughter shortly after her parents’ death. Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, Prince of Mélito, who fathered the child, was notorious for his lechery. The husband of one of Doña Luisa’s cousins and father of the Princess of Eboli, Hurtado had his illegitimate daughter Isabel raised in his own household. After marrying Don Arias, Doña Luisa had seven more children, three of whom died in early childhood. Four would have been living in the palace at the time when Teresa visited, but three of these would 2 Quotes are from Amanda Powell’s translation of El libro de recreaciones. 3 See Manero Sorolla, María Pilar, “María de San José y Luisa de la Cerda: género, poder y espiritualidad en el inicio de la reforma teresiana.”

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expire in early adulthood, and only one, Guiomar, would survive her mother.4 It was common for noblemen to send their sons and daughters to aristocratic households to be educated, and, given her own experience with illegitimacy and the tragedy of burying three of her offspring, Doña Luisa might have been delighted to receive this exuberant and brilliant young girl into her home. Naturally, María recounts none of this herself. In fact, she tells us nothing about her girlhood before her first encounter with Teresa, who visited Doña Luisa in 1562.5 Educated by Doña Luisa, María knew French and Latin and was an excellent poet; in one of her letters, Teresa jokingly refers to her as a letrera (roughly, “brain”) (28 March 1578, Letters 2, 237; 4, 46).6 After Teresa founded a convent on Doña Luisa’s estate in Malagón, María took vows and, in 1572, became prioress. In 1575, she accompanied Teresa to Beas to found a convent. There, the two women met Jerónimo Gracián, who was to become another of Saint Teresa’s close associates and the first Discalced Carmelite Provincial. Juan Baptista Rubeo, Father General of the Carmelite order, had commanded Teresa not to found beyond the province of Castile, but Teresa wrote in Foundations that she was unaware that Beas was in Andalusia (CWST 3, 14:4). However, later in 1575, Teresa founded in Seville at Gracián’s urging and named María de San José prioress of the new convent. Now, there could be no doubt that Teresa was defying Rubeo. Teresa, María, and Gracián were immediately branded as rebellious dissidents. The southern foundations provoked a violent reaction from the Andalusian Calced Carmelites, who objected vehemently to Teresa’s reformist efforts. They fought back, using calumny as one of their principal weapons. They accused Teresa, María, and Gracián of immoral behavior, causing María to lose her position as prioress of the Seville Carmel temporarily. Even after Philip II gave instructions for the execution of a brief officially separating the Calced and Discalced Carmelites into separate provinces in 1581, scandal was to pursue Gracián and María. In December 1591, Gracián wrote to Teutónio de Bragança, Archbishop of Évora, that secular priests had accused him of “misdeeds and immoral conduct,” doing things with Discalced nuns that one wouldn’t do with a prostitute (Cartas, 113).7 Gracián was even accused of fathering a child with María.8 4 See María José Pérez González, “Doña Luisa de la Cerda: ‘Mi señora y amiga,’” https:// delaruecaalapluma.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/doc3b1a-luisa-de-la-cerda1.pdf. 5 For a more detailed description of María’s youth and education, see Mujica, “Three Sisters of Carmen.” 6 Kavanaugh does not translate the word letrera. 7 Those who do not belong to an order. 8 Gracián, Pereginación, 168.

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In 1584, two years after Teresa’s death, María left Seville for Lisbon, where she founded São Alberto, the first Portuguese Discalced Carmel for women. The arrival of the Spanish nuns resulted in several accusations against Gracián, for example, that he had permitted the nuns to eat in the friars’ refectory when they first arrived. In fact, it was Ambrosio Mariano, rector of the male convent, not Gracián, who invited the nuns to the table, but in the climate of harassment that prevailed, Gracián was the target of relentless denunciations (Ros, Gracián, 310). Nicolás Doria, who had been Saint Teresa’s finance manager, succeeded Gracián as Provincial of the order in 1585. Doria had long harbored resentment against Gracián, who he thought indulged prioresses and encouraged them to resent priestly authority. Doria therefore modified Teresa’s Constitutions to restrict their power and subject them to clerical control. In 1590, with the support of Gracián, María de San José and Ana de Jesús, prioress of the Madrid Carmel, courageously petitioned Pope Sixtus V to uphold the 1581 Constitutions—an incident known as the “nuns’ revolt”. The Pope sided with the women, but Doria, a shrewd and well-connected politician, managed to convince Philip II to oppose the brief. After the Pope’s death later that year, the next Pope, Gregory XIV, threw his support to Doria, although without completely abandoning Teresa’s original Constitutions—a move that would have grave consequences for the renegades.

Book for the Hour of Recreation Although María did not leave a Vida, she did provide ample information about herself in her Book for the Hour of Recreation. Rather than a traditional autobiography, Recreation is a kind of psychological self-portrait in which María expresses her opinions and feelings. Elizabeth T. Howe writes that she “extends the autobiographical genre to include interlocutors who allow her to distance herself from a simple chronological account of her life experiences into a deeper exposition of her thoughts on a variety of issues” (Autobiographical, 153). The book provides important information about her personality and attitudes, which helps to explain the battles against Church and Carmelite authorities that define most of her life and are central to her letters. Written at the behest of Gracián, Recreation is structured as a colloquium of nuns, identified only by pseudonyms, who gather during their periods of recreation to discuss a variety of issues, such as the history of the order, the life of Saint Teresa, the intellectual competence of women, and prayer. In an

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obligatory show of humility, Gracia, spokeswoman for María, apologizes for including personal information, but explains that her order of obedience “obligates me to tell things about my life; this may be endured, as it goes under an assumed name” (34). Gracia begins her story with her first encounter with Teresa, here called “Mother Ángela.” The pseudonym was not María’s invention, but the code name Teresa used for herself in letters that she feared might be intercepted by enemies of the reform.9 María paints a vivid picture of herself as a young thirteen-year-old so enthralled with Teresa, who reputedly levitated and experienced raptures, that she spied on her. María repeats many of the details that Teresa recounts in her Vida, not from perspective of a biographer, but from that of an adoring disciple. While Teresa usually speaks of herself with humility, María lauds her for her virtues—patience, gentleness, humility, and warmth—thereby contributing to the expanding Teresian legend. By insisting on their close friendship for over 20 years, she also validates her own authority as a true disciple of the Foundress. Teresa was a master of diplomacy and tact. She undermined her adversaries by professing respect for their position, yet asserting her own authority as a recipient of God’s special favors. She argued that, although she was a frail, uneducated woman, letrados (“learned men”), relying on books and university courses, could not understand her mystical encounters because they had never experienced such graces. By contrasting the dry intellectualism of letrados with the more personal, affective spirituality of women, she turned her position as a mujercilla (“simple little woman”) into an advantage. Yet, she always professed profound respect for “learned men.” María, on the other hand, steadfastly refused to stroke the egos of arrogant priests. She does not veil her esteem for women in Recreation, and, in fact, describes Teresa as a true leader—as tough, smart, and capable as any man. She does occasionally use some of the self-deprecating language that characterized sixteenth-century women’s writing, calling women sinful and fearful, easy pawns of the devil (36). She refers to herself as a “wretched chronicler” (39) and laments her own “dullness,” due to which she “will not know what to say” (37). If the “law that custom has created” forbids women to write, it is “with good reason,” she asserts, “for it is women’s proper task to spin and sew, since having no learning, they tread perilously close to error in whatever they might say” (37). Patricia Pender and Margaret Hannay have both shown how women in England, Italy, and elsewhere adopted a rhetoric of modesty that reflected an internalization of the misogynistic 9

See Mujica, Lettered Woman, 46.

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sentiment that permeated early modern Europe. However, in the case of María de San José, this misogynist diatribe is imbued with irony. María undermines her apparent self-ridicule by implying that rules relegating women to domestic tasks derive simply from custom, not nature. Sister Justa, the gruff, down-to-earth disciplinarian of the group, explains: “It would be a very great error to write about or meddle in Scripture, or in learned things; I mean, for those women who know no more than women, for there have been many who have been equal and even superior in learning to a great many men” (37). With her superior education and wit, María clearly thought she knew as much as many men, and, as her letters show, she used her training in logic, theology, and language to mount clear, coherent, and highly legalistic arguments against her enemies. Justa justifies women’s writing about convent life by arguing that nuns are required to chronicle the history of their houses and are in a much better position to do so than men: They “have the duty, as do men, of recording the virtues and good works of their mothers and teachers, concerning things that only those women who tell them could know, that are perforce hidden from men” (37). Justa argues, as did Teresa in On Making the Visitation, that women understand other women better than men, and thus are better equipped to write about them than priests. Furthermore, women are not shy about praising their sisters’ achievements, while men may be discomfited by them. Although women’s accounts are “written in ignorance and without style,” asserts Justa, they will be “better suited to the women in days to come, than if they were written by men, because when it comes to writing and speaking of the courage and virtue of women, we usually consider them to be somewhat doubtful, and at times they may do us harm, because it is impossible that the heroic virtues of so many weak women should not cause them embarrassment, as we see, by God’s mercy, in these flowering times of renewal” (37). Written three years after Teresa’s death, when the reform was well on its way and María had just made a new foundation in Portugal, Recreation is, among other things, a celebration of the triumph of a dynamic, determined woman over the machinations of ill-meaning priests like the ones who had tried to hinder the reform. Now, suggests María, those who underestimated the abilities of women to do God’s work “in these flowering times of renewal” have been humiliated. Men, seconds Gracia, “have gloried in holding women to be weak, inconstant, imperfect and indeed useless and unworthy of any noble undertaking!” (37) As an example, she mentions a priest who became indignant when he witnessed nuns crossing themselves and uttering the words per signum crucis (by the sign of the cross) in Latin, which he saw as a sign of their

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pretentiousness.10 Justa remarks that the priest must have been a simpleton, but Gracia notes that some people hold ideas so outmoded that they are shocked by “a puff of wind” (38). She condemns priests who are quick to interpret every word or deed as sinful, thereby frightening insecure nuns into thinking themselves heretics. It is significant that it is Justa, not María’s spokeswoman Gracia, who usually articulates the most radical feminist views. This is perhaps a selfprotective strategy that allows María to express unconventional opinions, and yet, at the same time, distance herself from them. Nevertheless, Gracia often seconds Justa’s criticisms. For example, she notes priests generally don’t take nuns’ opinions seriously: “Whatever it may be that we say has little strength and is scarcely to be given credence, simply because we are women” (38). While this remark may seem to disparage women by suggesting that their opinions are insignificant, it is actually an affirmation of worth: Even though a woman may be clever, men will refuse to take her seriously simply because of her sex. Teresa was an example of a woman of “clear intellect and heroic virtue,” adds Gracia, and her spiritual daughters have inherited these qualities. For women such as these, the convent is a joyous refuge, a place where women can express their opinions and where “love and sisterhood prevail,” says Gracia (41). She urges: “We should not go about all scowling and sad, lest we misrepresent our conversation with God to those who have not experienced it” (45). The teasing and bantering that characterize Recreation may well reflect the atmosphere of the convent, although, as we shall see in the next chapter, conditions in the Lisbon Carmel could be harsh. Justa, the source of much of the humor in the book, represents a grouchy but good-hearted older nun who is not afraid to speak her mind. For example, when Gracia apologizes for writing about herself, Justa grumbles, “It matters little […] that you speak of yourself, for though you have been most ungrateful and haughty and slothful, your wicked life will not dim the light God shone in His holy one” (43). The befuddled Sister Cándida offers humor of a different kind: She is so distracted that she sometimes sticks her fingers into candle wax, taking it for holy water. Although María’s prose in Recreation is light and energetic, it is also highly literary. The colloquium, or conversation, is a literary form inherited from antiquity and associated with elegance. María’s prose is filled with metaphors, wordplay, and evocative descriptions. For example, Sister Anastasia is like a hedgehog, prickly and disagreeable. The words of the first 10 See Alison Weber’s note on this passage in Recreation, 38.

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Eliseo about Carmelo (a possible play on caramelo, “candy”) are a manjar (tasty delicacy) that the nuns can guisar (cook, stew) to satisfy their hambre (hunger—in this case, spiritual). In María’s few surviving letters, we see this same cerebral quality. María often uses her extraordinary wit to attack priests. Like Teresa, she criticizes male clerics who belittle affective spirituality simply because they have no firsthand knowledge of it, but María is far less diplomatic than her mentor. Her comments constitute an outright condemnation of fanatical, censorious confessors who introduce gloominess into the convent. Confession was at the center of religious practice for many early modern Spanish women, including laywomen, although it was not usually so central for men. Yet, prescriptive literature for confessors contained little advice for guiding female penitents (O’Banion, 130). As a result, many priests had no real understanding of female psychology and were insensitive to issues of concern to women. Instead of guiding their female penitents in a thoughtful, responsible way, they took advantage of their position of authority to bully and control women. In convents, such priests could unleash unbridled havoc. In Recreation, Justa criticizes confessors who refuse to absolve a penitent who does not tell them what they want to hear (56). In Avisos para el gobierno de las religiosas (Guidance for the Governance of Nuns; henceforth, Avisos), María takes her reproaches much further, warning against sanctimonious, self-important priests whose negativity can contaminate a religious house. These priests are “ordinarily melancholic” and “covered with hypocrisy,” which gives “much to fear” and makes them “difficult to see through” (Avisos, 85). Furthermore, “they are inclined to be ambitious, deceitful, false, suspicious, mean, peculiar, lovers of gossip, capricious when it comes to good, and inflexible when it comes to evil” (Avisos, 85). Alison Weber notes that, although Teresa wrote extensively about melancholia in women, she only occasionally cites examples of melancholic men. María, on the other hand, develops a theory of the melancholic confessor, who, she argues, suffers from a pathology that makes him harmful to the nuns under his care (“Monjas,” 45). María’s attitude toward inept and malicious priests is significant because the objective of much of her correspondence is to combat such priests.

María’s Epistolary Writing Although the enmity of Doria and his successors made María a persona non grata in the order resulting in the destruction of nearly all of her letters, those that survive reveal a fearless fighter, a tough negotiator, and a caring

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and tender spiritual mother. The best known is the Carta que escribe una pobre y presa descalza, consolándose y consolando a sus hermanas e hijas que por verla así estaban afligidas (Letter written by a poor, imprisoned Discalced nun, seeking to console herself and her sisters and daughters, who feel afflicted by seeing her in such straits; henceforth, Letter), which María wrote on Good Friday, in 1593, while she was being held in the prison of the convent of São Alberto. However, new research has turned up several other examples of her epistolary writing. In 2009, María de la Cruz Pérez García published María de San José Salazar: La humanista colaboradora de Santa Teresa perseguida (María de San José Salazar: The Persecuted Humanist Collaborator of Saint Teresa), which contains several of María’s letters gleaned from Vatican archives, collections of the letters of Jean de Quintanadueñas de Brétigny, and María’s own writing. Additional letters can be found in the Monumenta Historica Carmeli Teresiani, in María’s Ramillete de Mirra (Bouquet of Myrrh; henceforth, Ramillete), and in a rare Portuguese chronicle by Fray Belchior de Sant’Anna, describing María’s experiences in Lisbon.11 Although we cannot reconstruct María’s vast epistolary corpus, Ramillete de Mirra enables us to fill certain lacunae. The work is a kind of open letter from María to her Carmelite sisters, detailing long periods of persecution due to conflicts with priests in Seville and Lisbon. María feared that the nuns might hear only the priests’ version of her story and be confused about the circumstances leading to her disgrace. The title of the work derives from Canticle 1: “My love is a bouquet of myrrh; I will place him between my breasts” (283). In Ramillete, María ponders how Jesus, who is the epitome of sweetness and consolation, can be a bouquet of bitter myrrh. Through a protracted meditation on how Jesus’s suffering brought joy and salvation to mankind, María examines her own suffering and that of other Discalced Carmelite women. She concludes that, just as bitter myrrh produces a soothing salve, the suffering of Christ’s followers brings them comfort, for to live in imitation of Christ is the greatest delight. Written between 1593 and 1595,12 the work is a carefully constructed apologia in which María argues her case against her adversaries like a seasoned attorney, using

11 I have kept the Spanish name for this book because there is no published English version. All translations of Ramillete are mine. 12 According to Simeón de la Sagrada Familia, María began Ramillete at the end of 1593 and completed it in 1595, when Gracián was still in prison, or, at least, before María heard about his release (31).

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the Aristotelian rhetorical instruments of persuasion: logos,13 pathos,14 and ethos.15 She cites evidence, historical precedents, biblical sources, and ecclesiastical documents, exploiting her long and close association with Teresa to bolster her authority. The meditation on suffering is followed by a brief history of the Discalced Carmelites’ early struggles, an attack on Doria, and an exhortation to the sisters to remain strong, for she worried that they could become discouraged by the priests’ constant bullying. Ramillete contains several fragments of letters María wrote to religious authorities about the abuses to which she was subjected. In 2003, Isabel Morujão brought to the attention of scholars Belchior de Sant’Anna’s Chronica de Carmelitas, another important source of information on María de San José. Completed in 1628 by a friar who claimed to be María’s personal friend, the work contains a wealth of material on María’s activities in Portugal. While María’s challenge to authority has been seen as an embarrassment causing most chroniclers of the order to ignore her, the Portuguese author of the Chronica exalts her as the foundress of the first Discalced Carmelite convent for women in his country. Fray Belchior’s account of María’s life in Lisbon is biased, as it was meant to advance the cause of her beatification. Yet, not only does Fray Belchior provide much valuable information on María’s years in Portugal, he also includes several letters or fragments of letters written by María and others that were written to her. Although only a few extant copies of the Chronica exist, a modern Italian version of key material was published in 2003 under the name, Maria di San José Salazar (1548-1603): una discepola di Teresa di Gesù. In spite of its historical significance, the Chronica is a problematic source. The birth and death dates given for Fray Belchior in library catalogues are 1602 to 1668. However, at the beginning of Volume II, in Aos que Lerem, a certain L. I. explains that Fray Belchior de Sant’ Anna was only the first author of the multivolume chronicle, and he died in 1628.16 Furthermore, Belchior mentions that he knew María. This would have been impossible if he were born in 1602, but quite possible if he were born around 1570, which is likely if he died in 1628. The Protestação do Avtor of Vol. 1, required by a 1631 papal brief from Urban VIII mandating that all authors attest to the veracity of any of their material pertaining to holy people, carries the name Fr. Belchior de S. Anna, although the author had presumably died three 13 14 15 16

Reasoned discourse. Appeal to the emotions. Moral character and views. No page number.

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years before. It is probable that the Protestação was appended by someone else before the book’s publication, and that that the catalogue dates are incorrect; cataloguers probably assumed Fray Belchior died in the 1650s or 1660s because the approbation date is 1656, and the publication date 1657.17 Another issue is language. Belchior’s entire chronicle is in Portuguese, including María’s letters. María was gifted in languages and may have mastered Portuguese. Nevertheless, we know that at least some of the letters Belchior includes—both those María wrote and those she received—were written either in Spanish or another language. In some cases, we have the originals, but in others, we have no way of judging the accuracy of his translations, although, in those I have been able to examine, I have found his versions to be quite accurate.

Works Cited Primary Sources Gracián, Jerónimo. Peregrinación de Anastasio. Rome: Teresianum, 2001. María de San José (Salazar). “Carta que escribe una pobre y presa descalza, consolándose y consolando a sus hermanas e hijas que por verla así estaban afligidas” (Ms. 3537, folios 478–479). ——. Libro de recreaciones: Ramillete de mirra, Avisos, máximas y poesías. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 1913. ——. Escritos Espirituales. Ed. Simeón de la Sagrada Familia, O.C.D. Rome: Postulación General O.C.D., 1979. ——. Avisos para el gobierno de las religiosas. Rome: Instituto Histórico Teresiano, 1977. ——. Instrucción de novicias. Rome: Instituto Historico Teresiano, 1978. Teresa de Jesús (de Ávila). Epistolario. Ed. Luis Martínez Rodríguez and Teófanes Egido. Madrid: Espiritualidad, 1984. ——. Obras completas. 10th ed. Ed. Tomás Álvarez. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 1998.

17 The second volume was published in 1721, approved in 1719. The third volume was published in 1753, approbation in 1752.

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Translations María de San José (Salazar). Book of the Hour of Recreation. Intro. Alison Weber. Trans. Amanda Powell. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2002. ——. Instructions for Novices. New Jersey: Carmel of Flemington, 1969. Teresa de Ávila. The Collected Letters of St. Teresa of Ávila. 2 vols. Trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. Washington, D.C: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 2001, 2007. ——. The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Ávila. Trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. and Otilio Rodríguez, O.C.D. 3 vols. Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies. 1980–1987.

Secondary Sources Belchior de Santa Anna (Sant’Anna). Chronica de Carmelitas Descalços, Particular do Reyno de Portugal e Provincia de Sam Felippe, Pello P. Fr. Belchior de S. Anna. Vols. 1 and 2 (of 3). Na officina da H.V. Oliveira: Lisboa, 1657. Melchiorre (Belchior) di Sant’Anna. Maria di San José (Salazar), 1548-1603. Una discepola di Teresa di Gesù. Milano: Mimep-Docete-Padri Carmelitani, 2003. Hannay, Margaret P. Silent but for the Word: Tudor Women as Patrons, Translators, and Writers of Religious Works. Ann Arbor: UMI Books on Demand, 1998. Howe, Elizabeth Teresa. Autobiographical Writing by Early Modern Hispanic Women. Farnham, Surrey, UK and Burlington, VT: Ashgate 2015. Manero Sorolla, María Pilar. “María de San José y Luisa de la Cerda: género, poder y espiritualidad en el inicio de la reforma teresiana.” Dejar hablar a los textos: Homenaje a Francisco Marquez Villanueva. Vol. 1. Ed. Pedro Manuel Piñero Ramirez. Seville: University of Seville, 2005. 441–460. Morujão, Isabel. “Entre duas memórias: Maria de San José (Salazar) O.C.D., fundadora do primeiro Carmelo descalço feminino em Portugal.” Revista de Estudios Ibéricos 1:1 (2003). 241–260. Mujica, Bárbara. Teresa de Ávila, Lettered Woman. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009. ——. “Three Sisters of Carmen: The Youths of Teresa de Jesús, María de San José, and Ana de San Bartolomé.” The Youth of Early Modern Women. Ed. Elizabeth S. Cohen and Margaret Reeves. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2018. 137–157. O’Banion, Patrick J. The Sacrament of Penance and Religious Life in Golden Age Spain. University Station, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2013. Pender, Patricia. Early Modern Women’s Writing and the Rhetoric of Modesty. Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012.

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Pérez González, María José. “Doña Luisa de la Cerda: ‘Mi señora y amiga.’” Accessed 8 July 2018. https://delaruecaalapluma.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/doc3b1aluisa-de-la-cerda1.pdf. Online resource. Pérez García, María de la Cruz. María de San José, Salazar: La humanista colaboradora de Santa Teresa perseguida. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 2009. Rodríguez, José Vicente. San Juan de la Cruz: La biografía. Edición Revisada (revised ed.). Madrid: San Pablo, 2016. Ros, Carlos. La hija predilecta de Teresa de Jesús: María de San José. Madrid: Cultiva, 2008. ——. Jerónimo Gracián: El hombre de Teresa de Jesús. Seville: Rosalibros, 2006. Smet, Joachim. The Mirror of Carmel: A Brief History of the Carmelite Order. Darien, IL: Carmelite Media, 2011. Weber, Alison. “Introduction.” In María de San José (Salazar), Book of the Hour of Recreation. Trans. Amanda Powell. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2002. 1–32. ——. “Monjas melancólicas y confesores melancólicos en la vida y obras de María de San José Salazar.” Mujeres ente el claustro y el silgo: Autoridad y poder en el mundo religioso femenino, siglos xvi-xviii. Ed. Ángela Atienza López. Logroño, La Rioja, Spain: University of La Rioja, 2018. 37–51.

2.

Drama in Seville Abstract At the urging of Gracián, Teresa de Ávila (de Jesús) founded a convent in Seville, naming María de San José its prioress. In so doing, Teresa disobeyed the orders of the Carmelite General, Juan Bautista Rubeo, who had only given her permission to found in Castile. Enraged, Rubeo convened a chapter in Piacenza at which Teresa was ordered to remain in one convent in Castile and make no further foundations. Felipe [Filippo] Sega, the papal Nuncio, took the side of those who opposed the Discalced expansion into Andalusia. In the meantime, María had to cope with a disgruntled nun who denounced her to the Inquisition, and an overzealous confessor named Garciálvarez, who subjected nuns to excessive penitential practices. Keywords: María de San José (Salazar), Jerónimo Gracián [Jerome Gratian], discalced Carmelites in Seville, María de San José and Garciálvarez, conflict between calced and discalced Carmelites, early modern women’s letter-writing

Carmelite history was altered forever by the friendship between Saint Teresa and Jerónimo de la Madre de Dios (Gracián), the young, ambitious Carmelite who visited her in Beas.1 Born in Valladolid on 6 June 1545, Gracián was not yet 30 when he met Teresa. The son of Diego Gracián de Aldorete (secretary to both Charles V and Philip II) and Juana Dantisco (daughter of the Polish ambassador to the Spanish Court), he was educated at the Jesuit Colegio in Madrid and then studied philosophy and theology at Alcalá. He was ordained in 1569, a mere six years before he met Teresa. Yet, he was charismatic and well-connected, and Teresa quickly came under his influence.

1

See Mujica, “Paul the Enchanter.”

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch02

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Gracián and the Expansion into the South Gracián, who had quickly risen to the rank of apostolic visitator, was anxious to meet Teresa, and she was immediately impressed with his energy, spirituality, and zeal.2 She describes him as “a man of much learning, intelligence and modesty, along with other great virtues” (CWST 3, Foundations 23:1, 217). She clearly saw him as a future leader of the reform. Over the years, Gracián and María de San José would become Teresa’s closest collaborators and most frequent correspondents. Teresa spent hours talking with Gracián, and actually took a vow of obedience to him concerning spiritual matters.3 María describes the event as the result of divine intervention: “It was then that our holy Mother had a vision of Our Lord Christ, who took each of them by the right hand and commanded our Mother that, for as long as she lived, she should consider this man to stand in place of Our Lord and should submit to him in everything […] and the saint fulfilled this so perfectly that she bound herself by a vow [of obedience] […]” (Recreation, 136). This vow would prove problematic for both Teresa and María de San José in the future. Anxious to bring the Andalusian Carmelites under control, Pope Pius V had assigned visitation of their friaries to Dominican apostolic commissaries. Francisco Vargas was in charge of the Andalusian houses, with Gracián serving under him. Rubeo was uneasy about the infringement of the Dominican on the rights of his order, and tension grew between him and the visitator. In November 1571, Vargas wrote to Ambrosio Mariano, another of Teresa’s close associates, ordering him to found a friary in Seville, thereby contradicting a directive from Rubeo. From 1570 to 1575, Vargas requested the establishment of three contemplative friaries in Andalusia—in Seville, Granada, and La Peñuela. The expansion into the south made Rubeo livid. Teresa herself was alarmed because the new friaries were largely autonomous. She writes, “In each house they did as they saw fit” (CWST 3, Foundations 23:12, 222). However, by the time Teresa met Gracián in Beas, the situation in Andalusia had changed. The Dominican visitations had ended and the southern foundations seemed to be thriving. Furthermore, the new Pope, Gregory XIII, had put the Prior General back in charge, albeit with the provision that the three Andalusian friaries should remain. The situation was further complicated by long-standing tensions between the Spanish Crown and Rome. King Philip II, furious that the Pope had made 2 It is the duty of the apostolic visitator to visit convents to make sure they operate in accordance with the rules of the order. 3 See Mujica, “Paul the Enchanter: Saint Teresa’s Vow of Obedience to Gracián.”

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this decision without informing him, declared the papal position invalid. Nevertheless, Gracián seemed to be acting within his authority. In fact, while he was in Beas with Teresa, the Nuncio, Nicolás Ormaneto, summoned him to Madrid and, in August, not only confirmed his position as apostolic visitator, but also extended his authority to Castile.

María de San José, Prioress It was Gracián’s idea that Teresa should make a foundation in Seville, but it is important to realize that his decision was made in the context of the expansion of the reform, which Teresa herself supported. 4 Although Gracián’s command was incompatible with Rubeo’s prohibition, Teresa obeyed. She founded the Seville Carmel on 29 May 1575, and named María de San José prioress. No sooner had the nuns settled into the new house than complications began. One of the novices was a 40-year-old beata named María del Corro. Known for her holiness, María was greatly admired by the townspeople and was the focus of their adulation. However, she became resentful when, after moving into the convent, Teresa denied her frequent requests for dispensations from the rules. One night, she disappeared and shortly afterward denounced Teresa and Isabel de San Jerónimo, one of the nuns Teresa had brought from Beas, to the Inquisition, accusing them of alumbradismo.5 Although the charges were soon dismissed, they provided ammunition for the enemies of the reform, who condemned Teresa and Gracián for founding a Carmel in Seville. In Ramillete, María writes that the calced Carmelites manipulated Del Corro’s false accusations to besmirch the reputation of the discalced nuns. Around this time, Hernando Álvarez and Cristóbal Chamizo, two priests from Llerena (Extremadura), were accused by the Inquisition of spreading beliefs considered illuminist throughout the region.6 Exploiting for their own purposes the discovery of an alumbrado enclave known for its immoral practices, the calced incited an already sensitive populace against María’s 4 For a detailed description of this chapter in discalced carmelite history and Teresa’s correspondence with those concerned, see Mujica, Lettered Woman, 70–79. 5 The alumbrados, or Illuminists, believed that enlightenment came directly from God, without the need for mediation by the Church. Their beliefs were considered heretical. 6 See Publio Hurtado, Supersticiones extremeñas, in Revista Extremadura, t. II–IV, 1901–1902. Also, Menéndez y Pelayo, Historia de los heterodoxos españoles por Marcelino Menéndez y Pelayo, Libro V. http://www.cervantesvirtual.com/obra/historia-de-los-heterodoxos-espanoles/

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community. According to María, the calced took advantage of the discalced nuns because they were women: “In the male convent, well, since they were men, they were treated more carefully, but us, poor women, they let loose all their fury on us” (Ramillete, 299). The chronology of María’s version of the story is a bit muddled because María speaks of the incident with María del Corro and the following interrogation as if it were all part of her conflict with the confessor Garciálvarez, explained below. Although Teresa submitted to Gracián’s will, she says that at the time, she had qualms about founding in Seville: “Since I saw that a foundation in Seville was the resolve of my major superior, I immediately submitted, although […] I had some very serious reasons against [it]” (CWST 3, Foundations 23:11). As I have argued elsewhere, since Gracián gave the order to found in Seville in defiance of Rubeo, Teresa did have options.7 She had promised to submit to Gracián only so long as he commanded nothing contrary to God or her superiors, which means she could have justifiably disobeyed. She also knew that Gracián would not insist if she objected to his plan. She wrote to Bishop Álvaro de Mendoza that if she had challenged Gracián’s order, “I truly believe he would not have placed me under any obligation” (11 May 1575, Letters 1, 3; 202). She goes on to explain that she felt compelled to go along with the scheme not because she feared punishment, but because Gracián’s desire was so great that to oppose him would have made her feel disobedient. Yet, it seems clear that the decision to go to Seville was as much hers as his. It is entirely possible that Teresa obeyed Gracián’s order because it coincided with her own desire to expand the reform into the south. According to a note that Gracián wrote in the margin of an edition of Teresa’s Vida, Teresa decided to found in Seville because she saw him as God’s spokesman: The chance came up to found convents for nuns in Madrid and Seville, and it was difficult for me to guess which La Madre would favor. I told her to consult with Our Lord. She did so for three days, at the end of which she said that the Lord had affirmed that we should go to Madrid. I then told her to go to Seville, and she obeyed. When I asked her why she hadn’t contested my decision […] she said, “Because faith tells me that whatever your Reverence commands me to do is the will of God […].” (Escritos, 535)

Gracián himself thought he was God’s instrument and believed that Teresa agreed with him. 7

“Paul the Enchanter,” 31.

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María’s depiction of events, written after several episodes of mind-boggling acrimony in Seville, tells a different story. In Recreations, María clearly lays responsibility for the Seville foundation at the feet of Gracián: “There she [Teresa] was, on the point of going to found a convent in Caravaca, where she was taking me with five other nuns, when Father Gracián’s arrival brought all that to a stop. He obliged our Mother to leave off that foundation and instead, with the nuns she had named for that purpose, to make a foundation in Seville” (136). Here, María portrays Teresa as a reluctant follower, confused by Gracián’s insistence that she abandon her original plan, but duty bound to obey him. However, María’s account of the foundation is inconsistent. She implies that she, María, foresaw the danger in founding in Seville, but that Teresa didn’t even know that Seville was in Andalusia, only to contradict herself sentences later by insinuating that she did: Our Mother was persuaded—or more accurately, was forced by obedience, because, as we have said, that place falls within the province of Andalusia, which was a very new matter for her. Had she known it was Andalusia, she would not have gone, because she knew quite well that it was not to the liking of the most Reverend Prior General of the order, who was then Fray Juan Bautista Rubeo of Ravenna, as he was somewhat upset with his Andalusian friars; thus, she found herself perplexed. But in the end, as Father Gracián commanded apostolic obedience, she obeyed, although she feared or perhaps indeed knew what the devil was to provoke there, and this was that the Prior General grew very angry with her, so that from regarding her with great friendship he came to withdraw all favor from her and speak against her. (137)

María suggests that from the start, Teresa knew that the Seville foundation was a bad idea, for she suspected “what the devil was to provoke there.” Yet, she went ahead with the project. María comes back to the vow of obedience several times in Recreations, apparently struggling to make sense of Teresa’s decision to follow Gracián’s command. Interestingly, María quotes at length Teresa’s Spiritual Testimonies, in which the Foundress explains her resolution on the grounds that “it would be of some service to the Holy Spirit,” and that she considered Gracián to be “a great servant of God and very learned” (Recreations, 142). That is, although María argues that Teresa “was forced” to obey Gracián, she quotes Teresa’s declaration that her decision was based on judgment. Alison Weber notes that “María’s portrayal of Gracián is remarkably ambivalent in this chapter. Although she lets it be known that he was seriously misguided in ordering

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Teresa to undertake the Sevillian foundation, she takes pains to emphasize Teresa’s particular devotion to him” (Recreations, 142, n. 255). María composed Recreations in 1585, soon after leaving Seville for Portugal. She apparently modified her view of events years later, after her conflict with the Carmelite hierarchy made her a close ally of Gracián. In her Historia de los descalzos y descalzas carmelitas (History of the discalced nuns and friars), probably composed around 1600, she writes: “Our Mother […] had more than enough patents from the reverend Father General to found wherever she wanted, and the visitators also gave her patents, and so from Beas, she went to found in Seville […]” (Escritos, 292). Rather than concede that Teresa def ied Rubeo, María argues that the Foundress was acting within her rights. In fact, Teresa herself had written to Rubeo, reminding him that “the last patent letter you sent me in Latin […] says that I can make foundations everywhere” (18 June 1575, Letters 1, 7; 209).8 Not only does María legitimize the Andalusian foundations, but she blames the chaos in Seville on Rubeo himself. According to her, the Father General took out on Teresa his indignation with the Andalusian Carmelites and with Gracián, who had founded friaries in the south without his permission.9 “His reverend General started to grow angry with our Mother because she’d founded in Andalusia,” writes María. “It seems that he was irritated with the Andalusian fathers because of some conflict he had with them when he was in Spain” (Escritos, 292). María must have known about the bad treatment Rubeo received at the hands of the calced friars when the Pope sent him to southern Spain to reform them, but she avoids going into detail. She explains only that Rubeo “was not happy that Teresa went to Andalusia, and what made it worse is that she went in obedience to Father Gracián, who was the one who commanded her to go. As a result, the General was mad at all the discalced” (Escritos, 293). According to María, the calced Carmelites aggravated the situation by blaming Teresa for splitting the order and causing discord. They complained about her to the General, arguing that she had “turned against him and disobeyed his command” (Escritos, 293). María argues that there was no basis for their complaint, but Rubeo was so furious with Teresa that 8 See Mujica, Lettered Woman, 74. 9 In fact, Gracián had used a trick in order to found in Andalusia. Fray Mariano had received permission from the Carmelite Provincial in Seville, Ángel Salazar, to go to Seville on personal business with a companion. Gracián accompanied him, and, once out of the reach of Salazar, used his newfound freedom to found Los Remedios, a discalced friary. Gracián wrote to Rubeo justifying his action, but Rubeo was furious. Gracián then went on to found more houses without even notifying Rubeo.

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nothing she said pacified him, which upset her terribly. As María saw it, Teresa was in a bind. She seems to imply that Rubeo gave Teresa permission to found anywhere, but then rescinded this permission after the Inquisitorial investigation initiated by María del Corro. Across the Mediterranean Sea, a tempest was brewing. A week before the Seville convent opened, the Carmelite order convened a chapter in Piacenza, and one of the first issues discussed was Andalusia. Backing Rubeo entirely, the participants confirmed that the reformed monasteries in Andalusia were to be abandoned, and that unmitigated friars were not to use the term “discalced,” but rather, “contemplatives” or “primitives.” Rubeo was trying to avoid the order being split in two, and when news came of Teresa’s new foundation in Seville, he saw it as an act of rebellion. He swiftly moved to put an end to her foundations and the spread of the reform. Teresa, clearly chafing, writes in Foundations, “In a general chapter, one would think they would be concerned about the expansion of the order, but instead, the definitory gave me a command not merely to make no more foundations but not to leave the house in which I chose to reside, which would be a kind of prison […]” (CWST 3, Foundations 27:20).10 In defiance of Rubeo, Gracián ordered Teresa to stay where she was and finish making her foundation. Because she was afraid the Inquisition would come and not find her, she stayed in Seville, explains María. According to María, Teresa told her that she hadn’t seen herself in such a jam since the early days of the San José foundation (Escritos, 296–297). Eventually, explains María, Teresa left Seville and went to Toledo, because “she was so obedient and precise about everything the prelates ordered, and she desired to make the reverend General happy” (Escritos, 296). However, there was no satisfying Rubeo. “The Father General was so angry with us that he sent Maestro [Jerónimo] Tostado as the Vicar General to get rid of our convent, I mean, the friars’, because, as I said, all of ours were founded with the patents that the Father General himself gave to our Mother” (Escritos, 297). What afflicted the nuns most, writes María, was “losing our holy and dearest Mother” (Escritos, 297). Teresa would remain in Toledo until July 1577. Shortly after the Piacenza chapter, the papal Nuncio Nicolás (Niccolò) Ormaneto died and was replaced by Felipe (Filippo) Sega. Ormaneto had been a great supporter of the reform, but Sega was an ally of Tostado, the new Vicar General, and biased against the discalced Carmelites from the 10 Council of Definitors. The duties of definitor vary from one order to another, but, among Carmelites, definitors are elected by the general and Provincial chapters to assist the general or Provincial superiors in the government of the order.

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beginning. Although he insisted that his purpose was not to dismantle the reform, but simply to calm the waters (Smet, Mirror, 109), he actively campaigned against Teresa, famously calling her “a restless gadabout woman” (Kavanaugh, Letters I, 663). Now conditions were auspicious for the calced, and they “exploited the situation, not only to get out from under Gracián’s visits but to tell him [Sega] a thousand evil lies about us” (Escritos, 298). Rubeo rescinded Gracián’s authority to visit discalced houses. He also excommunicated all the discalced friars and commanded that all the houses in Andalusia, except the first three founded with his license, be closed. In addition to ordering Teresa to stop her crusade, he demanded that “discalced friars and nuns wear shoes and sing por punto and other such things” (Escritos, 293).11 The significance of forcing discalced nuns and friars to wear shoes instead of their customary sandals is obvious. By so doing, Rubeo was striking at the very essence of the reform, whose members identified themselves as discalced, or barefoot. The significance of altering their singing style is less apparent, but nevertheless noteworthy. Teresa stipulates in the Constitutions of 1567: “The chant should never be with melody, but in one voice, all the voices the same” (OC, 1271).12 Colleen Baade explains that some early modern convents had developed elaborate signing conventions, complete with complex polyphony and musical instruments. Reformed orders, and even some unreformed orders, came to see extravagant music-making as contrary to their contemplative lifestyle (Baade, 84). María clearly saw Rubeo’s move as an attempt to obliterate the order by undermining the Constitutions and the usages established by Teresa. His intended deathblow was the demand that Teresa make no further foundations and retire to a convent in Castile. However, King Philip II was getting tired of Rubeo’s high-handed way of making decisions without consulting him and took steps to hold the Vicar General Tostado in check. He ordered that no visits be made until the new Nuncio was better informed, as he had heard only from the calced. María writes: All our houses, both male and female, followed the provisions set forth by the King; only the two in Seville—the friary […] and the female convent, of which I was the prioress—decided to obey the Nuncio and not to take 11 Cantar por punto (“sing with notes”) means to sing a melody. My thanks to Ángel Gil-Ordóñez, director of the Post-Classical Ensemble and professor of Music at Georgetown University, for help with this point. 12 Original: “Jamás sea el canto por punto, sino en tono, las voces iguales.”

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refuge in the royal provision, as we thought that as we had nothing to hide, it didn’t matter who visited us […] We thought that if we didn’t obey and allow the Nuncio to visit us, it would give rise to more scandal. (Escritos, 298)

Gracián is the victim in this telling, but in the end, María also judiciously diminishes Rubeo’s culpability. “When you only hear one side of the story, and this is told by someone passionate about the subject, as was the case in that meeting of the fathers who went to the chapter (at Piacenza), it’s common to misjudge the situation and take for a crime what really isn’t one, especially when the devil gets involved” (Escritos, 294). Thus, although Rubeo wrongly blamed Gracián and Teresa for disobedience, it wasn’t entirely his fault, for the calced and the devil clouded his judgment. Although Gracián succeeded in having his brother Antonio, secretary to Philip II, intervene on behalf of the discalced Carmelites, the discalced wound up in the power of the calced. This spurred Gracián to go to Seville to begin his visitation, which sparked anger among the calced to the point that they armed themselves against him. They created such a scandal that word reached Teresa that Gracián had been killed. However, God calmed her, saying: “Oh woman of little faith! Calm yourself, for everything will turn out well” (Escritos, 295).

The Letters Flow Teresa’s departure is a defining moment. Once Teresa left Seville, she and María began an intensive correspondence. María now had to navigate the turbulent political waters of Andalusia on her own. Without Teresa’s moderating influence, she sometimes made rash decisions and became involved in debilitating quarrels. María’s writing on Seville (and later, on Lisbon) reveals that even reformed convents were beleaguered by jealousy, rivalries, and politics. María constantly sought guidance from Teresa by letter, but, unfortunately, only Teresa’s end of these exchanges remains. I have examined Teresa’s letters to María in Lettered Woman, and so will make only some general comments here. Teresa was extremely fond of María, although she sometimes became exasperated with her. Expressions of affection abound in her letters to her spiritual daughter, and it is clear that María responded with similar warmth. Teresa had hardly left Seville for Toledo when she wrote to María from Malagón, “For charity’s sake, I beg you to write to me through

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every means you can so that I may always know how you all are. Don’t fail to write by way of Toledo” (15 June 1576, Letters 1, 2; 284). Three days later, she wrote again from Malagón: “I tell you that if you experience some sadness over my absence, mine is greater” (15 June 1576, Letters 1, 1; 287). Once she arrived in Toledo, she wrote to María, “I have such a desire to see you that it would seem I have nothing else to think about” (7 September 1576, Letters 1, 4; 313). Two days later, she wrote: “I can truthfully say that your letters are such a consolation. When I read the one and thought there were no more, I myself was surprised by the happiness I felt when I discovered another one; it was as though I hadn’t received the first. You should then realize that your letters are a kind of recreation for me” (9 September 1576, Letters 1, 1; 321). Teresa’s words and the frequency of her missives demonstrate that she depended on María’s mail for news, comfort, and encouragement. Besides, her communications were a link with her old friends in Seville. María and Teresa also exchanged packages. On one occasion, María sent Teresa an agnudei (a figure of a lamb bearing a cross, a symbol of Jesus), brinquinillos (a kind of sweet), balsam, potatoes, oranges, courbaril resin (used to made medicinal tea), and various confections (26 January 1577, Letters 1, 2–11; 484–488). The following month, Teresa wrote, “These nuns are amazed at what you sent me. The food arrived ready to eat, and all the rest was beautiful, especially the reliquaries” (28 February 1577, Letters 1, 4; 511). Yet, in spite of the great love they had for each other, tension between them is sometimes evident. María must have written to Teresa soon after receiving her first letter, because by 2 July 1576, Teresa had already received a missive from Seville. Apparently, María had done something to anger Teresa and then apologized. Teresa wrote back, “I assure you that I feel the same loneliness for you that you feel for me. [Your letter] brought me so much joy that I was deeply touched. And your requests for pardon have pleased me. On the condition that you love me as much as I love you, I pardon you for what you have done or will do” (2 July 1576, Letters 1, 1; 291). Teresa was sensitive about being ignored and often complained to Gracián about his inattention, especially as she grew older.13 In this same letter, she complains of María’s indifference. She evidently felt that María had snubbed her and scolded her about it: “My only complaint now is about how little you wanted to be with me […] It was only that the Lord, who willed that I have so many trials in Seville, ordained that I be deprived of your company” (2 July 1576, Letters 1, 1; 291). She blames María for her coldness 13 See Mujica, Lettered Woman, 115.

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at a time when she, Teresa, was undergoing attacks by both the Carmelite authorities and the Inquisition. And believe me, I love you much; and since I see in you this same affection, the rest is a trifle to which you should pay no attention. But while I was down there, since I underwent the trials along with your aloofness—while I treated you like a cherished daughter—it was a great suffering not to find in you the same simplicity and love. (2 July 1576, Letters 1, 1; 291)

Although Teresa dismisses the incident as a “trial ordained by the Lord” and a “trifle,” insisting that “you are not at fault,” she is clearly resentful of María’s treatment of her. The relationship between Teresa and María closely resembles that of a mother and her adult daughter. At times, anger flares up when one party finds the other insensitive toward her needs. There may also have been something of a rivalry or a degree of class tension between the women. Although Teresa seems to be joking good-naturedly when she calls María a letrera in one letter (28 March 1578, Letters 2, 4; 46), she sometimes seems hypercritical and niggling.14 In one letter, she complains about María’s handwriting: “Whenever you try to improve your handwriting, it gets worse” (2 July 1576, Letters 1, 2; 292). In another, she backhandedly denigrates her use of Latin, commenting that her letters to Mariano were very good, “if it were not for that Latin. God deliver all my daughters from presuming to be Latinists” (19 November 1576, Letters 1, 2; 404). Teresa certainly appreciated María’s fine education, but was she a little jealous? At least her irritation never lasted long. A week after she had accused María of being “aloof,” she was joking about the profusion of their letters. She had written María so often in such a short time, she says, that she had to laugh about it: “You cannot say that I do not write you often!” (11 July 1576, Letters 1, 1; 296). María apparently wrote back to Teresa complaining of poor health, perhaps even using it as a means of explaining her bad conduct or eliciting pity. On 11 July 1576, Teresa wrote to her, “I was distressed about your illness, and for you to undergo a purge at this time doesn’t seem good to me. Keep me informed about your health” (11 July 1576, Letters 1, 2; 296). Both of them were apparently too upset about developments within the order to dwell on trivialities for long. 14 “como no soy tan letrera como ella.” Kavanaugh translates, “since I don’t have your erudition,” which lacks the bite of the original (Letters 2, 46).

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The problems with the calced Carmelites had intensified since Teresa left Seville. The “friars of the cloth,” as she called those who followed the mitigated rule, had begun a war of calumny against Gracián, María, and the other reformers. In her letter of 7 September 1576, she commiserates with María, who had undoubtedly written to her about incidents of harassment and the conduct of Tostado and his efforts to suppress the discalced foundations. Teresa speaks to María frankly about the danger he represents: “I don’t believe there is the slightest exaggeration in accusing him of hostility toward the discalced friars and me, for he gave clear signs of this” (7 September 1576, Letters 1, 2; 313). Tostado and the behavior of the calced were a constant topic of Teresa’s correspondence with María, until Philip II issued the brief of erection of discalced and calced into separate provinces, in 1581. (From this point on, “discalced” is written with a capital “D.”) While she was coping with constant threats from Tostado and his allies, María also had to attend to the everyday business of running a convent, and novices were a constant concern. María routinely wrote to Teresa for guidance about accepting new women into the community. In the letter of 7 September 1576, Teresa comments on a number of candidates, mentioning their dowries, health, and suitability for discalced life. She advises against accepting one candidate because the girl has an unsightly scar. She praises her own niece, Teresita, who is a postulant in San José de Ávila, for her “perfection” and “inclination to assume the lowest offices” (Letters 1, 5; 314). Money is another frequent theme in her letters to María. Although Teresa had originally decided to accept applicants regardless of their ability to pay, fear of penury caused her to change her mind: “It would be a difficult thing to accept someone now who has nothing for a dowry” (7 September 1576, Letters 1, 8; 315). As the daughter of a businessman, Teresa was much shrewder than María about finance.15 In fact, she sometimes accused María of carelessness with money. Teresa’s brother Lorenzo had lent money for the Seville foundation, and Teresa pestered María repeatedly about paying him back. “Let’s try to repay quickly the money advanced by my brother,” she writes (2 July 1576, Letters 1, 2). Teresa also worried about the taxes due on the building, suggesting to María that she take two candidates, even though they were three years younger than the established entry age of seventeen, because their dowries would cover the tax bill (18 June 1576, Letters 1, 3; 291). She laments that one postulant died before taking the veil, causing the convent to lose her dowry, and comments that another will bring 400 ducats in addition to 15 See Mujica, Lettered Woman, 122.

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her trousseau (9 September 1576, Letters 1, 4; 322). However, a hefty dowry is not enough to make up for an unattractive scar, in Teresa’s mind: “If whatever the facial mark they say she has is unsightly, she should not be accepted. I was attracted by the dowry money that, it is said, will be given as soon as we want it […]” (9 September 1576, Letters 1, 6; 323). However, in the end, she opted not to take her. Although we cannot know how María responded to Teresa’s constant badgering about money, we can surmise that for both women, concern for the pecuniary aspects of convent administration were paramount.16

The Garciálvarez Conflict from María’s Perspective Toward the end of 1578, a conflict erupted involving a nun, Beatriz de la Madre de Dios (Chaves), and a lay sister, Margarita de la Concepción, two emotionally unstable women who experienced false ecstasies and visions.17 The convent confessor Garciálvarez subjected Beatriz and Margarita to long daily confessions and encouraged excessive penitential practices that led to spurious spiritual experiences. María believed that he was abusing his authority, and, in an effort to take control of the situation, she demanded that Beatriz and Margarita provide her with a written statement about their visions. From María’s perspective, Garciálvarez was a troublemaker who “was upsetting everything and bringing the house down around my ears” (Recreation, 153). However, when she moved to dismiss him, Teresa refused to support her. Perhaps Teresa thought that María was exaggerating the importance of the situation or that, in view of the other threats facing the discalced community—John of the Cross had been imprisoned by the calced Carmelites and Sega was trying to suppress the order—it was best not to make an issue of it. Although we only have Teresa’s side of the epistolary exchange, Ramillete offers considerable insight into María’s view of the tumultuous events of 1578 to 1582. When María wrote Ramillete nearly two decades after the incident, she was clearly still incensed. Her comments provide clues to what she may have written to Teresa at the time the events occurred. María makes it clear in Ramillete that in spite of being a pobre mujer, she was not afraid to take on the prelate. “Le comencé a ir a la mano” (“I started to go hand to hand with him”), she writes (Escritos, 299). Her use 16 For a fuller discussion of this topic, see Mujica, Lettered Woman, 122. 17 See Teresa de Ávila, Foundations, Ch. 26.

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of the graphic term ir a la mano, denoting hand-to-hand combat, suggests that María felt as though she were actually engaged in a fistfight. There can be no doubt about her disdain for her adversary, whom she describes as “ignorant, confused, uneducated and inexperienced” (Escritos, 299). It is possible that her aristocratic education and air of superiority—she repeatedly refers to Garciálvarez as “ignorant”—exacerbated the conflict. She launches a series of harsh complaints against Garciálvarez, accusing him of appealing to all the letrados of Seville to stack the cards against her. María complains that the situation got so bad that she couldn’t even find a confessor. To make matters worse, “I was an outsider and he was from Seville,” she explains (Escritos, 300). Although this remark might seem outlandish, we must remember that in early modern Spain, regional identity and loyalty were intense. María’s foreignness and Castilian upbringing may well have been another cause for acrimony. In her efforts to dismiss Garciálvarez, María had the support of Fray Pedro Fernández, the Dominican visitator, and Fray Nicolás de Jesús María (Doria), Teresa’s business manager. As Teresa had given prioresses the authority to appoint and remove confessors, María surely believed she was acting lawfully. However, the Provincial, Diego de Cárdenas, a calced Carmelite, overrode Fernández and Doria. He gave Garciálvarez a patent to confess nuns and “to do and undo as he pleased,” writes María, “and he wasn’t lazy about it, because he confessed them whenever and however he wanted to, pushing me aside” (Escritos, 300–301). Beatriz and Margarita displayed many of the classic signs of melancholia—sadness, moodiness, obsessiveness—but, as Alison Weber points out, in addition to being an illness, melancholia can act as a stimulus for disobedience (“Monjas,” 44). Penitence that exceeded the limits imposed by the prioress could be unhealthy for both the individual and the community. In defying their prioress, the two women were violating the Constitutions. Nevertheless, Garciálvarez continued to encourage his protégées. He and his two favorites, whom María describes as a “lay sister and a simpleton,” wound up accusing María, Teresa, and Gracián to the Inquisition (Escritos, 301). As the Seville Inquisition was considered among the harshest in Spain, such an accusation could have dire consequences. María insists that at first, she was unaware that the two troublemakers were plotting against her, for they were extraordinarily “sneaky and crafty in their schemes” (Escritos, 301). In her account of events, María does not mention Teresa’s lack of encouragement, but rather depicts the Foundress as an ally. By the time she wrote Ramillete, María had just been through another long and stressful battle, described in the following chapters. She was anxious to rally the support of her sister Carmelites and establish herself

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as Teresa’s friend and protégée in the minds of new nuns who might not know the history of the order. She describes Teresa as almost clairvoyant in her ability to understand the situation in the Seville convent. María says she informed Teresa by letter “about the concerns that cleric caused me […]” and that “[Teresa] wrote to me that someone in the house was also giving her cause to worry” (Escritos, 301). Unfortunately, this letter from Teresa has been lost, but, by 1577, she undoubtedly understood the threat to the Seville Carmel posed by Garciálvarez. Then under house arrest in Toledo, she had seen firsthand what wrathful priests were capable of. María saw Teresa’s comment as proof of the “prophetic spirit” the Lord had given her (Escritos, 301). Without even being present, Teresa had a clear notion of the maneuvering going on behind her and María’s backs. She wrote to María: “Don’t be foolish, my daughter. You should know that so-and-so18 is stirring things up,” naming her by her name, and ordering me to not show displeasure but, on the contrary, to indulge her. This is surely because she was the first in the house to take the habit 19 and displayed more self-abasement than all the rest, and so was highly esteemed and favored by me and by all. And when our Mother ordered me to, I honestly doubled my efforts to display even more solicitude than ever. (Escritos, 301)

María undoubtedly quotes this now-lost letter from Teresa to demonstrate the astuteness and kindness of the Foundress. Teresa knew that Beatriz had been abused as a child and wrote about the case in Fundaciones. She clearly felt compassion for her, and, even after Beatriz had denounced María, Teresa argued that the unstable woman should be treated compassionately. However, Teresa may have had another motive for urging María to indulge Beatriz, who enjoyed certain prestige in the convent. She probably wanted to avoid clashes, hoping that, by depriving Beatriz of reasons to complain and making her beholden to María, she could promote an environment of tranquility at San José. Teresa was surely aware of the volatility of the situation. María writes that she saw a letter from Teresa to Gracián warning that a great storm of suffering was coming: “And just as the Egyptians persecuted the children of Israel, so we too would be persecuted” (Escritos, 302). Describing the 18 Teresa is referring to Beatriz de la Madre de Dios. 19 Beatriz de la Madre de Dios (Chaves) took the habit in 1576, the first in the convent to do so.

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state of affairs in Peregración de Anastasio, Gracián calls Garciálvarez a “melancholic cleric” who accused all the Seville nuns to the Inquisition “as if they were heretics” (244). Gracián says this caused him great suffering, but, when he sought consolation from Teresa, she just laughed, telling him that suffering for Christ was good for them.20 María alleges that Garciálvarez tortured the nuns with daylong confessions, but, even though she knew he was up to no good, she could never have imagined such evil, for they had never seen a confessor like him, one who controlled them with threats and excommunications. According to María, Garciálvarez coerced the nuns into disparaging her to the Provincial, Diego de Cárdenas. Finally, the Nuncio Sega placed the discalced nuns and friars under the jurisdiction of the calced. Cárdenas relieved her of her duties as prioress and had her confined to her cell, depriving her of voz y lugar, voice and vote.21 She was now forbidden to participate in convent activities, policy discussions, and votes. According to María, Cárdenas and Beatriz de la Madre de Dios conspired to spread calumnies and feed negative stories to the Inquisition. María paints an image of a man so frenzied that he was almost out of control. When a doctor ordered her to eat meat because she was ill, he accused her of gluttony and self-indulgence. At one point, he slapped her. He preached against the nuns and excommunicated them to destroy the house and confiscate their property. Worst of all, he slandered Gracián, whom María describes as a “holy man” (Escritos, 306–307). María writes that the calced accused her, Teresa, and Gracián, “with the most abominable and filthy words that you can imagine, such that the ears of chaste and decent people should not hear, nor will I dirty my quill by writing them” (Escritos, 303). She had, in fact, already clarified the case in Recreations: This [intervention by the Inquisition] resulted in my office being taken away and in the accumulation of lies that they themselves had invented about Father Gracián and the rest of the discalced nuns, and especially our holy Mother, in a suit these fathers had brought against her with the most abominable and filthy words that can be imagined. Of the best of them, all that can be said is that they are unmentionable. But so that you can see the devil’s malice, I will mention one or two. They said: They had to put that old woman [Teresa] into the hands of white men and black 20 See also Relación 37, BMC, II, 66. 21 Pérez García gives 15 April 1578 as the date María was relieved of her duties (362). Simeón de la Sagrada Familia says it happened at the end of the year.

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men so that she could have her fill of wickedness; and she would carry women from place to place, under pretense of founding convents so that they would be just as wicked. (155)

The detractors of the reform “spread salacious rumors […], alleging that Gracián kissed and embraced the nuns and danced naked before them, that he spent the night in the convent, and that he was involved in illicit relationships with María and Teresa” (Weber, “Introduction,” Recreations, 4). Cárdenas further accused María of “agitating the people and complaining about him, knowing that I couldn’t do those things even if I had wanted to, because he had me so guarded that I couldn’t speak or deal with anyone, not even with my sisters” (Escritos, 305). As for the accusation that Teresa trafficked in women, she herself replied in a letter, “Since they’re going to lie, they might as well tell such whoppers that no one will believe them and just laugh” (Escritos, 303).22 Through all her tribulations, María looked to God to give her strength, but, at that moment, the devil seemed to have free reign. The coup de grâce was to make “aquella hermana” (that sister) prioress. Beatriz de la Madre de Dios replaced María as head of the convent toward the end of 1578, although, because of her unbalanced mental state, she held the position little more than a year. Under the influence of Cárdenas, she abused the nuns horribly. Teresa knew that Beatriz was largely responsible for the appalling treatment that María received at the hands of Cárdenas and referred to her as la negra vicaria (the evil vicaress). Yet, Teresa was gentle with Beatriz after her priorship was over. In a letter to the Seville nuns written in 1580, Teresa simply asks that Beatriz and Margarita “no longer speak of the things of the past except to our Lord, or with their confessor. If they were deceived in some way, giving out information without that simplicity and charity we are obliged to by God, they should make every effort to return to speaking clearly and truthfully” (13 January 1580, Letters 2, 4; 265). Thus, while recognizing their appalling behavior, rather than demanding punishment, Teresa asks only that they refrain from defaming anyone in the future. In the midst of this mayhem, the calced hierarchy tried to dispose of María as they had Teresa—by sending her back to Castile. “[B]ut,” writes María, “God and our friends prevented it” (Escritos, 303). As in her later descriptions of her troubles in Lisbon (Chapters 3–5), María portrays herself as the innocent victim of malevolent forces, but stresses that she did have allies among the city’s elite. She was an obedient daughter, respectful of 22 Carta 172, BMC, 63.

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Cárdenas despite his mistreatment, she explains. When she was interrogated about her removal from office, “I responded that he was our prelate, that we received no offense from him, and that we discalced nuns did not consider losing an office a misfortune, but rather, a benefit” (Escritos, 304). María’s words are artfully ambiguous. The implication is that because Cárdenas had rightful authority over the nuns, they could not consider anything he did as an offense. However, her supporters clearly considered his behavior egregious. Furthermore—and this is María’s most biting insinuation—because discalced Carmelite nuns are detached from worldly concerns, nothing Cárdenas did really mattered. On the contrary, his nastiness was a blessing because, as she explains earlier in Ramillete, the nuns considered suffering at the hands of enemies as a way of identifying with Christ. Chroniclers of the order have largely failed to capture the intensity of María’s indignation. According to María, her champions were not content with her noble response, but “went through the streets defaming him [Cárdenas], calling him dissolute and itemizing his defects. If he went someplace on business, they asked him why he persecuted and tortured the women who had come to found a convent, and why he’d handed over the convent to a novice [Beatriz], and they were right, because she hadn’t professed long before” (Escritos, 304). María insists that her sole purpose in mentioning this ugliness is to highlight the resoluteness of the nuns: “I’m only telling about this so you can see the misery he inflicted on the poor nuns […] who displayed such faith and fortitude that none of them weakened” (Escritos, 304). However, she may also be trying to show that she had strong support among certain enlightened members of society who recognized her virtue and the wickedness of her adversary. By January 1579, the situation was dire. At last, Teresa intervened. Not only had Cárdenas made Beatriz prioress of the Seville Carmel, but, supported by Garciálvarez, he also brought suit against Gracián, relieving him of all his leadership responsibilities, ordering him to the discalced friary in Alcalá de Henares, and forbidding him to write letters, except to his parents (Lettered Woman, 97–100). On 31 January 1579, Teresa wrote to her old friend Hernando de Pantoja, prior of the Carthusian monastery of Las Cuevas in Seville. It is clear from her introduction that Pantoja is well informed about the situation. She is not so worried about the nuns who first went to Seville, she explains, as they are used to waging war with the devil and will gain from this turmoil. She fears, however, that the younger ones, who are just learning about the order, will be distracted and confused. She laments that “the devil is trying to disturb them” and mentions that she has urged “the previous prioress”

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(María), to keep him informed. Teresa’s repeated use of euphemisms to refer to María suggests she may be afraid that her letters will be intercepted by the calced.23 She blames the inquisitors for the nuns’ negative testimony in which she, Gracián, and Teresa are accused of sexual misconduct, for she believes the interrogations have been so brutal and unrelenting that “they have completely confused the nuns” (31 January 1579, Letters 2, 5; 155). However, she tempers her claim, undoubtedly to avoid aggravating the situation: “This must have happened without it being realized” (31 January 1579, Letters 2, 5; 155). Deliberate or not, the nuns’ statements have caused problems: “Things were deduced from the nuns’ remarks that are totally false […] But I am not surprised that they managed to confuse the nuns, for in one case the interrogation lasted six hours, and someone of little intelligence may have signed everything they asked her to sign” (31 January 1579, Letters 2, 5; 155). She ends by begging Pantoja for his support, for the nuns “have no one on earth to console them” (31 January 1579, Letters 2, 7; 155). She gives him permission to have someone read the letter to them, for “it might afford them some relief to see my handwriting” (31 January 1579, Letters 2, 8; 156). Teresa knew that in her absence, a letter from her—or even, just her handwriting—had tremendous power to console. In the end, the Inquisition dismissed the charges against Teresa and her collaborators, and her accusers recanted. That same day, 31 January 1579, she wrote to the discalced nuns in Seville. She has been informed of everything, she tells them: “Everything was carefully communicated to me” (1 January 1579, Letters 2, 1; 158). The objective of the letter is not to reprimand the nuns, but to comfort them. She assures them that, “I have never loved you as I do now” (1 January 1579, Letters 2, 1; 157). She depicts them as victims of some misguided instigators and compulsive inquisitors. As usual, she urges them to see their suffering as a blessing that brings them closer to Christ: “He has given you the great favor of being able to taste something of his cross and share in the terrible abandonment that he endured on it” (31 January 1579, Letters 2, 1; 158). She attempts to lift their spirits—“Courage, courage, my daughters”—and urges them to show compassion rather than vengeance toward the malefactors. Yet, this is a cautious letter, filled with allusions to tensions and conflicts. She notes that she will not write to Garciálvarez, since “I would much rather speak [to him] than write. Since in a letter I cannot say what I would like to say, I am not writing to him” (1 January 1578, Letters 2, 8; 160). She also mentions that the sisters have burned a letter 23 See Lettered Woman.

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they had written to her and handed over to the Provincial all the letters she had written to them. The measures she takes to make certain no correspondence falls into the wrong hands show just how dangerous she deemed the situation to be. From Ávila, Teresa appealed to the Archbishop of Seville, Cristóbal Rojas Sandoval, and to Father Nicolás de Jesús María Doria. The latter was at court with the Nuncio’s permission, and he proved to be an able negotiator and scout who could negotiate without awakening the suspicions of the calced. According to María, Teresa worked behind the scenes to involve the King and finally rectify the situation. María explains that, finally, the Vicar General, Fray Ángel de Salazar, “restored me to my office with great honor” (Recreations, 159). (In fact, Isabel de San Jerónimo occupied the position of prioress until María was reelected.) Salazar’s communication of 9 January 1580 reads as follows: Having seen, by authority of the highly illustrious Nuncio, the trial proceedings brought by the very Reverend Father Diego de Cárdenas, Provincial of the Province of Andalusia and Kingdom of Granada, when he was visiting the aforementioned monastery of ours, San José de Sevilla, as an apostolic visitator, which he was at the time, and having been apprised of the causes therein, which could have come to bear in the said proceedings involving the highly illustrious Nuncio and some of the other consultants with whom his Holiness deals and with whom he consults about matters concerning the orders, and considering the issues that at the time led to the suspension of the reverend Mother María de San José, in close consultation and in agreement with His Holiness, by the present document, by the authority of my office and the information concerning this case that has been made known to me, I restore and restitute the forenamed Mother María de San José to her office as prioress. (P. Ángel de Salazar a las monjas de Sevilla [Father Ángel de Salazar to the Nuns of Seville]) (MHCT 2, doc. 186, 201)

María goes on to clarify: “Father Gracián was reinstated by the Nuncio himself, and the Vicar General sent him as his representative to the entire province of Andalusia, where he stayed until the papal brief arrived, at the beginning of 1581. With this, once the division and separation from the Mitigated Rule had been established, it pleased God that things should begin to improve” (Escritos, 159). Little did María know, when she wrote these words, that her trials were just beginning. Teresa died in 1582. Some of her collaborators who had held

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their ambitions in check until then, now saw themselves free of constraints and attempted to assert their authority over María de San José. In Ramillete, María paints a vivid picture of herself as champion of the order, with an army of supporters rallying around her, the heroine, in a colossal battle between good and evil. Naturally, other perspectives are possible. The calced Carmelite Joachim Smet, one of the most highly respected chroniclers of the order, not only omits María entirely from his version of events, but dismisses the discalced—both men and women—as somewhat crazed, alleging that they “hysterically claimed” that Sega was trying to halt the reform, when all he wanted to do was to put a stop to “the noise of the friars” (Mirror, 109). It is a commonplace that autobiographical writing is a form of selffashioning, a carefully constructed account of a subject’s own life. Writers of autobiography portray themselves as they wish to be seen, picking and choosing which events to include or omit. Shari Benstock puts it this way: “[W]hat begins on the presumption of self-knowledge ends in the creation of a fiction that covers over the premises of its construction” (1139). Taking as her point of departure Georges Gusdorf’s theory of autobiography, Benstock notes that men’s self-portrayal is a “re-erecting” of psychic walls; it consists of the “building of a psychic fortress between the biographical subject and his interested readers” (1142). Such autobiographic writing focuses on the public self—the subject’s career or devotion to a political cause. Male autobiography often emphasizes heroic feats, portraying the subject as a kind of ideal or role model. It seeks to create a coherent image of the subject designed to confirm his position as a man among men. In contrast, autobiographical writing by marginal groups such as women, homosexuals, or religious and ethnic minorities—the proverbial Other—more often focuses on subjective impressions, for example, what it feels like to be misunderstood or excluded (Benstock, 1143). Its focal point is typically feelings or emotions. Women’s autobiographical writing sometimes seems disorganized or incoherent because women “write their minds,” that is, record their thoughts as they occur, which creates the impression of disjointedness (Benstock, 1140). Although María depicts herself as warrior and heroine, raw emotionalism regularly intrudes on her narrative. Although she is capable of constructing coherent, legalistic arguments, she also frequently betrays the kind of unbridled rage that Jane Tompkins examines in her own autobiographical writing—a rage born of the sense that women are unheard and, therefore, in the male consciousness, insignificant or even invisible.24 Cárdenas’ move 24 “Me and my Shadow.”

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to deprive María of voz y lugar was an attempt to silence her and thereby render her invisible. However, María fought back, and, as we shall see in the following chapters, the combative skills she mastered in Seville would serve her the rest of her life.

Works Cited Primary Sources María de San José (Salazar). Escritos Espirituales. Ed. Simeón de la Sagrada Familia, O.C.D. Rome: Postulación General O.C.D., 1979. Teresa de Jesús (de Ávila). Epistolario. Ed. Luis Martínez Rodríguez and Teófanes Egido. Madrid: Espiritualidad, 1984. Escritos de Santa Teresa 1-2. P. Rivadeneyra. Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Españoles, 1862. ——. Obras completas. 10th ed. Ed. Tomás Álvarez. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 1998. Monumenta Historica Carmeli Teresiani. Roma: IHT, 1973–.

Translations María de San José (Salazar). Book of the Hour of Recreation. Intro. Alison Weber. Trans. Amanda Powell. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2002. Teresa de Ávila. The Collected Letters of St. Teresa of Ávila. 2 vols. Trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. Washington, D.C: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 2001, 2007. ——. The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Ávila. Trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. and Otilio Rodríguez, O.C.D. 3 vols. Washington, D.C. Institute of Carmelite Studies. 1980–1987.

Secondary Sources Benstock, Shari. “Authorizing the Autobiographical.” Feminisms: An Anthology of Literary Theory and Criticism. Ed. Robyn Warahol and Diane Price Herndl. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1997. 1138–1154. Hurtado, Publio. Supersticiones extremeñas. Revista Extremadura II–IV, 1901–1902. Menéndez y Pelayo, Marcelino. Historia de los heterodoxos españoles, Libro V. http://www.cervantesvirtual.com/obra/historia-de-los-heterodoxos-espanoles/. (Accessed 4 January 2019). Internet resource.

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Mujica, Barbara. “Paul the Enchanter: Saint Teresa’s Vow of Obedience to Gracián.” The Heirs of Saint Teresa. Ed. Christopher Wilson. Washington, D.C.: Institute for Carmelite Studies, 2006. 21–44. ——. Teresa de Ávila, Lettered Woman. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009. Smet, Joachim. The Mirror of Carmel: A Brief History of the Carmelite Order. Darien, IL: Carmelite Media, 2011. Tompkins, Jane. “Me and my Shadow.” Feminisms: An Anthology of Literary Theory and Criticism. Ed. Robyn Warahol and Diane Price Herndl. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1997. 1103–1116. Weber, Alison. “Introduction.” In María de San José (Salazar), Book of the Hour of Recreation. Trans. Amanda Powell. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2002. 1–32. ——. “Monjas melancólicas y confesores melancólicos en la vida y obras de María de San José Salazar.” Mujeres ente el claustro y el silgo: Autoridad y poder en el mundo religioso femenino, siglos xvi-xviii. Ed. Ángela Atienza López. Logroño, La Rioja, Spain: University of La Rioja, 2018. 37–51.

3.

On to Portugal: The Lisbon Carmel, 1584–1603 Abstract In December 1584, María de San José arrived in Lisbon, where she founded São Alberto, the first female Discalced Carmelite convent in Portugal. Soon afterward, São Alberto housed a group of Clarissas [Poor Clares], who had escaped the Low Countries. Brétigny was anxious to found a Discalced convent in Paris, with María as its prioress, but the moment was not propitious. María was a gentle and efficient prioress, yet she was a strict disciplinarian, and nuns were often whipped as a form of mortification. Throughout Europe and the Spanish colonies, self-mortif ication was common, as it was considered a means of helping individuals share Christ’s suffering and thereby bringing them closer to God. Keywords: María de San José (Salazar), Jerónimo Gracián [Jerome Gratian], Discalced Carmelites in Portugal, Jean de Quintanadueñas de Brétigny, mortification in early modern convents, early modern women’s letter-writing

In spite of challenges to the Teresian reform, interest in the movement was growing, not only in Spain, but also abroad. As the personal confidante of the Foundress, María was viewed as a key figure in the expansion. One of the most enthusiastic foreign admirers of Discalced Carmelite spirituality was the French aristocrat Jean de Quintanadueñas, Lord of Brétigny (1556–1634), who became instrumental in the Portuguese foundation. Born in Rouen, Brétigny was the grandchild and eldest son of successful Spanish merchants whose business consisted of importing raw wool from Spain and exporting manufactured woolen goods from France. Although his mother was French and he was raised in a highly Gallicized family, Jean maintained his Spanish last name rather than adopting the French Quintanadoine or Quintanadoyne, as some of his relatives did (Serouet, vi).

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch03

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In order to protect him from the religious wars raging in France, his parents sent him to an uncle’s house in Seville, where he lived for eight years, until he was fourteen. A deeply spiritual young man, Brétigny was drawn to the Franciscans, but as the oldest of nine children, he was destined to marry and continue the family line. Philibert Compagnot describes the young Jean as “always humble, sweet, unassuming, candid, and modestly serious” (39). He was also pious and orderly, although his temper could be explosive. His poor memory made him ill-equipped for study. Pierre Serouet notes that, even though it was the style to stuff correspondence with allusions to ancient and modern writers, the letters of Brétigny lack such references, probably because Jean simply had not read widely. When he was about 25, his parents began to search for a suitable marriage partner for him, considering him too uneducated to be a priest and too frail for a monastery. However, Jean fell ill, forcing the family to put their marriage plans on hold. When the young man recovered, his father sent him to Portugal, then part of Spain, on a business matter.1 En route, he met a group of Flemish Clarissas, or Poor Clares (an order of contemplative Franciscan nuns), fleeing from the “evil heretics Luther and Calvin” (Belchior vol. 2, 232). The women had first fled to Antwerp, where they remained until 3 July 1581. However, a new Protestant invasion caused them to flee once again, dispersing to different Catholic towns. Nine of them went to Rouen, where they arrived on 20 July 1581, with the intention of founding a convent there, but, as they were ill received, they continued their journey. Fray Belchior notes that this contretemps was due to God’s desire to reward their patience and determination with something better, namely, a convent in Portugal (vol. 2, 232). Jean accompanied them from Le Havre to Santander, and then to Bilbao, where they spent the winter. The small group of Flemish nuns eventually landed in Lisbon, a city that was, in Fray Belchior’s words, a model of Portuguese hospitality that offered those persecuted for their faith, “a paternal heart and loving arms” (vol. 2, 232). In Lisbon, the Flemish nuns managed to rent a house, Nossa Sehnora da Glória. Brétigny stayed with them until they settled in, an act of kindness that would earn him the attention of Philip II and his nephew, the Archduke Albert of Austria, who, at the time, was Cardinal-Archbishop of Toledo and 1 Between 1580 and 1640, Portugal was part of Spain. When King Sebastião of Portugal died without an heir in the Battle of Alcácer Quibir in Morocco, Philip II of Spain inherited the Portuguese throne. In 1640, João IV led a successful uprising against Spain and became King, bringing an end to Habsburg rule in Portugal.

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viceroy of Portugal. Years later, when Albert became the husband of the Infanta Isabel Clara Eugenia and thereby Governor General of the Hapsburg Netherlands, he would provide invaluable service to Brétigny in his efforts to expand the Carmelite reform north. Finally, explains Fray Belchior, the nuns of the Madre de Deos Convent, which was of their order, received them, and the Flemish nuns adjusted nicely (Belchior vol. 2, 232). However, the convent’s location was unhealthy, and the Flemish nuns were so weak from their travels that they were unable to perform all the rites of their observance. Concerned for their plight, Cardinal Albert implored Gracián, then Provincial Vicar of the Kingdom (ecclesiastical administrative area) to help them find a house of their own. At first, Gracián was cautious, as he feared infringing on the rights of the Franciscan friars, who had authority over the nuns. However, the Flemish sisters “carried on desperately, saying that we had all abandoned them” (MHCT 21, doc. 56, 345). Finally, Gracián not only complied, but even offered a third of the money he had raised for the friary of São Felipe for the eventual construction of part of the Convent of Nossa Senhora da Quietação (Pérez García, 166). In the meantime, Brétigny went on to Seville, where he had family. After attending to his father’s business and fending off his relatives’ efforts to find him a wife, he became involved with spiritual communities in the city and discovered the Teresian way of praying. Two of Teresa’s friends, Don Pedro Cerezo Pardo and Don Pedro de Tolosa, introduced him to María de San José, awakening in him unbound enthusiasm for the Discalced Carmelite charism, which impelled him to devote the rest of his life to spreading Teresian spirituality. While in Seville, Jean became interested in saving souls in the Congo, where the Carmelites were considering founding a convent, and—to the horror of his aunt, María Ortiz—to the rehabilitation of prostitutes. However, his most ambitious project—the one that would obsess him for years to come—was to bring the reform to France, with María de San José as prioress of the first French foundation.2 At the time, efforts to expand the reform beyond Spain had already begun. Teutónio de Bragança, son of the Duke of Bragança, a powerful Portuguese nobleman, had met Teresa in Salamanca in 1574 and they became fast friends. When, in 1578, Bragança became Archbishop of Évora, then the second most important city in Portugal, he requested that Teresa found a Discalced Carmelite convent there. However, Teresa was too entangled 2 Biographical information is from Pierre Serouet, “Quintanadueñas, Jean de, Sieur de Brétigny,” accessed 23 July 2014, http://beauchesne.immanens.com/appli/article.php?id=8497 and “Introduction,” Quintanadueñas. Lettres de Jean de Brétigny (1556-1634).

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in the controversies with the Calced Carmelites to be able to direct her attention to Portugal. By 1580, the situation had changed. The papal brief of Gregory XIII, Pia consideratione, established the Discalced Carmelites as a province separate from the Calced, and Teresa was beginning to see a possibility of making a foundation in Évora. Although she died in 1582, before realizing her goal, her followers carried the reform west. In 1581, Fray Ambrosio Mariano founded São Felipe, a Discalced Carmelite friary, in Lisbon. In 1584, Gracián and Fray Ambrosio, now prior of São Felipe, took up the project to found a female monastery in Portugal, but in the capital, not Évora. To achieve their goal, they counted on the support of Duarte de Castelbranco, Count of Sabugal, whose wife’s confessor was Mariano, and Cardinal Albert of Austria. María’s little band of reformers, which included Mariano, Fray Antonio de Jesús, and Fray Francisco Romero, left Seville on 10 December 1584 and arrived in Lisbon on 24 December 1584. The convent was not yet ready to move into, so the nuns heard mass at the Convent of São Felipe. After a heated dispute between Mariano and Gracián about whether it was seemly for the women to stay there, it was decided that they would go for the time being to the Dominican convent of the Anunciada, famous as the domicile of María de la Visitación, the “prioress of the wounds.” María showed little sympathy for this popular holy woman, who claimed to be a stigmatic and went around with bloody bandages on her limbs.3 In fact, María de la Visitación turned out to be a fraud. At last the Carmelites’ own building was deemed safe, and the nuns were able to move in. The Convent of São Alberto was founded on 19 January 1585, financed in part by Brétigny, who, later in 1585, would accompany an additional group of Spanish nuns from Seville to Lisbon to join São Alberto. Even before the off icial inauguration of the Discalced Carmelite monastery in Lisbon, the Cardinal ordered Gracián to accept the Flemish Clarissas, who were still looking for a temporary home, into the Convent of São Alberto. María de San José was delighted to comply, and when the nuns arrived, according to Fray Belchior, they were greeted with “cries of joy”. Belchior goes on to say that the Poor Clares combined modesty and humility, and they easily formed a “perfect friendship” with the “angels” of São Alberto (Belchior vol. 2, 233). However, the Flemish nuns were anxious to move to their own home. So that they could live with “proper decency and enclosure,” the Cardinal secured some houses for them in Alcántara, 3 On the attraction of this nun for several Carmelite friars and the refusal of John of the Cross to go to see her, see Rodríguez, 518–521.

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and, because María was so competent, he entrusted the task of getting them ready to her (Belchior vol. 2, 234). In October 1586, the Flemish nuns took leave of their Carmelite sisters “with hugs and expressions of affection” (Belchior vol. 2, 234). During their stay with the Discalced Carmelite sisters, the Clarissas became acquainted with their hosts’ Constitutions, which they adopted for themselves. Later in October, the abbess, Clara dos Anjos (Clare of the Angels) wrote to María: Dearest Mother, I was so sorry to hear about your illness. May Our Lord give you perfect health, and to all of us, as we need it. My dearest mother, to give you pleasure I bring you this piece of news: that they just delivered the Constitutions to me, reviewed, approved, and confirmed by Apostolic authority. With the diligence with which you proceeded to procure this good for us with his Highness, you have done us a great mercy and act of charity, since without you it would have been impossible for us to do anything, and so you should regard your efforts as well employed in view of the fact that the laws [Constitutions] were well received by all of these Sisters, without any opposition at all, and so there’s no deficiency in our observance of them, which for me is no small thing. All this I attribute to you and to our Father Gracián. God knows, by dearest Mother, that one of the main things that I desire in this life is to receive you in this house for a few days. I have so much to tell you and I would also like to show you the conformity [with the rule] with which we live here. (Belchior vol. 2, 235–236)

This letter, which Fray Belchior reproduces in its entirety, reveals not only María’s tenderness and charity toward her Franciscan sisters and their affection for her, but also her efforts to promote Teresa’s rule. The Poor Clares were anxious to follow the Carmelite model and welcomed the guidance offered by the Constitutions. The letter also reveals María’s influential position in Portugal, for it was through her acquaintance with the Cardinal that she was able to expedite approval of the Constitutions for the Flemish nuns. In spite of his success in Portugal, Brétigny had not lost hope of founding a Carmel in Paris, and María herself was enthusiastic about the idea. Around 1585, she wrote to him in Spanish: I am willing to go to France, and trusting in the grace of God, I fear neither the heretics’ furor, nor poverty, nor any other danger that might threaten

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me. I accept them all with a willing heart, and from now on I offer myself to Our Lord, if it is pleasing to him; I am ready to suffer anything that might happen for a project so worthy of His glory. (qtd. in Pérez García, 341)

In October 1585, the Provincial Definitor of the Discalced Carmelites gave Brétigny, “a simple layman then only thirty-one years old,” patents allowing him to found Carmels in France (Serouet, xiii) . The following year, Jean wrote to Don Pedro Cerezo Pardo expressing his resolve to move forward with the project: “I am determined to devote myself to this enterprise. I don’t know how I will manage, but my hope is in God, who will provide assistance and means. As for the rest, I’m not worried, for He will inspire me to say and do whatever is necessary” (Lettres, 25 October 1586, 2). The following month, he wrote from Angers to the Discalced Carmelite fathers in Seville exhorting them to come to France: My reverend Fathers, My knowledge of your great zeal to increase the glory of God gives me the boldness to write to you, even though I am only your insignificant and unworthy son, and so say to you in my lowly style: Eh, my Fathers, who wants to do the will of God? Who wants to honor Him? Who wants to follow Him and endure for Him? Who wants to come to France to lead an apostolic life for the glory of Jesus Christ, for the honor and exaltation of the Holy Church and to serve as an example to the faithful? Who wants to come to live and die for Jesus Christ and in Jesus Christ? Not to rest, not to achieve honor and beautiful palaces adorned with gold, with sumptuous meals, but to suffer, live in poverty and need, be persecuted, insulted, abhorred, and to work with his hands for his food? I know, my Fathers, that I’m not frightening you by saying these things. Rather, you seem all inflamed and eager to enjoy these pleasures. Anyone who loves Jesus Christ must follow Jesus Christ, walk in his footsteps and those of His Apostles. Jesus Christ will be with them and their trials will seem light. So, my Fathers, ask for mercy for this Kingdom. May He open the way and become the guide! Let Him choose you to come here to serve Him, for whomever He asks, if he truly desires it, He will give him eternal recompense and His grace, which He wants to give you in abundance. Amen. (Lettres, November 1586, 3–4)

Although the letter includes a few grammar and spelling errors that reveal Brétigny’s lack of learnedness, there can be no doubt about his commitment to the Carmelite expansion.

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Sometime in 1586, María de San José reiterated her desire to help with the project, writing to him this time in French: This sinner Marie is absolutely ready to go to France and, trusting in the grace of God, I do not fear the enemies who control the area, or poverty, or anything that might happen; I embrace these things wholeheartedly. I offer myself, if it is His pleasure to choose me for such a lofty undertaking, for I’d allow myself to be cut in pieces for Him. I write you this letter in French with the help of Mother Catherine du Saint Esprit [Catherine of the Holy Spirit], who is my teacher in this language and who is so happy that our Reverend Father has promised her that if we go to France, she will go to serve us as interpreter, for she knows French very well, also Spanish and Flemish, but the most important thing is that she loves sweet Jesus.

Brétigny wrote back expressing his joy: My reverend Mother, The Lord is beginning to realize the desire of His poor servant. I had asked that His Majesty take pleasure in being glorified, blessed, and praised by the souls of your order, in the French language, which you yourself have begun to accomplish, my reverend Mother. May He be blessed forever! You are the first fruit that I offer to His goodness, as a sacrifice. May He be pleased to give it His blessing, so that this first offering may be multiplied by millions of millions. I would like, my Mother, to be adept enough to assist in your great and generous desires for the greatest glory of God in France, in defiance of the enemies who dominate here. In spite of my insignificance, I will pray to the Lord to deign to use my blood to water this new plant, and prostrate at His feet, recognizing my little power, I beg Him to have pity on his people and to give the command that suits His purposes. My hope is in Him; as for myself, I am as if nothing. I will weep until He has pity on us. I send regards to my Mother Catherine du Saint Esprit and praise the Lord for her great willingness to come to France with you. May His Majesty allow her to achieve this goal, for which she will be crowned. Jesus Christ will recognize her as His spouse before His Father, as she has recognized it before men. (Lettres, 16 December 1586, 4–5)

However, for the moment, María de San José had other concerns. She was busy organizing the convent in Lisbon, and the demands on her time were unrelenting.

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Governing the Convent4 The Lisbon convent followed the same routine Teresa had established for all Discalced Carmelite houses. Alison Weber offers details about the nuns’ day: “The sisters normally rose at 5:00 A.M. (the day began an hour later in winter) and spent the first hour of the day in silent prayer, then recited the rosary collectively. They came together again at 8:00 for lauds, the first of four daily sessions of liturgical prayer, and then attended mass” (“Introduction,” Recreations, 12). Afterward, they went to their cells to work. At about 11:00, they gathered for the examination of conscience, “in which they confessed to their sisters infractions in their observance of the rule” (Weber, “Introduction,” Recreations, 12). Afterward, they took their midday meal. They observed vespers at 2:00 P.M., after which they returned to their cells to pray or read spiritual books of the kind Teresa recommends in her Constitutions. “Compline was said at 6:00, followed by supper […]” (Weber, “Introduction,” Recreations, 12). After another period of silent prayer, “The day ended with the recitation of Matins at 9:00 and a second examination of conscience; on specified days, they would exercise self-flagellation before retiring” (Weber, “Introduction,” Recreations, 12). Although all Discalced Carmelite convents followed this same general schedule, María governed São Alberto with her own particular style. In his Chronica, Fray Belchior reveals that, in her role as prioress, María served as spiritual director, reformer, and correspondent. She displayed exceptional management skills, leading by example. She was the first to rise in the morning and go to work in the kitchen. She herself lit the candles and took the nuns to the choir for morning prayers. She cared for the sick, washing them and disposing of their dirty garments, all with great humility. In fact, she was so self-deprecating that she often asked her sisters to point out her faults. She observed the rule of silence and permitted no communication among the sisters except what was absolutely necessary. In this way, explains Fray Belchior, she reinforced humility and encouraged her nuns to advance in this virtue. Fray Belchior gives a detailed account of the routine of these first inhabitants of the Lisbon convent in order to encourage future generations to remain as true to the unmitigated rule as those who founded it: Even though María and her followers were “fragile women,” he writes, they serve as examples of “manly” resolve to future Carmelite sisters, providing a “clear mirror” 4 Adapted from Mujica, “María de San José in Portugal: Life in the Lisbon Carmel,” Miríada Hispánica, 16, Estudios en homenaje a Alison Weber (2018): 121–134.

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from which coming generations could learn (Belchior vol. 2, 154–155). Not only were they rigorous in their penance and observance of the rule, they were experts in mental prayer, contemplation, and interiority. Fray Belchior displays considerable talent for metaphor when he describes their virtue as a fusion of aromatic herbs that continues to give off a sweet fragrance no matter how old it gets (Belchior vol. 2, 155). As Teresa had established, contacts with family and friends were strictly controlled to prevent the nuns from contaminating their spiritual practice or wasting time. When they did have visitors, they were to speak with them only of spiritual things and always with a terceira, or chaperone, present. In order to achieve the rigorous obedience essential to spiritual perfection, they cultivated poverty, sleeping on straw beds or hard planks with coarse woolen blankets, spurning fine linen and ornamentation. A simple cross and perhaps the image of a saint drawn on paper might hang on the wall of a cell, where a nun could keep two or three spiritual books and an oil lamp. No other personal belongings, no matter how insignificant, were permitted. The nuns ate frugally. They worked in their own cells, not in a common room, to avoid succumbing to the dangers of gossip. They cultivated solitude and prayer in the tiny hermitages that were a hallmark of Discalced monasteries, and the silence of the house was so great that each nun understood that she could speak only with God (Belchior vol. 2, 159). However, María recognized the need to lighten the load periodically and to satisfy the need for human contact that we all have, and so she permitted an hour of “spiritual recreation” after lunch, dinner, and in the evening. As a result of her excellent direction, the nuns treated each other with real affection and the convent flourished (Belchior vol. 2, 156–161). María followed Teresa’s guiding principle of governance: encourage nuns with suavidad, or gentleness. “The prioresses should be loved in order to be obeyed,” is such a basic Discalced principle that Teresa included it in the Constitutions (CWST 3, 330; 34). Teresa believed that a religious house ran more smoothly when nuns or friars obeyed out of love, not fear. María echoes this concept in her Avisos para el gobierno de las religiosas: “My first piece of advice to prioresses is to earn the hearts of your nuns” (37). However, it was precisely this emphasis on suavidad that Doria would later object to. Ildefonso Moriones writes that Teresa’s gentleness “was interpreted by some as laxity,” but those who governed with excessive severity “became so rigorous that they lost all sense of compassion” (El P. Doria, 92). Fray Belchior notes that María, “was extremely gentle with her subordinates. There was never a mother as kindhearted to her children as she was to her daughters, and they displayed the most tender love for her” (vol. 2,

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171).5 Following the example of Christ, she treated everyone with respect, without differentiating by rank or class. She shared people’s pain, crying with them when they suffered, caring for them when they were ill. If a nun’s parents were going through hard times or if a nun was too homesick, María consoled her. Referring back to María’s time in Seville, Belchior notes that sometimes, as in the case of Jerónima de la Madre de Dios, she had to pry a girl loose from her parents and then, in a certain sense, take their place.6 She was so sensitive that she could guess people’s yearnings without even being informed of them. She was a veritable mother to each of her nuns, governing with prudence and attention to the needs of each one (Belchior vol. 2, 171).7 In her nomination for prioress, she was praised as a good farmer who gets the best fruit from his land. The happiness of her nuns was her greatest concern, Fray Belchior wrote. She put her own well-being aside for theirs. She did her best to remove them from dangerous situations—sometimes fortuitously. Once, a sister named Mariana dos Santos [Mariana of the Saints] was not feeling well and didn’t want to go to the recreation, but María insisted that she go. Her decision was providential, as a bullet suddenly pierced the convent wall and ripped through Mariana’s cell; the nun would have been killed if she had remained there. Everyone thought María was God’s handmaiden, for she kept the nuns safe and cured the sick with her own hands (Belchior vol. 2, 171). When she had to punish, she did so judiciously, sometimes refraining from reprimanding a nun in public to spare her embarrassment. Although the nuns practiced mortification and obedience with great attention, María took care that the atmosphere in the convent should be warm, not threatening, and that spirituality, sanctity, and modesty prevailed. While with others she was gentle, with herself, she was austere and rigorous. She understood that it was up to the prioress to set the example for good behavior. Even when she was ill and in pain, she did her chores and cared for the others (Belchior vol. 2, 171). María’s own spiritual life flourished in the convent, rising upward like the “love-filled flame of a Seraphim” (Belchior vol. 2, 163). Whenever she could get away from her administrative tasks, she would retire to a small cell that functioned as 5 The printed page number is 171, but this is a printer’s error. It should be 169. Someone has handwritten the correct page number above the printed number. 6 This is the same Jerónima who caused María problems with Garciálvarez and later became prioress of the Seville Carmel. See Chapter 2. 7 As in note 6.

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a hermitage to pray, or else to the choir to kneel by the crucifix. She had mystical encounters, communicating directly with God or with choirs of angels. Sometimes, she would go into trances so deep that, if anyone came in, she would not even notice. She not only taught humility, but she herself was exceedingly humble, considering herself the lowest of the sisters and behaving more like an underling than a prelate. Most of the time, she kept silent, speaking only when it was indispensable. Poverty is the sister of humility, Fray Belchior wrote, and, in her clothing, cell, and food, María always chose the poorest. If another nun had a habit that was shabbier than hers, she exchanged hers for her sister’s. Her breviary, rosary, and disciplinas (instruments of mortif ication) were always the scruffiest of all. She was never concerned with her surroundings, as her eyes were focused on God, and He always protected her. On one occasion, a man to whom the convent owed 60,000 reis demanded them back. María begged God for help, and within the hour, a person appeared who gave her the 60,000 reis. Another time, the nuns had nothing but amaranth to eat. Unexpectedly, the extern brought in a pot of flounder, fresh, fried, and hot, which was enough for the whole community. As an act of thanks, the nuns carried the fish from the refectory to the choir, where they sang Te Deum laudamus. When she needed money to pay some workers, she prayed to Our Lady, and the money appeared miraculously. María taught her nuns doctrine, preparing them for adversity by making them tough and knowledgeable. To this end, she created a dialogue, now lost, between a Teacher and a Disciple desirous of pleasing God, through which she taught the nuns about the surest and most perfect ways to achieve their goal. In this and many other texts she composed for the education of nuns, she taught them to shun the devil by spending their time on saintly exercises and familiarizing themselves with the Articles of the Catholic Faith and God’s Commandments. She taught meditation and contemplation. Like Teresa, she may have been influenced by Ignatian methods, which stress the mental recreation of scenes in the life of Christ.8 According to Fray Belchior, although María instructed her nuns to meditate on the life and death of Christ, she advised them to refrain from allowing the imagination to dwell on the places where He suffered. Still, she did have them recreate scenes from Christ’s agony, and, in Ramillete, she stresses the value of sharing Christ’s persecution. Given the importance María placed on suavidad, her methods of teaching obedience and discipline are somewhat surprising. At times, 8 See Mujica, “Three Sisters of Carmen,” for information on María’s knowledge of Ignatian spirituality.

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she commanded nuns to perform tasks that seem blatantly unreasonable, but, according to Fray Belchior, the sisters were so dutiful that they carried them out without hesitation. Once, she put a very meticulous novice to the test by ordering her to make a habit. When the novice returned to her with a perfectly sewn garment, María ordered her to dismantle and reconstruct it, which the novice did with great joy. This demonstrated the girl’s mastery of the virtue of obedience, in Belchior’s opinion. Another time, a novice who worked in the refectory had tidied up as she was told, but the nun in charge messed everything up and then reprimanded her for the disorder. Being a beginner in virtue, the novice protested, defending herself with the truth. To teach her a lesson, María ordered her to remove her habit and refrain from talking to anyone except the cats in the courtyard, with which she was to eat on all fours. The novice did that penance for eight days, which served as mortification for her. As a result, her sisters’ love for her grew, as they saw that she had learned to obey with pleasure (Belchior vol. 2, 172).

Reliving Christ’s Passion in the Convent Every Friday and sometimes Thursdays as well, and all during Lent, and every day on other particular occasions, the nuns were whipped as a form of mortification. As Teresa had done, María staged scenes of martyrdom so that her daughters would understand the meaning of sacrifice, and what Christ had suffered for them. Although these harsh practices would seem contrary to the notion of suavidad, for Teresa and her disciples, the humanity of Christ was at the very center of their devotion, and they believed that both physical and emotional suffering were blessings that brought them into communion with Him.9 Modern Christians may be horrified at such exercises, but mortification of the flesh was a common devotional practice in the Middle Ages and early modern period in most of Europe, and, by the late fifteenth century, in Spain and the colonial Americas as well. Cynthia Robinson has shown that Passion-centered piety did not flourish in Spain until the end of the f ifteenth century, in response to the Isabelline reform. Prior to Queen Isabel’s attempt to promote Christianity in her realm by imposing strict orthodoxy on her subjects and eliminating Spain’s Semitic populations, early Castilian Christianity encouraged a devotional theology that de-emphasized 9

See Mujica, “Chronicles of Pain.”

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the death and suffering of Jesus and accentuated his birth, a tendency derived from Jewish and Muslim traditions. By the late fifteenth century, however, passion rituals had become central to devotional life in many Spanish convents. In Discalced Carmelite convents, including the friaries of Saint John of the Cross, religious engaged in self-mortification in order to experience the Crucifixion psychosomatically, a practice that was already widespread elsewhere.10 Self-mortification was practiced in a wide range of religious settings, but always with the objective of inducing a sense of spiritual fulfilment. Caroline Walker Bynum notes that, “torture of the flesh […] was a horrible yet delicious elevation” that gave the individual “access to the divine” (Fragmentation, 182). Heinrich Seuse, the fourteenth-century German Dominican, wrote that, “[i]f suffering brought with it no other gain than that by our griefs and pains we grow in likeness to Christ, our prototype, it would still be a priceless benefit” (qtd. in Bynum, 184), and David Fletcher Tinsley provides examples of extreme asceticism among Dominicans in fourteenth-century Germany. Luther, too, stressed the value of experiencing the Crucifixion through the body. The Augsburg Confession states: For they [our teachers] have always taught concerning the cross that it behooves Christians to bear afflictions. This is the true, earnest, and unfeigned mortification, to wit, to be exercised with diverse afflictions, and to be crucified with Christ. Moreover, they teach that every Christian ought to train and subdue himself with bodily restraints, or bodily exercises and labors that neither satiety nor slothfulness tempt him to sin, but not that we may merit grace or make satisfaction for sins by such exercises. (Article XXVI: 30) 10 Whereas Western Christianity generally received spiritual nourishment from thirteenth- and fourteenth-century classics such as the Meditationes Vitae Christi, Bonaventure’s Lignum vitae, and Ludolph of Saxony’s Vita Christi, Spanish devotional practices were inspired by the Llibre del Crestià (Book for Christians), written around 1400 by the Catalan Franciscan tertiary Françesc Eiximenis. While the books that were popular in the rest of Europe stressed Christ’s humanity and suffering, Eiximenis saw Christ as exclusively divine. The images and artifacts that were used in other European countries to focus the Christian’s attention on Christ’s Passion had no place in Castile, argues Robinson. In medieval Spain, the dominant image is that of Mary, who emerges as a powerful source of illumination and personal renovation. Rather than a path toward Christ’s Passion predicated on the individual’s somatic participation in his suffering, in Castile, Mary offered an example of mystical ecstasy. She stands between devotees and the Passion, shielding them from the gruesome details of Christ’s death and providing them with a vehicle for personal transformation. According to Robinson, this concept of Mary is unique to Iberia. (See Robinson, Imagining the Passion in a Multiconfessional Castile.)

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Cases of extreme self-mortification abounded in European and Spanish American convents and continued into the seventeenth century and beyond. 11 Even laywomen sometimes engaged in such practices as a means of intensifying spiritual experience.12 The reenactments of Christ’s martyrdom practiced in Discalced Carmelite convents were an expression of the Foundress’s own empathic response to Christ’s pain. Teresa’s great spiritual awakening, known as her “re-conversion” or “second conversion,” took place before an ecce homo: “[…] beholding it I was utterly distressed in seeing Him that way, for it well represented what He suffered for us […] I threw myself down before him with the greatest outpouring of tears” (CWST 1, Life 9:1). This electrifying moment, which took place in 1553, changed the course of Teresa’s life. Teresa echoes her contemporaries when she states, in The Way of Perfection, that if prayer is genuine, it must be accompanied by fasts, discipline, and silence (CWST 2. 4:2, 53). Yet, she was acutely aware of the dangers of excess. Mortifying the body through self-f lagellation, fasting, and other kinds of privations is benef icial, she argues, but is “not a matter of obligation” and should not be carried too far (CWST 3, Foundations 18: 8, 189). Prioresses should not force their nuns to endure more pain than they are able or willing to. To be valid, physical selfpunishment must be undertaken freely. Eventually, Teresa began to stress mortif ication of the spirit rather than of the body. This may have been due to the influence of her confessor, the Jesuit Baltasar Álvarez, who advised against excess, as Ignatius of Loyola had done. Alison Weber clarif ies: “[T]he true purpose of mortif ication is not to torment the flesh or cause great pain but to subdue the passions so that they can become less angry, more tolerant of insult, more long-suffering in the face of calamity, less punctilious regarding honor, and more tolerant of family and strangers” (“Jesuit Apologias,” 336). More important than external displays of mortif ication is “interior subjection of desires to God’s will” (Weber, “Jesuit Apologias,” 336). For the mature Teresa, mortif ication is not merely a means of sharing Christ’s pain, but of intensifying one’s awareness of Christ’s goodness and modeling one’s behavior after His, thereby becoming a better person. María reflects this gentler side of the cult of Christ in her Avisos, written in 1599, four years before her death. Here, she stresses the role of Jesus as a model of mercy, charity, and love for one’s enemies (I, 39–101). Toward the 11 See Mujica, “María de San José in Portugal.” 12 See Weber, Devout Lay Women in the Early Modern World.

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end of her life, she also introduced the “Memoria de la Pasión” (“Testimonial on the Passion”) into the convent routine. This was a twelve-day devotional practice (twelve being a divine number, reminiscent of the twelve Apostles and the Twelve Days of Christmas) to help her nuns identify more closely with Christ’s suffering, but, rather than external penitential acts, the “Memoria” offered prayers to heighten the nuns’ awareness of Christ’s sacrifice and its significance in their own lives. “Thank you, my Lord Jesus Christ, for the agony and sweat of blood that you suffered in the orchard, and for the charity with which you embraced the cross and its torments to free us from those torments that are eternal,” she begins (Instrucción, 113). “Thank you, eternal King, for the crown of thorns that you allowed them to place on your head, dishonoring and tormenting you, in order to crown us with torment” (Instrucción, 115). She concludes, “I give you thanks, my Lord Jesus Christ, for the terrible passage to death and for the agony of that fateful hour that you endured to give me life” (Instrucción, 118). We don’t know exactly how these meditations were performed. They may have been accompanied by flagellations and tears, but María doesn’t mention physical penance in her Introduction. Instead, she notes that the nuns have already suffered “severe blows,” such as excommunication, at the hands of confessors (Instrucción, 107). In her mature years, María began to see Passion exercises as a means to contribute to the purif ication of the nuns’ souls and give them fortitude to endure the priests’ abuses. At the time she wrote the “Memoria,” she had been enduring severe persecutions by the Discalced Carmelite hierarchy for years. Surely, her Instrucciones were as much for herself as for her nuns.

Works Cited Primary Sources Brétigny, Jean de Quintanadueñas de. Lettres (1556–1634). Ed. Perre Serout. Louvain: Publications Universitaires de Louvain, 1971. María de San José (Salazar). Instrucción de novicias. Rome: Instituto Histórico Teresiano, 1978. Monumenta Historica Carmeli Teresiani (MHCT). Institutum Historicum Teresianum. Rome: 1973–.

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Translations Teresa de Ávila. The Collected Letters of St. Teresa of Ávila. 2 vols. Trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. Washington, D.C: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 2001, 2007. ——. The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Ávila. Trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. and Otilio Rodríguez, O.C.D. 3 vols. Washington, D.C. Institute of Carmelite Studies. 1980–1987.

Secondary Sources Belchior de Santa Anna (Sant’Anna). Chronica de Carmelitas Descalços, Particular do Reyno de Portugal e Provincia de Sam Felippe, Pello P. Fr. Belchior de S. Anna. Vols. 1 and 2 (of 3). Na officina da H.V. Oliveira: Lisboa, 1657. Bell, Rudolph M. Holy Anorexia. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1985. Bynum, Caroline Walker. Fragmentation and Redemption: Essays on Gender and the Human Body in Medieval Religion. New York: Zone, 1992. Compagnot, Philippe. La vie du vénérable Jean de Quintanadoine de Brétigny. Ms. Archives du Carmel de Clamart. Mujica, Barbara. “Chronicles of Pain: Carmelite Women and Galenism.” Health and Healing in the Early Modern Iberian World: A Gendered Perspective. Ed. Margaret Boyle and Sarah Owens. Toronto: Toronto University Press, 2020. ——. “María de San José in Portugal: Life in the Lisbon Carmel.” Miríada Hispánica 16, Estudios en homenaje a Alison Weber (2018): 121–134. ——. Teresa de Ávila, Lettered Woman. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009. ——. “Three Sisters of Carmen: The Youths of Teresa de Jesús, María de San José, and Ana de San Bartolomé.” The Youth of Early Modern Women. Ed. Elizabeth S. Cohen and Margaret Reeves. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2018. 137–157. Robinson, Cynthia. Imagining the Passion in a Multiconfessional Castile. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2013. Serouet, Pierre. “Introduction,” Quintanadueñas. Lettres de Jean de Brétigny (1556–1634). Ed. Pierre Serouet. Louvain : Publications Universitaires de Louvain: 1971. iii–xxxviii. ——. “Quintanadueñas, Jean de, Sieur de Brétigny. ” Accessed 23 July 2014. http:// beauchesne.immanens.com/appli/article.php?id=8497. Internet resource. Weber, Alison. “Jesuit Apologias for Laywomen’s Spirituality.” Devout Laywomen in the Early Modern World. Ed. Alison Weber. London and New York: Routledge, 2016. 331–352. ——, ed. Devout Laywomen in the Early Modern World. London and New York: Routledge, 2016.

4. Battles: The English, The Dutch, and the Discalced Hierarchy Abstract During the Anglo-Dutch War, María’s convent was constantly in danger of attack. In 1588, Ángelo de San Paulo, a Discalced Carmelite friar who was aboard one of the ships of the Spanish Armada, wrote to María with an account of the Spanish defeat. María was also dealing with the hostility of Doria, who believed that prioresses wielded too much power, and took steps to alter the Constitutions. María fought back with a barrage of letters. The dispute culminated in the “nuns’ revolt”, an appeal to Pope Sixtus V by María and Ana de Jesús to preserve the Order’s Constitutions. In the end, María de San José was deprived of voice and vote and placed under house arrest. Keywords: Anglo-Dutch War, Discalced Carmelites in Portugal, Nicolás [Niccolò] Doria, Jerónimo Gracián [Jerome Gratian], the “nuns’ revolt”, early modern women’s letter-writing

The ongoing war between the English and the Spanish Netherlands provides the backdrop for much of María’s experience in Portugal. England and Portugal had been allies since the Middle Ages, but when Portugal came under the Spanish Crown in 1580, it became a target of English aggression. Spain’s efforts to suppress Protestantism in its territories and the high-handed governing methods of the Duke of Alba, regent of the Spanish Low Countries, led to a full-fledged rebellion against Spain in 1566. Less than a decade earlier, in 1559, Elizabeth I had restored royal authority over the Church of England, which her father, Henri VIII, had established, but which her Catholic half-sister, Mary I, had nullified. English Protestants called for Elizabeth to support the rebellion of the Dutch Protestants against Philip II, and the ensuing war reversed the long-standing alliance between England and Portugal. Elizabeth’s tacit support for smuggling and pirating operations against the Spanish on the high seas exacerbated the situation. Sir Francis Drake

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch04

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attacked the Spanish fleet on the Atlantic, in the ports of the West Indies, and on the coasts of Spain and Portugal. To make matters worse, the Tudor Queen had sided with Prior of Crato against Philip II in their struggle for the Portuguese Crown. In turn, Philip supported the rebellion of Irish Catholics against the religious reform in England. In 1585, Elizabeth agreed to back the Dutch revolt against Spain, signing the Treaty of Nonsuch, thereby igniting the Anglo-Spanish War (1585–1604). At this time of ongoing foreign threats, María’s convent was frequently at risk, as the Anglo-Spanish War put Portugal in danger of constant attack. Although it was never formally declared, the war wreaked havoc along the west coast of the Iberian Peninsula, where the English plundered and pillaged intermittently. Queen Elizabeth tasked the privateer Sir Francis Drake with commanding a fleet whose mission was to gather intelligence on Spanish naval activity. Drake was also supposed to attack Spanish ships and, if possible, ports—a project financed by London merchants. Although later the Queen changed her mind and commanded Drake to refrain from attacking Spanish vessels, he did not receive the order and continued his activities. Off the coast of Gacilia, the English fleet met up with Dutch vessels, whose commanders told them that the Spaniards were amassing ships in the port of Cádiz. On 29 April 1587, Drake entered the Bay of Cádiz and attacked the city, pillaging churches and homes, although sparing the populace. On its way back to England, the fleet disembarked at Faro, Portugal, which the invaders burned to the ground. Through her contacts with high-powered officials such as Cardinal Albert, María was cognizant not only of English raids on the Portuguese coast but also of the war in the north. Intelligence also came from the Flemish nuns she had helped settle in Alcántara and from her Discalced Carmelite friend, Ángelo de San Paulo, an eyewitness to the disaster of the Spanish Armada. Eight Discalced Carmelite friars had sailed with the Spanish fleet, two of whom were martyred in Scotland. Fray Ángelo sent María a detailed description of the tragedy. In order to appreciate Fray Ángelo’s letter fully, it would be worthwhile to review the major developments in the war and the weapons the Spanish combatants faced. In 1588, Spain was fighting to stabilize the Spanish Netherlands and had nearly crushed the Dutch revolt. King Philip II had amassed a huge and well-equipped army in Flanders (the Dutch-speaking part of northern Belgium) under the command of the Duke of Parma, a highly respected military man who had distinguished himself at the Battle of Lepanto in 1571. Parma planned to cross the North Sea at its narrowest point with his troops and meet up with the Duke of Medina Sidonia, commander of the Spanish

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Armada. Garrett Mattingly writes, “[…] Medina Sidonia was eager to be off. The Armada was as ready as it would ever be. Everything the experience of the most seasoned fighting men in Europe suggested, everything, that is, within the realm of the possible, had been done” (247). In May 1588, the fleet set sail from Lisbon with 130 ships and 19,000 men, with Medina Sidonia carrying elaborate instructions from the King. In these documents, the fleet is called the felicissima (“most fortunate”) armada, but the public referred to it as “invincible” because of its tremendous strength. The ships made slow progress due to periodic lack of wind and bad weather. By June, drinking water was scarce. The commanders decided to anchor in La Coruña to acquire provisions. While they waited for supplies, a terrible storm erupted. The Duke of Medina Sidonia wrote to the King, advising him that, under the circumstances, it might be wise to sign a peace treaty with the English, but Philip commanded him to remedy the deficiencies and carry on. The disheartened sailors left the Spanish coast in July. At first, the English were cautious because of the reputation of the Spanish fleet, but it soon became clear that Medina Silonia was headed for the Isle of Wight to seek refuge. The English fleet, under Admiral Lord Howard, was comprised of 197 vessels, including navy and armed merchant ships. It attacked the Spanish Armada as it moved eastward. Medina Sidonia still planned to join forces with Parma, whom he was to meet off the coast of Calais. The Governor of that city was Catholic, and he allowed the Spaniards to drop anchor and purchase supplies in town. Once he received word from Medina Sidonia, Parma would need six days to bring his army across the English Channel. In the meantime, the Invincible Armada was waiting in the risky tidal currents off the coast of France. The English commanders saw their chance and attacked the exposed Spanish fleet. While the Spaniards used the traditional fighting method of firing at close range, the English used more modern methods, relying on swift, maneuverable vessels designed to protect the coast. They also used fire ships or hellburners, “the most terrible weapons ever used by men in war, […] which were actually enormous bombs, capable of killing more men in one blast than might fall in a great battle” (Mattingly, 323). These were wooden sailing vessels filled with combustibles, set on fire, and sent into the enemy fleet, causing great havoc and destruction. Mattingly describes the scene at the Battle of Gravelines, where these terrible weapons were used: “Lights appeared at the edge of the English fleet. Not lights, fires; two, six, eight of them moving forward rapidly and growing in brilliance until the watchers at the Spanish anchorage could see eight tall ships with all sails set and lines of fire beginning to run up their rigging,

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driving straight toward them with wind and tide” (324). Medina Sidonia, not realizing that the enemy was out of ammunition, set sail northward up the coast of England without notifying Parma. The English feared that he would overhaul his ships and resupply somewhere along the coast of Denmark or Norway, but instead, as the Spaniards sailed along the north of Scotland and Ireland, they were hit by dreadful gales that destroyed the Invincible Armada. The Duke of Parma was left stranded in Dunkirk with his 16,000 troops. María de San José did not have to hear this hair-raising story from the Cardinal, who would have been informed by courier. Shortly after the tragedy, Fray Ángelo de San Paulo, who was aboard one of the ships, wrote to her with an account of the events: I attribute to the merit and efficacy of the prayers of this convent my having seen with my own eyes such manifest dangers of the sea and land, which those who departed from this garrison in the port of Lisbon experienced on that day […] It pleased the Lord that of the eight of our friars who sailed up the channel of that awful country, six returned to port, each of them in his ship (as we traveled in different vessels), and with much detriment to our health, and in frequent danger to our lives, which we might have lost at any minute, especially my companion and me. The bow of the ship in which we were sailing ripped open when we ran aground on the beach of Calais, a city in France, one morning when we were fleeing from fire from the enemy armada, in addition to the harm suffered from a salvo that passed under the water. Only then did we grasp how we would have to deal with these difficulties: and so, we were forced to put down in enemy territory, where in full view of everyone we burnt the ship, because we were going down. Then, without leaving the sea, we passed over to some Pataxo Indians1 who accompanied us and were in our keeping by order of the Duke General, and with them we arrived in Spain, at the port of Santander, with our hearts in our mouths. We were so often so close to death that just thinking about it brings it all back to me. I’ll leave aside the hunger, thirst, lice, and stench, as well as illness, from this enormous calamity. For many days, we had to eat bugs from the earth and fish from the sea in the multitude of varieties hidden in these places. The ammunitions, or rather, the artillery of the enemy, which they managed expertly, were such that no one in the world has ever seen anything like them, and 1

The Pataxó Indians are one of the indigenous peoples of Brazil.

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cannot be described in detail here, other than to say that they damaged horribly the Castilian Armada. The four who got away with ears [intact] haven’t lost their fear and terror of the missiles and rounds with which they barraged us. (Belchior vol. 2, 249–250)

Fray Ángelo comments that those who ponder this event objectively will understand its enormous “solemnity and greatness” (Belchior vol. 2, 250). He goes on to ask who knows why God wanted to mortify his servants in this way and concludes: It can’t be a way for God to permit my comrades to perform heroic and great deeds, such as the restitution of the Gospels and Sacraments of His Church in a kingdom gone so badly astray. How is it possible that the resurrection of an entire kingdom, and the remedy of such great evils, the reform of such perverted souls, God could entrust to the soldiers of Castile, who are so fallen and awry in their habits and way of living? I just can’t imagine such a thing. (Belchior vol. 2, 250)

Fray Ángelo laments that the martyrdom he sought was denied him, although others were fortunate enough to die for the faith. He goes on to tell María that the captain died shortly after they touched land (probably in Ireland), and, needing governance, the men elected two of the Discalced Carmelite friars of great prudence and industry to lead them, one as captain and the other as his assistant. Because of the great hatred the heretics bore priests and friars, the two Carmelites had to dress as soldiers so that the English didn’t dispatch all of them. The new captain and the soldiers salvaged as many arms as they could. The rustics whom they encountered treated them badly, but as they were crossing the lands of an Irish gentleman who was a real Catholic—“as are the pure Irish, who have no trace of English or Scottish”—he showed them great kindness and took them in and fed them (Belchior vol. 2, 253). Thanks to this benevolence, they were eventually able to return to Santander María experienced the horrors of war herself when, on 25 May 1589, the English invaded Peniche, fourteen leagues north of Lisbon, and threatened the Discalced Carmelites with martyrdom. The enemy forces included 120 galleons, of which 60 were Drake’s. María herself wrote a chronicle of the assault, fragments of which Fray Belchior includes in his book. According to Belchior, the city’s lay population tried to escape or find safe harbor, and many encouraged the sisters to flee their monastery. However, the Carmelites opted to stay put, for, Belchior explains, they were so inflamed

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with devotion to God that their Seraphim-like love made them immune to fear (vol. 2, 269–270). However, the enemy continued to advance. On Friday morning, the fathers told them, on behalf of the Cardinal, that they were to leave because the English were very close. Fray Belchior writes that it was rough going because María could hardly stand on her feet, as she had caught a terrible chill that had tormented her all night. Doña Ana de Velasco, wife of Nuño Orejón, captain of artillery, generously allowed the nuns to stay in her home. The nuns had hidden the sacred images and altar ornaments to protect them from the heretics. María writes: “We left our house with great pain and many tears. We went out covered with our capes and veils, and each of us with a small cross in her hands, and a large crucifix leading the way” (Belchior vol. 2, 270). Belchior explains that the procession animated the people, who marveled at the nuns’ courage. When the sisters passed in front of the Royal Palace, the company captains rejoiced, for they were now certain of victory. The Reverend Father Fray João de las Cuevas, the Prince’s confessor, saw them through a window and exclaimed, “Here comes a fine squadron of beloved spouses of Christ, who will protect us and give us strength” (Belchior vol. 2, 270). Finally, they arrived at the house that would be their temporary quarters, settled in as best they could, ate, set up an altar, and took communion. María writes: All of us were crying rivers of tears, for it broke our hearts to see the city so torn by war on such a solemn day, when everyone should have been celebrating the Blessed Sacrament […] We kept most of our regular observances, because we didn’t want the devil to gloat thinking he’d expelled them from of the convent, and [to show] that wherever we were, we would live as though we were in our own Carmel.2

Shortly afterward, María was apprised of a nearby vacant church that, in those tumultuous times, was sadly neglected and very humid. She went to see it and found it full of spiders and insects. Nevertheless, she fetched the other sisters, feeling great joy. María writes that, “the nuns were sad that this church, which the first King of this realm Affonso Henriquez had built in honor of the archangel Michael, and in which great Princes and the empress Dona Isabel had been baptized, had been abandoned and mistreated” (Belchior vol. 2, 271). Because there was nowhere in the church 2

The date of the Feast of the Blessed Sacrament varies, but it usually occurs in early summer.

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to sleep, they stretched out fully dressed on some mats on the floor that night. Then, the next day, they cleaned up the building so that they could comfortably pray, sing, and practice mortifications (Belchior vol. 2, 271). When word spread that the English had mined the castle, there was so much screaming and confusion that it seemed like Judgment Day, writes Fray Belchior, especially among the women. However, María managed to calm them. The next night, they heard banging at the door of the church, and the nuns were told to put out all the lights because they were surrounded by explosives and in great danger. Father Balthazar de Jesús joined them, and, as he was old and weak-hearted, his affliction upset the nuns. One young sister named Alberta da Madre de Deos chided him, saying that she was surprised he was afraid to die, being that he was so old, “while I, who haven’t yet lived in this world eighteen years, willingly and happily prepare to die tonight, if that’s what God wills” (Belchior vol. 2, 271). She raised everybody’s spirits with her valor, says Belchior, and the old man never again showed fear. After the enemies had withdrawn and returned to their ships, the nuns went back to their monastery. They found it ravaged, but they were thrilled to be home. María was amazed that it hadn’t been burned down, since the enemy had destroyed many other houses. The convent of the Anunciada was less fortunate, and the daughters of the Conde de Linhares, who wanted to join that house as novices, wound up staying with the Carmelites for eight days. The regimen of acts of martyrdom and mortification that María had prescribed for the convent turned out to be excellent preparation for the challenges the nuns would face. Because of their training, they were not frightened when English ships threatened the coast of Portugal, although the general populace was terrified.

Doria and the “Nuns’ Revolt” The quarrel between Nicolás Doria and Baltasar Gracián began well before the crisis of 1590 known as the “nuns’ revolt”. At the second Provincial chapter of the order held in 1583, in Almodóvar, tensions between the two men were already evident. Gracián, then Provincial, commented at the meeting that his preaching requirements were taking time away from his administrative duties. The other participants, led by Doria, responded by pronouncing an Inquisition-like sentence against him, depriving him of the pulpit (Rodríguez, 487). This was a serious censure that was only issued against clerics convicted of teaching bad doctrine. Gracián protested. The

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sentence dishonored him, he insisted. It would ruin his reputation forever. Shortly afterward, the sentence was revoked, but the incident laid bare the growing friction between Doria and Gracián. The Lisbon chapter opened on 11 May 1585, and the election for Provincial was held on the next day. Doria received 26 of 28 possible votes, even though, at the time, he was away in Genoa. Curiously, Gracián was the one who nominated Nicolás Doria as the sole candidate, despite warnings from John of the Cross that, as Provincial, Doria would cause him immeasurable grief and even deprive him of his habit. In hindsight, Gracián’s move seems an incomprehensible act of self-destruction (Rodríguez, 515–516). At the same chapter, Gracián was named a definitor (a member of the chapter charged with responsibility for one particular location), and soon after, put in charge of Portugal. Gracián had an avid interest in proselytization and wanted to found a Carmel in the Congo, while Doria believed that missionary activity was antithetical to the Discalced ideal of the contemplative life. Gracián took advantage of Doria’s absence from the Lisbon chapter to advance the missionary enterprise. He obtained royal patents to found settlements not only in Africa, but also in the Indies. On 11 July 1585, a group set sail and founded a mission in Mexico. However, Doria put a damper on the missionary work. The African project was abandoned and, although the Mexican mission thrived, the friars made no further plans for missions in the Americas for the moment. Further aggravating the situation was the formation of a consulta, or legislative assembly of consultores, that was to meet annually to manage the business of the province. Gracián objected to placing the province under the control of a commission, which he believed deviated from the simplicity of Teresa’s original plan. However, Doria defended the new administrative structure with vehemence. Like Saint Teresa and María de San José, Gracián favored a policy of suavidad for running convents, while Doria promoted a stricter form of governance. Teresa had given prioresses considerable power, charging them with managing their own finances and choosing confessors for their spiritual daughters. Nuns normally elected prioresses for a three-year term, but, if a prioress turned out to be ineffective, Teresa gave them the right to choose a new one after only one year without having recourse to any kind of official judicial procedure. Doria did not approve of women’s exercising such power. In the view of Isabel Morujão, Doria just could not believe that “simple-minded women were capable of making suitable decisions, given the opportunity” (Entre duas memórias, 245–246). He saw in the convent

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organization fostered by Teresa, “a machination of the devil that could cloud the judgment of a prelate and destroy the humility of the nuns” (Entre duas memórias, 245–246). Doria feared that the Discalced Carmelite order was beginning to deviate from its original austerity and discipline and become lax. He therefore took steps to reverse Teresa’s policies. Doria saw Gracián as the primary instrument in the slackening of standards. He had resented Gracián’s close association with the nuns of Seville and now extended his antipathy to the newly established Lisbon Carmel. In fact, Gracián did hold sway with the nuns. On 19 February 1587, he wrote a letter to all Carmelite sisters suggesting that they circulate and sign a petition that the Constitutions of the order not be altered: Since Mother Teresa de Jesús, with so much understanding and holiness, good counsel and sanctity, established these Constitutions, and past chapters and other prelates, as well as apostolic commissaries such as the Provincials and Generals, have approved them, and experience has shown that the order has flourished under them, it should be asked of the chapter that these Constitutions by no means be altered, abolished, changed or augmented, even though by the apostolic brief3 the chapter has the ability to do so. No matter how holy the male and female prelates who succeeded her may be, they will not do a better job than she did. (Cartas, 58–59)

Most nuns responded by supporting Gracián. At the chapter meeting in Valladolid, on 18 April 1587, Gracián gave a speech in which he challenged any attempt to alter Teresa’s original system. The issue came to a vote, and the chapter decided to abandon Doria’s proposal. Gracián’s stand against Doria unleashed an explosion of reprisals. At that same chapter, Gracián was named vicar of Mexico, “as much to get him away from the nuns” as anything else (Smet, Mirror, 115). However, due to the menace posed by Drake, no fleet sailed for the Indies that year, and a frustrated Doria urged the consulta to find a way to restrain the problematic friar. He accused Gracián of depraved conduct, resurrecting rumors that had dogged him since Seville. On 18 October 1587, a list of allegations was lodged against Gracián, among them that he paid late-night visits to the nuns in Seville and then Lisbon, allowed himself to be pampered by the women with special food and linens, and was lax in his clothing and dietary habits, often eating meat. Doria rebuked Gracián for being too friendly with 3 The Pia consideratione, by which the Discalced Carmelites became a separate order.

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the Lisbon nuns and spending too much time with them. Gracián mentions some of the accusations against him in Peregrinaciones: an overzealous nun throws herself at him and kisses a crucifix at his breast, then kneels because she is in the presence of Christ, which Gracián’s detractors interpret as unchaste and heretical behavior; an elderly, moribund nun faints on her cot, and when Gracián puts his arms around her so she won’t hit her head, his detractors accuse him of fondling nuns in their beds; a nun gets too close to him during confession, and his detractors claim he kissed her (74). Finally, Doria threatened to expel Gracián from the order. The prediction of John of the Cross was coming true. At the same time, Doria brought similar accusations of unchaste behavior against María. Thus, while struggling to survive the onslaught of attacks by the English, María was also battling Nicolás Doria’s continued harassment. Although Doria forbade her to write or speak to Gracián, María began a vigorous letter-writing campaign on his behalf. On 25 September 1587, she and several other nuns wrote to the Provincial Vicar, Antonio de Jesús (Heredia): It has come to our attention that they say the whole province is scandalized by the familiarity and conversations that Fray Jerónimo Gracián had with us during the time when he was Vicar General here. For that reason, our conscience compels us, for the sake of the Father’s honor as well as for our own, to seek a means for the truth to be acknowledged and the scandal to disappear. We beg Your Paternity, as our prelate and judge, to make known the conduct and mode of proceeding of this convent and that of the fathers, including said father and all the other priests who come here to attend to our needs. The more rigorous you are in your examination of these matters, the more merciful and beneficial it will be for us. Although we’ve lost our holy Mother [Teresa], we have not lost the zeal and recollection4 in which she founded our order, as we are demonstrating, for we are requesting that you conduct the most arduous examination of our lives. Written in this convent of the glorious Saint Albert, in the city of Lisbon. Dated the 25th day of September, in the year 1587. María de San José, Prioress Isabel de San Jerónimo, Subprioress Blanca de Jesús, Inés de San Eliseo, María Ana de los Santos, Luisa de Jesús, María de Jesús, Inés de la Madre de Dios (MHCT 3, doc. 309) 4

Practice of interiority; contemplation.

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The following month, on 16 October 1587, María sent an almost identical letter to Doria himself, asking him to conduct an investigation in order to ascertain if the nuns really were behaving in a scandalous manner. She reproduces this letter in Ramillete de Mirra, in her description of the events of this period. María’s tone in these letters is guarded, but in the body of Ramillete, she reveals her sentiments much more clearly. She complains that from the time Pope Gregory XIII established the Descalced Carmelites as a separate order, he downplayed the role of women. “No mention is made of our Mother,” complains María, “or that she founded first convents for women and also friaries. Because of this situation, those who know nothing about it can be led to believe whatever [Doria and his men] say or deny […] Because this work was started and continued by a woman, many disdain and belittle it” (Escritos, 309). María clearly saw sexual politics at work here. The female convents financed the legal procedures necessary to secure the separation, she points out, yet priests like Doria show nothing but contempt for women. She continues: “It’s not my intention to show the offenses done to me [personally], but those that have been done to all the female convents, to which it could be said that the [Discalced] fathers owe their freedom” (Escritos, 309). María notes that, when Teresa died shortly after the creation of the new order, the persecutions were just beginning. María opens her attack against Doria by invoking Teresa’s memory: Oh, dearest Mother! There are no more trials for you! You have arrived at the end of the suffering you endured for the Lord, and so it is right that you take no heed of what we women now face […] The enemies are armed against us, more now than ever, since they see us alone and without you, our captain. Now hell conjures against this little flock. Now the hungry wolf looks to stir up trouble and take vengeance for offenses received from you. Now he plans to finish off what in your presence he would never have dared to begin. (Escritos, 314)

Alone without their leader, argues María, the nuns, like sheep without a shepherd, are in dire danger. By depicting the sisters as an abandoned flock in the grip of a ferocious wolf, María not only stresses Teresa’s importance to the movement, but dramatizes the nuns’ helplessness in order to elicit the sympathy and support of her readers. Doria attempted to change the Constitutions, argues María, not because there was a legitimate reason for doing so, but because “it’s typical of friars that they can’t live without inventing new things” (Escritos, 315).

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She reiterates the nuns’ complaints against his modifications: he attempts to abolish the hour of recreation implemented by Teresa; he seeks to have nuns’ transgressions brought before friars, only to humiliate the women over minor infractions whose importance the men inflate; and he wants punish all the nuns of a convent for the infraction of one. These are precisely the changes Gracián urged the nuns to oppose in his letter of 19 February 1587, cited above (Cartas, 58). As a result of Gracián’s support for the nuns, she maintains, Doria’s fury against him exploded. María portrays herself as a peacemaker who repeatedly appealed to Doria to come to an agreement with Gracián. When Doria wrote to her with specific questions on Gracián’s conduct, María responded with a letter defending her friend, and this letter, she explains, was used as evidence against her. “[It] was presented to a committee of Provincials, and reading only the part defending and praising Father Gracián, they said nothing about this being a response to a letter sent to me by my prelate. The fathers were scandalized, and they ordered that I should receive a great punishment because I should not have been defending anyone so avidly” (Escritos, 318). In other words, they manipulated the evidence in order to ensnare her. Father Gregorio Nacianceno, the Provincial of Portugal and Doria’s ally, hounded María for three years. Although Nacianceno was in on the plan to send Gracián away to Mexico, he prodded María to support his going to Portugal. When she did, he accused her of having a prurient interest in Gracián and a desire to protect him. “In the end, they spread the story throughout the province that I was stirring up things […] with my letters, trying to bring Father Gracián here” (Escritos, 320). She attempts to elicit the sympathy of her readers by painting herself as a victim who has nowhere to turn. Her enemies “try to dishonor me any way they can” (Escritos, 321). Still, she is cautious. To mitigate her charges, she avoids incendiary rhetoric, insisting that Nacianceno’s malice is due to the intervention of the devil. Although María steadfastly refused to incriminate Gracián, Doria and his allies condemned him anyway. By early fall, an investigation had begun against him, and, by October, he had been brought to trial. He was sentenced for moral laxity on 28 November 1587. On 15 March 1588, Doria deprived Gracián of voice and vote and called him to Madrid, but abrogated the decree that he sail for Mexico. Gracián wrote his letter of submission on 2 May 1588. The consulta responded by ordering him to adhere to its demands in every detail and by giving him the option to retire to Mexico, although not as vicar. The Nuncio, César Speziano, added that Gracián was to follow the rules of the order with respect to clothing, food, and conduct, and that he was to bring concerns and complaints to him, Speziano, rather than anyone else.

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However, both Cardinal Albert and Archbishop Teutónio Bragança requested that Gracián return to Portugal. On 1 October 1588, Gracián wrote to Doria from Lisbon, informing him that the Archbishop of Évora had called him back: “I spoke with him yesterday […] and he told me I was very welcome, that he would call me for the business for which he wanted me, which was of great service to God” (Cartas, 66). For the moment, Doria’s hands were tied. As soon as he had settled in Lisbon, Gracián began his counterattack against Doria, and his main weapon was letters. On 2 November 1588, he sent a missive directly to the King complaining of the organizational changes Doria had made in the governance of the order, which he believed would result in “the total destruction of the Discalced congregation” (Smet, Mirror, 117). He accused Doria of undermining anyone who did not agree with his actions and asked Philip II, “as the protector and true refuge of religion after God,” to investigate Doria and his government (Smet, Mirror, 117). Doria immediately wrote to the King defending the administrative modifications he had made. On 20 February 1589, he received a reply assuring him that the King was satisfied with the new system. Smet explains that Cardinal Albert wanted Gracián back in Portugal for political reasons. Judging from Gracián’s letter, quoted below, he also wanted to keep him quiet and out of trouble. The Calced Carmelite monastery of Lisbon was known for its rowdiness. It had been founded by the Portuguese warrior Saint Nun’Alvares Pereira, and, in keeping with the combative spirit of their founder, the friars were reputedly stockpiling weapons to be used against the Spaniards, who had had the prior, Antonio Calderón, arrested. The rumor about stockpiling arms turned out to be false, but the Cardinal still believed the house needed restructuring and charged Gracián with reforming it. Not only was the Crown concerned with political activity within the house, but rumors abounded about ersatz visionaries among the friars. At the end of February 1589, Gracián wrote to the Cardinal assuring him that the real problem was not the Calced friars’ conduct but the political maneuvering of his Discalced enemies in Madrid, men who were looking for reasons to punish those who were opposed to their reforms. “They are asking this house to get rid of friars who are against the [modified] Constitution […]” (Cartas, 68). The inquietadores (“troublemakers”) got the devil involved, he argued, “as you can see in the conflicts that Father Carranza, the Vicar General, and others who should be helping me have stirred up in Madrid; for instead of sending me comrades, they’ve brought this very Carranza, who causes nothing but conflict” (Cartas, 68). Gracián ended by reminding the Cardinal that he has obeyed him and remained quiet until now, but that he needs his help: “Your Highness told me to remain silent and not to make

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a fuss. That’s what I’ve done, but I beg your Highness to write to Madrid and tell those fathers that if they have a complaint, they should put it in writing, so that I can respond or some other person can verify the truth, or else write to them and tell them to stop stirring things up” (Cartas, 68). In the opinion of Smet, a Calced historian who had little sympathy for Gracián, Doria was anxious to get Fray Jerónimo back to Spain because all this activity “was far removed from the studious and prayerful retirement which Gracián had elected and to which he had been consigned” (Mirror, 118). However, there can be little doubt that Doria was irked by Gracián’s opposition to his policies. Sometime in the fall of 1589, Doria wrote to the King requesting he recall the wayward friar, but, although the King responded in November, he took no action at the time. With the authorization of Cardinal Albert, Gracián appealed to the Pope against the newly empowered consulta. In January of the following year, Doria circulated a letter among the Discalced Carmelite nuns defending his position on the consulta and the reelection of prioresses. Gracián responded with a refutation. As Doria’s determination to change the Constitutions intensified, María sought to deter him by seeking a papal brief. She barraged her superiors with letters in an effort to protect the Constitutions and the rights of prioresses. She wrote to the Chaplain and Confessor of the Monastery in Ávila: For this Brief, I will submit to anything, to any labor or torment, with the understanding that I serve my holy Mother Teresa de Jesús, for whom I wish to give my life. The reasons that I have for doing this are so powerful that they give me courage. I don’t fear the scowls that many people give me, and I consider all their brutality signs of fear the devil already has of this undertaking, which is so much in the service of God. That is why I will persevere in this way, even when they threaten me with greater dangers, as people do who bolt from the fray and flee their enemies when they are afraid. (Belchior vol. 2, 282)

She goes on to say: The first reason that moves me is to confirm the Constitutions that our holy Mother gave us and taught us and maintained and defended with such energy. All of us nuns know and our fathers also know [how she defended the Constitutions], and when at the chapter meeting at Alcalá they wanted to alter some very small things, she opposed them and didn’t allow the changes, as she explains in one of her letters, in her own handwriting, which I have. The second is that we should place in our hearts

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and regard as a thing of Heaven, and defend, if it were necessary, with our lives, the laws of our holy Foundress. God gave her to us for our teacher, and the Holy Spirit enlightened her. She, who had so much experience in the governance of women, which they need so much, created laws that were confirmed and approved by our most reverend Father General Juan Bautista Rubeo of Ravena, in the year 1567, and by the Father Master Fray Pedro Fernández of the order of Saint Dominic, Apostolic Visitator for Pope Pius V, in the year 1575, and by Father Fray Jerónimo Gracián, also Apostolic Visitator in the chapter meeting at Alcalá, in the year 1581, and finally by the Lord Bishop Novara, Delegate to Spain in the year 1588.” (Belchior vol. 2, 282)

In this letter, María de San José demonstrates her command of logic, appealing first to the authority of a letter written by Saint Teresa in her own hand, rather by an amanuensis, and then by mentioning other sources of authority, some of whom outranked Doria and his supporters. The culmination of this rebellion against Doria was the “nuns’ revolt”: María and Ana de Jesús audaciously went over Doria’s head and appealed directly to Pope Sixtus V. When the Pope acceded to their request and issued the brief Salvatoris, María must have thought she had won the long and arduous battle against Nicolás Doria. However, during the late 1580s, Doria had begun his own vigorous campaign against María. In Ramillete, she remarks with obvious satisfaction that, although Doria and his cronies had managed to silence Gracián temporarily, they could not silence her. As a result, they resorted to harassment, sending her an interrogatory “with the vilest questions, such that they shouldn’t be written down or heard by chaste ears” (Escritos, 323). The purpose “was to dishonor me and Father Gracián before the Calced fathers” (Escritos, 323). Fortunately, she remarks, God gave her the insight to realize that the whole affair was the devil’s work (Escritos, 324). “And so that whoever reads this won’t think that this is just hearsay and invented stories, I swear before the Lord that with my own eyes I have seen letters from those fathers, in which they incite one another against me […] I don’t know who could believe that religious people would get involved in such scheming” (Escritos, 325). On 12 August 1588, María made a formal declaration in which she answered the charges against her. Jesus and Mary I’m only doing this out of obedience to your Reverence, although distrustful that you’ll believe me now any more than you did before, and the Lord

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is my witness that I answer with complete truth all the questions that the Father Provincial has asked me in a Memorandum. (Gracián, Historia, 382)

María argues that, contrary to Doria’s claims, when she was deprived of the office of prioress in Seville, no judgment was made against her, and offers as proof of her innocence the documents by which the Provincial Ángel de Salazar returned her to office. She denies that Mother Teresa ever found her guilty, and produces letters from Teresa to prove her assertion. She denies allegations that she had spent time in the Discalced priory of Seville before going to Lisbon, arguing that Fray Antonio de Jesús and Mariano “and almost all of Seville” are witnesses that fleeing our convent to get away from the tumult of people that had come to see us off, we left, dissimulating, with Doña María de la Cerda, wife of Don Alonso de Leiva and Doña Mencía de Rojas, and Doña Ana de Briones y Doña Constanza del Río. We went all together to Los Remedios, which was on the way, to make our confessions and take communion in the church. While waiting for the horses, Fray Antonio de Jesús and Father Mariano led us to a section of an orchard with all those ladies and other men and women, to whom we stuck close. We were there less than a half hour waiting for the carriage, and as soon as it came, we left. (Gracián, Historia, 382)

In order to prove that she was not involved in any indecent behavior, María accumulates witnesses, including some from the highest echelons of Seville society, to her decorous departure from Seville. She goes on to testify that Gracián was not among her traveling companions, for he had “stayed behind in our convent to console the sisters,” who were distraught over her leaving (Gracián, Historia, 382). Upon their arrival in Portugal, the sisters were forced to stay in the friary until suitable temporary quarters could be found for them while their convent was readied. However, Father Mariano “was with us at all times, and he put us in and got us out of the carriage.” The fathers came out to meet the Provincial “with a Te Deum, in a procession, and we all followed—nuns, friars, and lay people—where they led us. In order to go to the choir, we had to cross through a part of the house, but I don’t know whether they were storage rooms for hemp or whatever, and that’s how we all entered. I don’t think any of us saw any of the fathers […]” Since they hadn’t eaten all afternoon, they were given food, after which “we left and never came back” (Gracián, Historia, 382). They spent the night at the home of Doña María de

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Hoyos, and, after they heard early morning mass and ate, they went to the Anunciada Convent, where “we lived with more quiet and discretion than ever, to which Father Mariano can attest” (Gracián, Historia, 382). She acknowledges that she left her convent to accompany the Flemish nuns to theirs, but argues that she was only following orders from Cardinal Albert. She clarifies that Gracián, rather than encourage her to violate her vow of enclosure, urged her to stay put for fear of angering the Franciscan priests. However, he eventually changed his mind, she says, because the Flemish nuns were complaining so much that everyone had abandoned them. She adds that the Flemish nuns were so grateful for her help that the abbess wrote her daily. Thus, she makes it clear that, by helping her Franciscan sisters, she performed a necessary and appreciated act of kindness. Once again, she insists that many witnesses can corroborate her story. As for the accusation that Gracián came and went from the convent with extraordinary frequency, María answers that he himself has already explained the reasons for his visits. With respect to Gracián’s visiting alone, without an assistant, as was the norm, she notes that Father Mariano always said that one of the best qualities of the convent is that a friar could come unaccompanied to hear our confessions and say mass, without any other friar having to waste his time. She denies outright the accusation that Gracián sometimes stayed until midnight. Regarding the accusation that she attempted to have Gracián brought to Lisbon, “I respond that the idea never even occurred to me, much less have I committed such a deed. And if it’s necessary, I will swear to this once and over and over again” (Gracián, Historia, 382). Finally, she refutes the report that she was ever dishonest with Teresa. María was clearly furious when she wrote her Declaration. She suggests that Doria’s allegations are absolute lies. She offers details and names witnesses, including influential officials, clerics, and laypeople, to back up her account of events. Nevertheless, Doria issued an order on 15 August 1588: “that María de San José […] shall not have anything to do with Friar Jerónimo Gracián; she is not to receive his letters or have any business with him […] under pain of excommunication” (Escritos, 326). Apparently, the two did remain in contact, or at least Doria was convinced that they did, as one of the charges brought against Gracián was that he encouraged María and Ana de Jesús to disobey their superior and petition the Pope. Doria, in the meantime, was writing letters to potential allies to gain support for separating María from Gracián. On 5 February 1590, he sent a missive to Bautista de la Trinidad, prior of the Lisbon monastery, alleging that influential clerics “want to take María de San José out of there [São

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Alberto] because of Father Gracián […] It is necessary that Gracián and María de San José be separated from one another because that is what is required by service to God” (MHCT 4. Doc. 427). If María associated Doria with the devil, he apparently felt the same way about her and Gracián. Although María sometimes depicts herself as a lonely defender of justice, she was not Gracián’s only ally. Several Discalced friars objected to Doria’s irregular and arbitrary conduct, especially his treatment of Gracián. On 9 July 1589, Fray Juan Vázquez de Mármol wrote to Philip II, requesting an investigation of Doria. While John of the Cross at first supported Doria, once he became aware of the Vicar General’s abuses, he fought vigorously to defend Gracián, a position that eventually led to his fall from grace within the order (Rodríguez, 666–693). The conflict between María and Doria sparked friction in the order, with some nuns and friars siding with María and others with her nemesis. Certain Discalced Carmelites were anxious to hear María’s version of the story and urged her to tell it. In 1590, María wrote to an unnamed priest, probably John of the Cross, clarifying the situation as she saw it (Rodríguez 899). The priest had asked her to write a relación, or account, of the past several years explaining everything that had happened to her. Her response is a long letter chronicling her struggle with Doria. Jesus María, Many of our fathers and sisters have asked me to do what your Reverence now asks me to do, but they couldn’t convince me, and I couldn’t find the strand in this tangle. Then, when I received your Reverence’s request, I found the desire to comply and the light to carry on […] You are asking me to provide a long epistolary account of everything that has happened in these tempestuous and miserable years, and it is right to describe them thus, because lies have been passed off as truths and truths as lies. Now it is time for the truth to come out and for me to give testimony, for only with the truth will I be able to sustain this account so that it will be believed, although there are many witnesses who can confirm it, and if it were necessary, your Reverence could call on them to do so. And now I will put the Sister before your eyes. I will tell the complete truth, calling on His Majesty, for in order to serve Him I have remained silent for five years. Now I speak for Him, in order to serve Him. And may no one take offense, although, by necessity, the truth will combat lies and whoever tells them. (qtd. in Pérez García, 350)5 5 Originally published in Ephemerides Carmeliticae, Annus XXIX, 1978, the letter is reproduced in Pérez García, 350–358 and Rodríguez 899-907.

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With that provocative introduction, María begins her account. There is an element of Captatio benevolentiae in her opening sentence: She has always been reluctant to speak the truth, despite the urgings of others; only now that “your Reverence” has made the request does she feel empowered and enlightened enough to break her silence. As in Ramillete, she builds her case using the classical strategies of ethos, pathos, and logos. Ethos, which appeals to one’s own reputation for virtue and honesty, is apparent in María’s insistence on the veracity of her story; only her version of the conflict is true, she maintains, while other versions are lies. She argues that she is breaking her silence in service to God, thereby portraying herself as a handmaiden of the Spirit, a vehicle of God’s Word. María’s self-fashioning as a crusader engaged in constant self-sacrifice in His service is an appeal to pathos that is clearly meant to play on her reader’s emotions. Throughout the rest of the letter, she depicts herself as a sacrificial lamb whose only desire has been to keep peace in the order and protect the innocent from unjust accusations. María articulates the issue in an ostensibly dispassionate, straightforward way: “About five years ago, when Father Gracián was here as the Provincial, he and our [present] Provincial Father Nicolás de Jesús María began to have differences between them about matters concerning governance” (qtd. in Pérez García, 351). She explains that in a desire to prevent the clash from escalating, she intervened. “Our Father Provincial had been my confessor,” she explains, “and had always been well disposed toward me […] so I began to write him, asking that he moderate his stance and take into consideration the danger that could come to the order if antagonism erupted between him and Father Gracián. I explained to him, besides, that many complaints against the father were unfounded, which I had seen for myself” (qtd. in Pérez García, 351). María presents herself as a perfectly rational, detached observer, who intervenes only for the good of the order. She adds that she was encouraged to do so by a Carmelite priest, “whom I think it better not to name […] who asked me for the love of Jesus Christ to mediate and calm them both down, for I was the person whom both fathers trusted the most” (qtd. in Pérez García, 351). Thus, María portrays herself as a woman recognized as trustworthy (ethos), who intervened at the urging of another and with impeccable motives. She explains that Doria wrote to her many times, responding to her queries and asking her many questions about Gracián. In a nearly two-page letter, according to María, he told her that if she answered to his satisfaction, he would say two months’ masses in her honor. Using adjunction, a classical strategy by which a word is placed at the beginning or end of a sentence for emphasis, she exclaims, “This letter will I show, with others, whenever

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it is necessary, and thus will you see if on my own authority I got involved in this imbroglio” (qtd. in Pérez García, 351). By beginning the sentence as she does (“Esta carta mostraré”), María makes an unambiguous threat: She possesses evidence of her allegations and is prepared to provide it. María swears that she answered Doria’s letter to the best of her ability, always telling the truth. “I never saw anything about him [Gracián] that wasn’t holy, and I can speak this way because there are many other people who say the same” (qtd. in Pérez García, 351). She ends the paragraph by placing the ball in her correspondent’s court, so to speak: “It seems superfluous [to go on about this] because your Reverence knows him so well” (qtd. in Pérez García, 351). María argues that her letter was presented to a Junta composed of Provincial vicars, but that only the sections dealing with the defense of Gracián were read. “Nothing was included about my having been asked and commanded by my prelate [to write]. The fathers were scandalized and ordered that I should be severely punished for writing in defense of anyone. Finally, they decided only to reprimand me, and that’s what they did” (qtd. in Pérez García, 352). In writing about her defense of Gracián, María uses the word escandalizar repeatedly. As we have seen, Doria constantly tried to depict María’s relationship with Gracián as sexual; the implication here is that Doria alleged that María’s fervent defense of Gracián stemmed from their romantic involvement. María builds her defense on Doria’s distortion of evidence: He has taken her words out of context and has misrepresented her intention. María argues that Doria constantly pestered her for information about Gracián, but she is careful to soften her accusation by attributing the harsh outcome to the wiles of the devil: “He didn’t stop writing me. Instead, he persevered for three years. Not a week went by without his writing, I’m sure with good intentions and holy zeal, but the devil must have perverted everything afterward” (qtd. in Pérez García, 252). María undoubtedly felt trapped. She clearly believed that Doria was at fault and wanted to censure him, yet was afraid the Junta would accuse her of overstepping her authority by attacking a high-ranking priest. María constantly intersperses affirmations of her version into her letter—“the complete truth of this case is what I’ll relate,” “I answered all his questions with the truth, without realizing where this mess would lead” (qtd. in Pérez García, 252). However, in spite of her comments about Doria’s “good intentions,” she does not mince words about his objective: He sought “to catch me in some word, or to snatch the opportunity to back up their contention, or to find out if their fantasies were true” (qtd. in Pérez García, 352). One of the things they asked her, writes María, was if it was appropriate for Gracián to be in Lisbon, when he was about to embark for the Indies.

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“They must have thought I arranged for it,” she says, “and that’s why he [Doria] was in such a hurry to ask about it, as I said, in three letters” (qtd. in Pérez García, 352). She says she refrained from responding to the first two. She responded in the last one that she saw nothing inappropriate about it, as Fray Antonio de Jesús, the prior of the Lisbon friary, was an “angel” and Gracián, an “obedient priest.” “I don’t know what could be inappropriate about this,” she says. I didn’t tell him [Doria] anything else because in truth, I can affirm that I was so uninvolved in this business as if I had never seen or dealt with Father Jerónimo. And that’s what I swore under oath to the fathers many times. If it had been in my hands to prevent [Gracián] from going to the Indies, I confess I would have done it to serve my order, but I neither desired nor attempted to have him come here. I had nothing to do with it. It didn’t even pass through my mind. (qtd. in Pérez García, 352)

Here, María uses an argumentative strategy often employed by Teresa and characteristic of confessional writing: the concession that reaffirms the proposition. María concedes that she wanted Gracián to stay in Spain (which, at the time, included Portugal), but only to better serve the order. However, she asserts, she did not do anything to keep him from traveling, thereby reiterating her claim of innocence. She then names a powerful witness, the Archbishop of Évora, who had sworn that she had never written to him requesting that Gracián come to Lisbon. Nevertheless, she tells her unnamed correspondent, “They spread the word through the whole Province that I stirred things up in this Kingdom with letters trying to bring Father Gracián here and prevent him from going to the Indies” (qtd. in Pérez García, 353). She laments, “Only God know what he went through” (qtd. in Pérez García, 353). The intention of Doria and his allies was to get rid of Gracián, alleges María, and that was their real motive in sending him to the Indies. However, when it turned out that he was unable to travel, they looked for another ploy: “They broadcast the rumor that there was a great and disordered friendship between the father and me” (qtd. in Pérez García, 353). They used her own letters to make their case, argues María. They laid a trap for her, and then used scraps of evidence from her correspondence against her. In her defense, she cites a letter from Doria in which he urges her to cooperate with him and have Fray Jerónimo sent to Lisbon: “First of all, Mother, keep my secret and trust me in what I’m going to tell you, and take my advice, which is germane. Try to get the Cardinal to send Gracián there, which shouldn’t

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be hard” (qtd. in Pérez García, 353). Doria was very secretive, she alleges, urging her to contact Gracián to avoid writing to him himself. She adds: I never imagined there could be a trap in this. But Our Lord, who frees all those who act with sincerity and truth, protected me so that I never said a word that they could use to their advantage. Yet, I’m astounded that, being so oblivious to the possibility of wickedness and trusting so completely in that father [Doria], and desiring the prevention of the departure of Father [Gracián] for the Indies that the other priests wanted, I wasn’t moved by the maneuvers that [Doria] proposed to me. I mean, with respect to talking to [Gracián] about it, and broaching the subject with the Cardinal, which would have been madness. And so, I told him that I didn’t care anything about it, and didn’t know how to go about asking such a thing of the Cardinal. (qtd. in Pérez García, 353–354)

María sees herself as a victim of the machinations of ambitious and jealous priests who have used her as a pawn. They have made countless moves to “take away my honor,” she laments. “The things they have written and said about this everywhere, they are simply unspeakable. Although it’s really not about my honor, but Father [Gracián’s]. You can’t even name all the tricks and inventions they’ve devised to get a word out of me confessing that this Father exceeded propriety or slipped up in some way” (qtd. in Pérez García, 354). She calls upon God to attest to the ways that Doria and his cohort have tormented her for three years with threats and sometimes promises. Yet, like the biblical Susana, she has held firm. She quotes the Old Testament: “It is better to fall into the hands of men, than to abandon the law of my God” (qtd. in Pérez García, 354). As they were unable to bend her, she writes, they resorted to having other nuns and priests try to convince her to confess. Given that Discalced Carmelites stress humility, they thought they would easily achieve their goal, but she remained firm. “I confess [my guilt] to the Lord and before my fathers,” she writes, “but in this business concerning Father Gracián, by God’s mercy I had not offended Him, not even with the most fleeting thought” (qtd. in Pérez García, 354). When Doria’s men called Gracián to Madrid and demanded his confession, he obeyed out of a desire for peace, explains María. Yet, not even then were Doria and his men satisfied: “They thought that by using another letter of mine, they’d make the business sound livelier,” and thereby fortify their story (qtd. in Pérez García, 354). Then, as though aware she has gone too far in her accusations, she adds,

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“I don’t think they had bad intentions, only being ill informed, they must have thought this was fitting for my salvation” (qtd. in Pérez García, 354). María clearly does think they had bad intentions, however. She explains that, being unable to sway her, they finally wound up deliberately misinterpreting her letters and ordering her to stay away from Gracián. She reproduces Doria’s communication in its entirety: Fray Nicolás de Jesús María, Vicar General of the Congregation of Discalced Carmelites, etc. As pertains to María de San José, who is now Prelate of the Convent of San Alberto, a convent of nuns of our congregation in Lisbon, for certain reasons pertaining to the service of God and the good of our congregation, we have asked that a precept be imposed prohibiting her from having contact with Father Jerónimo Gracián de la Madre de Dios, a priest of our order. Our consulta has approved and ordered the following: María de San José has been commanded to desist from writing to, speaking to, or having business with said Father Jerónimo Gracián, either directly or through an intermediary. She is not to receive his letters or to involve herself in matters that pertain to him. All of which and each individual item of which I command that she keep and observe in virtue of the Holy Spirit and holy obedience, under precept and pain of excommunication mayor late sentençie6 and being held as guilty as accused. Father Gregorio Nacianceno, Provincial of the Province of San Felipe, will notify the said María de San José of this mandate, and at the foot of this communication [she] will put her signature and seal and will return it to me. Dated in Madrid, 15 August 1588. Fray Nicolás de Jesús María, Vicar General. (qtd. in Pérez García, 355)

María answers with defiance: “I obey unconditionally […] but not because I asked for it or anyone asked for it on my behalf, and not because I find any cause in my conscience to ask that such a precept be applied to me” (qtd. in Pérez García, 355). As a Discalced Carmelite, she must prove that she is willing to obey her superiors unquestioningly. Yet, she makes it clear that she knows in her heart that she is innocent. However, María argues, even though she obeyed his order, Doria continued to harass her, subjecting her to a thousand calumnies and trials. As a witness, 6 A term meaning that the excommunication is major (absolute exclusion from the Church, not just exclusion from the Eucharist) and automatic (latae sententiae), meaning that it does not have to be imposed by a Church authority but is incurred by just committing the offense. Thanks to Rev. Brian McDermott, S.J. for this explanation.

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she cites the “very old and wise” Father Baltasar de Jesús, quoting from a letter he wrote on her behalf: “Im verbo sacerdotis7 I swear that I never saw anything that was not completely religious, and that I never saw [Gracián] speak alone with the prioress or any other nun, only publicly and seldom, and so briefly that it didn’t last longer that three paternosters” (qtd. in Pérez García, 356). María reviews the dealings she had with Gracián—establishing the Lisbon convent, placing the Flemish nuns in Alcántara—arguing that these encounters were necessary, approved by the authorities, and limited to business. She names many high-ranking members of the Church hierarchy and of Portuguese society who can vouch for her. However, she complains, “none of this has been enough to make the fathers desist” (qtd. in Pérez García, 357). They will not even take the word of “their own nuns of this house” (qtd. in Pérez García, 357). Furthermore, although she and her nuns have asked them to conduct an investigation of the convent, they have failed to do so. “It seems they don’t really want to know,” she concludes (qtd. in Pérez García, 357). Although at the beginning of the letter María softens her accusations by assuring the reader that her tormenters’ intentions are not evil, here she takes a bolder stance. “I don’t judge or want to judge anybody’s intentions, or to defame anyone, but, if by telling the truth I reveal falsehoods, it’s not my fault. Many have obligated me to tell what I know in good conscience, for by keeping silent, I hurt not only myself, but also the other one [Gracián], who has been defamed” (qtd. in Pérez García, 357). She ends with a description of a visit from one of the members of the Junta that occurred early on in the maraña (“mess”) involving Gracián. After interrogating each nun, the priest concluded that, judging from the testimonies, Gracián should be a candidate for canonization! However, concludes María, “they didn’t come to canonize Father Gracián. What we all know is that nothing about this visit ever appeared, nor did anything else in support or defense of the Father, just the opposite” (qtd. in Pérez García, 357). As in much of her other writing, María develops her argument in a logical, almost lawyerly way. She sets forth the accusation, cites evidence and witnesses in her defense, and concludes that it is her accusers who are actually the guilty ones, for they have manipulated and suppressed data in order to arrive at a preconceived conclusion. Although her letter is long, “I read it to the sisters, and it seemed to them that I was too brief […] And so that your Reverence will be satisfied, they all wanted to sign it […]” (qtd. in Pérez García, 357). In fact, all the nuns did sign it. 7

On my word as a priest.

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This letter, dated 9 November 1590, was a kind of “practice run” for last part of the Ramillete de mirra, in which María develops many of the same points as in the missive. María writes in Ramillete that she was astounded when she heard the order that she refrain from associating with Gracián, especially when she realized the artifice to which Doria had resorted: He made it sound as though she herself had requested the separation out of a sense of guilt, thereby causing her to defame herself. To avoid additional complications, she complies with his demands, but not without setting the matter straight. María includes in Ramillete the same segment of her acquiescence as in the 1590 letter: “I obey unconditionally […] but not because I asked for it or anyone asked for it on my behalf, and not because I find any cause in my conscience to ask that such a precept be applied to me” (Escritos, 327). Even more than in the letter, María makes it clear here that, while acquiescing to Doria’s demands, she once again denies his allegations and rebels against his authority. María argues in Ramillete that, in spite of her efforts to submit to Doria’s mandates, she continued to suffer persecutions. Again building her arguments with the meticulousness of an attorney, she enumerates witnesses to her and Gracián’s compliance with Doria’s orders, then accuses Doria of refusing to consider their testimony. She reproduces an offer she made to Doria, which he ignored, to submit to any examination, no matter how rigorous. As she composed Ramillete, María became more and more aggressive. She hurls allegations: None of the many letters she and the other sisters wrote to Doria sufficed to clear them of the perjuries of their accusers; for six years, no Discalced official visited the convent, so the authorities could not evaluate the nuns’ conduct fairly; Doria showed contempt for the authority of Saint Teresa, who stipulated that nuns had the freedom to choose their confessors; without justification, he altered the 1581 Constitutions, which were approved by the Provincial, the Definitors, the Apostolic Visitators, the Apostolic Commissary Father Master Fray Juan de las Cuevas, and, finally, by the Nuncio Legate of the Pope himself. Her amassment of evidence, witnesses, and ecclesiastical mandates is clearly designed to create an airtight case and to undermine Doria’s authority. At last, she comes to the event that brought the conflict to a head: the “nuns’ revolt”. When Sixtus V sided with the Discalced sisters on the issue of the Constitutions, María writes, Doria reacted with “so much anger and rage […] those who know how friars can be when they have a little power” can imagine (Escritos, 330). Seeing that the brief had the support of some of the Church’s most respected men—among them Don Teutónio de Bragança and Father Fray Luis de León—Doria and his allies knew they could never

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reverse the Pope’s decision by legitimate means. Instead, they opted to print letters attacking the nuns, accusing them of wanting the brief only to lead lives of libertinage. But if that were so, María argues, the Pope would not have stipulated that we needed permission from the prelate to speak with a priest. Doria and his men “turned the world topsy-turvy” and “created a storm that is still going on” (Escritos, 330). In the last part of Ramillete, her defiance explodes. If wanting to safeguard our Mother’s laws constitutes guilt, she asserts, “then I am guilty and I endure with pleasure the punishment they dish out” (Escritos, 330). However, María finds comfort in the goodness of her sisters, who realize that she is nothing like the monster that the prelates described. She concludes: “But God is good, my dear mothers and companions […] all of you have suffered like saints […] All of this is a blessing. And so, I am writing this to give my sisters courage” (Escritos, 334). Furthermore, she explains, she must preserve her story for future generations of Discalced Carmelites; those who lived through it know it well, but after their deaths, it risks falling into oblivion—which is, in fact, what almost happened. María clearly sees herself as the victim of depraved and manipulative men, but also as a hero in the battle to preserve Teresa’s Constitutions. She compares herself to Marco Atilio Regulus, the Roman consul and General (c. 307 BC–250 BC), who was seen as a model of civic virtue for refusing to compromise with the enemies of Rome, and enduring a cruel death as a result.8 “What a disgrace and what mayhem among men of religion, who for such small things lay aside the honor of God and the good of the order!” (Escritos, 335) María’s words are more than a lament; they are an accusation directed at priests whose ambition and conceit have made them “vile slaves to a thousand vanities” (Escritos, 335). With obvious satisfaction, she notes that those who tortured her and her sisters are now rotting underground. Not without certain irony, she uses using traditional elegiac formulas to stress their current unimportance: “Where are they, dear brothers and sisters, those men who a year ago made us tremble? […] Where are they now?” (Escritos, 335) Her life has truly been a Ramillete de Mirra, she says, but she is grateful to God for granting her the treasure of the cross. María de San José’s Ramillete de mirra is a remarkable document, a hardhitting accusation against a powerful cleric. Building her case against him in 8 Marco Atilio Regulus served in the first Punic War, where he defeated the Carthaginians. After he was defeated and captured at Tunis, he urged the Roman Senate to refuse the proposed peace agreement. They then returned to Carthage, where, according to tradition, he was tortured to death.

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a clear and logical way, she fashions herself as the hero of her own narrative, a champion of righteousness, and the true defender of the Mother Foundress. By accepting her role as victim, she becomes the victor, for suffering makes her Christlike. Naturally, we hear only one side of the story, but for centuries, no one heard María’s story at all. Now, finally, we are heeding the protests of a woman who was strong, brave, articulate, and so damn mad she was not going to take it anymore. On 8 September 1590, María wrote to her sisters in Seville and Sanlúcar la Mayor trumpeting the nuns’ triumph over Doria: As someone who loves you and so greatly desires your well-being, and for so many days has wished for the favor Our Lord has given us of the confirmation of our Constitutions, with the particular kindness and favor of His Holiness. This He has done, in the brief you will see and be amazed […] and so receive this message with due gratitude, showing the love and faithfulness you have for the things of our holy Mother. For, aside from what we have done being the right thing to do, it is what will endure, as Our Lord continues to show us. When the devil mounts intrigues to knock down what the Saint built up, from Heaven she fortifies it, and with the confirmation and approbation of the entire Holy Roman Church, no less. The Cardinals of the College have thoroughly examined the Constitutions, and the Vicar of Christ, who is the father and head of all the faithful, has confirmed them. Whoever does not admire this and rejoice deep in her heart, and with her body and blood stand ready to defend it should that be necessary, is unworthy of the name of daughter of our holy Mother. May all fantasies and false hopes cease, for what our holy Mother created will endure forever. And for those who don’t know, be informed of all the infernal fury that was hurled against us to bring us down, and those who do understand, [remember] that for more than six years we’ve been clamoring, the result of which cost us quite a few trials and tribulations. Some of my daughters may be upset and f ind offense in my forceful insistence on what each of you must love and desire. I know that each of you, my dear mothers and sisters, would give her life for the tiniest thing that our Mother left us. But since the devil has not given up, but rather has intensified his efforts without this being anyone’s fault, I fear I may not persuade you, as others have tried to, although fortunately without success, for all my daughters are rejoicing and recognize that the love and memory of that holy Mother lives among us. The holy Mother who so marvelously showed herself in Rome, making all the Cardinals her great admirers […]

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I’m sending the notification of the brief, so you can rejoice in seeing our Mother celebrated. I hope to be proud of all of my daughters’ show of love and appreciation for their holy Mother, from whom they will receive a great blessing […] (MHCT 4, Doc. 476)

María evidently feared being taken for an autocrat for trying to cajole the nuns into supporting her. Some had already taken Doria’s side or, at least, failed to take hers, as was the case with Ana de San Bartolomé. María is careful not to mention Doria by name, but instead remains vague: (“[The devil] has intensified his efforts without this being anyone’s fault”), directly associating Doria and all those who oppose her with evil forces while, at the same time, avoiding the assignment of personal guilt. As usual, María calls on the authority of Saint Teresa, exhorting her spiritual daughters to champion her efforts, for Teresa clearly wants the 1581 Constitutions preserved and therefore intervened from Heaven on behalf of its defenders. Like a coaxing mother, María insists on her love for them and appeals to their loyalty to and pride in the order and the Foundress. She cites the authority of the Pope and Cardinals, whose good judgment has prevailed over forces hostile to the Constitutions. Finally, she invites them to celebrate her vindication of the Constitutions, thereby integrating them into her cause. The same day that María wrote this letter, the Discalced Carmelite nuns of Lisbon, undoubtedly at María’s urging, wrote to Fray Luis de León informing him about the wonderful news from Rome: Good and merciful is the Lord, who does not ignore the tears and pleas of his servants. Your Paternity can imagine the joy of this entire convent and of all of our supporters. Now we hope to return to that peace and quiet in which we lived under our Mother, since what she left us has at last been confirmed. (MHCT 4, Doc. 477)

However, María’s peace and quiet were short-lived. Sixtus V died on 27 August 1590, and his successor was less well-disposed toward the nuns. Doria’s calumnies spread to Discalced Carmelite convents around Spain, and numerous sisters refused to support María. Fray Belchior explains that, since asking for a papal brief to obstruct the Provincial was so dangerous, many prioresses dared not cooperate with María’s plan (vol. 2, 282). On 13–14 October 1590, María wrote to the prioresses of Ávila and Valladolid defending herself against the accusations of Doria and his supporters and attempting to shame recalcitrant nuns into taking her side. How can we call ourselves Carmelites, she argues, when we allow

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ourselves to endure such abuse? “We are all daughters of Mother Teresa de Jesús, whom we tout as a saint, and Heaven knows that she is” (MHCT 4, Doc. 501). As daughters of such a Foundress, she argues, we must seek perfection in the model she gives us and not allow ourselves to be bullied: […] neither fear, nor threats, nor promises, nor arguments should induce some to remain silent and shrink away and others to answer for themselves so badly that they don’t fully embrace what the Mother left us and the Vicar of Christ confirmed. I am the lowliest and vilest if all, as your Reverences know. They have discredited and defamed me, although by the grace of God, I am guiltless, for I have never done anything to dishonor or offend my habit. I have been suffering in silence for four years, and I obey the hardest and harshest demands against my honor, embracing them with joy. However, I will no longer remain silent. (MHCT 4, Doc. 501)

Teresa often exhorted her daughters to be “strong men” and “soldiers,” by which she meant they should display steadfastness and valor, traditionally considered male characteristics.9 María attempts to spur her daughters to action in the same way, offering herself as an example of a strong soldier: “You should all know,” she writes, “that I offer myself to suffer such trials, incarcerations, hunger, thirst, beatings, and infamies, and, if necessary, death, for the slightest thing of those that the Mother left to us; and may all of hell unite against me, I won’t budge, unless God should take from me the light that he has given me” (MHCT 4, Doc. 501). María ends by assuring her sisters that she would rather die than find out that the rumor is true that some Carmels do not support the confirmation of the Constitutions, which are a gift from “our holy Mother.” By stressing repeatedly that this document was Teresa’s, María suggests that anyone who fails to endorse the 1581 Constitutions is disloyal to the Mother and therefore an unworthy Carmelite. (The 1581 Constitutions were actually confirmed at the chapter held in Alcalá, which Teresa did not attend; they constitute a minor revision of Teresa’s original 1562 Constitutions.)10 “What a scandal and discredit it would be, and that’s why my heart is crying. And to alleviate this pain, I dare to shout out, so that all can hear me!” (MHCT 4, Doc. 501) However, Doria did not give up easily. He used his connections at court to appeal to Philip II to block approval of the brief. After Sixtus V died, the next Pope, Gregory XIV, imposed a compromise that favored Doria. Now Doria 9 See Lettered Woman, 69. 10 See Smet, 110–112.

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was in a position to take revenge against the rebels and their supporters. The calumny against Gracián continued. Although John of the Cross did not fully support the “nuns’ revolt”, he was unambiguous in his condemnation of Doria’s treatment of Gracián. As punishment, Doria deprived John of his office as definitor and concilario, exiling him to the monastery of Peñuela and then attempting to send him to Mexico. Although John, seeing his banishment as inevitable, actually petitioned for the transfer abroad, he died that same year, 1591, before his ship could set sail (Rodríguez, 722). In 1592, Doria expelled Gracián and sentenced Ana de Jesús to three years imprisonment. The tribulations of Gracián are worthy of note, as María will refer to them in the 1597 letter discussed in Chapter 5. The King, the Nuncio, and the authorities in Rome ratif ied the sentence against him. Rome commanded him to enter some other order, but the Carthusians, Capuchins, and Dominicans refused to admit him. Finally, the Augustinians assigned him to found some reformed convents for their order. On his way by ship from the coastal Italian city of Gaeta to Rome, where he intended to argue his case against his accusers, Gracián fell prisoner to pirates and wound up working among Christian slaves in a bagnio (“prison”) in Tunis. After eighteen months, he finally obtained his freedom and made his way to Rome. After hearing his story, Pope Clement VIII is said to have exclaimed, “This man is a saint!” The Pope had the sentence of expulsion rescinded, but to avoid further discord among the Discalced, Gracián entered the Calced Carmelites with the right to practice the Rule of the Reform—a rather ironic solution considering the battles he had had with the Calced in Seville. He then left for Ceuta and Tetuan to preach, and eventually made his way to Brussels. The year following Gracián’s expulsion, María de San José was deprived of voice and vote and placed under house arrest for nine months in the Lisbon Carmel. Carlos Ros suggests that the real reason María was imprisoned was to get her out of the way. After all, the question of the Constitutions had been resolved two years earlier (Ros, María, 323ff).

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Works Cited Primary Sources Gracián, Jerónimo de la Madre de Dios. Cartas. Ed. Juan Luis Astigárraga. Rome: Teresianum, 1989. ——. Historia De las Fundaciones. Rome: Inst. Historico Teresiano, 1977. ——. Peregrinación de Anastasio. Rome: Teresianum, 2001. María de San José (Salazar). Escritos Espirituales. Ed. Simeón de la Sagrada Familia, O.C.D. Rome: Postulación General O.C.D., 1979. Monumenta Historica Carmeli Teresiani (MHCT). Institutum Historicum Teresianum. Rome: 1973–.

Secondary Sources Belchior de Santa Anna (Sant’Anna). Chronica de Carmelitas Descalços, Particular do Reyno de Portugal e Provincia de Sam Felippe, Pello P. Fr. Belchior de S. Anna. Vol. 2 (of 3). Na officina da H.V. Oliveira: Lisboa, 1657. Mattingly, Garrett. The Armada. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1959. Pérez García, María de la Cruz. María de San José, Salazar: La humanista colaboradora de Santa Teresa perseguida. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 2009. Rodríguez, José Vicente. San Juan de la Cruz: La biografía. Edición Revisada (revised ed.). Madrid: San Pablo, 2016. Ros, Carlos. La hija predilecta de Teresa de Jesús: María de San José. Madrid: Cultiva, 2008. Smet, Joachim. The Mirror of Carmel: A Brief History of the Carmelite Order. Darien, IL: Carmelite Media, 2011.

5.

Trials: Prison, Illness, and Death Abstract In her Carta de una pobre y presa Descalza (1593), written from the jail of the Convent of São Alberto, María de San José (Salazar) pled with her spiritual daughters to continue the struggle against Nicolás Doria, who had maneuvered to change the Carmelite Constitutions. She urged them to resist not through active rebellion, but by practicing resoluteness, detachment, wisdom, and forgiveness, as modeled by Christ and the saints. The Carta is not an appeal for pity, but a battle cry designed to galvanize the sisters. After her release from prison, María resumed her customary activities. In October 1603, her enemies abducted her and took her to the remote convent of Cuerva, where she died days later. Keywords: María de San José (Salazar), Carta de una pobre y presa Descalza, Discalced Carmelites in Portugal, early modern women’s letter-writing

Until recently, scholars believed that María’s only extant letter was the Carta de una pobre y presa Descalza (Letter from a poor, imprisoned Discalced nun) that she wrote on Good Friday 1593, from the jail of the Convent of São Alberto. Although the autograph has disappeared, a contemporaneous copy can be found in the Biblioteca Nacional de Madrid (Ms. 3537, folios 478–479). It was published by Silverio de Santa Teresa, O.C.D. in 1913, and again, in a revised and corrected edition, by Simeón de la Sagrada Familia, O.C.D. in 1979. In this passionate letter to her sisters, María pleads with them to continue the struggle against their adversaries, not through active rebellion, but by practicing resoluteness, detachment, wisdom, and forgiveness, as modeled by Christ and the saints—in other words, by remaining loyal to the Teresian charism. In spite of the rather gloomy title scholars have given it, the Carta is not an appeal for pity. Rather, it is a battle cry designed to galvanize the sisters. The letter is a paradigm of Christian stoicism, rational argumentation, and the rhetoric of suasion. Using metaphors common in didactic

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch05

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Christian literature—faith as a treasure, life as a voyage through troubled waters—María weaves a complex but clear argument designed to strengthen the hearts of her readers. Here, as in her other writing, she displays an impressive knowledge of Scripture, which she must have acquired as a girl in the home of Luisa de la Cerda, given the 1559 prohibition on reading the Bible in the vernacular. Far from exemplifying the chaotic and spontaneous style associated with what Hélène Cixous called l’écriture féminine, María’s letter is well organized and logical, yet it conveys tremendous warmth for her spiritual family as well as a deep sense of betrayal over her order’s treatment of her. Along with other letters from approximately the same the period, including those of Ana de Jesús and Ana de San Bartolomé, María’s epistle helps us to understand the unifying role of personal letters in early modern religious life. María produced the Carta when she was incommunicado, which means she was fully aware—and says so—that her Carmelite sisters might never read it. Why, then, did she write it? For one thing, she felt the need to demonstrate her devotion to her sisters somehow. The letter attests to her tremendous affection for these women; she repeatedly uses terms of endearment to address them: carísimas, queridas hijas, mis amadas hijas, caras hermanas (“my dearest ones, dear daughters, my beloved daughters, dear sisters”), and speaks of “the close friendship that we have with one another” (Escritos, 271). The letter allows María to offer proof that in spite of her physical isolation, she has not forgotten her sisters: “[…] I write to show you that I always have you in my thoughts and have never distanced you from my memory, although they have relegated me to this narrow prison” (Escritos, 278). Furthermore, María wishes to provide testimony in her own hand, before God and people, of her reaction to her incarceration. Thus, writing is a form of agency and self-actualization for María de San José, a heretofore lively, energetic woman who now finds herself deprived of all other forms of action. Although she cannot speak with the other nuns, María imagines the anguish her incarceration causes them. The letter consists of her orderly responses to the laments and protests she assumes her sisters are making. Due to their “passion and feminine tenderness,” she supposes they are shedding tears over her imprisonment (Escritos, 271). She assures them that her situation is not worth crying over and that she herself is laughing because she considers her mistreatment a blessing. Her tone is almost airy as she enumerates the reasons her sisters might be weeping: they might regret not sharing in her blessing, to which she responds that they do in fact share it, presumably because they are all targets of the friars’ wrath; or they

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might simply feel sorry for her, to which she responds that their presence mitigates her suffering even if she cannot see them; or they might crave the merit she gains by her imprisonment, to which she replies that she will gladly offer it to them; or, if they covet her victory, she will, she promises, attribute it to them. Perhaps because her purpose is to rally the sisters to forbearance rather than to action, she avoids mentioning particular incidents or persons that might rile them. Instead, she casts the letter as a general plea for fortitude in the face of iniquity. She appeals to the women’s group spirit, exhorting them to remain f irm and committed: “Don’t become faint, my dearest ones, and don’t let your faith weaken […]” (Escritos, 275). Significantly, she refers to their detractors as “the enemy,” a term that could certainly refer to Doria, but was also used in Christian literature to mean the devil. By using this term, she casts the women’s fight as part of the grand conflict between good and evil. Yet, she does not shirk from defining their situation as a war.1 She makes her case for resistance using military metaphors, as Teresa often did. The women must be strong soldiers who will fight by not fighting, who will actively defy intimidation by displaying generosity and forgiveness. Their arms will be patience and compassion. Women may be emotional and gentle by nature, she says, but they can also be tough. The sisters form a “squadron of virgins,” whose valor and commitment will compensate for their meager numbers: “I feel what your brave limbs can accomplish against the common enemy” (Escritos, 271). She warns against any display of weakness that might make the enemy lose his fear and “raise his banner” against them (Escritos, 271). Like Teresa, María de San José uses martial language to stress the need for vigor, constancy, and strength of character, but María’s images of squadrons of virgins successfully battling standard-bearing legions are particularly vivid. Women may be physically weak, she suggests, but they can be morally strong, and when they act in unity, as a “squadron,” they are a dynamic force. María’s central argument is that the nuns must model their struggle on Christ’s. This means not indulging in “impetuous acts of martyrdom” that are nothing compared to Jesus’s sacrifice, but rather in embracing the treasure—the “precious stone”—that God has given them through the example of His Son. This treasure is affliction, which likens to Christ those who receive it. María develops the metaphor of treasure through the parable, found in Matthew 13:46, of the merchant who sold all his goods to acquire 1

On Teresa’s use of military terminology, see Mujica, Lettered Woman, 68–102.

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one invaluable jewel. Don’t greedy men of the world knock themselves out trying to find treasure and broadcast their good fortune when they find it? she asks. Then why shouldn’t we, who hope for a greater reward, do the same? Real Christians do not complain about hardship, she admonishes them, but rather welcome it as a means of imitating Christ and purifying their souls. However, María anticipates objections to this position, which she enumerates. First of all, we have been suffering for years; enough is enough. Second, God does not profit from this kind of abuse, which dishonors many people. Third, the mistreatment shows no sign of abating; on the contrary, whenever we think it is letting up, it gets worse. Once again, María responds with orderly arguments. First, since we have been suffering so long, we should be used to it; with time, affliction becomes easier to bear. Second, real dishonor is turning away from Christ, as the heretics and pagans do. Implicit in this argument is a rejection of the social concept of honor: a stain on one’s reputation. Furthermore, she argues, Christ’s honor is in His own hands, and He will know how to retrieve it. Third, it does not matter how long or how much our enemies persecute us, since they are doing us a favor by making it easy for us to suffer for God. In the ensuing paragraphs, María develops the fundamental theological concepts of grace and free will through a series of metaphors. We are all beggars, she explains, as we need God’s gift of grace to attain salvation. She admonishes the sisters not to behave like ungrateful beggars, who refuse a gift of gold because it is still in the rough: “The poor beggar to whom a piece of gold is given to remedy his need, but who rejects it because it has not been styled and set in enamel, shows no common sense” (Escritos, 274). Salvation requires not only grace but also deeds. It is a “supreme structure” that can be forfeited out of laziness or weakness if one fails to accept the challenge. Therefore, the sisters must behave like skilled lapidaries, who honor and work the gems they will use to elaborate this structure. God will not allow them to labor in vain, as He guides even “ignorant and blind men,” steering their hands, opening their eyes, untying their tongues, and directing their steps. Like many Christian writers before her, María contends that suffering is a normal part of human existence and therefore to be expected. She develops this argument through another familiar metaphor: that of life as a boat on a tempest-tossed sea. Like Christ, the nuns are being pitched and battered in the sea—in the nuns’ case, in a sea of abuse. What makes it more painful for them is that the waters are being roiled by friars of their own order. But, in that, too, they are following in sacred footsteps, for God was also betrayed by his own creatures. They will not be expected to

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endure as much as Christ did, she assures them, quoting Matthew, for “the disciple is not expected to be greater than the master” (Escritos, 276). It is only ignorance that makes human beings fear, for we judge circumstances from our own limited experiences on earth. Citing Saint Paul, she argues that if we could see the “big picture,” as God does, our faith would never falter, for we would understand the divine plan. Now María comes to the crux of her argument, utilizing the rhetorical strategy of paradox by creating a kind of spiritual conceit: God will never abandon us, just as he will never abandon our enemies. Basing her arguments on Saint Thomas, she explains “the marvelous artifice through which sinners are justified” (Escritos, 276). To begin with, God facilitates the salvation of the just through their enemies, not only because persecution purifies, but also because the suffering that the friars inflict makes the nuns turn to God with more fervor. Furthermore, persecution makes the nuns stronger, for, just as in the Bible, David learned and improved through God’s discipline, so will the nuns. Significantly, María does not begin by explaining how God will discipline the friars, but stresses how the notion of God’s discipline applies to the sisters: “The Lord’s discipline is good for all. It is not advantageous for us to try to avoid it, but rather, like obedient disciples, we should embrace it” (Escritos, 277). These words would seem to suggest that the nuns should just put up with the friars’ abuse because, in the long run, suffering is good for them, and anyway, the friars are stronger. However, that is not what María is saying. Instead, she argues that by embracing God’s discipline, the nuns will demonstrate that they are the strong ones. Furthermore, they will actually be fighting back, for they will be resisting the friars’ efforts to debase them. Although it might seem that vengeance would be a natural response to abuse, that position is one of weakness, argues María. Curiously, she does not associate vengeance with honor-obsessed men, but rather with mujeres ignorantes (“ignorant women”). She urges the nuns to take care not to dishonor or offend their offenders. By disciplining themselves and resisting the urge to take vengeance, María explains, the nuns will be modeling their behavior on God’s. Certainly, she explains, God would have been justified in striking down Christ’s killers, but instead, He chose to forgive them. To fail to follow this example, she explains, would be to betray God. And since God does punish traitors, it is important that the nuns not fall into that temptation. By bearing their cross, the nuns will prove their virtue, which will contrast strikingly with the friars’ malice. The unspoken suggestion is that, if the friars do not come to their senses, they will, in fact, pay in the end. But it is not up to the nuns to adjudicate them. Citing as a source the fourth-century Saint Gregory

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of Nazianzus, María argues that true vengeance is to see one’s enemies saved, presumably because that would mean they had seen the error of their ways and repented. The vengeance of the world, María implies, is false and demeaning. In contrast, true vengeance is liberating, since it frees the offended party from having to avenge herself. At the end of the letter, María begs her sisters not to cry for her, since she herself is not distraught. God rejoices in our patience, she tells them, and will reward us for it. Rather than their tears, she asks only for their prayers. To make her case for the virtue of suffering, she calls to mind the many saints who were imprisoned and underwent worse tortures than she, notably Saint John the Baptist. How can I compare myself to them? she asks. “I see them in harsh prisons, and I’m not suffering harsh prisons. [I see them] among cruel enemies, and I find myself among my pious sisters” (Escritos, 279). Even her guard is an angel of a nun who treats her with love rather than rigor. By advocating the path of nonviolent resistance, María probably hoped to avoid further persecutions for her sisters. Her own active rebellion had failed to attain the desired results and had led only to her imprisonment. At the time she wrote this letter, she undoubtedly foresaw her own death. Toward the end of the letter, she mentions death repeatedly. She compares her situation to that of John the Baptist, who perished for a truth that she, too, embraces and will defend to the death (Escritos, 279). She also paraphrases Saint Gregory of Nazianzus, saying that she would die happy seeing her persecutors saved (Escritos, 279). Since it was Good Friday, she especially had Christ’s sacrifice in mind: “And may He not abandon me, the One who on a day like today, was willing to die for me […]” (Escritos, 279). The memory of Christ’s Passion gives her strength. To dissuade her sisters from taking overt action, she urges them again and again to follow the example of Jesus and the saints. María knew from personal experience just how ruthless Doria could be, and she apparently thought it essential to silence the sisters before he directed the full force of his rage against them. The Carta de una pobre y presa Descalza is impressive for its logical argumentation, its vivid metaphors, and its erudition—María mentions Old and New Testament sources (Tobias, Psalms, Matthew, Peter, Luke, Philippians), as well as Saint Gregory and Saint Thomas. But another of the letter’s salient characteristics is its familiar, conversational tone. “It seems to me I can hear you saying […],” she writes in response to the nuns’ supposed objections (Escritos, 273). “I will respond to three points that I hear,” she goes on (Escritos, 273). “I have so much confidence in your spiritual ears that I believe you are attending to what I am saying,” she says when explaining why she wrote this letter (Escritos, 273). Terms such as oigo, oigan, les digo

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(“I hear, listen, I say to you”) give the letter an intimate, chatty tone in spite of María’s impressive intellectualism. In convents, letters were often read aloud during meals or at meetings, and María’s letter reflects that orality. However, more than simply a rhetorical device, these terms are perhaps a reflection of María’s desire to reach out to the sisters she misses so desperately. They are perhaps an indication of how isolated and downhearted she really feels in spite of the vigor of her appeal for fortitude. She concludes by saying that writing is a solace, a descanso (Escritos, 280). It is a means of feeling the presence of her spiritual sisters in spite of their absence. Although María assures her sisters that she herself is laughing and urges them to laugh through their tears, it is amply clear that she is weeping through her laughter.

María as Spiritual Guide Soon after she was released, María resumed many of her normal activities. One of these was offering spiritual guidance, sometimes by letter. In one missive, she attempts to teach an unidentified nun the means by which to distinguish God’s favors from ploys of the devil: […] no matter how many mercies and supernatural things from God [a soul] has received, many from the devil can be mixed in, as you can read in [the works of] many saints […] The Lord says that among the good seed, the Enemy has sown weeds […] The ministers of the Lord know it better than we ignorant women. That’s why I dared to tell you to be careful of believing that everything is from God. However, that’s not a reason to believe everything is from the devil, especially not attributes such as patience, charity, and zeal for the honor of God, penitence, and other virtues that are nurtured and fortified and are born of supernatural things that God communicates […] These are things the devil cannot do; he can make things to appear a certain way, but not transform the nature of things […] And just to be clear, let me say that imaginary visions, 2 especially external ones that depend on the senses—the ones in which the devil gets mixed up—and internal ones, and external, too, many times, that come from God, are very similar to the ones that come from the devil—that is, a 2 “Imaginary” or “imaginative” visions are those associated with an image, unlike “intellectual” visions, in which one senses a divine presence but does not actually see anything.

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vision of the crucified Christ could be sent to you by God, but another could be sent by the devil. With regard to form, they look the same, but they’re different in effect—and that’s where you can see the proof of the good or evil spirit. And the same happens with locutions: both God and the devil speak well, for the devil is not so stupid that he would reveal himself by spouting bad doctrine, or at least not at the beginning. The difference is that God’s speech inspires works, [rather than simply an emotional response]. If he says “humble,” he inspires humility, while if the devil says “humble,” he leaves us proud. The soul feels virtuous because the devil has spoken so well, but he has infused us with evil. As a result, many people are fooled by his lovely words, which is why it is my understanding that if a soul doesn’t want to allow itself to be deceived, it should be aware of the effects that the words produce. The devil always leaves conflict and confusion, and he leaves the soul feeling empty or closed. (Belchior vol. 2, 296)

María further explains that it is so difficult to distinguish between the signs of the good and evil spirits that people are often fooled in spite of their good intentions. However, she explains, those who seek God without any self-interest or pretense of achieving favor or delights have nothing to fear. They can trust in God, who is their true friend. She concludes: Moreover, so that you won’t be confused by what I wrote above, [let me clarify that] it isn’t good to assume that everything is from God or to fear that everything is from the devil. If you do, the soul will remain confused and fearful without knowing what it should believe or what it should doubt, or what would be the surer and safer path. Therefore, I’m telling you that faith is what in a revelation makes known what our Mother Church teaches us, and that’s what we should act on, not because a revelation tells us to, but because a revelation simply shows us things—it is indifferent. It can be either evil or good, as can an act or a word. By no means should you decide without a great deal of advice from devout and prudent confessors. Without the advice of such men, do not move a stick from one place to another, no matter how many revelations you have had. Believe that our Lord is pleased when we do not let ourselves be guided by our feelings, and so he has us counseled by his Apostles to make sure that the Enemy is transformed [in our hearts] into an Angel of Light. These things are more dangerous for women because we are ignorant. I’m telling you all this, my dear Mother, to lift your spirits and make you happy. (Belchior vol. 2, 296–297)

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This letter shows María to be a careful and sensitive spiritual director. She attempts to assuage her mentee’s fears while urging her not to let down her guard. María’s spiritual guidance reveals theological knowledge, but she is careful not to overstep her bounds. Although she is allowed to offer spiritual direction, as a woman, she is forbidden to preach or teach. Therefore, she defers to the authority of confessors and recognizes her own supposed inferiority by characterizing women as “ignorant.” María recognizes that the devil often takes the form of divine beings, even Christ crucified, to lure unsuspecting Christians into his snare, but she rejects the tendency of some confessors to see the devil lurking in every corner. Alison Weber argues that Saint Teresa was a “dissident demonologist,” who was reluctant to attribute aberrant behavior to the devil and believed that, contrary to the conviction of many learned men, women were perfectly capable of discerning the devil’s wiles from the favors of God.3 Similarly, María argues that her directee is capable of discernment by observing her own emotional and psychological responses to ambiguous preternatural phenomena: Confusion and sinfulness are signs that experiences come from the devil, while calm feelings and good deeds stem from God. María, who had Jesuit confessors at the palace of Doña Luisa de la Cerda, counsels methods of discernment similar to those Saint Ignatius elucidates in The Spiritual Exercises. 4 Ignatius encourages mindfulness of the “movements of the soul,” that is, fluctuations between consolation and desolation that reveal the influence of good and evil spirits. In spite of her faith in women’s abilities, prevailing notions of female ineptitude make her cautious. From the mid fourteenth century on, many clerics argued that women were incapable of distinguishing between divine and demonically inspired experience. Jean Gerson, writing at the beginning of the fifteenth century, had thrown into question women’s access to divine revelation, making discernment an issue of women’s spiritual capabilities. Moshe Sluhovsky notes that the debates on discernment made women reluctant to form opinions on their own spiritual experience: “Women’s practices of discernment […] were restricted by women’s self-doubts, by their discretion, and by their careful avoidance of crossing an invisible line and stepping into the domain of male clerics” (209). It is not surprising that María’s directee seems insecure or that María counsels her to seek advice from competent confessors and not “move a stick from one place to another” without their approval. 3 4

See Weber, “Saint Teresa, Demonologist,” and Mujica, “Evil Within and Evil Without.” See Mujica, “Three Sisters of Carmen.”

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Yet, María’s own experience with sour, hypocritical, and melancholic priests made her wary. She knew that clerics who saw sinfulness in the most banal, everyday activities could do much harm, often convincing perfectly innocent nuns that they were in the grips of the devil (Avisos, 84–87). Despite her apparent deference to confessors, María clearly had enough confidence in her own discernment abilities to offer spiritual advice to other women. Perhaps her struggles with Garciálvarez in Seville and Doria in Lisbon caused her to include comments on the ignorance of women for her own protection. Perhaps she thought that prudence demanded displays of obedience and humility. After all, she had just emerged from prison.

The Reform of Menino de Jesus In spite of her difficulties with certain priests, many influential clerics held María in high esteem and sought her assistance. In 1595, Teutónio de Bragança, the Archbishop of Évora, decided to transfer María de San José and other sisters from São Alberto in Lisbon to the Monastery of Menino de Jesus (“Child Jesus”) in the same city. Menino de Jesus was an Augustinian convent founded in 1467, and, although its nuns had once led exemplary lives, by the end of the sixteenth century, their obedience to the rule had declined. Now, Don Teutónio wanted to turn things around. He knew of Teresa’s fondness for María and had observed her organizational skills in running São Alberto and establishing the Flemish convent in Alcántara. He wrote asking her to accept responsibility for Menino de Jesus. Fray Belchior explains that María did not respond right away but consulted with the other nuns and prayed for guidance. He does not quote her letter directly, but synthesizes it: “She did not feel completely adequate for such a difficult undertaking […] but her Superior ordered her to accept it, and so she was determined to carry out his Lordship’s will […] She was certain that God, giving her this task to test her obedience, would provide her with everything necessary to carry it out perfectly” (vol. 2, 355–356). The nuns of Menino de Jesus were furious. They were jealous of their reputation and resented nuns from another order attempting to reform their house. Fray Belchior says that, if they were previously in conflict, now they were united in their opposition to María, whom they accused of manipulating the Archbishop in order to increase her own power. The Discalced Father General was in a bind, having received letters from Don Teutónio and the Augustinian nuns asking for different things. He wrote

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to the Archbishop saying that he consented to his request. To the nuns, he wrote that María de San José would leave for their convent as soon as instructions came through, and that he did not approve of friars and nuns giving their opinions on ecclesiastical visits or reforms. Don Teutónio then told María to prepare for the trip. Fray Belchior reproduces María’s response to Don Teutónio in its entirety: Jesús María. Yesterday they handed me a letter from your Lordship, in which you order me to prepare for the journey. The reason I have for hesitating, I believe is right in front of your Lordship, as I’m only waiting, and will always wait, to know the determination of the Lord through that of my prelates. If it pleases them and they give me permission, I will go, but I must say that I am not happy. Aside from it being audacious to take on this mission, there are many other reasons, and these portend numerous dangers. I am saying all this to beg your Lordship in all humility not to send me unless the Father General dispatches a communication to you obligating me to go. If he does, I will obey your command immediately. Even if I’m ill and confront a thousand obstacles, no matter. Even if I die on the road, just as long as I carry out this act of obedience. Once you have issued the precept, I will submit. However, so that my departure may be carried out with gentleness and the best intentions, prostrate at the feet of your Lordship, I beg you to grant me two things. The first is that you send me written permission to found a convent in that land [Évora], with no obligation to give us even a jug of water. The whole order will receive great happiness from this, for with said license our departure will cause less noise and scandal, and the [Augustinian] nuns and priests will have no reason to oppose it out of terror and dread of the turmoil of reforms, especially from a different order. Once again, I tell your Lordship that this fear can have important consequences for accomplishing the mission. The second thing I am asking, and just as forcefully, is that you not send any of our priests to that place. Rather, the commission that is considering this matter should send Father Fray Gabriel de Cristo, who is the prior here. As men usually only approve those with whom they have dealt personally, it is very important to me, in order to leave things here in order and working smoothly, that your Lordship arrange this affair with the Father Prior from here. He is so virtuous that he will, I know, respect this. If your Lordship receives the command, and consequently sends me, your Lordship should write to the Father Prior eight days beforehand,

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advising him to let us know what to do. He should prepare us for the trip and make arrangements in secret. That way, he can properly see to the things that will be necessary for the improvement of this house. As for the nuns who can go with me, there are only three: and even then, our house will be left in disorder. The ones who will come from our house are named Innès de San Eliseo, Innès da Madre de Deus, and Antónia da Cruz. And, your Lordship, give us leave also to take with us a lay sister called Archãgela de San Miguel, whom I also propose, as she would be very helpful for the community. Since I’m sacrif icing myself on your account, and I’m leaving in such need the daughters whom I nurtured, give me what I ask you for above. With confidence that my appeal and petition will be respected by you, I can begin this undertaking. May we reach the eternal, which we seek. Amen. Humble servant of your Illustrious Lordship, María de San José, Carmelita (Belchior vol. 2, 357–358)

In this letter, writes Belchior de Sant’Anna, María de San José leaves a portrait of her soul and reveals the virtues of humility, obedience, fortitude, prudence, and charity. Her humility is evident in her reluctance, out of modesty, to undertake the project that the Archbishop assigned to her, but also in her willingness to accept it out of obedience, since it was for the glory of God, in spite of the possibility that it might lead to death or some other catastrophe (Belchior vol. 2, 365). Yet, María shows herself to be a shrewd negotiator by not simply submitting mindlessly to the Archbishop’s directives. She imposes certain conditions and makes certain that the Archbishop is aware she is doing him a favor, making it more likely that he will acquiesce to her requests. Belchior remarks on the cleverness of her tactics, for, to avoid scandal, María asks the Archbishop to write a letter granting her permission to found in Évora. This permitted her to pretend to be going to Évora to make a foundation when she was actually going to Menino de Jesus to implement a restructuring. She displays remarkable tact and sensitivity to the feelings of the nuns she has been sent to reform and the friars responsible for them by requesting specifically that the Archbishop not send any Discalced Carmelite priests to Menino de Jesus. As a conscientious and loving prioress, her first concern is the well-being of her own nuns. She therefore takes care not to engage too many of the São Alberto sisters who are in leadership roles in the Archbishop’s project, lest her community of Discalced Carmelites be left unprotected. María’s careful planning, ability to foresee potential problems, and remarkable negotiating skills helped ensure the successful outcome of the undertaking.

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Misogyny and the Expansion of the Reform In the meantime, Jean de Quintanadueñas de Brétigny continued to pursue his plan to expand the Discalced Carmelite reform. When, in January 1593, he arrived in Spain to fetch eight nuns, including María de San José, for the project, Doria appeared to acquiesce but shortly afterward, had María locked up in prison. At the time, Brétigny was still struggling against his father’s determination that, as the eldest son, he should marry, but by June 1593, he had managed to take a stand against his family and declare his intention to remain celibate. On 20 June 1593, he wrote to his father confirming that he would devote the rest of his life to the service of God (Lettres, 21). The elder Lord of Brétigny then counseled him to become a priest, but Jean argued that he did not have the studies required for the clergy. However, eventually he concluded that if God had changed his father’s heart, it was because He wanted him for a life of service to Christ. Jean finally received minor orders on 20 May 1595. In the meantime, he explored ways to expand Saint Teresa’s reform north of the Pyrenees. Doria died in 1594, but there were other obstacles to the realization of Jean’s project. Hostilities were mounting between Spain and France, where tensions were growing not only between Catholics and Protestants, but also between hardline Catholics and those who were less fanatical. In 1576, the French King Henri III, in an effort to reduce friction between Protestants and Catholics in his realm, issued the Edict of Beaulieu, softening his stance against the Huguenots and offering them certain privileges. The hardline Catholics responded by forming the Holy League, which relied largely on Spanish backing, and renewing hostilities against the Protestants. Although the King dissolved the group the following year, the League reemerged in 1584. In January 1595, the French King declared war on Spain to demonstrate to Protestants that he was not an instrument of Philip II, and to Catholics, that Spain was using religion as an excuse to attack France. Brétigny realized that, under the circumstances, the foundation in Paris would have to wait. In spring 1594, he attended the first General chapter of the Discalced Carmelites in Segovia, where he set forth his apostolic project, although without much success. In April 1594, he wrote to a distant relative, Luis de Quintanadueñas, canon of Burgos, that the political situation had forced him to postpone the creation of a new convent in Paris and found in Flanders instead (Lettres, 33). On the way back from Segovia, Jean became ill and remained weak during much of 1595, but, on 29 December of that year, he wrote to Luis again, this time outlining his plan for the Flemish Carmel. That same day, he wrote to Francisco de Quesada, canon of Cádiz, explaining

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that, due to the hostilities between France and Spain, it would be better to found in Flanders than in Paris. However, María de San José was still confident that one day, the foundation in France would become a reality. On 21 June 1596, she wrote to Jean de Quintanadueñas de Brétigny in French: I have no doubt that, if we live, we will see the great things that the Lord will do in that country, and the order of Our Lady of Mount Carmel will flourish there so much that one day the Carmelites of France will come here to reform those in Spain! May the holy will of Our Lord be done […] (qtd. in Pérez García, 359)

However, as María neared the end of her life, she understood that she would not be the one to make the foundation in France. On 2 May 1603 (?), she wrote to Brétigny, again in French: What seems fitting now is for you to begin the foundation without waiting for friars or nuns from either Spain or Italy. From what I can surmise, Spain will not send you any, and I don’t think getting them from Italy will satisfy you, as you said your plan was to begin with disciples5 of the holy Mother, and the nuns from Italy began their convent independently. I’m telling you again, my father, even though we had great hopes that they would give you the nuns you’re requesting, it’s important that you not wait for them, for if the evil spirit saw that because of that he could delay this business, he would produce so many difficulties that you would never get started. What he’s afraid of is the power of the grace of the great Teresa of Spain, which he knows of, and which works to stifle his efforts. He certainly mistreated and humiliated her, but he fears her just as much in France. That’s the reason why he wants to prevent you from carrying out this business. Start energetically! I assure you that our holy Mother will not abandon you. And it is necessary that someone go [to France] from here, because it’s true that laws that are dead [in disuse] need tongues to explain them. It’s very important to have confidence and to fight the devil so that he loses his strength right at the beginning and doesn’t get involved in the conflicts that he himself produces. (Fondations I, 80–81, qtd. in Pérez García, 360).

Brétigny never lost hope that he would eventually found a Discalced Carmelite convent in Paris, and he returned to Spain in 1604 to make his dream a 5

Brétigny wanted direct disciples, that is, nuns who had actually worked with Teresa.

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reality. Simeón de la Sagrada Familia, O.C.D. writes that after Doria’s death in 1594, Elías de San Martín became Vicar General of the order and “peace and tranquility were reborn in the Carmelite Reform, which Mother María enjoyed for six years” (24). However, an ill wind turned against María in 1600, when the calm and kindly Vicar General died, and Francisco de la Madre de Dios replaced him (Simeón, 24). The new Vicar General reverted to Doria’s harsh treatment. He had María sent to a remote convent in Cuerva, where she died shortly after her arrival, on 19 October 1603, at the age of 55. Thus, by the time Brétigny achieved his goal and managed to put together a small group of Spanish nuns to cross the Pyrenees, it was too late for María.

The Final Years In January 1597, a month before her reelection as prioress, María wrote to an unidentified Carmelite nun describing the tribulations of the past ten years, including the physical and emotional effects of her incarceration, and reiterating many of her complaints against the Discalced leadership. This is a significant document, not only because it chronicles the deterioration of María’s health, but also because it contains rare testimonies of her mystical and visionary experiences. The obvious strain in her epistolary voice, her tone of secrecy, and her request that the recipient burn the letter reveal María’s anxiety. María begins with a review of her mistreatment at the hands of Doria and his allies and a defense of Gracián. Jesus and Mary. Only to make your Reverence happy, my dearest daughter, have I begun to write this, especially since I’m half blind and so ill that it’s only with difficulty that I can put together this account, which your Reverence has asked me for, of everything has happened in these turbulent times […] I don’t want to deal with what concerns my good Father [Gracián] and how difficult his trials were for us […] I’ll only mention in general those trials that the fathers gave me, and what I understood from my prayers, and all this is only for your Reverence, my secretary, and on condition that you burn this. (MHCT 21, Doc. 122, 650)

At the time María wrote this letter, she was enjoying the period of peace imposed by Fray Elías. However, María’s recapitulation of Doria’s abuses and her insistence on confidentiality show that she was still reeling from the

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events of the previous five years. Her tone reveals weariness, despondency, and vulnerability. After Gracián was imprisoned in Madrid, María writes: […] while I was in prayer I saw a great serpent with seven heads, and Father Gracián, with his hands and face raised toward heaven, ascended so high that those heads, with their open mouths snapping at him, couldn’t reach him. It seems to me that he was received in an exceedingly resplendent city, and the heads of the serpent began to disintegrate one by one until only a headless body was left, which is what we saw happen. When I saw Father Gracián returned to that city, I felt sad. I feared he would die before I was released from prison, for I thought the city was heaven. (MHCT 21, Doc. 122, 651)

Gracián cites María’s letter in Peregrinación de Anastasio, offering the following explanation: This seven-headed serpent must stand for the consulta, with its seven definidores. It’s an amazing and terrifying thing, for while I suffered and was prisoner of the Turks, before I returned to the habit of the Calced Carmelites, almost all of those fathers who sentenced me died. Even though the consulta remained, it no longer functioned in the same way as before. And my experience has been that in the Calced habit, the Lord has given me very important tasks to do in His service. (Peregrinación, 322–323)

Written in 1608, Pereginación shows that, more than a decade after María wrote to her unnamed friend, Gracián was still struggling to prove that Doria and his cronies had unfairly persecuted him. Gracián repeatedly attempted to establish that God used the visions of holy women to communicate an auspicious outcome for these struggles. Peregrinación references several other visions of “holy nuns” in addition to María’s. For example, Ana de San Bartolomé (with whom he would have been in contact in Antwerp at the time he wrote this) had a vision during his imprisonment by Doria: “She saw a lamb that many wolves snatched out of the flock, and he (the lamb) fell into the hands of other enemies. Then Our Lord took him away and returned his habit and put him above all of them” (Peregrinación, 323). Gracián notes that his sister, also called María de San José, then prioress of the Consuegra Carmel, wrote in her notebook that when Ana de San Bartolomé stayed with her, Ana “saw a great multitude of demons that were making a racket with papers” (Peregrinación, 323). The papers, explains Gracián, surely referred to the documents prepared for

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legal proceedings against him. Gracián’s sister also referred to an incident in which Ana de Jesús foresaw the conflicts that would erupt in Madrid: “While she was commending herself to God one day after the upheaval in Madrid, she saw someone in the figure of an enormously resplendent star that passed from one place to another saying, ‘He gives great light here as well as there.’ And this person said to the nun: ‘Be aware of this and remember it for future times, because I don’t know what will happen to this father.” (Peregrinación, 323–324). While Ana de San Bartolomé and Ana de Jesús were considered mystics and clairvoyants, María is described in such terms far less frequently. However, Gracián includes her among the visionaries who foretold his ultimate triumph. In the following paragraphs, María goes on to defend Gracián and bolster her own image as God’s interlocutor: And after they defrocked him, in the same mail in which they informed me about it, they sent me an order that I should lodge in this house and not speak or write to anyone. They were spreading calumnies about nuns, and I, who am so well known in this area, had to remain quiet, just when it was necessary to uphold my good name and that of this house to avoid major scandals and loss of honor. Once, when I felt so afflicted by the terrible sentence that they had given that innocent and saintly father, the Lord gave me to understand that by means of the habit of Calced Carmelites, He would restitute his honor and raise him up higher than we could imagine. It was then that I stopped feeling sorrow, which I have never again felt on his behalf […] (MHCT 21, Doc. 122, 651)

At the time when María wrote these lines, the Pope had just exonerated Gracián, who was now entering the Calced Carmelites. In her account of the trying months of her incarceration, she stresses, as in Ramillete, her sense of isolation. No nun was allowed to speak with her except in the case of absolute necessity. “Ten months, in which neither the tears and pleas of the daughters nor the efforts of the father confessor of the Prince, who was my Father Juan de la Cuevas, sufficed to make them relent” (MHCT 21, Doc. 122, 651). She recounts her fruitless efforts to combat the accusations with the truth, and the astuteness of the interrogators, who managed to ask questions in such a way that no matter what she answered, they found her guilty. With the same satisfaction we saw in Ramillete, she notes that they are all dead now: “May He forgive them, for within the year He took them to Him” (MHCT 21, Doc. 122, 651–652). They claimed to

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have original letters from her, proving that she was encouraging Gracián’s bad behavior by sending him money. Unable to produce these letters, they sought other means to harness her, finally throwing her in jail. The case is so complex and thorny, comments María, that she refrains from going into more detail: “It would be a long narration that I could share with you someday when I see your Reverence” (MHCT 21, Doc. 122, 652). María explains that, in the midst of these trials, she was consoled by a mystical experience: “One day, when my soul seemed to be in great darkness […] I said to Him, ‘Oh, Lord, how have you abandoned us?’ and He said, ‘Foolish woman! Do I abandon those to whom I send afflictions?’ At that very moment in which those words sounded in my soul, the darkness and confusion lifted, and I felt peaceful” (MHCT 21, Doc. 122, 652). During her time in prison, she says, God offered her so many favors—possibly locutions or visions—that she regretted nothing except missing the celebration of Holy Week. However, what did cause her pain was the prohibition on her taking communion or hearing the Divine Office, except occasionally, and then the experience was marred by the tears of her daughters, with whom she was not permitted to communicate. Although María de San José was a fighter who used her considerable skill in logic and rhetoric to combat her detractors, the ordeal inflicted by Doria and his men left her depressed (in spite of moments of psychological well-being occasioned by locutions) and physically weakened. In prison, she developed stomach problems and vertigo. “Because I sat in one place for so long without moving, stones grew in my stomach […] And I [also] became afflicted with terrible fits of dizziness […] I suffered the most horrible torments of my life, because I threw up a stream of stones whenever I vomited […] I got through it only by thinking that this was God’s will, to which I submitted with determination, but I experienced no pleasure” (MHCT 21, Doc. 122, 653). She had never feared death before, she says, but now that recovery seemed impossible, she was overcome with terror. Yet, she is grateful for the experience, which brought her to a new understanding of Christ’s agony. In addition to these infirmities, María was suffering from eye problems: “I started off with so little sight that I almost couldn’t see anything […] I was blind for a month. I couldn’t even pray the Divine Office or see the letters. In fact, I couldn’t even see where I was going. I didn’t feel pain or discomfort in my eyes, but I went blind” (MHCT 21, Doc. 122, 656). However, Jesus and Teresa consoled her, she writes, assuring her that the blindness would not be permanent, and, sure enough, her sight gradually returned to her. She attributes her eye problems to the pressure that the Archbishop

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of Évora brought upon her to reform the convent of Saint Monica. At the time she wrote this letter, María was clearly exhausted and frail, yet she was determined to persevere: “May the Lord use me according to His eternal will […] I suspect I will have to go to Évora” (MHCT 21, Doc. 122, 657). Another cause for concern was the approaching election for prioress, for the nuns wanted to return her to office. “The only reason I’m not making some maneuver to get out of this duty,” she wrote, “is to avoid offending God” (MHCT 21, Doc. 122, 657). Although she was not yet 50, the responsibilities involved in making two foundations, the travel, the constant struggles with the Discalced hierarchy, and the incarceration left her exhausted and feeling old. She had little desire to retake the reins of the convent. Nevertheless, on 21 February 1597, María de San José was once again elected prioress of the Convent of São Alberto, a position she would hold until 1600, when Branca de Jesus, the prioress who had preceded her, now succeeded her. In spite of her failing heath, María embraced her duties with energy and devotion. In fact, she was as busy as ever during the last years of her life. Fray Belchior explains: In February, the tenure of Branca de Jesus as prioress ended. As all the nuns in this convent were very holy, there was no doubt that any one of them would have made a good prioress, but the nuns were unanimous in their support for María. She wanted to decline the offer, giving a thousand excuses why she should not be given this honor, but the Father Visitator did not accept them, so she was forced to comply out of obedience. God, who put her in that position, gave her success. She set a wonderful example of virtue for her daughters. God seemed to guide her and clear the way for a good government. The convent reached great perfection, as the nuns practiced virtue and diligence. They practiced discipline and penitence, and in fact, María had to stop them from overdoing it. Our Lord took care of their needs so they did not suffer from want. (vol. 2, 373)

During this time, the fame of the convent grew. Quoting María, Fray Belchior recounts that on one occasion, a certain lady—whose name goes unmentioned because she was still living—resolved to become a Discalced Carmelite nun because she thought this rule would enable her to live the most holy life possible in the company of saints. She went to São Alberto and asked María de San José for permission to take the habit. However, María said to her: “Senhora, God does not want you to abandon your first vocation and change your civil status. He accepts virtuous desires as service, whether or not you perform the deed” (Belchior vol. 2, 373). The lady was upset at

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being rebuffed, but María had the sacred hand of Saint Teresa brought in and told her to put it on her heart and act on whatever she felt. The lady realized by herself that she had made the wrong decision, thanked María, and left the convent grateful (Belchior vol. 2, 373). María was concerned about both physical and spiritual health. She often used relics to effect cures for ailments of the body as well as of the soul. Fray Belchior mentions the example of Doña Ángela de Menezes, a devout aristocratic lady who later became the prioress of the Monastery of Corpus Christi in Oporto. She and María were great friends and wrote to each other often. Doña Ángela suffered from rheumatism so severe that it prevented her from sleeping. María furnished her with some relics of Saint Teresa, and her health improved immediately: During the week of Ladainhas6 they gave me your letter with the holy relics, and some little books that came with it. I received it all as treasures that came from Heaven. Since the mail delayed your reply to my first letter—it was so ordered by His Divine Majesty—the holy relics arrived here at the time of my greatest need. As it turned out, I was suffering two weeks ago from pain in a joint that was severely swollen and so excruciating that I couldn’t walk or even turn over in bed without the help of others. But when that package came with the relics of our Mother Saint Teresa de Jesús, I took them in my hand, and also the written papers that came with them, and I touched the joint with them, calling on the holy Mother. Within an hour the great pain that I had went away and the swelling in the joint disappeared. With many tears I got up from my bed without the help of anyone, and I went to the choir, saying the following verse as I went: Laudate Dominum in Sanctis Jesus. When I got there, I placed my joints before the Holy Sacrament and I prayed the Te Deum Laudamos, as a tribute to the most Holy Trinity, giving thanks for the mercy I had received and for giving us such a great saint, to whose service I am even more devoted than before. Right away the nuns who were present asked me for the holy relics so that they could take them to five sick, bedridden women, but I didn’t give them to the nuns, but instead went myself with the relics in my hand, and I gave them to the invalids to kiss, and then returned. When the nuns saw me go off with no human help, they were amazed that I could walk without difficulty or pain, for just an hour before they had heard me screaming. The two nuns who were 6 The Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary was a popular prayer of supplication often recited during processions. It was approved by Pope Sixtus V in 1587.

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taking care of me returned me to bed and stayed with me. They served me in everything that was necessary as one who is hurt. I’m giving you this news because I know how many reasons you have to rejoice in it. I am so delighted with this mercy that my holy Mother granted me. Now I am hoping she will give me other, greater mercies that she will procure for me from Our Lord Jesus for the good of my soul, but this will be by means of your prayers and those of those holy nuns [of São Alberto], to whom you can avow that I am devoted and the slave of all of them. I love them so much in the Lord, and if it were possible for me to go to your house and serve you sweeping your cells, I would do it with delight and love. But I trust in the mercy of Our Lord in Heaven, whom we will all see with such delight and joy, for he protects anyone who serves him on earth and who loves him, and the creatures He redeemed with his precious blood. The carrier of this letter is a Father of our order, called Fray André. I begged him fervently, if it was possible, to see you and speak with you, and to bring me news of you for my consolation. With him I’m sending you some four varas7 of linen cloth, and five varas of cloth scraps and two dozen skeins of thread for sewing. Please forgive me for my audacity in sending you these insignificant things, and receive them from me as an expression of the love of a sister and servant, for this you will have from me always in this life and the other eternally, provided God grants it in His divine mercy. Send me lots of your news and news of all those ladies and my mothers, telling me if they’re in good health. And please do me the favor of sending me a tiny emblem [bẽtinho] of that order to carry beneath the one for my devotions [deuação], and send me the prayer plan that people follow, and the indulgences that they earn by carrying it with them. I would appreciate this favor very much. The little book that you sent me, the one by Father Fray Jerónimo Gracián, gave me great consolation. It contains excellent doctrine, and I’m very devoted to this Father because of the love he had for our holy Mother. Let me know if he’s still living, as I consider him a saint. There were six little notebooks by our holy Mother, and all of them her devoted nuns brought to me. Each nun brought me her own part of the relic—the cloth [Saint Teresa] used during her last illness, from which she died. The relic of the flesh I bring everywhere with me; now I ask you for something of hers that she used, anything at all. And since you say that the image that you sent me doesn’t look like her because she was very beautiful—I mean, my Mother Teresa—I think that if I were fortunate enough to get 7 The vara is an old Spanish unit of length. Although its value varies, it is roughly the equivalent of 30–33 inches.

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to see a realistic portrait of her, I couldn’t desire more, or some image that she had in her oratory. What I, sinner that I am, am saying…I’m spouting this silliness because I love this holy Mother so much, but I know I’m far from being worthy. My soul was overjoyed with the good news that you gave me about the Pope publicizing information about the life of our holy Mother, and the miracles she performed and continues to perform every day. I and all these nuns are so happy with such good news, and we continue to commend this affair to God. May He keep you and all those in that holy convent. Written in Jesus de Aveiro, vespers of the Holy Trinity, 1598. D. Ángela de Menezes (Belchior vol. 2, 384–386)8

María attended to the spiritual health of not only female religious, but also of laypeople in the neighborhood. Pérez García notes, “Activity in the locutorium was intense, as many people came to ask advice” (257). María was also very busy with her writing, much of which has been lost. It is around this time that she wrote her Tratado de los tres votos (Treatise on the Three Vows), which she finished in 1599. That same year, Gregorio Nacianceno died at age 51. While María continued her many activities, Fray Francisco, the new Vicar General, intensified his harassment. Rumors about María’s supposed misconduct once again erupted. Fray Belchior writes that the persecutions became so terrible that María prayed God to put an end to them, and He promised to do so. In Belchior’s view, God relieved María’s suffering using her enemies as His tools. Early in October 1603, they sent a boat to the Port of Lisbon to abduct her in the dead of night. When the nuns of her convent realized that she was gone, they were disconsolate, says Belchior. Even though they were detached from the things of this world, they could not accept the priests’ mistreatment of María. The news of her abduction spread throughout the city, and the populace became highly distressed (Belchior vol. 2, 418). Especially affected was Dom Affonso de Castellobranco, Bishop of Coimbra, Count of Arganil, and Viceroy of the Kingdom. Immediately, he sent a Corregedor da Corte (Court Magistrate) to dispatch a galley to catch up with the boat that carried María and bring her back. The Magistrate reacted with such zeal and worked the galley slaves so hard that they reached María’s boat in no time. However, when he demanded that her captors set her free, María begged him to leave. Fray Francisco’s men took her to Évora and then to Talavera, whence, according to Fray Belchior, she wrote to him explaining all that had happened thus far. Although Belchior does not reproduce the letter, he does say 8 Page 386 is erroneously labeled 388 in the Georgetown University library edition of Chronica de Carmelitas. There are actually two pages with the numbers 388.

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that María behaved herself with such dignity and charity toward her hosts at the different houses in which she and her companions stayed that her abductors became convinced that she was a saint. At last, they took her to Cuerva, a tiny town in a remote area of the Province of Toledo. In spite of orders to receive her coldly, the nuns found her so gentle and gracious that they became enamored of her and treated her with great affection. Only the prioress followed the Vicar General’s command to shun her, although, after María’s death, even she recognized María’s fine qualities and showed remorse. For some time, María’s admirers strove to have her beatified. They cited miracles that she supposedly performed, such as healing a severely incapacitated young man. Fray Belchior’s account of María’s life is obviously part of this endeavor. However, the demonization of María de San José initiated by Nicolás Doria made it impossible for such a project ever to succeed.

Works Cited Primary Sources Ignatius of Loyola. The Text of the Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius. n.p.: Forgotten Books, 2015. María de San José (Salazar). Escritos Espirituales. Ed. Simeón de la Sagrada Familia, O.C.D. Rome: Postulación General O.C.D., 1979. Monumenta Historica Carmeli Teresiani (MHCT). Institutum Historicum Teresianum. Rome: 1973–.

Secondary Sources Belchior de Santa Anna (Sant’Anna). Chronica de Carmelitas Descalços, Particular do Reyno de Portugal e Provincia de Sam Felippe, Pello P. Fr. Belchior de S. Anna. Vol. 2 (of 3). Na officina da H.V. Oliveira: Lisboa, 1657. Cixous, Hélène. “The Laugh of the Medusa.” In The Continental Ethics Reader. Ed. Matthew Calarco and Peter Atterton. Routledge, 2003. 276–284. Mujica, Bárbara. “Evil Within and Evil Without: Teresa of Avila Battles the Devil.” The History of Evil in the Early Modern Age. Vol. 3. Ed. Daniel N. Robinson, Chad Meister, and Charles Taliaferro. Routledge: London and New York, 2018. 95–112. ——. Teresa de Ávila, Lettered Woman. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009. ——. “Three Sisters of Carmen: The Youths of Teresa de Jesús, María de San José, and Ana de San Bartolomé.” The Youth of Early Modern Women. Ed. Elizabeth S. Cohen and Margaret Reeves. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2018. 137–157.

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Pérez García, María de la Cruz. María de San José: la humanista colaboradora de Santa Teresa perseguida. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 2009. Simeón de la Sagrada Familia, O.C.D. “Prólogo.” In María de San José (Salazar), Escritos Espirituales. Ed. Simeón de la Sagrada Familia, O.C.D. Rome: Postulación General O.C.D., 1979. 7–39. Sluhovsky, Moshe. Believe Not Every Spirit: Possession, Mysticism, & Discernment in Early Modern Catholicism. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2007. Weber, Alison. “Saint Teresa, Demonologist.” Culture and Control in CounterReformation Spain. Ed. Anne J. Cruz and Mary Elizabeth Perry. Minneapolis and Oxford: University of Minnesota Press, 1992. 171–195.

6. Paris and Beyond Abstract Religious wars hindered the initial efforts of Jean de Brétigny to establish a Discalced Carmelite convent in France. However, Pierre Bérulle, future confessor to the King and member of the reformist spiritual circle known as Paris dévot, favored the project. In October 1604, Ana Jesús founded and became prioress of the first Discalced Carmelite convent in Paris. When Bérulle decided to establish a second convent in Pontoise, he chose Ana de San Bartolomé to head it. In order to comply, Ana, a white-veiled nun (one who did menial labor), would have to take the black veil. Despite the opposition of Ana de Jesús, Ana de San Bartolomé acceded to Bérulle’s demands and founded in Pontoise. Keywords: Ana de Jesús (Lobrera), Ana de San Bartolomé (García), Pierre de Bérulle, Discalced Carmelites in France, Paris dévot, early modern women’s letter-writing

Jean de Brétigny’s early efforts to bring the reform to France were hindered by wars of religion that pitted Catholics against Protestants and extreme Catholics against moderates. In spite of the efforts of Catherine de’ Medici, regent for Charles IX, to improve the relationship between Protestants and Catholics, tensions grew. The ultra-Catholic Duke de Guise teamed up with the Maréchal de Saint-André and his former enemy, the Constable of Montmorency, to form the Catholic League, which opposed Catherine’s policies. Guise and his allies sought to work with Spain and the Holy See to strengthen Catholicism and induce the Lutheran Princes of Germany to refrain from aiding French Protestants. However, after the Massacre of Vassy on 1 March 1562, in which Guise’s troops killed 63 and wounded over a hundred unarmed Huguenots as they prayed in the barn that served as their church, peace was no longer possible. Thus began the French Wars of Religion, which lasted until 1598. When Henri III ascended to the throne of France in 1574, the League hoped the new King would rigorously persecute those they considered

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch06

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heretics, but instead, he followed his mother’s lead and sided with the more moderate Catholic faction. When he was assassinated by a Catholic fanatic in 1589 without leaving a son, a succession crisis ensued. The rightful heir was Henri, King of Navarre, a Protestant, but the Catholic League wanted Protestants excluded from the succession. When, after converting to Catholicism, Henri de Navarre took the throne as Henri IV, the Duke, relying on Spanish support, continued to oppose him. Consequently, in January 1595, Henri IV declared war on Spain. When Philip II captured Calais in 1596 and then Amiens in 1597, Henri was forced to negotiate peace with Spain. The Edict of Nantes, signed on 30 April 1598, was meant to bring unity to the country. It gave Huguenots significant rights, although the nation was still to be considered Catholic. A few days later, representatives of France and Spain signed the Treaty of Vervins, which put an end to the conflict between the two nations. The crusader mentality that characterized the Holy League “found expression in communal rites of penitence and an ecstatic and apocalyptic spirituality” that did not disappear with the peace agreement (Diefendorf, 7). Although the Edict of Nantes abolished the collective rituals of expiation and atonement that the Holy League encouraged, many individuals felt the need to practice acts of personal penitence. “Turned inward, this penitential piety found expression in extremes of asceticism modeled on the heroic acts of self-mortification attributed to saints of the early church” (Diefendorf, 7). Exaggerated asceticism was one of the few paths to heroism open to women. Publicly recognized acts of renunciation inspired imitation, leading women to practice extreme self-mortification either alone or in orders. Vocations increased, and reformed orders expanded existing convents or founded additional ones. New orders that reflected contemporary penitential ideals emerged.

Brétigny and Bérulle: The Dream of a Foundation During this period of turmoil and spiritual renewal, Jean de Brétigny continued to dream of bringing Discalced Carmelites to France. As early as 1586, the chapter Provincial gave him permission to establish friaries beyond the Pyrenees. Since the project entailed crossing rugged mountains or voyaging along the coast by ship, and since the best-recognized leaders of the energetic new penitential movement were mostly men, Brétigny’s first focus was on friars rather than nuns. Also, he wanted to ensure that, when nuns did cross the Pyrenees, they would have confessors.

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Carmelites had existed in France since the thirteenth century, but Brétigny knew that the friars of the mitigated rule would not meet the needs of the Discalced Carmelite nuns he intended to bring from Spain. In fact, nearly 20 years later, when Brétigny finally approached Ana de Jesús about founding in Paris, she made access to Discalced Carmelite confessors a condition for her acceptance. However, since political complications made it impossible for Brétigny to import friars at that moment, he altered his plan. In 1591, Brétigny translated Teresa’s Life and the unadulterated version of the Constitutions into French, so that reform-minded nuns in his country could learn to live by the new rule. He also arranged to have three French noblewomen go to Spain to learn the Spanish language and the essentials of Teresian spirituality, which they were to bring home later. In 1593, Brétigny tried to establish a female Discalced Carmelite convent in Rouen with the help of Madame de Joyeuse, Duchess of Guise. However, the project met with heated opposition not only from the French authorities, who were reluctant to bring Spanish clerics into the country, but also from King Philip II and the Carmelite General, Giovanni Stefano Chizzola, both of whom were too embroiled in other matters to support Brétigny’s venture. Philip was facing several revolts at home and battling anti-League forces in France. Chizzola had been accused of high living, dereliction of duty, and sexual misconduct, and would soon be tried and imprisoned (Smet, Mirror, 153–159). Although Brétigny’s project failed, his efforts won the support of a powerful ally, Pierre de Bérulle. Future chaplain to King Henri IV, Bérulle was an avid proselytizer among Huguenots and worked for their conversion, along with Cardinal du Perron and François de Sales. He participated in the reformist spiritual circle known as Paris dévot, which was comprised of distinguished laypeople and clerics “who sought to nurture their own internalized and often mystical piety and at the same time to spark a broader renewal of Catholic institutions and faith” (Diefendorf, 78). It was headed by Bérulle’s cousin, Barbe Acarie, a well-connected aristocrat with a reputation for piety. Acarie was supportive of the efforts of her husband, Pierre, to raise funds for the Holy League during the wars of religion, and both mortgaged their property for the cause. She performed charitable work on behalf of the sick and the poor in Parisian hospitals, aided Protestant converts to Catholicism, and even—until her husband objected—took in women who had been seduced and abandoned. By the late 1590s, the home of Barbe and Pierre Acarie on the Rue des Juifs was a gathering place for what might be considered “a Who’s Who of Counter-Reformation Paris” (Diefendorf, 70). Pierre Coton, an influential Jesuit who had returned to Paris (Jesuits were exiled from Paris until 1603); Vincent de Paul; François de Sales (Madame

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Acarie’s spiritual director for six months); and later, Bérulle, were regular guests at the Acarie home. Acarie, who attributed her own spiritual transformation to Teresa de Ávila, became a driving force behind the establishment of Teresian convents in France. She read Brétigny’s French translation of Francisco de Ribera’s 1590 hagiography of Teresa, and between 1601 and 1602, had two visions in which the future saint called on her to bring the Discalced Carmelites to France. According to Acarie, Teresa told her to prepare some young women for the eventual arrival of the Discalced Carmelites, as the French Queen, the Princess of Longueville (Catherine d’Orléans), and other noblewomen were anxious to receive them.1 Several in her group of dévots desired to create austere convents along the lines of those Teresa had founded in Spain, and they met at Vauvert to discuss the idea. Animosity against Spaniards was still strong in France, and it seemed unlikely that the King would approve the establishment of a Discalced friary. Nevertheless, Madame Acarie contacted Brétigny and brought him into her group. Then, she secured an aristocratic patron for a French Carmel, Catherine d’Orléans de Longueville. At a second, larger meeting in Vauvert, the group decided to seek permission from the King and the Pope to bring some Discalced Carmelites from Spain. This time, however, they requested nuns, not friars, as they feared that male Spanish clerics would provoke opposition (Diefendorf, 78). It was Catherine d’Orléans who insisted on bringing Spanish nuns who were close to Teresa and could transmit the authentic Teresian charism, as well as on using the original Constitutions rather than Doria’s modified version. Since Bérulle had not managed to bring friars from Spain, it would be necessary to place the Spanish nuns under the authority of French superiors. This arrangement meant that “from the onset France’s Discalced Carmelites were not just daughters of Spain. The French houses were not just juridically independent, issuing from special papal letters; they were also […] imbued from the start with a subtly different spirituality” (Diefendorf, 78). King Henri IV granted the necessary patent on 18 July 1602. At a meeting on 27 July 1602, in which Bérulle, François de Sales, and Brétigny took part, it was decided to found the first Discalced Carmel in France. It was impossible to move ahead with the project immediately, however, not only because relations between France and Spain were not propitious, but 1 For an overview of Ana de Jesús’s career and the dispute with Doria, see Moriones, Ana de Jesús y la herencia teresiana, and Torres, Ana de Jesús. See Kavanaugh, “Blessed Anne of St. Bartholomew,” and McNamara, 499, for a synopsis of the events leading to Ana’s departure from Spain.

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also because the idea of allowing Spanish nuns to come under the direction of French priests of a different order was unpalatable to the Discalced Carmelite fathers. A letter from Brétigny, probably written to Francisco de la Madre de Dios, General of the Spanish congregation, reveals the Frenchman’s frustration: “[Even] if your Paternity, Reverend Father, refuses to accept jurisdiction [over this new convent], […] we beg you to send […] three or four of your nuns at least for a few years” (18 July 1603, Lettres, 66). A letter to Francisco de la Madre de Dios, written two and a half months later, is even more insistent. Appealing to the authority of Saint Teresa and God Himself, Brétigny argues that it is imperative to move forward with the French foundations: My Reverend Father in Our Lord, I write to you in all humility and reverence these few lines, which I beg you to receive with beneficence for the love of the same Lord. Remember the intention and objective that God gave to our holy Mother Foundress of this holy order of Discalced Carmelites, when she began her first monasteries. She herself said, when she heard about the great number of souls that were being lost to heresy in France, that such a grave misfortune must be alleviated. She determined to remedy this terrible evil and assembled her daughters in order to have them all apply prayer and penitence and to implore God through the preachers and defenders of the Church. Remember also that Jesus Christ told this very saint that she was to found as many of her convents as she could and not refuse any opportunity that was presented to her. I beg you, my Reverend Father, to consider these two points and be the heir and successor of this Saint, and with her same spirit, procure the remedy for so many souls that are being lost, by founding countless numbers of these monasteries, which will please God, as He himself told the Saint (30 September 1603; Lettres, 68).

Over Fray Francisco’s objections, Clement VIII granted the Bull of Institution on 23 November 1603. The following day, probably without yet knowing the news from Rome, Bérulle wrote to Brétigny, who was preparing for the nuns’ likely departure. The King of France had given permission for the new foundation and approved passports for the Spanish nuns to enter France. Bérulle wrote: “You must recognize, as we do, how it has pleased God to facilitate the necessary power and privilege to leave the Kingdom and bring in the ones we want so much, whom we hardly dared to hope for” (24 November 1603, Oeuvres IV, 59). Bérulle’s deliberate vagueness—he discusses “celles que nous désirons, “the ones we want so much”—and the following paragraphs, in which he urges caution and

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silence, convey the sensitive nature of the affair. He asks Brétigny to proceed directly to Valladolid and to confer there with Francisco de Quesada, the canon of Cádiz, and no one else: “without approaching the King, the Queen, the Nuncio, the Ambassador, and not even the fathers of the order or the nuns, so as not to get them excited or to create difficulties before the affair can be efficiently carried out” (24 November 1603, Oeuvres IV, 60–61).2 He is afraid, he explains, that if their plans are known too soon, the news could provoke overreactions and, consequently, obstacles. Therefore, he should only apprise the King and Queen after possible problems are ironed out with Quesada. “You are in charge of ascertaining what the hurdles are without letting anyone know” (24 November 1603, Oeuvres IV, 61). In a note in the margin, he adds that, if the weather is bad and they are unable to travel by sea, they should make the journey by land. In another letter, dating perhaps from late 1603 or early 1604, Bérulle writes to Brétigny that, in spite of opinions that the undertaking is impossible, the proposed project has finally been approved: The Pope, apprised of the long time this affair has taken, called together a special assembly of sixteen of the most learned Cardinals. He himself wanted to be present and to preside over this assembly instead of leaving it to the originally designated Cardinal, who was still ill. The project was approved by everyone. No one made any difficulties at all […] It was the most solemn creation of a monastery that had ever been carried out in the presence of a pope, and with such a great number of select Cardinals. (24 November 1603, Oeuvres IV, 63)

By early 1604, Brétigny wrote to the Definitory of the order requesting that the Spanish prelates send nuns to make a foundation in France. Assuring the definitors that the nuns would be treated well and that the new foundation would be perhaps the “most illustrious of the order,” Brétigny begged for the group’s support: The project consists of the order sending four or five nuns, according to the Pope’s decree […] The Reverend Father General and the Reverend Fathers Definitor should not create difficulties for this project, but rather, offer favor and good will. They should not close the door that God opens. Instead, they must trust in Him rather than invent human excuses, and consider the great importance of just one day, even of just one moment, of delay. Glory to God! (19 March 1604, Lettres, 72) 2

Earlier in the letter, he had said Bérulle could confide in the nuns.

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The French dévots were adamant that the Spanish sisters had to be Teresa’s intimates, not only to guarantee the authenticity of the new convent, but also because only the toughest nuns would be able to navigate the unending conflicts between Catholics and Protestants. Despite their concerns about the nuns’ having confessors from outside the order, the definitors finally allowed Bérulle to put the project into effect. He chose Ana de Jesús to head the first French foundation in Paris. Ana de Jesús selected four of her best nuns to accompany her, but did not include Ana de San Bartolomé, Teresa’s close friend, nurse, and secretary, in whose arms the Saint had died. Bérulle was indignant and insisted that La Bartolomé be included. Ana de Jesús finally acceded and left for Paris with her five Carmelite companions, and, around 15 October 1604, she founded the Paris Carmel, in the Faubourg Saint-Jacques. As a married woman, Barbe Acarie could not join the convent, but after her husband’s death in 1613, she took vows and adopted the name Marie de l’Incarnation. Barbe Acarie would later be instrumental in founding Carmels in Pontoise (1605), Dijon (1605), Amiens (1606), Tours (1608), and Rouen (1609). By the time she died in 1618, there were 14 Discalced Carmelite convents in France.

Who Was Ana de Jesús? Ana de Jesús (1545–1621) was one of Saint Teresa’s most enthusiastic supporters, yet one of her most problematic spiritual daughters. Born at Medina del Campo, in Old Castile, to a noble family of modest means, she was a deaf-mute until she was seven. Both her noble birth and the recovery of her hearing and speech, purportedly through the miraculous intervention of the Virgin, added to Ana’s self-confidence and prestige. After living as a penitent under the direction of Jesuits, Ana became a nun at the Discalced Carmelite convent of San José in Ávila, in 1570. While she was still a novice, Teresa summoned her to Salamanca and put her in a position of authority over the other novices. Ana professed in Salamanca on 22 October 1571, the year after Teresa had founded there. Impressed with her talents, Teresa took Ana with her when she founded in Beas in 1575 and installed her as prioress of the new convent. It was there that Ana met John of the Cross, who would become her confessor. In 1582, Teresa was supposed to go to Granada with John to make another foundation, but, at the last minute, instructed him to collaborate with Ana de Jesús instead. John held Ana in high esteem and dedicated his commentary on the Cántico espiritual to her. Unlike the other nuns included in this study, Ana wrote little. Concepción Torres Sánchez notes that the dearth of examples of Ana’s writing is probably

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not due to the destruction or loss of documents but to her rejection of literary activity (Ana, 41). Torres notes that “Even more curious is the lack of autographs, in view of the fact that the order authorized and encouraged the literary activities of its members, including in the female branch. Many documents have been preserved of the nuns who left to found in Flanders, except in the case of Ana de Jesús” (Ana, 41). In the missives we do have, Ana often mentions the lack of conf identiality of mail. “She felt like a permanently surveilled member of the order, which could have led her to destroy a good number of her writings” (Torres, Ana, 42). There are other possible explanations as well. Living near the seat of power, with access to the Infanta Isabel Clara Eugenia and her officials, Ana had little need to write letters. Some scholars have also suggested that Ana considered herself an aristocrat and thought that letter-writing was a rather humble pastime—although the Infanta certainly did not share that view. Just months before she died, Teresa had a falling out with Ana, whom she reprimanded in a letter dated 30 May 1582, for her obstinance and lack of obedience.3 When, in 1581, Teresa sent Ana to Granada with John of the Cross to make a foundation and become its prioress, she gave her specific instructions with regard to which nuns should occupy the new convent. However, Ana brought three nuns from Beas to the Granada Carmel, and, in order to make room for them, she sent back two lay sisters whom Teresa had chosen. Furthermore, she failed to inform Teresa and Jerónimo Gracián, the Provincial. In a scathing letter, Teresa reprimanded Ana for her defiance and secretiveness. Furious that Ana had undermined her authority by buying a house without consulting her, she wrote: You were so intent on not obeying that I’ve suffered quite a bit of distress over it, both because it will look wrong to the rest of the order and because other prioresses might take the same liberties, since you’ve set such a bad example. (30 May 1582, Epistolario, 875)

Ana apparently justified her actions by claiming that the Archbishop would have suppressed the house if she had acted otherwise. However, Teresa knew that the license had already been granted and that the Archbishop could not revoke it: I laughed at the way you tried to frighten us by saying that the Archbishop would try to suppress the monastery. He can no longer do anything about 3

For a detailed discussion of this dispute, see Lettered Woman, 170–172.

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it. I don’t know why you think he’s so powerful. He’ll drop dead before he manages to do anything about this. But if your house is going to instill disobedience in the order, it would be better for it not to exist, since what matters is not having lots of monasteries, but the holiness of the women in those that we have. (30 May 1582, Epistolario 233; 875)

Teresa’s fear that Ana’s behavior would set a precedent was not unfounded. Several prioresses had become lax in their adherence to the Constitutions of the order. 4 In Ávila, the nuns had begun to eat meat and in Beas they were leaving the cloister to tidy the church. Ana, highly class-conscious in spite of Teresa’s efforts to eradicate social stratification in the order, had begun insisting she be addressed by her title. Teresa worried that if Ana disrespected the rule and the chain of command, others would follow suit and the reform would crumble. In spite of Teresa’s cross words, Ana was extraordinarily loyal to the Foundress. It was she who recruited Fray Luis de León to edit the works of Teresa, which were published in 1588. She also joined María de San José in the attempt to prevent Doria from revising Teresa’s Constitutions, although an anonymous Sister of Notre Dame de Namur suggests that the “nuns’ revolt” may have actually originated in a misunderstanding: “At that time Father Doria was ordinary confessor at Madrid, and she asked him whether it would not be well to get the Constitutions of the nuns confirmed by a papal brief. He answered in the affirmative, but the sequel shows that he must have had in his mind his own revised Constitutions, whilst Anne of Jesus was referring to those left to the nuns by St. Teresa” (146). The Sister of Namur notes that, before appealing to the Pope, Ana sought the advice of eminent theologians, and only decided to go over Doria’s head with the support of John of the Cross and Gracián. However, in his thorough study of the incident, José Vicente Rodríguez argues that John did not support the nuns’ actions (708–711). This was a time of uncertainty and vulnerability for Ana. On 11 April 1590, shortly before the brief was issued, she wrote to Sister María de San Ángel, at the Discalced Carmelite convent in Salamanca: “I have great need of prayers for the love of God, which I beseech my sister to give me and extend to all the nuns of this house. About what’s going on here, you will have heard through other channels, for I can’t say anything else” (Cartas, 47). Ana apparently suspected that her actions in defense of the Constitutions were well known. She clearly did not believe it safe to elaborate in a letter that 4 See Lettered Woman, Chapter 5.

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might be intercepted. The decision to side with María de San José had serious consequences for Ana. She was deposed as prioress of the Madrid Carmel, imprisoned in her cell, and, as Ildefonso Moriones explains: “deprived of active and passive voice for three years, and deprived also—and this was the only thing that brought her to tears—of daily communion, which she had been able to enjoy until then” (Ana, 320). Although Doria was anxious to get Ana out of Madrid, where her presence was something of an embarrassment, he realized it would not be wise to insist she leave immediately, as she had many close connections with influential people in the capital. He therefore determined that she would not return to Salamanca for another three years. After Doria died on 6 May 1594, Ana left Madrid, leaving her spiritual daughters extremely distraught. “It seemed to us,” they wrote, “that the soul and heart were being torn out of us when we had to say good-by to her” (Marie-Anne, 93). After two years, in March 1596, she was elected prioress in Salamanca. Although she had no choice but to live under Doria’s amended Constitutions, the matter of Teresa’s original version remained important to her for the rest of her life. On 5 July 1597, she testified in Salamanca in Teresa de Ávila’s beatification proceedings: In Rome the Constitutions caused so much devotion for the way they taught us to live, that when we brought them to His Holiness Sixtus V in the year 1588, after we had him look at them, examine them, and pass them here and there and consider all the pros and cons involving the confirmation that we had requested, His Holiness and the Cardinals of the Congregation determined that they could accept and confirm them just as our Saint had left them. (Moriones, Ana, 321)

Later, when she accepted the challenge of founding in France, one of her conditions was that the new French Carmels would come under the authority of Teresa’s original Constitutions. Naturally, Ana was aware of the religious tension north of the Pyrenees. The growing influence of Protestantism in France had deeply saddened Teresa, who begins her Way of Perfection with an expression of her fervent desire to help remedy the situation: At that time news reached me of the harm being done in France and of the havoc the Lutherans had caused and how much this miserable sect was growing. The news distressed me greatly, and as though I could do something or were something, I cried to the Lord and begged Him that

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I might remedy so much evil. It seemed to me that I would have given a thousand lives to save one soul out of the many that were being lost there. (CWST 2, Way 1:2, 41)

According to one of Ana’s biographers, Sister Marie-Anne de Jésus, Ana was profoundly moved by Teresa’s stance, and, in 1581, she was approached by Teresa herself about the need to found in France (98). Ana felt called by God to cross the Pyrenees and “was consumed with joy at the idea of leaving on a crazy adventure with the Lord” (Marie-Anne, 99).5 However, the project was a long way from fruition. Founding in France would demand the approval of the Pope and the French King as well as the cooperation of the Spanish Carmelites. Barbe Acarie and her group of dévots had begun the process, but the project would require patience, planning, and hard work. In the end, Ana’s success in realizing her dream would depend not primarily on her, but on the influential French aristocrats who were anxious to bring the reform to their country.

Bérulle in Spain: The Battle for the Paris Foundation On 10 February 1604, Bérulle left Paris for Spain, where he was to join the nuns who would make the Paris foundation. On 4 March 1604, he wrote to his cousin Barbe from Valladolid describing the difficulties of the journey: […] it took us eight entire days from Palencia […] 54 leagues by land, not because of the weather, which was extremely beautiful, but the roads, which are very mountainous and difficult until you get to Burgos. And also because of the lack of comfortable mounts in this country, where there is no post or relays,6 but only mules, which are so taxing and slow that you hardly advance. (Oeuvres IV, 76–77)

It is perhaps difficult to imagine the sometimes pompous and authoritarian Bérulle trudging along Spanish roads on the back of a mule. However, 5 Ana had had a vision in which she saw a great light entering the church and countless Carmelite nuns in its rays (Namur, 175). 6 Dupuy and Delahaye explain: “Relays had been instituted [in France] by an edict in March 1597. They were twelve to fifteen miles apart, and they rented out horses at a relatively moderate price [30 to 35 sous an hour]. In August 1602, a new edict united the institution of the post [mail service] to that of the relays, giving postmasters responsibility for the relays. Thus, one could travel by royal post, by public coaches, or by rented horses from the relays” (118, n. 1)

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his letter is a fascinating testimony to the determination of these French aristocrats to realize their dream. Bérulle goes on to complain that they had been traveling ten hours a day in awful conditions, “in this unknown country, where only one of us knows the language, which is not a minor inconvenience” (Oeuvres IV, 77). After passing through Palencia, where he says mass and meets the famous holy woman Catalina de Tolosa (later, Catherine du Saint-Esprit), he and his party arrive in Valladolid on 28 February 1604. After complying with the demands of protocol—contacting ambassadors and Nuncios and presenting letters from the Queen of France to the Queen of Spain, and from members of one royal court to the other—he was finally able to broach the subject of the nuns. This nearly provoked a diplomatic crisis, for “the [Spanish] priests were very upset [and said] that it was necessary that they should at least accompany the sisters, not only to confess them, but to make the foundation. They gave us to understand that the foundation would not be successful unless it was made by priests, since the nuns were incapable of carrying out such a grand project” (Oeuvres IV, 79). The Spanish friars were bolstered by two papal briefs, Sacrarum Religiosum and In Apostolicae Dignitatis, issued in 1597 and 1600 respectively, which limited their foundations to the Iberian Peninsula. However, Bérulle was armed with the Pope’s more recent brief allowing the French to found Discalced Carmelite convents for women in their country and ordering the Spanish General to release six Spanish nuns for this purpose. Bérulle complains that the upper echelons “in this country are extremely powerful and so rigid that they will never give in.” Nonetheless, he is certain “that God will change them” (Oeuvres IV, 79). They really have no right to object, he argues, for this would not be the first time a female convent had been founded without priests of the same order. In Italy, a Discalced Carmelite female convent had been founded without Discalced friars. Even in Spain, there were precedents. “If it were possible to make a foundation for them (the friars), we would desire it even more than they themselves. But since we can only make a foundation for the sisters, and this has been accepted by His Holiness in Rome, there is no place for debate on the issue in Spain” (Oeuvres IV, 80). Bérulle explains that, given the circumstances, he had no choice but to delay negotiations until everyone involved cooled down. The whole experience, Bérulle confides to his cousin, has taught him to be less obstinate and “to hate stubbornness,” for he has observed the consequences of unbending rigidity (Oeuvres IV, 82). One of the sticking points was the choice of nuns for the new foundation. The Spaniards were not amenable to allowing the French to make the final decision. María de San José was still Bérulle’s first choice, “in case she is still

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living, which I don’t know” (Oeuvres IV, 83). Although in Spain, everyone thought she was dead, Bérulle had his doubts. “I don’t see that they’ve told me enough on this subject to really believe it, and I still have suspicions that they are pretending. Their spirit is so fixed that there is no way to get help from them on this issue, as they hold it [María’s death] to be true” (Oeuvres IV, 83). He charges Barbe Acarie to find out whatever possible on the matter and ends his letter by reaffirming his determination not to give in to the Spanish Carmelite friars. In the event that he cannot convince the Nuncio in Spain, he asks his cousin to approach the Nuncio in France with information about the license issued by the Pope allowing them to import nuns from Teresa’s circle. Acarie must have felt Bérulle’s frustration as he enumerated the endless difficulties he encountered in Spain, especially the intransigence of Francisco de la Madre de Dios (Oeuvres IV, 86). On 18 March 1604, before receiving his letter, Acarie wrote to Bérulle in Valladolid, begging him not to listen to the opinions of others, but only to God. The question of the choice of nuns was clearly on her mind: “It is absolutely necessary that the souls you choose be endowed with real and solid virtue” (Bérulle, Oeuvres IV, 87). She warns that, if the devil gets mixed up in the business, he (Bérulle) might make a wrong choice. Bérulle wrote back that God had given him a new resolve and he was taking very seriously her words regarding the selection of sisters. Having been educated by Jesuits at Clermont and at the Sorbonne, he was familiar with the process of spiritual discernment and describes to Acarie how God is moving his soul and helping him resist the devil’s efforts to influence his decision. One nun he had in mind for the new foundation was Isabel de Santo Domingo, a close friend of Teresa’s and a member of her original entourage. Isabel had served as prioress in Toledo, Pastrana, and several other convents, but, Bérulle demurs, “I have not been assured of her willingness or capability, for she is over sixty and the journey is long and difficult.” He notes that Isabel is no doubt tired and lacks the necessary “charity to work for these little souls” with which she will come into contact. Furthermore, she has requested to be relieved of all chores in order to spend all her time with God. After weighing for some time whether Isabel would be an appropriate choice, he concludes, “If God gives her the will to come, He shall also give her the will and attention to work for that which she came” (Oeuvres IV, 90). In another letter, probably from early April 1604, Madame Acarie responds to Bérulle’s long missive of 4 March, urging him to choose candidates for the foundation who “have the spirit of great devotion and love” in order to withstand the coming trials (Oeuvres IV, 91). Bérulle wrote again on 8 April, reiterating the difficulties he had dealing with the Spaniards. He

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was planning to return to Madrid to try to assemble the women for the Paris foundation in one convent, from which they would leave for France after Easter. The Definitory finally acceded to the new foundation, but “It took a lot of effort to get them to grant our request and to dismiss the claims of the fathers of the order” (Oeuvres IV, 93). He finally had the necessary brief and letters, as well as permission to choose nuns from all the Discalced Carmelite convents in Spain. “God has chosen to favor our intention against the expectations of all and against their particular objectives and maneuvering” (Oeuvres IV, 93). Now that they realized they could not win, he told his cousin, they were becoming more cooperative. Bérulle’s main concern continues to be the selection of Spanish nuns, for, in his next letter, written at the beginning of May, he tells Madame Acarie, “I am giving a lot of weight to your directives on the choice of sisters, and nothing concerns me now but that” (Oeuvres IV, 95). On 20 May 1604, he again wrote to inform her that Sister Tomasina Baptista, whom Bérulle and his group had chosen to head the French Carmel, had had an accident and died just when the French priests were going to Madrid to pick up the nuns she had chosen to accompany her. “If she had lived,” he writes with obvious exasperation, “this affair would have been accomplished by Easter and we’d all be in Paris now.” He goes on, “[…] God has given permission to the devil to mess things up and subject us to trials, to the extent that, I tell you frankly, I’ve never had to deal with a more difficult affair. Everything that happened in Paris was nothing in comparison with these difficulties” (Oeuvres IV, 95–96). After an enumeration of complications, he remarks, “From the day after Easter until now, we have been in constant combat with the General” (Oeuvres IV, 96). Francisco de la Madre de Dios has done everything possible to undo the project, he writes. “This man has the most leaden and ridged spirit I’ve ever seen, and the most incapable of receiving illumination” (Oeuvres IV, 98). Now that the authorities have forced Fray Francisco to give in and suggest nuns to travel to France, Bérulle is engaged in a second “huge and brutal battle with him” (Oeuvres IV, 100). Fray Francisco had objected to every candidate, until, at last, after unending negotiations, he approved the nun suggested by the French priest: Isabel de Santo Domingo. However, shortly afterward, Isabel fell seriously ill and sent word to Bérulle that “she was sure that God did not want to make use of her for this mission” (Oeuvres IV, 100). It is almost impossible to negotiate with Fray Francisco, explains Bérulle, for he has surrounded himself with fellow Carmelite priests who always take his side; thus, “this battle has been brutal” (Oeuvres IV, 102). Just to be difficult, Bérulle complains, Fray Francisco insists that there are no more

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nuns left from the time of Saint Teresa, and “since there are no nuns for us in Spain, we should just go ahead and use our own” (Oeuvres IV, 102). Bérulle is clearly furious when he writes, “he knew how the foundation in Rome was made [with only local nuns] and he wanted to do the same thing in Paris. [He said] that he would never allow such an affront to their order […] Imagine, the two greatest cities in the world, Rome and Paris, would have two monasteries of their order, but without [the help of] their order!” (Oeuvres IV, 102). Bérulle goes on: “we were determined to have sisters from the time of the Holy Mother or else to leave right away without waiting a moment more” (Oeuvres IV, 102). The fact is that Bérulle had already chosen four candidates, two of whom had served under Teresa: Dorotea de la Cruz, who had professed in Valladolid in 1569 and had been subprioress in two of Teresa’s foundations; Ana de San Bartolomé (García), who had been Teresa’s nurse and amanuensis; Margarita de las Llagas (Elio), prioress of Pamplona; and Beatriz de Jesús (Acevedo y Villalobos), subprioress of Pamplona. Bérulle concludes that they will be unable to leave before 15 June, as the order is now electing a new General. He was clearly hoping that Fray Francisco would be replaced, but instead, the troublesome Spaniard was reconfirmed in his position. In his next letter to his cousin, also from early April 1604, Bérulle informed her that they had chosen Margarita de las Llagas to head the foundation in Paris. Since there could be no Discalced Carmelite friars in France, Bérulle insisted that his group of French priests would take charge of the nuns and described to Acarie the convoluted bureaucracy he had to navigate in order to finalize their departure. On 6 June, the little group still had not left Spain: “From Mother Tomasina’s death up until now, God has given so much power to the evil spirit to mix into this project that I still can’t guarantee our departure […]” (Oeuvres IV, 108). Nevertheless, Bérulle was certain that God wanted this foundation and would see it through: “It seems to me that, when God sees how much we’ve all suffered, given His mercy, He cannot help but hurry things up and conclude this project according to our wishes” (Oeuvres IV, 111). Bérulle wrote to his cousin again on 7 August 1604 from Valladolid, explaining that he had “made the Nuncio see that the behavior of the Spanish Discalced friars has prejudiced his authority in France” (Oeuvres IV, 111). The final remedy, which Bérulle begged Barbe not to make public, was to have Fray Francisco excommunicated and removed from office unless he delivered the requested nuns (Oeuvres IV, 111). Although Bérulle had arranged to have these measures taken if necessary, his return to France still remained vague: “We cannot assure you of our departure until we are in possession of the nuns we

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have requested […] [We can] hardly be back before September at the earliest, and it’s too dangerous to make the trip by sea at this time of year, so much so that we will be forced to go by land” (Oeuvres IV, 112). The Nuncio now fully supported him, he explains, which greatly facilitated his work: “Monsieur the Nuncio is more and more passionate about carrying out our affair to protect his own authority, which is at stake. He has firmly and in no uncertain terms refused one of the most powerful men in Spain […]” (Oeuvres IV, 113). He begged Barbe to intervene with Mademoiselle de Longville (Catherine d’Orléans) on his behalf to solicit support from both secular diplomatic and religious authorities. His demands were unequivocal: the Spaniards were to release “the particular nuns we requested” (Oeuvres IV, 114). Finally, on 15 August 1604, Joseph Imperato, secretary to the papal Nuncio in Madrid, and Domenico Ginnasio, who had become a Cardinal on 9 June 1604, wrote to Bérulle with the official decision on the Paris foundation: Mother Ana de Jesús would be the new prioress. “Said Mother Ana de Jesús will go with other nuns, whom she herself will choose from the monastery in Salamanca, and another French nun, who is in the monastery of Loeches, near Alcalá, and this does not differ from what the Father General gave permission for, except with respect to the white-veiled7 nun Ana de San Bartolomé. The Cardinal thought it reasonable to stick to the plan that they would go in a group of four: Mother Ana de Jesús, two others of her choosing, and the Frenchwoman from Loeches monastery” (Oeuvres IV, 116).8 It was Jean de Brétigny, who often served as interpreter in these negotiations, who sent to Loeches for Leonor de San Bernardo. The Cardinal also stipulated that two priests chosen by Francisco de la Madre de Dios would accompany the nuns. Imperato ends his letter: “This has been concluded with all in agreement and so there is no need to prolong this business with discussions and signatures” (Bérulle, Oeuvres IV, 116). Bérulle must have been profoundly relieved. However, before he left Valladolid, he took the precaution of demanding, as a condition for taking the Spanish nuns to France, a deposit of 2000 écus, a considerable sum at the time, to finance their return, should they be unable to adapt to life in a new country. After some squabbling about the money, Brétigny obtained the necessary funds from his friends and relatives. In his next letter to Barbe, Bérulle provided an update on his progress: “Fortunately, we have traveled the f irst sixty leagues of our voyage and 7 Black-veiled, or choir nuns, were usually from upper-class families and paid a dowry to enter a convent. They were in charge of the administration of the house, while white-veiled nuns, usually from poor families, performed menial tasks. 8 Éléonore de Saint Bernard was born in Liège (Belgium) in 1577 and professed in Loeche in 1598.

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we hope to set foot in France in six or seven days. I’ve made an effort to travel with the post or the relays to move ahead and leave our company with Monsieur de Brétigny and the fathers of his order, whom the Nuncio wanted to accompany them on this journey” (Oeuvres IV, 118). Bérulle was obviously annoyed that the Spanish Discalced Carmelite fathers had insisted on sending two of their own with the women. He writes: “It would have been a sacrilege according to the customs of this country to do it any other way, although we have done everything possible, by God, to prevent it, but it wasn’t humanly possible” (Oeuvres IV, 116). Despite the “extraordinary resistance” of the Discalced Carmelite superiors, the French remained steadfast in their demands and negotiated passage for four nuns: The first is Ana de Jesús, whom the whole order and all of Spain hold to be one of the greatest individuals in this country. Mother Teresa took her to Salamanca when she founded her monastery there, and made her novice mistress, even though she had only been in the order for four months, and then foundress in Beas […] A few years later, Teresa sent her to go in her place to found in the Kingdom of Granada, since the Madre couldn’t go herself. And after her death, the order made her Foundress in Madrid, which is the Paris of Spain” (Oeuvres IV, 119).

Bérulle fails to mention what happened to Margarita de las Llagas, who was originally supposed to found in Paris, but seems overjoyed with Ana. He explains that Fathers Ribadeneira and Báñez, as well as other influential theologians, have insisted that Ana de San Bartolomé also be included: This soul is endowed with incomparable sweetness and humility. Her vocation is very special for this project. Her virtue, and, I dare say, sanctity are very particular and her spiritual light, assuredly great and strong. She is a lay sister9 and because of this, I was in her country a month without wanting to see her or communicate with her […] in spite of the fact that I had heard great testimonies from the most capable and prudent fathers of the Company.10 But God permitted that at the insistence of the General […] I saw her and tasted some of her perfection and her disposition for this project […] In my opinion, she is one of the best nuns in the order and the most suited for this foundation. (Oeuvres IV, 119) 9 “Lay sisters” were white-veiled nuns. See note 91. 10 Jesuits.

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Unfortunately, his enthusiasm for Ana de San Bartolomé was short-lived. The selection of the nuns seems to be the only thing Bérulle was happy about at that point. The whole negotiation had been “a battle, a torture and a struggle” (Oeuvres IV, 120). Nevertheless, the trip was a success, for on 16 October 1604, Ana crossed the Pyrenees accompanied by Ana de San Bartolomé and three other nuns, with statues of the Christ Child at their head, to found the convent of the Incarnation in Paris.

Ana de Jesús in France Concepción Torres Sánchez discovered Ana’s letters from 1590 to 1621 in the Convent of Saint Joseph in Brussels. Retrieved from all over Spain, France, and Flanders, many of these missives may be copies (Torres, “Introducción,” 15–16). Ana’s letters to Bérulle appear in the Bérulle’s Oeuvres completes, edited by Dupuy and Delahaye, and a few others to diverse recipients were published in the biography written by a nun known only as “A Sister of Notre Dame de Namur” and in Ana de Jesús, by Carlos Ros. Although more of Ana’s letters may be extant, for now, these are the only ones readily accessible. They provide great insight into the personality of Ana de Jesús and the context in which she wrote. The image of Ana that emerges from her early letters is that of an enthusiastic, energetic, self-confident woman in her 40s about to embark on an adventure in the service of the faith. Ana’s clashes with Doria and his successors may have given her reason to want to leave Spain, or perhaps she was simply excited about the challenge of founding in France. Torres writes that Ana was eager to participate in the undertaking “to earn the forgiveness of her order and the admiration of her nuns,” and her superiors saw the project as “an opportunity to get her away from the order’s decision-making centers” (Ana, 21). Christopher Wilson notes that “A possible attraction of this venture was that it gave her the opportunity to distance herself from those in Spain who saw her as a troublemaking rebel” and take on instead “the identity of missionary-like convent founder in regions that had been affected by the spread of Protestantism” (“Taking,” 75). Whatever Ana’s motives, her early letters do not suggest anxiety or distress but elation. Unlike María de San José, who spent the years following the “nuns’ revolt” battling Doria and his supporters, Ana seems to have moved beyond the dispute. Moriones writes, “It seems the tempest passed without leaving the slightest trace on the disposition of ‘the captain of the prioresses.’ Not the slightest hint of judgment or negative opinion of the conduct of her superiors has come down to us from Mother Ana. All we know is that she

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continued on with her life as though nothing had happened” (Ana, 321). Of course, we cannot know if this assessment is more accurate than Torres’. While Ana’s extant letters from 1590 to 1606 show no hint of resentment over the Doria affair, it certainly left its mark on her relationship with Ana de San Bartolomé, her rival for the title of Teresa’s successor. There were clear ideological differences between the two women, in particular with regard to obedience to priestly authority. Ana de San Bartolomé believed that nuns owed obedience to Discalced Carmelite priests. Therefore, in her mind, the position adopted by María de San José and Ana de Jesús against Doria was contrary to Teresian teaching. Torres suggests that these two women represent “two currents of the new, post-Teresian Carmelite spirituality” (Ana, 26). Ana de Jesús, who was from the lower nobility, had received an exceptional education and participated in debates on Quietism and Neoplatonism at the University of Salamanca and the Sorbonne. Ana de San Bartolomé was from a landholding peasant family and did not know how to write before she entered the convent. Torres explains that Ana de Jesús took an intellectual approach to the governance of the order, basing her opinions on the analysis of individual situations. Ana de San Bartolomé took a more rigid stance, adhering closely to the words of Teresa. Torres points out that, rather than using her own words to argue her point, La Bartolomé always quotes Teresa (Ana, 27). In Torres’ view, both represent legitimate but irreconcilable positions within the Teresian tradition. Unfortunately, their mutual dislike aggravated the situation. Most of Ana’s early extant missives were written to Diego de Guevara, an Augustinian prior in Bilbao, who would later serve in Alcalá de Henares, Salamanca, and the Philippines. On 1 December 1602, nearly two years before Bérulle chose her for the new foundation, Ana told him of her desire to go to France: May God place me where I can best serve Him. Please beg Him, Your Paternity, for I want nothing more than to do His pleasure, and His Majesty gives me such joy these days, that I don’t know how I can stand it. If they’re asking for nuns to found in France and our Father General should decide to send some, I’ve begged him to include me among them. (Cartas, 49)11

In the letters that follow, Ana continues to show enthusiasm for a foreign mission. She complains about the bungling bureaucracy and the winter 11 Cartas refers to the Torres edition of Ana’s letters. Translations are my own unless otherwise indicated.

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weather that slow down the process: “I won’t be going to France or any place else, because for now everything is a mess” (15 March 1603, Cartas, 50). To her chagrin, the only new foundation that year would be in Rioseco, in the area of Valladolid. Ana’s letters to Guevara reveal many of the qualities that, in Bérulle’s eyes, made her an ideal candidate to lead the reform in France, among them self-assuredness, warmth, and enthusiasm for the project. However, they also reveal a certain imperiousness, the trait for which Teresa had chided her. In her relationship with Guevara, Ana appears to be the dominant one and even functions as his spiritual director occasionally. When Fray Diego’s spirits flag because of difficulty governing his friars, Ana urges him to remember his commitment and to stop whining. She constantly uses the example and authority of Christ to reprimand him. You start out sounding so feeble and so helpless! Be strong of spirit and remember when you have no pillow that our Master had nowhere at all to lay his head, and thinking about this and other similar thoughts, believe that God will provide you with everything you need, for even without witnessing miracles, we see and have faith (1 December 1602, Cartas, 48).

She fusses at him when he fails to write and admonishes him to take care of himself, often offering practical advice: “Don’t be melancholy, my Father, for there’s no reason. Cheer up and take care of your health” (21 June 1603, Cartas, 51). Sometimes, she scolds him for his weakness, as in her letter of 12 July 1604: “May the Holy Spirit, with its grace, fortify your soul and body […] your humility shocks me […] You suffer so much with these things! Christ had to deal with much tougher situations in his apostolate” (12 June 1604, Cartas, 54). Spiritual authority and teacher, she explains to him how to govern priests, reproaching him when he slackens, and jolting him out of his lethargy so he can be an effective leader. Rather than a spiritual daughter, she is a spunky spiritual mother. However, like Saint Teresa, to avoid sounding supercilious, she sometimes resorts to self-deprecation: “be with His Majesty, my Father, and pray to Him for this awful nun. Every day I’m getting worse […]” (21 June 1603, Cartas, 51). Although expressions of humility were common in the writings of both male and female practitioners of the new charisms, Ana seems to stress her wretchedness just when she has been most self-assertive.12 12 For a discussion of the importance of humility in the reformed movements, see Elena Carrera, Teresa of Ávila’s Autobiography.

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While waiting for her new assignment, Ana continued to concern herself with the everyday operations of her monastery. In a letter of 15 March 1603, she directs Guevara to wrangle a place in a new convent a for a young woman: “[…] make room for a young lady who is very virtuous and of good family from Carrión, […] the sister of a very blessed friar named Antonio de la Carrera” (Cartas, 50). For Ana, placing nuns was a personal commitment. She saw the convent as both a spiritual and material shelter for this girl, who was poor and in need of a home. A few months later, in June, she wrote to Guevara again about postulants: “your Paternity promised me to receive two young ladies from good families and important citizens of Eibar”13 (21 June 1603, Cartas, 51). Teresa had displayed great interest in the placement of postulants in her convents, taking care that each candidate was assigned to an appropriate house, that more than two blood sisters did not inhabit a single Carmel, and that no house was over- or underpopulated. She also gave prioresses substantial authority to select new nuns. Ana clearly saw this as an important managerial responsibility that she was fully equipped to carry out. By late summer 1604, Ana was finally on her way to France. On 29 August, Brétigny wrote a letter of encouragement to the six Spanish Carmelites who would be leaving a few days later: “Oh, daughters of the Virgin! Travel with the blessings of Our Lord. Try to acquire the virtues, disdain for yourselves and for all things, and submission through obedience. May God alone suffice for you. Walk in His presence and love Him. May each one of you heed her obligations and vocation. Our Lord be with you. Amen” (Lettres, 73). The six nuns in question were: Ana de Jesús; Isabel de los Ángeles, who would be her subprioress; Ana’s good friend Beatriz de la Concepción; Leonor de San Bernardo, who, like Beatriz, knew French; Isabel de San Pablo; and Ana de San Bartolomé. Sister Marie-Anne de Jésus writes: “These sisters are chosen because they possess the true grace of reformed Carmel and are ready to give their lives to spread it among the Christians of France, who are so racked with troubles. They know this is a dangerous enterprise, for the French are emerging from political and religious troubles and have no use for Spaniards. Besides, their temperament and lifestyle are very different” (102). Ana and the nuns who were to accompany her made their preparations in secret. To avoid detection, they left Salamanca at one in the morning. They were escorted by three French ladies, the Provincial José de Jesús María—who would accompany them to the border—and three French priests, among them Bérulle and Brétigny. Ana was in a hurry to leave, 13 A city in the province of Gipuzkoa, in the Basque Country.

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and her sense of urgency proved prescient. The Provincial of Castile had determined that the nuns were being taken away to be killed, not to make a foundation, and the Nuncio in Spain sent two couriers to Saint Jean-de-Luz, across the border, to order them back to their convents. However, before the couriers arrived, the nuns were already in France, where orders from Spanish authorities carried no clout. The group went on to Bayonne and then to Bordeaux, where coaches were waiting. Bérulle went only as far as Bordeaux, leaving Brétigny to attend to the sisters, some of whom fell ill along the way. On 8 March 1605, Ana wrote to an unnamed recipient, possibly her cousin, Cristóbol de Lobrera, Bishop of Osma, describing her f irst impressions of France. She was despondent over the state of the faith in parts of the country, where, she complains, they were “living in exile” (Namur, 182). The journey was extremely difficult, for “[o]f the three hundred leagues that we had to travel, we were certainly on foot for more than a hundred” (Namur, 182). However, more than the physical trials, what distressed Ana was the state of the sacred objects she observed. “My first real sorrow was when […] I saw the Blessed Sacrament treated with great disrespect […] We found the Sacred Host Itself covered with maggots […] We could not touch It and were forced to leave It as It was” (Namur, 182). The monasteries are in ruins, she complains, and Christ “is continually being crucified afresh” (Namur, 183). The cause of the neglect is that Huguenots have overrun the country: “Nearly all the inhabitants of these villages are heretics, [which] is easily seen, for that matter, by their faces, for their countenances are like those of condemned criminals […] the majority boast of being heretics” (Namur, 183–184). On 15 October 1605, the nuns finally reached Paris. They climbed up Montmartre to the basilica, where they placed their foundation under the protection of Saint Denis: “St. Denis is two leagues away, and that is the distance the saint walked carrying his head in his hands. We went to the spot where he was beheaded […] The way these holy places have been preserved is marvelous” (Namur, 184).14 She describes the many relics she saw—a nail from the cross, a portion of the crown of thorns, the tunic worn by Christ, vases brought by the Queen of Sheba. She also mentions some welcoming 14 The Basilica of Saint Denis is located in a northern suburb of Paris, which is dominated by Montmartre, a large hill where Saint Denis was allegedly martyred. Beheaded with his companions Rusticus and Eleutherius during the Decian persecution of Christians, shortly after 250 AD, Denis reputedly took his head in his hands and walked six miles, while preaching a sermon of repentance along the way. Saint Denis was the first Bishop of Paris and is the patron saint of the city.

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Benedictine monks who, although not reformed, greatly resembled the Discalced in their comportment. Three days later, they entered their new convent singing Laudate Dominum Omnes Gentes, according to Teresian tradition (Marie-Anne, 103–104). Conflicts with the French arose from the very beginning. Even before Ana entered Paris, an anonymous member of Barbe Acarie’s circle of dévots raised the issue of the incompatibility of the French and Spanish personalities (Diefendorf, 106). There was also the question of language. Only two of the Spanish nuns knew any French at all, and the Spanish nuns’ limited access to the language meant that Acarie had considerable power in shaping the new convent. Ana could not interview postulants, and so admitting new women fell to Acarie. Two of the first to enter were Andrée Levoix, Acarie’s maid, and Louise Gallois, her assistant. The next, Marie d’Hannivel, was the only postulant who knew Spanish. Shortly afterward, when four new women entered the convent, Acarie, not Ana, was the one to speak with them of their spiritual lives and to instruct them, behaving as though she were the prioress. Furthermore, the Princess of Longueville, who had funded the foundation, enjoyed the founder’s privilege of entering whenever she pleased. Under these conditions, Ana could hardly run her house as she was accustomed (Diefendorf, 106ff). Another thorny matter concerned priests. Ana had demanded that Discalced Carmelite friars come to France to attend to the nuns’ spiritual needs. Bérulle had pledged to import some from Italy, only to renege on his promise. According to Kieran Kavanaugh, Bérulle was determined to maintain control of the nuns himself, and one reason he had insisted on bringing Ana de San Bartolomé to Paris was that he thought that, as a white-veiled nun of peasant stock, she would be easier to control than the “strong-minded,” aristocratic Ana de Jesús (Blessed Anne, 69). Acarie and her dévots favored entrusting direction of the new convent to three secular priests, André Duval, Jacques Gallement, and her cousin, Pierre Bérulle, whom the Holy See in fact appointed to the community. Diefendorf notes that “Bérulle in particular was to mark the French order with his characteristic devotional style through the powerful influence he had on the first French novices” (107). Regarding Bérulle and his fellow seculars, Duval and Gallement, the best Ana could say was that “they are staunch Catholics” and agreed to keep Teresa’s original Constitutions: “I told them on my arrival that so long as they kept to that, they should have us; but that if they broke away from this agreement, we should return to Spain” (Namur, 186). This is the first of several threats Ana made to abandon the French foundation if Bérulle continued to flout the ideals of the reform.

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The Spanish friars who had accompanied the nuns to Paris would soon return home. Until new Discalced Carmelite priests arrived, the nuns were to be under the official authority of the Carthusians, one of France’s many reformed orders. At least, that is how Ana understood the arrangement: “We remain with three learned priests to whom the Sovereign Pontiff has entrusted the government of this convent […] As Visitor [Visitator], His Holiness has appointed the Prior of La Grande Chartreuse, so long as there are no religious of our reform in France; for when there are some, His Holiness wishes them to be superiors” (Namur, 186). However, for the moment, Francisco de la Madre de Dios still refused to send Spanish Discalced Carmelite friars to reside permanently in France: “It is no use hoping that the General will allow friars to come from Spain, so I am trying to get the help of those in Italy” (Namur, 186). According to Carlos Ros, Bérulle was the real problem: “Bérulle doesn’t want friars. He doesn’t want them in France and does nothing to bring them” (Ana, 292). In other words, Bérulle did not want competition from Discalced Carmelite friars, whether they came from Spain or elsewhere. Once Ana grasped that Bérulle had no intention of keeping his promise to bring friars from Italy, she decided to take matters into her own hands. Bérulle’s inaction had left the nuns in limbo. Not only did they have no confessors of their own order, they had no apostolic visitator. According to the Papal Bull In supremo, issued in 1603, the prior of the Carthusians was the superior of the Discalced Carmelites in France as long as there were no friars of their own order. Ana therefore wrote to the Carthusian prior asking him to visit the Paris Carmel. However, the friars of the Grande Chartreuse rejected the proposal at their chapter (10–19 May 1605). To make matters worse, Bérulle was annoyed with Ana for intervening. Sometime after 19 May, she wrote to him to clear up the misunderstanding: “what I wrote to the chapter of the Carthusians was to do you service and in conformity with the desire you showed me that they accept to make the visit. And if I gave them the letter, it is because he [the General] told me that he was writing to them that day […] Please ask God to take care of your health so that you can come here and tell me the right thing to do” (Oeuvres IV, 124). Ana was clearly frustrated and upset. If she did nothing, the nuns would remain without supervision, yet Bérulle clearly did not want her to appeal to the friars the Pope had assigned to them. Furthermore, the friars were unwilling to cross Bérulle, a powerful and aristocratic young cleric, and Ana herself seems frightened of irritating him. Another point of contention, explains Diefendorf, was Bérulle’s decision to create a Paris convent far more grandiose than anything Teresa had

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envisioned. Teresa had always stressed simplicity and austerity in convent layout, seeing withdrawal into the cloister not only as a rejection of worldly vanities, but also as a reflective movement inward practiced during spiritual recollection.15 She limited the number of nuns in each house because she wanted to keep her convents small in order to avoid the kind of cliquishness and bickering she had witnessed at Encarnación, where she had professed. Although Brétigny endeavored to respect her wish, Bérulle wanted something more lavish. “Envisioning the Paris convent as a hub from which a whole order might grow, the founders built a dormitory wing to contain not twenty-one cells, as in Spanish houses, but forty-eight” (Diefendorf, 107). Furthermore, Bérulle had decided to name the convent Incarnation, while Ana preferred to give it the same name as Teresa’s first Carmel, Saint Joseph (San José). Teresa had always considered Saint Joseph the protector of the order, and Ana was annoyed that Bérulle, who was 30 years her junior and had not been educated in Carmelite tradition, was imposing his will. On 8 March 1605, Ana wrote to Bérulle expressing concern for his health and suggesting that he ask Duval to help him hear confessions. “[S]ince we’re receiving more novices, there will be more sins [to confess],” she wrote, expressing concern that he might overtax himself (Oeuvres IV, 121). There is no indication of any animosity in this letter. It seems that Ana was still on good terms with Bérulle, but then, she had only been in France four and a half months. The situation would soon change.

Pontoise Late in 1604, Bérulle determined to send Ana de San Bartolomé to Pontoise to found and head a new convent. Because white-veiled nuns were not permitted to be prioresses, to comply, she would have to change her status and take the black veil. Ana de Jesús was opposed to the project and tried to intimidate her into backing down. La Bartolomé struggled with the decision, but, in the end, she submitted to Bérulle’s demands. On 8 June 1605, she wrote to the Provincial of Castile, “Mother Ana’s displeasure is very great, and it comes from my becoming a choir (black-veiled) nun” (Oeuvres IV, 126). This incident drove another wedge between Bérulle and Ana de Jesús, who was growing more disillusioned by the day with the situation in France and especially with Bérulle’s high-handedness. However, rather than admitting defeat, on 14 January 1605, she accompanied La Bartolomé to Pontoise. Ros 15 See Carrera.

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explains: “as foundress in France, she wanted to be the one who installed the prioress in the new convent” (Ros, Ana, 279). Isabel de San Pablo, who had been subprioress in Salamanca, stayed on in Paris while Ana de Jesús accompanied La Bartolomé to Pontoise. They left Paris with an entourage from which, according to Ros, “no one was missing” (Ana, 279). In addition to the two Anas and the nuns who would enter the convent, the group was comprised of the Princesses of Longueville and Estouteville; the three superiors, Gallement, Duval, and Bérulle; Brétigny; Barbe Acarie, and her three daughters; Bérulle’s mother; and various other friends of Carmel. The townspeople received them with great enthusiasm and heaped affection on Ana de San Bartolomé. The participation of the crème of Paris dévot society is an indication of the importance of the event. However, the heavily aristocratic nature of the new Carmelite population was utterly in conflict with the more democratic intentions of Teresa, and it became another source of irritation for Ana de Jesús. The French were reintroducing the exclusiveness into Carmelite life that Teresa had struggled to abolish. On Sunday, 16 January 1605, the priests celebrated mass, and the foundation became official. Whatever Bérulle’s opinion may have been, Ana de Jesús named it Saint Joseph, making it the first convent dedicated to Teresa’s favorite saint on French soil. The next day, the first four postulants took the veil: Agnès de Lions (Inès de Jésus); Nicole Fournier (Marie de Saint Joseph); Nicole Lefèvre (Marie de Jésus); and Françoise Charton (Françoise de la Croix). All were between 22 and 23 years old and from aristocratic families. Gallement had chosen them the year before to participate in a small group of dévots similar to the one Acarie ran in Paris. Shortly afterward, the other clerics returned to Paris, leaving Brétigny behind to serve as their chaplain. La Bartolomé’s resentment against Ana de Jesús remained with her the rest of her life. She unleashed her fury years later in her Defensa de la herencia Teresiana (“Defense of Our Teresian Heritage”), probably written shortly after Ana de Jesús’s death.16 She admits that, at the end of her life, Ana de Jesús suffered the ailments that God sent her “like another Job,” but adds acidly that “she wasn’t one.” What really annoyed La Bartolomé was the adulation that Ana received: “It seems as though they’ve wanted to make her more important than the holy Mother, and that, I just can’t bear. She’s a long way from being worthy of canonization” (OC, 1998, 469). For her part, Ana de Jesús rarely mentioned La Bartolomé in her writing. In one letter to an anonymous recipient, she mentions her only in passing: “We 16 See Urkiza, 234–238.

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gave the black veil to Ana de San Bartolomé here with all due solemnity, so that she might go there as prioress. I went with her to make the foundation” (Namur, 187). She then changes the subject abruptly, concluding her letter with a comment on her own excellent relationship with the French nuns: “They were longing for my return, for the affection with which we are held is very great. It is truly a miracle, for the generality here is to have little sympathy with Spaniards. People are astonished to see such great friendship and close union amongst us” (Namur, 187). The curt way in which she dismisses La Bartolomé’s reception in Pontoise suggests that she was seething. Shortly after she returned to Paris, Ana de Jesús wrote a rather cryptic letter to Brétigny in which she mentions a conflict with Gallement: “I can’t put into writing the mess I found myself in one day with the good Dr. Gallement” (Ros, Ana, 281). Most of the letter deals with the everyday happenings in the convent: she was ill and overworked; some of the sisters were also ill and had been purged or bled; Gracián, who had joined the Calced during the troubles with Doria, was expected to return to the Discalced Carmelites and soon make a foundation in Milan. Ana seems anxious to leave France, for she writes, “Maybe we’ll go with him, since this [the Paris convent] is all done. May God command what is best” (Ros, Ana, 282). She also asks Brétigny to have someone bring them some perfumes from Spain, “and I will pay whatever they cost. Here they have no idea what musk or civet17 or spruce gum are, or benzoin18 oil. They only know what incense is. And we won’t use that. It gives a bad odor to the church. In our church, I’ve changed around a few things” (Ros, Ana, 282). Although these are seemingly trivial matters, the general tone of discontent that permeates Ana’s letter presages worsening tensions. On 27 January 1605, Brétigny wrote to Ana de Jesús on the subject of the love between nuns and their prioress.19 He starts by quoting Teresa’s Constitutions: “The prioress should try to be loved so she will be obeyed.” However, he warns, “just as in all the virtues there can be excess in one

17 A thick yellowish substance with a musky odor. It is found in a sac near the anus of the civet cat and used in perfume. 18 An essence used in perfume. 19 Serouet suggests that this letter could have been meant for Ana de San Bartolomé, but it was probably meant for Ana de Jesús. At the time, Brétigny was in Pontois serving as the chaplain of Saint Joseph’s, and, if he had wanted to communicate with Ana de San Bartolomé, he could have done so directly. Ana de Jesús, on the other hand, had returned to Paris on 18 January 1605, and could be reached only by letter (Lettres, 73, n. 3).

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direction or the other, so too can there be excess in this” (Lettres, 74). He goes on to explain: [W]e are not to love any creature except in God, nor should we desire to be loved, for when others love us, they in some part love God less […] What I’m saying is that in this love of the subject for the superior and the superior for the subject, there can be excess […] when […] one desires to please and fears displeasing, or wants to give pleasure or happiness to that person, more because of the person than because of God. This would be a great evil, because God is very jealous of this love that belongs to Him alone, and He doesn’t want us to give to a creature what belongs to Him, for this is a kind of idolatry” (Lettres, 75).

It is impossible to know the exact context of Brétigny’s missive, but perhaps he saw as unhealthy the close relationship that Ana was fostering with her nuns. He possibly saw it as a power play, a way to gain clout with the nuns in order to protect herself from the priests, or perhaps he was growing uncomfortable with the intense closeness between Ana and her old friend, Beatriz de la Concepción, who had come with her from Salamanca. Around this time, Ana wrote to Beatriz, who had stayed in Pontoise, to rejoin her in Paris. “Make haste and set all in order regarding the Divine Office,20 for I want you to come back for Candlemas Day. We cannot have the blessing of the candles without your Charity.21 Your absence leaves me very lonely; all our sisters miss you, too, and send their love” (Namur, 200). Amid all the stress and anxiety caused by Bérulle and Acarie, Ana needed a friend, a Spanish woman who shared her understanding of Teresa’s charism, an ally against the French. Although Ana boasted that the French nuns adored her, she knew that Bérulle and Acarie were courting them, and that their influence among the French nuns was growing to the detriment of her own. Perhaps Brétigny and the other French clerics feared that these tough Spanish women would band against them. Sometime in June 1605, Ana wrote to Pierre Bérulle. No longer able to contain her rage at his machinations, she begins by renewing her threat to return to Spain. “I don’t know if His Majesty wants me to be in France, since you and Dr. Duval f ind me so useless for this place. I think I have the obligation to do what Christ Our Savior commands: to be where we 20 Ana de San Bartolomé had been a white-veiled nun and did not know how to chant the Divine Office. Beatriz was to teach her. 21 “Your Charity”: A form of address equivalent to “you.”

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are accepted and where we are not, not to be there” (Oeuvres IV, 126). She then explodes into a tirade about La Bartolomé. “Mother Ana de San Bartolomé has never had the opportunity to learn what it means to make or unmake a rule or a constitution. For four or f ive years before she died, our holy Mother took Ana to be by her side, but it wasn’t to get her involved in her business. It was only to dress her and undress her and write some letters, because her Reverence had broken her arm […]22 (Oeuvres IV, 126). As for the subprioress of the Pontoise Carmel, Isabel de los Angeles, “she has never been obliged to solve any kind of problem” (Oeuvres IV, 126). In contrast with these two hopelessly inexperienced nuns, Ana argues, she has been in positions of responsibility for years. “I, for my sins, have [been solving problems] since I entered the order, even before I professed, and afterward, I was never able to get out of [these responsibilities] because they wanted me to be the prelate in different foundations” (Oeuvres IV, 126). 23 Instead of her usual humble stance (references to her poor handwriting or her gratefulness for his support), Ana’s position in this letter is one of def iance. She does not even end with the usual “your Reverence’s humble servant,” but rather with a distant, “May God make you good and give you His grace, as we all pray” (Oeuvres IV, 126). However, by 10 June 1605, she had calmed down, or at least decided not to press the issue further. She wrote to Bérulle once more, expressing concern for his health—he had been ill with a fever—and asking whether they should celebrate the feast of the Holy Sacrament in the same way they did in Spain. Another contentious issue was the admission to the order of Protestant converts to Catholicism. Ana de Jesús strongly opposed accepting daughters of converts, while Ana de San Bartolomé held the opposite view. Teresa, who was herself of converso background, did not check for “blood purity” when considering postulants, and Ana de San Bartolomé opted to follow her lead. In April 1605, she wrote to Bérulle: I have checked the Constitutions, and they say one should look to make sure [the postulant] believes what Holy Mother Church believes and that she is the daughter of Catholic parents, but it does not say that we should not take her [if she is not], only that we look at these things. Furthermore, it says afterward, at the end, that in these matters, the prelate can decide, and that no mortal or venial sin is involved. Since this is the case, it is not 22 Teresa fell and broke her arm in 1577. 23 Beas, Granada, Madrid, Salamanca.

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necessary to go to the Holy Father […] I am familiar with such cases and know that from before the Saint’s death, we have taken some that they call “Israelites,” and afterward, too. (OC, 1998, 838)

Perhaps La Bartolomé knew about Teresa’s Jewish ancestry or perhaps she was simply following precedent, but she was adamant on this point. Ana de Jesús stood her ground, even though she knew she could be overruled. We have received seventeen novices from the most Catholic and best families of this town. I would not accept anyone who was born or brought up in heresy, but it will be impossible to avoid […] in this Kingdom [of France] because they are all so mixed up. I held firm in withholding my consent, short of an order from the Sovereign Pontiff. He is to be consulted on this point, and I do not know what his ruling will be. (Namur, 187)

As she feared, on 5 June 1605, Claire d’Abra de Raconis, a convert from Protestantism, took the veil in Pontoise, adopting the name Claire du SaintSacrement. Although no decision had come from Rome, La Bartolomé had her superiors’ approval. Ana de Jesús was furious, but when Brétigny wrote to her begging her to accept Claire, she recognized defeat and relented. She wrote to Brétigny, whom she trusted more than Bérulle, “I think that to be here in France only as a guest, as these gentlemen put it, is very calculated to give me humility” (Namur, 203). Out of humility, she would obey. She concludes her letter to Brétigny, “I pray God to bless Sister Claire du SaintSacrement” (Namur, 203). Toward the end of 1605, Ana de Jesús, more furious than ever at Bérulle, threatened yet again to return to Spain. In August, Bérulle’s mother, the 55-year-old Louise Séguier, widow of Claude Bérulle, entered the Paris Carmel, taking the name Marie des Anges. For Ana, the situation must have looked grim, for, with the addition of Séguier and others of Acarie’s group, Bérulle’s influence among the French nuns was insurmountable.

Dijon In the meantime, Bérulle was projecting a new foundation in Dijon. Ana de San Bartolomé had told him that one of her novices had had a vision in which Mary requested the new convent and promised to take it under her protection. La Bartolomé suggested that Ana de Jesús become the prioress

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and that she take with her Marie de la Trinité (Hanivel), who knew Spanish and had served as La Bartolomé’s interpreter in Pontoise, along with another nun from Pontoise and two postulants from Paris. Pierre Coton, the Jesuit rector who was part of Acarie’s group of dévots, proposed the project to Ana de Jesús, and she accepted. Unhappy about the size of the houses in Paris and Pontoise, Ana was “delighted at the prospect of founding in real poverty” (Namur, 205). She would continue as the official prioress of the Paris Carmel, while another sister took care of daily operations under her guidance. Eventually, Ana de San Bartolomé left Pontoise and replaced Ana de Jesús as prioress at Incarnation, in Paris. The group headed for Dijon was supposed to depart on 9 September 1605, but, at the last moment, Sister Marie de Saint-Albert became seriously ill. Although the doctor forbade her to travel, Ana ordered her to the coach. No sooner had she stumbled inside than “she was perfectly and permanently cured” (Namur, 206). The miracle gave the nuns fortitude to continue their mission, and they would need it, because the house in Dijon was in terrible condition. The nuns went to work putting it in order, but the strain weakened Ana, and she soon succumbed to some sort of infection that was rampant in the area. However, once again, a miracle reputedly occurred, thanks to a toque of Saint Teresa’s. According to the Sister of Namur, the relic produced a “miraculous cure,” which “opened the eyes of the people of Dijon to the treasure their city possessed, and alms of all kinds came pouring in” (208). On 2 March 1606, from Dijon, Ana wrote to Rome requesting permission to augment the number of sisters at Incarnation:24 We left our convent in Paris to found two others with the inhabitants of those areas, who have great talent and ability when it comes to our holy order. We think it would be expedient for His Holiness to allow us to raise the number of nuns in this house [Paris]—and no other—to beyond the number of 21, which was set by the Holy See and our Constitutions” (Cartas, 55).

She argues that in Paris, there is space to accommodate additional nuns and an apparatus in place to teach them. As some of these nuns will eventually have to leave the capital to found other convents, she requests a maximum increase of 29 choir nuns and four lay sisters. Beyond the number established by the Constitutions, no postulant could be accepted without the full acquiescence of all the nuns in the convent (Cartas, 55). In other words, the 24 Torres notes that this fragment is not really a letter; it appears to be a petition.

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prioress would not be able to decide unilaterally to augment the population of the convent with nuns of her own choosing. The letter, signed by Ana and other sisters from the Dijon convent, is located in the Carmel of Brussels and probably was not sent. While Ana was in Paris, she received a visit from Magdalena de San Jerónimo (Beatriz Zamudio), an old friend who had close connections at the Spanish court. Anne Cruz points out that, while she was often addressed as Sor (“Sister”) or Madre (“Mother”) in letters, there is no evidence that she belonged to an order, and her frequent travel and activities throughout Europe are not consistent with the conduct of a nun (Life, 50). When the Archduke Albert and Archduchess Isabel Clara Eugenia assumed the government of the Low Countries, Magdalena accompanied them to Brussels and stayed at court. In 1605, she visited Spain on business, and, on her way back, stopped in Paris. Impressed and delighted with the convent she saw, she decided to promote the establishment of Discalced Carmelite convents in the Low Countries and presented the idea to the Archduchess. Brétigny, who was also in Brussels, seconded Magdalena’s suggestion. Sometime in 1606 (we do not have the exact date), the Infanta Isabel Clara Eugenia wrote to Ana in Paris: “Because of my cousin’s gout, I haven’t had time to thank you for everything you told me that you accomplished in that house” (Namur, 213–214). Like all of Catholic Europe, Isabel was concerned about encroaching Protestantism. The Protestant Union had just been established in response to the reestablishment of Catholicism in Donauwörth by the Holy Roman Emperor Rudolph II and Duke Maximilian of Bavaria. On 8 August 1606, the Infanta wrote to Ana again, asking her to bring the reform north: I hope you will not refuse to come and found a convent here, as Quintanadueñas [Brétigny] will explain more in detail, for I have lately consulted him about the matter. I hope he will be able to overcome all the diff iculties that may arise, so that you will be able to leave with those who must necessarily accompany you […] I beg of you to choose yourself the most suited for the purpose I have in view […] The site I have chosen for the convent adjoins our palace, a thing I have always wanted, so that we may share a little in the happiness that is yours. (Namur, 213–214).

If Ana was distraught over the prospect of once again occupying a lavish convent, that did not prevent her from accepting. In the Spanish Netherlands, she would finally be under the jurisdiction of Discalced Carmelite

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friars, which no doubt pleased her.25 Catherine d’Orléans, who lived at the Paris monastery, urged Ana de Jesús to take the other Ana with her, but the rift between the two women was still raw. Ana de Jesús’s independent spirit increasingly irked Ana de San Bartolomé. Just as La Bartolomé thought that Ana de Jesús’s rebellion against Doria was unconscionable, she believed that the Carmelite vow of obedience obligated her to comply with Bérulle’s directives rather than to flee his authority.26 Although La Bartolomé found Bérulle’s domination increasingly oppressive, she opted to stay in France. The prospect of founding in Flanders seems to have animated Ana de Jesús. Even when describing her worsening health problems, for the most part, she sounds optimistic in her letters. For example, she writes Guevara that, although she has been ill (“these pains are so terrible that they leave me completely stiff”), she is delighted that, in general, things are going well (“as for things around here […] every day they go better”) (1 November 1606, Cartas, 57). The teasing, playful tone of parts of this letter and the cheerful ending suggest that Ana was in good spirits. Ana de Jesús left Paris on 7 January 1607 and proceeded with Beatriz de la Concepción and three other sisters to Pontoise and then Amiens, where a Carmel had been founded the year before. The group reached the Netherlands on 22 January 1607, in the dead of winter. The majordomo of the Archdukes met the nuns at Notre Dame du Hal and took them to the palace, where the maid of honor presented Ana to the Infanta. That evening, they were led to their new convent, accompanied by a large retinue. The Archdukes Albert and Isabel Clara Eugenia were zealous in their support of the reform in the Netherlands and remained committed to the Discalced Carmelites until their deaths. In the following years, Ana de Jesús made foundations in Brussels (1607), Louvain (1607), and Mons (1608). The Brussels foundation was the first Discalced Carmelite convent founded under royal patronage, a development that, as Torres notes, was in direct violation of Saint Teresa’s original intentions (“Introducción,” 12).27 Although Ana was at last out from under the authority of Bérulle, the power structure in the Netherlands brought its own problems, and it was only a matter of time before new conflicts arose. 25 The Discalced Carmelite friars did not actually arrive until 1610. 26 Ana de San Bartolomé makes this clear in her Defensa de la herencia teresiana, in Obras completas. 27 Teresa stipulated that her convents would be founded in poverty, without patrons. She modified her position when she founded in Malagón, under the sponsorship of Doña Luisa de la Cerda. However, in her lifetime, she had never accepted royal patronage.

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Works Cited Primary Sources Ana de Jesús (Lobera). Cartas (1590-1621). Ed. Concepción Torres Sánchez. Salamanca: Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca, 1996. Ana de San Bartolomé, Bta. Obras completas. Ed. Julián Urkiza. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 1998. Bérulle, Pierre de. Oeuvres complètes IV: Correspondence. Ed. Michel Dupuy and Blandine Delabaye. Paris: Cerf, 2006. Brétigny, Jean de Quintanadueñas de. Lettres (1556-1634). Ed. Pierre Serout. Louvain: Publications Universitaires de Louvain, 1971. Teresa de Jesús (de Ávila). Epistolario. Ed. Luis Martínez Rodríguez and Teófanes Egido. Madrid: Espiritualidad, 1984.

Translation Teresa de Ávila (de Jesús). The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Ávila. Trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. and Otilio Rodríguez, O.C.D. 3 vols. Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 1980–1987.

Secondary Sources Anonymous (A Sister of Notre Dame de Namur). Life of the Venerable Anne of Jesus, Companion of Teresa of Ávila. London: Sands & Co., 1931. Carrera, Elena. Teresa of Ávila’s Autobiography: Authority, Power and the Self in Mid-Sixteenth-Century Madrid. Oxford: Legenda and Modern Humanities Research Association, 2005. Cruz, Anne J. “Introduction.” In Luisa de Carvajal y Mendoza, The Life and Writings of Luisa de Carvajal y Mendoza. Ed. and trans. Anne J. Cruz. Toronto: Iter & Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies, 2014. 1–109. Diefendorf, Barbara B. From Penitence to Charity: Pious Women and the Catholic Reformation in Paris. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Kavanaugh, Kieran. “Blessed Anne of St. Bartholomew.” The Heirs of St. Teresa of Ávila. Ed. Christopher Wilson. Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 2006. 59–71. Marie-Anne de Jésus. Anne de Jésus: Fondatrice du Carmel en France et en Belgique. n.p.: Lion de Juda, 1988. Moriones, Ildefonso. Ana de Jesús y la herencia teresiana: ¿Humanismo cristiano o rigor primitivo? Teresianum: Rome, 1968.

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Mujica, Bárbara. Teresa de Ávila, Lettered Woman. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009. Smet, Joachim. The Mirror of Carmel: A Brief History of the Carmelite Order. Darien, IL: Carmelite Media, 2011. Torres Sánchez, Concepción (Concha). Ana de Jesús (1545-1621). Madrid: Ediciones del Orto, 1999. ——. “Introducción.” Ana de Jesús, Cartas (1590-1621). Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca, 1996. 9–43. Wilson, Christopher. “Taking Teresian Authority to the Front Lines: Ana de San Bartolomé and Ana de Jesús in Art of the Spanish Netherlands.” The Heirs of St. Teresa of Ávila. Ed. Christopher C. Wilson. Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 2006. 72–106.

7.

In the Low Countries Abstract Isabel Clara Eugenia, who ruled as co-sovereign of the Low Countries with her husband, Albert of Austria, saw convents as a bulwark against encroaching Protestantism and brought nuns of different orders from France to make foundations, among them, Ana de Jesús. After founding in Brussels, Ana founded convents in Louvain and Mons. The Mons project was a challenge. Her letters show that she had difficulty coping with the cold and did not find the Flemish women congenial. She also missed her dear friend Beatriz de la Concepción. As she approached the end of her life, Ana became obsessed with completing her translation projects and other unfinished business. Around 1607, her declining health became a major topic of her correspondence. Keywords: Ana de Jesús (Lobrera), Discalced Carmelites in the Low Countries, Isabel Clara Eugenia and the Discalced reform, homosocial relationships in convents, early modern women’s letter-writing

The realm to which Ana de Jesús fled in January 1607 was barely emerging from a long period of chaos. The Low Countries consisted of numerous fiefdoms, including the Burgundian Netherlands, a conglomerate of domains ruled by the House of Valois-Burgundy, and, later, by their Hapsburg successors. Different rulers had long endeavored to unite the separate domains, but it was not until 1506, when Charles V inherited the Holy Roman Empire and the throne of Spain from his father Philippe le Bel, that the task was accomplished. The f iefdoms of the Netherlands then unified as the Seventeen Provinces, which included the current Belgium, Luxembourg, and parts of France and Germany. The Pragmatic Sanction of 1549 established that the Provinces should remain united in the future and must be inherited by the same monarch. When Charles V abdicated in 1555, his realms were divided between his son, Philip II of Spain, and his

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch07

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brother, Ferdinand I, who became Holy Roman Emperor. The Seventeen Provinces went to Philip. Charles had relied on the Duke of Alba (Fernando Álvarez de Toledo y Pimentel) to maintain order in the Netherlands, but the Duke’s treatment of his subjects was so harsh that it provoked an uncontainable revolt, and the Crown recalled him to Spain. In the 1540s, Calvinism swept through the Netherlands, in particular Flanders, winning over large segments of the population. Both aristocrats and commoners were drawn to the simplicity of the new religion, but perhaps the main attraction was its value as a rallying point against the Spaniards. After Charles V died in 1558, Philip II began a punitive campaign against the rebels, supported by the Inquisition. In 1566, the Calvinists staged a Beeldenstorm (“iconoclasm” in Dutch), in which they destroyed countless treasures of Catholic art in churches and public spaces. Led by William of Orange, a convert to Calvinism, the Dutch then launched the Eighty Years’ War to free themselves from Catholic Spain. Holland and Zeeland (the westernmost province of the Netherlands) were already largely Calvinist and fell to Calvinist armies in 1572. Philip II, with the support of the Jesuits, launched campaigns to win Calivinist converts back to Catholicism. Nevertheless, the number of Catholics decreased in the region, especially in rural areas. Protestant immigrants flowed into the region from Germany, Flanders, and France, solidifying the Protestant character of the northern Netherlands. Peter H. Wilson argues that historians have traditionally favored French and Protestant accounts of the period, causing them to exaggerate Spain’s savagery and neglect Philip II’s attempts to find peaceful solutions to the conflicts (161). Spain’s bankruptcy and devastating military defeats “convinced Philip, guided by his adviser, the Duke of Lerma, of the impossibility of defeating France, England and the Dutch simultaneously and led to negotiations that concluded in the Peace of Vervins in 1598.” The treaty was negotiated by the Pope and Elizabeth of England, and “Spain clearly wanted it to last” (Wilson, 162). The result was the Pax Hispanica, a period of 23 years that began roughly after Philip II’s death in 1598 and held until the beginning of the Thirty Years’ War. The sincerity of Philip II’s efforts is manifest in his decision to place his 33-year-old daughter, Isabel Clara Eugenia, on the throne, provided she marry Archduke Albert of Austria, then a Cardinal, and to cede greater autonomy to the Spanish Netherlands. After Pope Clement VIII released Albert from his clerical obligations, the wedding took place on 18 April 1599. Soon after Philip II’s death on 13 September, the couple left for Brussels, where they would rule as co-sovereigns.

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Isabel Clara Eugenia and the Discalced Reform When Isabel first arrived in the Low Countries, she was shocked by the destitution she observed. In a letter to the Duke of Lerma written in September 1599, she laments the ruinous state of the churches, monasteries, and convents, as well as the poverty of the peasants and the terrible state of the troops after 40 years of war (García, 85). She set as her goals the improvement of her subjects’ material lives, the promotion of Catholicism, and, above all, the end of the war. Like many other political thinkers of the time, she thought that peace was essential to fortifying Spain’s hold on the Netherlands. The conflict was draining Spain of wealth and men, and the insurgency might encourage other Spanish territories to rebel. The United Provinces of the North were lost to Protestantism, but the monarchy might continue to hold the southern provinces by dealing with the pressing economic problems that faced the people and rallying them behind a unifying religion. The defense of Catholicism was both a personal and political commitment for the Archdukes. An essential part of their plan was the restauration of decrepit religious buildings and the support of reformed orders such as the Jesuits, Discalced Carmelites, and Capuchins. Because the Infanta saw convents as a bulwark against Protestantism, she facilitated the establishment of an independent Flemish Carmelite province. Albert had been involved with the Carmelite reform since his days in Portugal. He and Isabel now undertook the establishment of the Discalced Carmelite foundation in Brussels, bringing Ana de Jesús to serve as its prioress. Isabel inaugurated the Brussels convent in the park of the royal palace on 25 January 1607. In the presence of the Archdukes, the nuns took possession of their provisional convent and established enclosure. Beatriz de la Concepción became Ana’s subprioress. Two months later, on 25 March, the co-sovereigns helped lay the foundation stone of the permanent building, to be named for Saint Anne and Saint Joseph, according to the Infanta’s wishes. The Infanta visited the construction site frequently to make sure the new convent conformed to Saint Teresa’s requirements, as described in Camino de Perfección (García, 94). Designed by the Flemish architect ­Wenceslas Cobergher between 1607 and 1611, it marked the introduction of the Italianate, baroque style in the southern Low Countries (Van Wyhe, 371). The monastery church was the first to have a two-storied classical screen façade modeled on Roman concepts.

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Ana left an account of the foundation in her Crónica de la fundacicón de Bruselas (“Chronicle of the Brussels Foundation”): The most serene and Catholic, pious and devout Princes and lords, the Archduke Albert and Infanta Isabel Clara Eugenia of Austria, sovereigns of the abovementioned states, desiring with holy zeal that there be in their realm convents of Discalced Carmelite nuns, worked hard to achieve this. And so that this could be carried out quickly, they thought it would be easiest and most efficient to bring nuns and foundresses from France, and finally, as was right, they secured permission from the most Christian King.1 They sent to France for us. Bringing Don Juan de Quintanadueñas [Brétigny] with us as supervisor, seven of us nuns came, three of those from Spain who had founded in France, and four who had taken the habit and professed in that country to encourage others and set an example. Because they were so devout, the most serene Highnesses wanted to be the first of our founders and patrons to build us a convent here for the honor and glory of God, and they built it near their palace in the city of Brussels. The Holy Sacrament was placed there on the 25th day of the month of January, in the year 1607. In that monastery, the first prioress was Ana de Jesús; subprioress, Beatriz de la Concepción, and novice mistress, Leonor de San Bernardo […]. (qtd. in Torres, Ana, 62)

Interestingly, in the list of nuns and positions that follows, Ana lists herself as ropera, wardrobe and linens keeper, a menial job she assigned herself undoubtedly as a sign of humility. In spite of the Infanta’s efforts to follow Teresa’s directives, the new foundation was extremely elaborate. Gracián, who had arrived in Brussels in July 1607, mentions the elegance and cost of the house in Peregrinación de Anastasio:2 When the most serene Archdukes of Austria, Albert and Isabel, saw the good fruits that this order could produce in Flanders, they brought Mother Ana de Jesús from France with three other nuns, and they founded the celebrated convent of Saint Anne and Saint Joseph of Brussels, endowing Chapter 7 1 Philip III. 2 See Ros, Hombre, 493.

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and embellishing it with the richest of ornaments. They say the construction cost more than 150,000 escudos. (450)

It is undoubtedly because the new convent was located on the palace grounds and the Infanta visited it regularly that the epistolary corpus of Isabel Clara Eugenia includes fewer letters to Ana de Jesús than to Ana de San Bartolomé. The Infanta took an active interest in the life of the house and sometimes intervened in issues of convent administration. For example, in summer 1614, Isabel wrote from her summerhouse in Marimont about a Discalced nun who had been forced to enter the Brussels convent against her will. The Infanta complains in her letter that the Nuncio dragged his feet in the matter but commends him for finally allowing the woman to leave, for, she says, a disgruntled nun can stir up problems (Écrits, 530). In October of the same year, Isabel wrote from her palace in Brussels explaining that she had not gone to visit the nuns because so many of them were ill (Écrits, 531–532). The Infanta also wrote to Ana about other matters, for example, the beatification of Teresa (Écrits, 528, 533); the death of the Holy Roman Emperor Matthias, in March 1619 (Écrits, 532, 533); and the proposed beatification of Diego de Orozco (Écrits, 533). The Infanta’s correspondence shows that she attended to the convent, even when she was engaged in critical affairs of state. The Treaty of Vervins in 1598 and the Treaty of London in 1604 provided an auspicious beginning for the Discalced Carmelite enterprise in the Netherlands. Holland lost the support of France and England, making it impossible for the Dutch to continue the war against Spain. In 1609, the Twelve Years’ Truce was signed, putting an end to the hostilities between the Dutch Republic (on the Protestant-leaning side) and the Hapsburgs of Spain and the Southern Netherlands (on the Catholic-leaning side). Ana was delighted. It seemed that God favored their mission and made them heralds of harmony. She writes to her friend Diego de Guevara: The very day we arrived in these lands, the enemies started making peace. And in order to figure out how to do it, they’ve agreed to call a six-month truce, during which there will be no war. They haven’t seen anything like it for forty years. Everyone says it’s miracle, and that peace came with us. May God in His mercy perpetuate it. That’s the way it was in France. From the time we got there, there was peace. This is more important than people think, because with this, the number of Catholics will grow and the number of heretics will diminish. (7 April 1607, Écrits, 266)

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Life in the Brussels Convent Ana’s first years in Flanders were filled with activity. Soon after arriving, she charged some local Jesuits with the translation of Teresa’s work into Flemish. Brétigny had translated much of it into French, but Ana believed it essential to have it available in the local language, and, in fact, The Book of Her Life appeared in 1609. Ana also wanted an edition of The Book of Her Life in Latin so Teresa’s words could reach as many people as possible. In addition, she had the Constitutions of Alcalá translated into Flemish. Brétigny’s French version first circulated in manuscript and then, in 1607, was published in Brussels by Rutger Velpuis. Even before she left France, Ana had commissioned a Latin translation of Fray Luis de León’s Book of Job from Basilio de León, Fray Luis’s nephew. However, Fray Basilio dawdled, causing Ana constant aggravation. She often wrote to Guevara urging him to nudge Fray Basilio along, and she assured him that, if she were in charge, the task would have already been completed: “If they had sent it to me, it would be done already” (1 November 1606, Cartas, 57). These efforts ultimately proved futile, but, in her letters to Guevara from the Low Countries, she often mentions the project. Novices began to arrive almost immediately. By October, there were nine. The first was Margarita Manríquez, the daughter of Ana de Quessada, a relative of Brétigny, who would eventually become prioress of the Brussels Carmel (Ros, Ana, 318). Ana wrote in the Acta de la Fundación (“Report on the Foundation”), “That year we received nine novices, persons of good intentions and spirit who gave us every reason for hope […] And many other people who desired to enter and to found in different towns of this country when they saw the books and Constitutions that our holy mother Teresa de Jesús left for us” (Écrits, 302). During those first years, the tone of Ana’s letters to Diego Guevara from the Low Countries is, for the most part, warm and familiar. For example, in her missive of 1 November 1607, she teases him about his verbosity and vagueness, as well as his managerial inefficiency.3 “Although you don’t explain things with much brevity and the obscurity of your writing makes it incomprehensible, commending it to God, it seems to me He will do what is appropriate for Your Paternity, so that you can continue to serve Him more and more” (Cartas, 56). In spite of her scolding, she is grateful for his letters, she says, for they bring her solace. She writes on 28 December 1609, “It has 3 The letter is dated 1 November 1606, but this, as Torres points out, is obviously an error, as Ana did not arrive in Brussels until 1607 (Torres, Cartas, 57, note 22.)

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done me a lot of good that Your Paternity writes to me. I feel consoled when I read your letters. I have them all hidden away” (Cartas, 84). One senses a growing nostalgia in Ana’s letters as time goes on. Fear of being forgotten by her friends in Spain haunted her, especially as she grew older. On 29 July 1611, she writes: “It’s a great consolation to know that Your Paternity remembers me” (Cartas, 93). Although she mentions his health repeatedly during this period, her tone is less authoritarian than before. She no longer orders him to take care of himself like a bossy mother, but instead inquires as an interested friend. Often, she asks for his “sacrifices and prayers.”

Louvain and Mons Before the end of 1607, Ana had decided that her second foundation would be in the university city of Louvain. Constance Hellemans, a wealthy and pious young woman originally from Antwerp, had, at the suggestion of her spiritual director, read the works of Teresa de Ávila and become enthusiastic about the possibility of founding a Carmel in Louvain. Hellemans visited Ana de Jesús in Brussels and promised to employ her fortune for the establishment of the new convent. For the sum of 5,700 florins, she bought three houses formerly occupied by Jesuits on the Bakelein, now the Rue des Orphelins (Van Even, 524). With the help of the Archduke Albert and the Archduchess Isabel Clara Eugenia, Ana obtained the necessary authorizations, but she did not have enough nuns to make the foundation. She appealed to Brétigny, who managed to bring Isabel de San Pablo and three French sisters from Pontoise. Brétigny used his contacts to move the project forward, and, in October 1607, Ana left for Louvain with Leonor de San Bernardo, Isabel de San Pablo, another sister who had originally come with her from Spain, and the French nuns, accompanied by Brétigny. Dedicated to the Holy Virgin and Saint Joseph, the convent was officially founded on 4 November 1607, after which Ana returned to Brussels, leaving Isabel de San Pablo as prioress. A manuscript, probably from shortly after Ana’s death, states, It seems that when God gave this convent in Louvain the grace of being founded by our venerable Mother Anne of Jesus, He willed at the same time to bestow on it her spirit, which is the spirit of our holy Mother Teresa of Jesus. To this source must be traced the pure and holy observance which, by the grace of God, has been maintained in this house from its commencement to the present day, her daughters believing that they could in no better way satisfy the everlasting debt they owe their illustrious

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and worthy Foundress than by preserving inviolably the principle she instilled into them” (qtd. in Namur, 226; Marie-Anne de Jésus, 121).

Given the ease with which she had founded in Louvain, Ana undoubtedly undertook her next project expecting few complications. However, the Mons foundation turned out to be a challenge. Ana, then 62 years old and ill, left Brussels on 9 December 1607 with Leonor de San Bernardo, four French sisters, and two novices. In spite of meeting difficulties on the road, she soldiered on in good humor until they reached Mons. According to the Sister of Notre Dame de Namur, “The roads were bad, the season very severe; in some places, their coach was axle-deep in water, and every moment the nuns expected their prioress to succumb to her infirmities. Instead of this, says an eye-witness, ‘she made fun of all the inconveniences of the journey, and showed a courage which astonished everyone’” (229). However, Ana soon realized that Mons was not going to be as easy as Louvain. As she entered the city, “a fit of deep depression came upon her,” for the Baroness de Roisin, who had requested the foundation and agreed to make the arrangements, had not found a house where the sisters could spend the night (Namur, 229). As a result, they had to lodge in the Baroness’ house and, in fact, wound up spending nearly two months there “without enclosure, choir, or chapel, in very small and inconvenient rooms” (Namur, 229). Many of Ana de Jesús’s extant letters from Mons are addressed to her close friend Beatriz de la Concepción, whom she had left in charge of the Brussels convent, and to whom she penned a letter nearly every day. On 13 December, four days after she left Brussels and before the complications with lodgings had become truly unbearable, she wrote, “No doubt you are thinking that I am enjoying a good rest. God knows all about it, and how much I want to see myself settled at last in this house […] Madame de Roisin is at our service for everything and in everything, and Doña Claudia’s4 amiability astonishes us, […] [for] she waits upon us, sweeps the room and acts as our messenger” (Namur, 229). Less than two weeks later, however, Ana was beginning to fret. “Oh, if you could see, dear Mother, all that the demon is doing to hinder this foundation, and amidst what difficulties it is being established” (Namur, 230). However, more than the lack of permanent housing, what really seems to plague Ana is a growing sense of loneliness and alienation. A few days after Ana arrived in Mons, the separation from Beatriz was already beginning to take its toll. “I hope from the goodness of our great 4

Madame de Rousin’s niece.

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God that the house will be one where He will be well served. I think His Majesty will grant this grace in return for all I suffer by being deprived of your presence, my dear Mother and well-beloved daughter” (Namur, 230). Ana and Beatriz were both prioresses, or “mothers” of convents, and so each was the “daughter” of the other. Ana’s play on the mother-daughter relationship reveals a deep and intimate bond. Each is dependent on the other; each is the other’s spiritual daughter. Each is the guide and protector of the other; each is the other’s spiritual mother. “The very thought of separation is agony to me,” Ana writes, “and I say to myself, ‘What shall I do without my Beatriz?’ I wish I had not made the experiment.” Ana was particularly upset because Beatriz had been ill. “Your want of health makes me suffer more than all that I have to put up with here, for I should reckon all that as little if I knew you were well” (Namur, 230). Even though the distance between Mons and Brussels is only 68 kilometers, without modern means of communication or a reliable mail service, Ana felt Beatriz to be far away. “I write to you every day,” concludes Ana. “I only hope my letters have reached you” (Namur, 230). A few days later, Ana wrote again, once more playing on the motherdaughter relationship. “Dear Mother, and true daughter of my heart,” she begins. Ana was worried because, until then, no letter from Beatriz had arrived. The effusiveness of her words conveys the sense of estrangement she felt in an unfamiliar city, far from her best friend. “How much and what much-needed consolation your letter of Holy Innocents’ Day5 gave me. That same day I had written to ask you not to let me die because of your silence, and I complained that my daughters told me nothing. But they were compelled to keep silence through their [countless]6 duties of the last few days” (Namur, 230). Ana was glad to know that things were going well at the Brussels convent, but what concerned her was not the management of the house, but her friend, for whom she longed. “Your absence costs me dear during my sleep, and is a constant pain to me when I am awake. What I am experiencing seems to me to be a kind of temptation. If your affection has like effects, I am truly sorry for you” (Namur, 230). Ana was so upset that Brétigny wanted to send his assistant, Jean Navet, to Brussels to check on Beatriz. “Everyone tells me it is foolish to be in such a state of distress,” Ana wrote, “I told them that it was not in my power to be any different” (Namur, 231). 5 Traditionally celebrated on 28 December, Holy Innocents Day (also referred to as Childermas) commemorates the massacre of male children at Bethlehem by King Herod’s order (Matthew 2:16). 6 Namur writes “numberless.”

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Although Madame de Roisin had not yet found a house for the nuns, at the end of December, Ana was still hopeful. “I think that Madame de Roisin will find us a house tomorrow,” she tells Beatriz (Namur, 231). However, a few days later, she writes, “Oh, if only my Mother could see how the devil tries to prevent this foundation and the exhaustion it is causing me to achieve this mission […]” (Cartas, 80). The nuns were freezing, and she was waiting for the Archduke Albert to supply firewood. Although he and the Infanta had been anxious to bring Spanish nuns to the Low Countries, Spain was bankrupt, and it was increasingly clear that the sovereigns had insufficient funds to maintain their foundations. To make matters worse, Ana complained, the Belgian nuns were disobedient and had a bad attitude. Sometimes they even insisted on eating meat, even though the Constitutions forbade it, except in case of illness. By early January, the issue had still not been resolved. On 4 January, Ana wrote to Beatriz that she would not accept any nuns until “the convent is property established” and when that might be, “I do not know, for a house cannot be found for Madame de Roisin […]” (Namur, 231). In addition, Jean de Brétigny’s behavior was beginning to irk her. Oh, if you could see how I’m suffering with the carryings on of Don Juan. When I tell him how upset I am, he says, ‘Quiet, Mother! […]’ He wears me out. He had told me that his authority only covered Brussels; now he says he has just read his documents and it extends to all states and provinces. Look, your Reverence, peace is as essential as obedience to our dear Jesus […] Pray to Him that we may have it. (Cartas, 60)

Ten days later, Ana sent another letter to Beatriz in which she expressed frustration that the nuns were still lodging with the Baroness de Roisin. When we arrived, she offered us her house and everything she has, but she hasn’t left yet because she has nowhere to go. Every day she says that she is waiting for an answer, and so we can’t do anything. Of all the things she mentioned, all we have is a beautiful bell that someone gave us as an act of charity. Now we can say, as King Ferdinand did when he took Granada: ‘You’ve got the bell, but so far, you don’t have the cow’. (Cartas, 62)

Ana’s penchant for refrains and proverbs is evident in several of her letters. Her use of this one perhaps suggests that, in spite of the setbacks, she still maintained her sense of humor. In her letter of 16 January, she mentions

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the offer of another house, this one from the Countess of Berlaimont:7 “You should know, daughter, that the Countess of Berlaimont sent one of her servants here today, an honorable man named Oliver, to ask me if I want her house, because if I want it, she will work to give it to me. I answered that it would be a real godsend for us, because it’s the best place around here for a convent, and in the healthiest location” (Cartas, 67). However, the offer came to naught due to the vying for influence of aristocratic women for a part in the reform. The Countess of Berlaimont had agreed to supply the nuns with wood, stone, and lime, and to use her contacts in the city to help them, but, because Ana had gone to the palace of the Duke and Duchess of Arenberg, Berlaimont “hasn’t spoken to me since or answered by letter” (Cartas, 62). Ana recounts her efforts to calm down the Countess and describes other petty jealousies among aristocratic ladies, who always seem to feel slighted for one reason or another. “As if I wanted to get involved in all this!” she exclaims. “But even if they turn against me, I’m not putting up with these antagonisms” (Cartas, 62). In reality, she explains, nothing mattered to her but the well-being of her dear Beatriz, whose health continued to be delicate. Ana was grateful to Madame de Roisin for her help and, on 14 January 1608, asked Beatriz for “some little trinkets for me to give to the maids of the ladies” to show her appreciation (Cartas, 63). Two days later, she wrote to Beatriz that she was exhausted from dealing with the issue of procuring a house, but that Madama had assured her that, on the feast day of the Conversion of Saint Paul (25 January), they would be able to place the Holy Sacrament in their own chapel. Madame de Roisin had finally moved out: “the good lady had taken a house so small that everyone is astonished to see her in such a tiny corner” (Cartas, 66). Ana asks Beatriz to send her “four or six pair of gloves” to be given to Roisin’s entourage as thank-you gifts, as well as something nice for the Baroness: “some treat made out of sugar, and from the box in my chest, two little glass containers of powder for Doña Claudia” (Cartas, 66). On 24 January, she wrote again urging: “Please send me the gloves soon, and if you have something I could give to the maids and girls [probably Madame de Roisin’s cousins], send that too” (Cartas, 69). Ana’s keen desire to keep the Baroness happy stemmed from the complexity of negotiations with the Flemish nobility. Ana had not taken the house offered her by Berlaimont and later regretted her choice, for, although the agreement was only for three months, Ana believed that the nuns might be 7 Maria Margaretha de Lalaing (1574–1650), married to Florent of Berlaymont (or Berlaimont, 1550–1626), gave generously to the clergy and sponsored several religious orders.

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able to stay permanently. Had she accepted, she might have saved herself quite a bit of frustration. Judging from her letters, Ana was a powerhouse, always busy and always trying to stay on top of things: “[…] I am so short of time, I’ll hardly have time to read them,” she wrote to Fray Diego from Brussels, referring to some documents he had sent her (Cartas, 58). In Mons, she was more active than ever. She excuses herself to Beatriz for the brevity of one of her missives, noting that she is pressed for time and “can’t write anymore” (Cartas, 59). After the beginning of the Twelve Years’ Truce, the Archdukes had more leisure to devote to their convents, and, as a result, consulted with Ana constantly (Namur, 239). In a letter to the prioress of the Salamanca Carmel, Ana writes, “I am absolutely worn out, and I have so much to do and so many letters to respond to, that I don’t know how I get through the day. They don’t leave me a minute to commune with God, or to be with those I love from back home […]” (Cartas, 86). Ana wrote to Beatriz on 13 December that she yearned to join her in Brussels, as things were not going well in Mons. In spite of Roisin’s promises, Ana still had not found a permanent residence for the nuns, and she was inundated with work. “It’s 1:00 in the morning and Sister Alberta wants me to go to bed,” she signs off (Cartas, 79). Ana was 64 years old and still working past midnight. Finally, on 7 February 1608, the Blessed Sacrament was placed in a provisional chapel dedicated to Saint Joseph. (In reformed Carmelite convents, the foundation was not official until the Blessed Sacrament was installed—a point established by Saint Teresa in Foundations.8) Ana de Jesús then returned to Brussels, leaving Leonor de San Bernardo in Mons as prioress. However, Leonor turned out to be unpopular among the nuns. Furthermore, she became involved in a couple’s domestic squabble, which raised eyebrows. By October, Ana was back in Mons. She cleared Leonor of any wrongdoing, but took her back to Brussels, leaving Isabel de San Pablo as prioress.

Ana and Beatriz The frequent correspondence between Ana and Beatriz sustained them during periods of separation. Through letters, they were able to calm and reassure each other, boost each other’s morale, and stay informed about developments in the order. On 14 January 1608, Ana wrote to Beatriz: “It’s a great relief in our separation to write each other” (Cartas, 61). Yet, letters did not always suffice to fill the void. Ana yearned to be with her best friend and 8

Cartas, note 47, 70.

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to communicate in person. “The very thought of you fills me with tenderness and makes me cry like an old lady […]” she wrote. “I go around sad because I’m without my true daughter, and I promise God never again to be apart from your Reverence, unless I am forced to out of obedience. I see clearly that one should not be without the other in these foreign lands” (Cartas, 61). Ana sometimes shared her loneliness with other correspondents, for example, Guevara, but her letters to Beatriz are especially poignant. Surrounded by people whose language, customs, and mentality were foreign to her, she ached for Beatriz: “Understand that we are bewitched with one another, because the day I don’t speak with your Reverence, I just can’t live” (Cartas, 65). “I’m so alone,” she wrote, “I feel so awful, I can’t express a tenth of what I feel” (Cartas, 65). In a letter from the end of December 1609, she wrote: “It’s hard for me, whether I’m awake or asleep. It exhausts me to be away from you, and the effect your Reverence has on me seems a temptation” (Cartas, 81).9 Extravagant expressions of affection were common in the correspondence of early modern men as well as women. For example, Erasmus called Serviatus, “the sweetest companion of my intimacy” in one of his letters (Minnich and Meissner, 611). However, the intensity of Ana’s yearning, described as a “temptation” by Ana herself, has caused some modern scholars to suspect her of lesbian inclinations.10 Torres links same-sex affection between nuns to melancholia, which could lead to unrestrained and unhealthy desires. Medical experts of the period thought that the celibate life exacerbated melancholia by obviating the “health-giving purgative effects of sexual intercourse” (Strocchia, “Melancholic Nun,” 139). According to the sixteenth-century Italian physician Girolamo Mercuriale, intense meditation and quiet led to the production of noxious vapors that corrupted the brain (“Melancholic Nun,” 140).11 When Teresa warned against “special friendships” in Camino de perfección, she was probably more concerned with cliquishness and gossip than homosexuality, yet, as Sherry Velasco notes, ecclesiastics were concerned about the implications of closeness between women” (Lesbians, 113). Basing her argument on Inquisition documentation, Lisa Vollendorf shows that the sixteenth-century mind had little grasp of female homoeroticism (64). Thus, it is difficult to know exactly how to interpret the relationship between Ana and Beatriz.12 9 Torres estimates a date of 28 December 1609. 10 See Torres, “Introducción,” 25–26. Some scholars also see indications of homosexuality in Erasmus’s writing. 11 See Mujica, “Chronicles of Pain.” 12 There is documented evidence of lesbian activity among religious women in the seventeenth century. Immodest Acts, by Judith Brown, chronicles the life of the Italian mystic Benedetta

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Melancholy and Estrangement Fear of being forgotten plagued Ana even before she took the reform north. Ana’s sense of estrangement intensified in Mons, where her fear of being forgotten provoked as much pain as her physical ailments. In her letters to Fray Diego of 1 November 1607, she begs to be remembered to two companions, for “I wouldn’t want such good friends to forget me in times of so much need, as I need the aid of their holy sacrifices and prayers” (Cartas, 57). The nuns in Mons offered no solace, as they were unfriendly and unpleasant: “I hide from the nuns from this place,” she tells Beatriz. “These women are so strange, but I can’t put it in writing […] You can’t believe it without actually seeing it. I could never have believed that people could be so indifferent and guarded” (Cartas, 61). The language barrier exacerbated her sense of isolation, and she did her best to overcome it. She included French-speaking sisters in her communities and had key documents translated into Flemish. In a letter written in January 1608, she asks Beatriz for “a dictionary for Madame de Roisin,” who wants to learn Spanish (Cartas, 60). In a letter of 24 January 1608, she praises a nun who “knows Flemish and French very well,” for such a nun would help her to communicate with the Flemish sisters (Cartas, 68–69). Adding to Ana’s sense of isolation was the awareness that even writing letters could not guarantee communication with the outside world. Her fear that her correspondence could be seized and used against her seems almost obsessive. “I can’t put it in writing,” she frequently complains. She tells Fray Diego, “it’s risky to put one’s desires into a letter” (Cartas, 85). Another factor was the irregularity of the mails, which meant that delivery of letters was never certain. Ana often wrote to Beatriz and others inquiring whether they had received previous missives. Although private messengers were more dependable, even they could not be relied on if the weather was bad: “the roads aren’t fit for messengers,” she tells Beatriz one cold January (Cartas, 63). Some private messengers overcharged. In her letter of 24 January, Ana advises Beatriz not to hire the muleteer Juan de Torres to deliver a package because she knows a wagoner who will transport it for less (Cartas, 68). The safest and cheapest way to send a letter was with a friend. As Ana mentions to Beatriz in her letter of 4 January 1608, “there will be no cost for postage,” because an acquaintance is transporting it (Cartas, 59). Since postage was normally paid by the recipient, Ana strove to keep the costs Carlini (1591–1661), abbess of the Convent of the Mother of God, in Pescia, who had a relationship with her assistant, Sister Bartolomea.

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down. In her last letter, written to her brother Cristóbal de Lobrera seven days before her death, Ana offered to help with the fees so that he would write more often: “The charge is directed to the recipient in Madrid, but here we will pay whatever more is due” (Cartas, 110). In times of scarcity, the cost of sending letters and goods was a special burden on nuns hungry for news of their friends and for merchandise that they could not obtain abroad.

Everyday Worries Although statistically Mons is not much colder than Salamanca in the winter, snow is more common in Belgium, causing the Spanish nuns much discomfort. “You wouldn’t believe how cold it is,” Ana wrote to Beatriz in January 1608. “It’s so cold that even very deep wells and irrigation ditches have frozen, and the workmen can’t work” (Cartas, 68). The weather made it impossible to finish the construction of the sanctuary and the chapel cloister, she complained. Worse still, it was too cold to bathe: “If you could just see how grimy I am, and how little finicky I am about cleanliness. But I’d put up with a hundred pieces of filth just to remind myself that I can never again be far from my Beatriz” (Cartas, 68). The need for blankets came up repeatedly: “send us some blankets,” she wrote to Beatriz, “although I’ve asked Madame de Berlaimont for some, and I think she’ll give them to us” (Cartas, 69). They had no wood to burn, and the temperatures were so bitter that Leonor, the novice mistress, burned her mantle for warmth (Cartas, 69). Ana wrote that she was hunched over the candle with her quilt on her head and was chipping ice off her quill as she penned letters. Convent management had always been a primary concern of Ana’s, and she periodically gave Beatrice advice about how to run her house. For example, on 14 January 1608, she advised her to avoid laxity at chapter meetings: “Look, I’m charging you with having your [regular] chapter meeting and don’t allow anyone to get out of order or to talk too much” (Cartas, 63). Because it was essential that the chapel be decorated appropriately, she told Beatriz to sell a pelt to get money to buy ornaments (Cartas, 64). On 4 February, Ana wrote to Beatriz to tell Bernal Cornelio “to have the garden planted, for it’s time now” (Cartas, 71). Although she groused that she shouldn’t have to be bothered with such things, she was concerned with every detail of convent life and kept abreast of the needs of the houses in both Mons and Brussels. In a Discalced convent, every sister had several jobs. Lay sisters, who were in charge of menial tasks such as sweeping and washing, were essential to

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house’s upkeep. Ana was concerned that the Mons convent had too few nuns to keep things running smoothly and instructed Beatriz to request some lay sisters from France. Ana also needed regular choir nuns and entreated Beatriz to send one of hers: “With the mail-carrier who is bringing this, please send Catalina to us […] We need Catalina right now. Alberta can’t manage alone because there are so few of us. Catalina will have to help with the choir […] I’m afraid that I just can’t take it when we sing, but God will receive our chants” (Cartas, 66). A great enemy of sloth, Ana once came across a group of idle soldiers lolling around and “cast about in her mind for a way of helping them to do something worthier” (Namur, 228). When she asked Brétigny to give them a book about the Sacraments, he balked, arguing that the men would just laugh. However, not only did they accept the book, but later visited the sisters at the convent and donated part of their salaries to them (Namur, 228). For Ana, work was essential, and she kept her nuns perpetually busy. Her letters give the impression that they were constantly sewing, both for the convent and for the local priests. In the letter dated 13 December 1607, Ana tells Beatriz, “Send me some serge, for they tell me there are many ladies of good family who want to come here” (Namur, 230). Ana intended to sew habits to prepare for them. At the end of 1607 or the beginning of 1608, Ana wrote that she was sending Beatriz a saya (“wide skirt”) that could be cut up to make chasubles and dalmatics and suggesting she adorn the vestments with the trim from another garment (Cartas, 59). If there was not enough cloth for that, she added, “see if you can sew a well-made cape, for we’re like people who have nothing to wear and have to beg for clothes!” (Cartas, 59). In another letter, she specified that “the trimmings should be pinkish rather than crimson” (Cartas, 63). Later, she requested Beatriz to ask Juan de Torres if “he has any pieces of fringe like the ones he already sent me, only in a different color, because I need them to sew some curtains” (Cartas, 67). She then instructed Beatriz to hold onto the fringes and trimmings that she had sent previously for a vestment until she could go to Brussels to see how they look (Cartas, 68). She also thanked Beatriz for sending some pieces of fringe, “which are abundant and of good quality” (Cartas, 69). Finally, she requested Beatriz to send “five varas of cloth,” because the nuns were suffering terribly from the cold and needed mantles (Cartas, 61).13 Lack of money and supplies were a constant cause of worry to Ana. In one letter, she commented that she was running out of ink (Cartas, 64). In another, she forwent the customary salutations to save paper (Cartas, 65). On 13 A vara was a little under 33 inches.

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16 January, she sent Beatriz a list of things she needed, starting with blankets, “for we’re very poor in these things. We cover ourselves in the ones I’ve cut,” but, although the nuns were happy with them, Ana said, they required more (Cartas, 66). She goes on, “if you’ve made ribbon, send me three or four, and a consecrated altar cloth, your Reverence will know which one; if there’s a big one, send it […] Also, please give us a new missal for the deacons […] they don’t want our old one because it’s not from the reform” (Cartas, 66). One of the nuns, Margarita de la Madre de Dios, had given money for the habit of another, Catalina, and Ana wanted to make sure Catalina returned it because “if you take something here, you have to give it back. They’re very careful about money, and if they do something for you, they want you to pay them” (Cartas, 66). Ana found this parsimoniousness disagreeable, one more characteristic of the Flemish that made her feel marginalized. A scarcity of food and firewood aggravated the nuns’ situation. Ana wrote to Beatriz on 16 January 1608 that the Infanta had offered wheat and kindling, but had failed to supply them (Cartas, 67). On 24 January, she commented that Madame de Berlaimont had sent her “two capons as large as turkeys” and that mademoiselle (perhaps Doña Claudia) had provided a pan de azúcar (“sugar loaf”) and an excellent tortada.14 The convent depended on gifts such as these to get through the winter. In addition to the nitty-gritty of convent administration, Ana was amassing relics for Teresa’s beatification. In a letter to Fray Diego dated 2 December 1607, she mentions Teresa’s arm, still sweet-smelling, preserved at the convent of Alba de Tormes (Cartas, 61). On 14 January 1608, she wrote to Beatriz promising to send relics (Cartas, 61). Days later, she asked Beatriz to send her “a reliquary like the one you have for our Holy Mother” (Cartas, 66). This activity would continue until Teresa’s beatification on 24 April 1614. Teresa’s beatification was, of course, a cause for celebration in all Discalced Carmelite convents, and a particularly joyous occasion for Ana de Jesús. For Ana, Teresa was a personal friend and a constant companion who guided her through the most difficult traumas. “She reaches people from up in heaven,” she tells Fray Diego (Cartas, 85). She often wished Teresa’s blessings on the friends she wrote to. The beatification became a topic in Ana’s correspondence toward the end of 1613, as convents across the continent prepared for the festivities. That year, the Archduchess wrote to Ana from the royal summerhouse about a portrait of the Saint, apparently prepared or brought in for the beatification. The Infanta valued it particularly because “you say that it closely resembles 14 A kind of pie stuffed with meat or sweets.

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her” (Écrits, 526). Isabel shares her excitement with Ana in a letter written from Liège at the end of September 1614: “If we can, we will certainly go to the celebration for Mother Teresa, whom I hope we can soon call Saint Teresa” (Écrits, 529). In another letter, composed a month later, she wrote: “It seems to me that I wouldn’t be doing as I should, if I failed to congratulate you for the grace to see Mother Teresa beatified” (Écrits, 531). A conscientious prioress, Ana was concerned about the health and wellbeing of her spiritual daughters and often commented on the mental or physical state of particular nuns. She notes, for example, that “our Juana del Espíritu Santo is clearly happy in her cell,” a matter of special importance to her because Juana was Madame de Roisin’s niece (Cartas, 61). Like Teresa, Ana urged ailing nuns not to indulge in mortifications and to eat well. Naturally, she was especially solicitous of Beatriz, who was ill during the first weeks of 1608. “Don’t take the switch or do any kind of penance,” she writes to her on 14 January, “and take good care of my daughters, as the weather is awful and the house is exposed” (Cartas, 62). Sometimes, Ana sent her friend remedies: “I’m sending your Reverence some boiled licorice juice, which is very good for the chest. Take it just before going to bed” (Cartas, 66). On 4 February, Ana was upset because she had not heard from Beatriz in a week, and news had reached her that her friend was ill. Luis Bracamonte visited Ana and told her that Beatriz had been bled, which upset rather than calmed her.15 “If the Blessed Sacrament were installed,” she writes, “I would go back with Don Luis […] I’m sorry you’re so ill without me being there to act as your nurse” (Cartas, 70). She scolds Beatriz for keeping her infirmities from her and suggests that her friend’s situation would not have become so serious if she, Ana, were back in Brussels (Cartas, 71). Ana was now contemplating a foundation in Antwerp, which the Archdukes greatly desired. However, she did not have enough nuns to populate a new convent and dared not deplete the numbers in Brussels and Mons. On 30 May, she wrote to Jean de Brétigny, now on his way to Rome, about “the battles they are giving me over the foundation in Antwerp” and insisting, “if your Mercy doesn’t bring nuns from there [Rome], this is impossible to do” (Cartas, 71). Furthermore, there were still no Discalced Carmelite friars in Flanders. However, political events favored the Archdukes’ project. The Twelve Years’ Truce, signed on 9 April 1609, marked the independence of the United Provinces and their official recognition by outside powers. It meant that the sovereigns could now devote more attention to a new foundation in Antwerp. 15 The Bracamontes were a powerful Spanish family who participated in The Eighty Years’ War and occupied important positions in Flanders.

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Like many Flemish, Ana attributed the peace to the arrival of the Discalced Carmelite nuns. She saw herself as a warrior in the crackdown on Protestantism in the Low Countries, and she repeatedly mentioned the importance of the nuns in the implementation of Spanish policy in her letters. She wrote to Fray Diego on 1 June 1608, “The three convents we’ve founded here and the five in France have greatly benefited the people and increased devotion. They’re growing so fast that the urgency God shows in moving us forward is truly frightening” (Cartas, 72).16 As Ana saw it, the establishment of Carmels throughout the Low Countries strengthened Catholicism and attracted converts from Protestantism.

Again, the Need for Friars However, the lack of Discalced Carmelite friars hounded Ana until well into 1610. In her view, only Discalced friars could serve effectively as confessors and spiritual directors for the sisters. She had seen the nefarious influence of Bérulle and his cohort in France, and she was determined that the Flemish nuns would have appropriate guidance. To this end, she arranged for the novices in Brussels, Louvain, and Mons to promise obedience to the General of the congregation in Spain rather than to another reformed order. Francisco de la Madre de Dios had ignored her requests for friars in France, but as soon as he stepped down from his post in 1606, Ana began writing to the new Father General, begging him repeatedly to send friars to the Netherlands. He was no more responsive than his predecessor. Ana begged the Archdukes’ confessor to intervene, but even he was unable to move the Spanish friars. Finally, she appealed to the Italian authorities. Her consternation is evident in her letter to Fray Diego of 1 June 1608, written from Brussels, complaining that she could not comply with the Archdukes’ request for more convents because she lacked both nuns and confessors (Cartas, 72). On 1 April 1609, nearly a year later, she was still grumbling to Fray Diego about the lack of friars. The Archdukes wanted a Discalced Carmelite convent in every major city in Flanders, “and if I had the nuns to help me, we would have already founded two more in the best cities in this country […] And as for our Discalced friars, we’d found a whole lot more convents if we had them. I’ve written a hundred times, and they never answer. I think it will take God to change the minds of our general chapter” (Cartas, 76). 16 The Flemish convents are in Brussels, Louvain, and Mons. The French convents are in Paris, Pontoise, Dijon, Amiens, and Tours.

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At this point, Ana was so frustrated that she was ready to give up and leave Flanders: “Let them order whatever is suitable for the glory of God and send us quickly to England” (Cartas, 76). At the time she wrote this, Ana may have seen going to England as a real possibility. News of the persecutions abroad arrived from the many English Catholics who journeyed to Flanders to do business or to settle permanently. Luisa de Carvajal, the Spanish reformer who went to England in 1605 to reconvert Anglicans, had met Ana de Jesús in Paris, and they remained in contact through letters.17 Magdalena de San Jerónimo (Zamudio), another of Carvajal’s friends, had been instrumental in bringing Ana to Flanders, and when Carvajal wrote to her, she sometimes requested that Magdalena share the letter with Ana. While she was campaigning against Anglicanism and visiting imprisoned Catholic priests in England, Carvajal maintained a keen interest in Flanders. On 18 January 1607, she wrote to Magdalena expressing optimism about the Brussels convent because of the high quality of its nuns, especially Ana de Jesús, “whose human and spiritual values we all know” (Cruz, Life, 235). Highly observant and politically astute, Carvajal told Magdalena that the Dutch were popular among the English due to their alliance against Catholic Spain. However, any talk of peace and perpetual freedom of conscience was a sham, she said, for the English “do not want one or the other, but for the war to continue indefinitely, spilling Spain’s blood and money to no end” (Cruz, Life, 237). The situation for Catholics was extremely dangerous, she explained in her letter of 18 January 1607. In fact, if Robert Cecil (the English statesman credited with discovering the Gunpowder Plot against King James) discovered her letter, “I believe he will want to eat me alive. Burn it […] If your grace burns my letters, no one will be able to read them at your desk, or make out the tiny pieces if torn up, for we are told that the English ambassador there takes extraordinary care in finding out even the slightest piece of news that is written from here […]” (Cruz, Life, 237). On 31 June 1607, she writes to Ana de Jesús: They talk a lot about peace in this miserable Babylon […] If the Dutch proceed with this peace effort with a tender and true heart, it will be a miraculous maneuver from the hand of the Almighty […] but they don’t 17 Luisa de Carvajal y Mendoza (1566–1614) took a vow of martyrdom and went to England in 1605, where she participated in the Catholic underground. She preached, taught, and suffered imprisonment twice. See Cruz, Life and Writings.

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deserve to be trusted one bit. When we’re least expecting it, if there’s the slightest slip-up, Antwerp will be lost or some other gut-crushing disaster will occur. I’d be happy to continue the war because Our Lord really seems to want to help us, but perhaps a good peace will really come of the events of the war. (Epistolario, Letter 78)

On 20 August 1607, she wrote again to Magdalena, “The Catholics are very beleaguered and everything has become difficult and with much affliction” (Cruz, Life, 243). Carvajal’s horrific descriptions were making her friends in Flanders nervous. Magdalena urged her to leave, but Carvajal was determined to remain and fight, and eventually she wrote her friend to stop “needling” her. (Cruz, Life, 71–72). On 22 April, Ana de Jesús also admonished her to flee England. On 30 June 1607, Carvajal wrote to Ana: “You say that I should leave here […] [but] I don’t fear what may happen in the future” (Epistolario, Letter 78). Her activities led to two arrests: one for proselytizing and one for allegedly planning to open a convent. On 14 November 1613, Carvajal wrote her last letter to Ana de Jesús and the other nuns of the Brussels convent describing her arrest and imprisonment after her house had been ransacked: “[…] all the items in it that we need for our comfort were destroyed or scattered […] Therefore, I can hardly find something to write with” (Cruz, Life, 342). Shortly afterward, Carvajal died of a bronchial infection. Ana admired Carvajal and perhaps toyed with the idea of joining her in London, but deep in her heart, what she really wanted was to return to Spain. By mid 1609, Ana was exhausted. Not only the unresponsiveness of the Carmelite hierarchy, but also the burden of coping with Protestants wearied her. She complains to Fray Diego in a letter dated 4 July 1609: If you could see how they mistreat our good God in these lands […] I would like for them to take out on me all the disdain they heap on Him, and for them to esteem the One who watches over us. We should not pay attention to anything that happens to us, only to His Majesty, who was held to be worse than Barabas […] Today I don’t have the energy to be in a place where they make such a show of behaving this way. I can’t wait to return [to Spain]. (Cartas, 77)

On 28 December 1609, she writes again to Guevara: “[…] my soul is tired of being surrounded by people who don’t know my good Jesus.” She yearns to return home, she tells him: “Although I have few friends left in Spain, I want to be with them again” (Cartas, 77).

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For the moment, though, her primary concern was the lack of friars in Belgium, for she knew she really could not leave until this problem was resolved. On 8 October 1609, she wrote to the Vicar General in Italy. “On St. Luke’s Day, five years ago, we founded the first convent in Paris, and since then, both in France and in these Provinces of Belgium, God has been pleased that foundations should proceed so fast that we already have ten convents […] One thing is wanting to them—the government of our order. So long as they have not that, I shall look upon all that has been done as nothing” (Namur, 241). Although the Archdukes had requested more foundations, “I shall make no more until our Fathers are there […]” (Namur, 241). She beseeches the Vicar General to hasten “the coming of some of the Fathers, and that they may be chosen from among the most fervent and learned men suitable in every way, for that is very necessary in that part of the world […] The Nuncio who is here assures us that you have excellent subjects in Italy […]” (Namur, 241). The Archduke sent his own letter seconding Ana’s request two days later: […] there are, in these realms, some Discalced Carmelite monasteries, as you must know or will know from Mother Ana de Jesús, their foundress […] Said sisters are desirous of coming under the obedience of their superiors, as they have always been and should always be. They wish that their existing monasteries and those that shall be founded in the future in our realms should be under the obedience, protection, and patronage of their General. I have wanted, at the urging of said sisters, to write you this letter to request most insistently that you please do as they bid and permit them to come under the obedience of their superiors, as they wish, and to add them to the Italian province. (Écrits, 515)

Frustrated by the Vicar General’s silence, Ana finally wrote to Pope Paulo V himself and at last received satisfaction. On 15 January 1610, she told Fray Diego: “This spring we will have our Discalced friars here from Rome […] Before we even asked for them, his Holiness had ordered them to found here and in France […]” (Cartas, 85). Ana wrote to Fray Diego on 28 December 1609 that the Father General had agreed to send five hundred Discalced friars, headed by Fray Tomás de Jesús (although, in fact, only five arrived) (Torres, n. 69, Cartas, 83). They appeared in Brussels on 20 August 1610. On 18 September 1610, Ana and her nuns, in the presence of the Nuncio, swore obedience to Fray Tomás, the superior of the Italian congregation. They “have founded a friary in this city [Brussels],” she writes to Fray Diego on 21 September. “Their arrival promises to be for the greater glory of God” (Cartas, 91). The proceedings of the ceremony giving

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them authority over the nuns mention that the Spanish sisters were free to return to Spain whenever they wished. A letter from the Nuncio, Guido Bentivoglio, states, “Ana de Jesús, a Spaniard, and prioress of the same convent [Brussels], wished to make a declaration juridically through a notary […]” making it clear that “she did not intend by the obedience which she was to give to Father Tomás de Jesús, appointed to this end by the General of Italy, to prejudice the condition upon which she and her companions came here […] which was that of being able to return to Spain, when the occasion should demand it” (Namur, 243).18 The Belgian nuns would now finally be under the jurisdiction of priests of their own order, although Ana insisted on maintaining a degree of independence for the Spanish nuns, undoubtedly because of the indignities she had suffered under Doria in Madrid. Now, Ana could think seriously about returning home. “I can’t wait to be back in Spain,” she tells Fray Diego in her letter dated 15 January 1610 (Cartas, 85). Yet, she was fearful that without Spanish guidance, the Belgian convents might become lax and unruly. On the one hand, “We will never cut our bonds with Spain,” she writes; on the other, “We cannot abandon governance of the order. We cannot leave without scruples that everything we’ve begun will come loose” (Cartas, 85). Her other concern was that she was placing her own desires before God’s. She tells Fray Diego: This is a secret only for you […] It’s that from the time I arrived here, my inclination was to return to Spain, and I was waiting only for our Discalced friars to come. Now that they’re on their way from Italy, I was beginning to resolve to leave. And then, that day I mentioned to you [two days before Lent], while I was hearing mass, when they raised the Holy Sacrament, I heard It say to me, “wherever I am, you can be, too. You came here to Flanders because of Me, and now you want to return because of your own inclinations.” And although it was just these few words, encompassed in them I heard so many others that I haven’t dared to think again about this issue. (15 March 1610, Cartas, 87)

Torn between her sense of duty and her desire to return to Spain, Ana sank into confusion and melancholia. 18 Guido Bentivoglio (1579–1644) was an Italian churchman, diplomat, and historian, who provided accounts of his diplomatic activities and of affairs in the countries he visited. Pope Paulo V appointed him Nuncio to Flanders (1607–1615) and to France (1616–1621). He became a Cardinal in 1621.

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The directives from Rome gave not only Ana but all the Spanish nuns freedom to leave the Low Countries, and Ana was distraught over the possibility that Beatriz, who could now return home with her uncle, might abandon her. She tells Guevara: “Please pray […] that He enlighten my Mother Superior, for it’s not appropriate for me to tell her to go or to stay, because I don’t know what I saw” (Cartas, 88). Ana was not doubting the authenticity of the locution, but its proper interpretation. If Ana was resolute and strong-willed in her younger years, now she was hesitant and circumspect. She was afraid of acting selfishly and of advising Beatriz incorrectly or inappropriately. During the following months, Ana vacillated about whether to begin preparations for her return. On 21 September 1610, she wrote to Fray Diego: “The prelates from Italy cannot prevent those of us who are from Spain from going back there, each one when she wants, nor can the Spanish prelates prevent us from going back to the convents where we first professed” (Cartas, 91). When the rector of the University of Salamanca, Juan Alfonso Curiel, told her that he intended to visit her in Belgium, she discouraged him: “I put him off, thinking I should soon be in Spain” (Namur, 244). In fact, she never saw him again, for Curiel died on 28 September. The following year, on 29 July, she wrote to Guevara: “We will return home. That is what I desire. However, my Mother Superior hasn’t yet agreed to it. If our friars don’t try to found more Discalced Carmelite convents here, without a doubt, we’ll return. As for the convents we’ve already founded, they no longer need us, and it would be good to go back home and die among Catholics” (Cartas, 94). Ana was 65 years old, in poor health, and terrified of dying among heretics. Yet, encouraged by the growth of the order in Flanders, the authorities in Rome were planning for her to make more foundations. Ana had no intention of establishing new convents in the Low Countries, as the Archdukes were out of money. But the Church hierarchy wanted her and Beatriz to found the first Discalced Carmel in Eastern Europe, in Krakow. Ana was willing to help, but not to go herself or to send her own nuns: “It seems to me that we’ve already done sufficient running around. Now it’s enough for us just to be here and maintain what has already been accomplished” (Cartas, 95). In the end, the sisters from the Louvain convent accepted the challenge. They arrived in Poland on 26 May 1612 and established a community in the Church of Saint Martin in Krakow. Throughout the seventeenth century, the order founded seven monasteries in Poland, most of which were suppressed in the political upheavals of the next century. During the following years, Ana may have regretted her success in bringing Carmelite friars to the Low Countries. Juan de Jesús María, General of the Congregation in Italy, soon began to question her leadership, and,

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once again, the Constitutions were at the center of the controversy. On 15 September 1612, the General wrote to her, complaining that word had reached him that the Belgian convents followed neither the Spanish nor the Italian Constitutions. “I have examined the Spanish and the Italian Constitutions and am informed about everything. I see that you observe the Constitutions that we call those of Sixtus V, which were modified by Gregory XIV. The obvious conclusion is that you do not conform to either the Constitutions of Spain or Italy, which I find astonishing” (Écrits, 519). The General went on to chide Ana for overstepping her authority. He could not imagine, he grumbled, with whose consent she made the decision to defy the order. Rather than the document altered by Gregory at Doria’s urging, Ana had insisted on adhering to Teresa’s original Constitutions, upheld by Sixtus V in 1590. However, Fray Juan retorts, “To say that our holy Mother knew very well what was appropriate, and so there is no reason to modify the Constitutions, is a very weak and insufficient argument” (Écrits, 520). Rules must change with the times, he argues. “To say that at the beginning there were such and such type of Constitutions surely means nothing after a new pope alters certain points, as he deems necessary” (Écrits, 520). He reminds her that Pope Paulo V ordered the Italian congregation to take charge of the nuns, which obligates them to obey the superior of that congregation. She is now to write a response to his allegations, but “appealing to freedom of conscience holds no weight. On the contrary,” Fray Juan adds, “wise people find that this kind of freedom causes one to lose some degree of humility and obedience” (Écrits, 520). Ana cherished the freedom Teresa had given nuns to choose their own confessors from either their own order or another. However, Fray Juan argues that such freedom could result in nuns becoming confused by conflicting charisms, which would make them less humble and obedient. On 4 May 1613, Juan de Jesús María wrote to the nuns in Flanders and Poland, stating that the definitory had decided that they were to confess to and communicate with only priests of their own order. On 21 September 1613, he wrote directly to Ana to inform her that the Italian congregation was furious with the Belgian sisters for having appealed to the Pope, using Archduke Albert as an intermediary, on the question of confessors. He scolded Ana for ignoring his orders after begging to come under the authority of the Italian congregation. She had made a desultory commitment, he complained, but “Here, the fathers do not want a halfway government. Either you give yourself over completely to obedience […] or else, you return to the government of your priests, as you were before” (Écrits, 524). However, after

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meeting with Cardinal Millino, protector of the order and the Archduke’s ambassador, Fray Juan wrote to Ana again, later that same day, softening his tone. Pertinent documents had been sent to the Archduke, he told her. He asked her to be patient and obedient to the chapter until Albert responded. “It would be better for the nuns to demonstrate docility rather than to appeal the definitory’s decision,” he told her (Écrits, 524). By the end of the year, the problem had been resolved. On 14 December 1613, Fray Juan wrote to the nuns in Belgium and Poland that the original finding of the definitory had been revoked. The definitors had decided “to authorize you to do as you did in Spain, that is, you can speak with priests of other orders provided you have permission from your Mother Superior” (Écrits, 527). This was a significant triumph for Ana de Jesús and must have sweetened her final years, at least a little.

Unfinished Business As she approached death, Ana became obsessed with her unfinished projects. The one that tormented her most was the translation of Teresa’s Life into Latin, which she had left in the hands of Fray Basilio. On 1 June 1606, she had sent a copy to Guevara of Gracián’s Escolias y adiciones al Libro de la vida (“Annotations and Additions to The Book of Her Life”), published in 1604, because “I think it would be good to have a look at it for the Latin edition we want to do” (Cartas, 73). Although Brétigny’s French translation of Life had garnered many new admirers for Teresa, Ana knew that a Latin translation would make the work available to a much broader readership. She urged Guevara to bring Basilio de León back to Salamanca to work, lest important documents get lost (Cartas, 84). In her letters, Ana repeatedly mentions her dread of documents disappearing, either in the mail or through inattention. She was becoming increasingly frustrated. The reform had not yet been securely established in the Low Countries, and she feared that, without a foundational document, some of the convents would go their disparate ways (which is, as we shall see, what happened). The Constitutions were available, but, as the struggle with Doria had shown, they could be altered. Teresa’s Life was a fixed text, and it would rally the houses around a central figure. While Fray Basilio procrastinated, Ana did what she could to make the book more widely available, at least in Flanders, by commissioning a version in Flemish. On 1 April 1609, she writes to Fray Guevara, “now I’m having her books translated into Flemish, because, although many people or almost all of them speak French, they don’t know how to read it” (Cartas, 75). Thanks

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to the efforts of Ana, the first edition of Teresa’s Book of Foundations was published in Brussels in 1610. However, the Latin version of Life was her obsession, and she could not complete the translation herself. Ana apparently did not know that Life had been translated into Latin from the Italian in 1603. She tells Guevara that she has involved Gracián in the effort to move the project forward. “The books of our holy Mother do so much good everywhere they are found,” Ana writes to Fray Diego on 15 January 1610 (Cartas, 85). Eventually, Fray Basilio did complete his Latin version, but it was never published. A different Latin edition of Teresa’s complete works appeared in Cologne in 1610 (Namur, 221). Another of Ana’s unfinished projects was Luis de León’s Book of Job. On 1 June 1608, Ana wrote to Fray Diego that she had received the pages he had sent (Cartas, 72). However, although editions existed in French and Italian, Basilio de León had still not provided Ana with the complete manuscript in Latin. Three and a half years later, on 21 January 1612, she wrote to Fray Diego, “it would be a great consolation to me to have what is needed to print The Book of Job” (Cartas, 95). Ana’s exasperation with Fray Basilio grew with each letter. On 25 November 1615, she was still struggling to get the task completed. She writes to Fray Diego that, if Fray Basilio gets the required licenses and approvals, she will see to it that the book is printed (Cartas, 98). Yet, on 2 March 1616, the task has still not been accomplished. Ana informs Guevara that she has raised money to pay the printing costs, and the Infanta has offered to help, but to no avail. Her annoyance is evident in her frequent comparisons between herself and Job, with whom she has come to identify. In her penultimate letter, written to Guevara on 23 April 1620, she asks once again for El libro de Job to be sent with the necessary licenses so she can have it printed in Brussels. One of the issues that tormented Ana most during her last years was the sense that encroaching Protestantism was not only gnawing away at the Catholic base, but also corrupting priests. On 8 September 1617, she wrote a strong letter to an unidentified friar urging him not to give up the fight. Instead, she told him, abandon your important title and serve in your cell, devoting yourself to prayer, thereby serving as an example to your brethren (Cartas, 105).

Illness and Death Until around 1607, Ana comes across as a resilient, driven woman of strong emotional attachments; a shrewd and sometimes ingratiating politician;

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and a firm, forceful administrator. Her influence on every detail of convent life, from the decoration of the chapel to the fringe on the priests’ chasubles, suggests she was something of a micromanager—a characteristic she shared with Saint Teresa.19 Yet, the affection with which she speaks of her spiritual daughters reveals a warm and caring person. Late in 1607, Ana’s tone begins to change as mention of her declining health becomes more frequent. During her last years, Ana suffered from throat infections, pleurisy, sciatica, paralyses, dropsy, tumors, and diverse body pains. Not surprisingly, her decline becomes a central theme in her correspondence. In a letter written to Beatriz on 24 January 1608, she comments that she is “tired because of her aches and pains and countless other things” (Cartas, 68). In a letter dated 10 June 1610, she explains a hiatus in her writing to Fray Diego: “Because I was very ill, I haven’t attended to this until now” (Cartas, 90). She begins a letter to Fray Diego, dated 29 July 1611, by excusing herself for not writing for so long because of “my lack of health” (Cartas, 93). On 21 January 1612, she writes, “[…] my lack of health doesn’t allow me to write as often as I would like” (Cartas, 95). As the months pass, the descriptions of her ailments become increasingly graphic: “I speak with so much difficulty,” she writes to Juana del Espíritu Santo, Beatriz’s sister, on 22 September 1612 (Cartas, 97). In a letter to an unknown recipient, she says, “I can’t give the blessing because I can’t move my hand. I am giving it in my heart, for I haven’t been able to make the sign of the cross in three years” (Cartas, 101). On 8 September 1617, she laments having to inconvenience her sisters: “[…] I can do nothing but make work for these sisters, with the grave illness and impediments that I have. I cannot control any of my limbs, and inside I’m so unresponsive that, thanks to the advice of very holy men, I take communion in a way that seems indecent to me” (Cartas, 105). Her letter of 22 March 1617 to Juana del Espíritu Santo reveals her appalling physical state: “These are the most awful pains a human being has ever suffered. From head to toe I’m a prisoner, so that I can’t help myself by using any of my limbs, and I’m so exhausted that sometimes I can’t even speak” (Cartas, 104). Incredibly, she manages to joke about her condition in this letter: “I can’t lie in bed naked even for a minute. They throw me on the floor and pick me up like a rag doll. These women who help me have it hard, because I weigh more than a dead body” (Cartas, 104). From these letters, we can deduce that Ana was almost completely paralyzed, and, in the parts of her body that were still sensate, she suffered debilitating pain. 19 For a discussion of Teresa’s management style, see Mujica, Lettered Woman, Chapter 5.

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She certainly also experienced periods of serious depression. She was obsessed with death. She wrote to Juana del Espíritu Santo on 13 December 1616: “Look, daughter, heaven is where we’ll be happy, and not here, where if you turn around, what you love the most disappears” (Cartas, 102). She repeats the same thought in a letter written around 1619: “[…] the time we were together was so good for me. We’ll be together again in heaven. I really want to be there and see myself free of this body” (Cartas, 107). In her last letter, written on 15 February 1621, seven days before her death, she tells her brother: “I’m suffocating with pain. I’ve never in my life had such agonizing pain as today. I beg your Lordship to have some masses said for me, whether I’m dead or alive […]” (Cartas, 110). Yet, like Teresa de Ávila, Ana repeatedly stressed the salutary spiritual effects of physical suffering. In her letter to Fray Diego of 1 November 1607, she complains of pain that is torturous but welcome, for it purifies the soul. She sees her own suffering as “the punishment she deserves for even the least of my sins.” In fact, she “sees her sins clearly” and “craves punishment for them” (Cartas, 57). She argues, as Teresa often did, that suffering likens us to Christ, and so, when God sends pain, we should rejoice. In a letter of 22 December 1607, she prays that “[t]he Holy Spirit strengthen your Paternity so that you can act and suffer with the love that His Majesty has given you, for we have experience that God gives trials in accordance with our ability to endure them” (Cartas, 57–58). In her letter of 1 June 1608, she tells Fray Diego that God consents to our suffering because it strengthens us; that is why we should welcome it: “I only envy those who suffer for my Lord Jesus Christ and try to imitate His virtues” (Cartas, 73). She laments that she herself has even begun to perfect the virtues. One senses that Ana, terribly ill and increasingly disillusioned with Flanders, was coming to terms with her own end—struggling to find meaning in her physical suffering and taking stock of her life. In spite of her earlier falling-out with Ana de San Bartolomé, at the end of her life, she tried to renew their relationship. She not only wrote to La Bartolomé, but even signed the letter herself in spite of her paralysis and pain. On 12 April 1619, La Bartolomé responded: “I was so consoled to see the signature of my good mother. May God afford you a thousand times the pleasure my soul received from your letter. It is true, my Mother, that old affections are renewed with changing circumstances, and fondness reawakens. I am so sorry to learn of the great sorrows that God has given you” (OC, 1998, 535). She goes on to remind Ana that God sends such trials to his chosen ones and fills her in on news from the Antwerp Carmel. The following spring, a letter from the Infanta confirmed that Ana had completely

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lost the faculty of speech: “It seems Our Lord wants to mortify us with this, that you cannot speak” (Écrits, 536). Three months before she died, Ana de Jesús sent her former nemesis a little gift of religious images, for which La Bartolomé expresses her appreciation (Écrits, 537). Ana de Jesús died on 4 March 1621 in Brussels. She never managed to return to Spain, but at least she did make peace with the other Ana. The letters of Ana de Jesús help put a human face on the Discalced Carmelite expansion. They reveal what daily life was like for Spanish women in a strange and hostile country, where they sustained each other through shared values, reciprocal support, and letter-writing. In spite of the many setbacks Ana suffered, she was convinced that she was doing God’s work. Torres sees her as an important link between Spanish and Flemish mysticism, an emissary of Teresian thought who opened new spiritual horizons for Belgian women (Ana, 29). Along with Ana de San Bartolomé, she was instrumental in expanding the Teresian reform into France and the Low Countries, and in opening the door to further growth into Eastern Europe. Ana was one of a host of strong women who saw themselves as combatants on the side of the true faith in the religious wars. Yet, she probably suspected that Spain’s foothold in the Low Countries was eroding, for she witnessed the rapid advance of Protestantism in the North and the weakening of Spanish power in the South. Only 27 years after her death, Philip IV began to lose the Low Countries, starting with Holland. After the Twelve Years’ Truce, war broke out again in 1618. Both the Eighty Years’ War and the Thirty Years’ War concluded in 1648, with the Treaty of Westphalia.

Works Cited Primary Sources Ana de Jesús (Lobera). Cartas (1590-1621). Ed. Concepción Torres Sánchez. Salamanca: Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca, 1996. Carvajal y Mendoza, Luisa. Epistolario y poesías. Ed. Jesús González Marañón. Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Españoles, 1965. Gracián, Jerónimo de la Madre de Dios. Peregrinación de Anastasio. Rome: Teresianum, 2001. Juan de la Cruz (John of the Cross). Obras completas. Ed. Lucinio Ruano de la Iglesia. Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 1994.

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Translations Ana de Jesús. Écrits et documents. Ed. Antonio Fortes and Restituto Palmero. Trans. Chantal Cologne. Toulouse: Éditions du Carmel, 2001. Carvajal y Mendoza, Luisa de. The Life and Writings of Luisa de Carvajal y Mendoza. Ed. and trans. Anne J. Cruz. Toronto: Iter & Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies, 2014. Teresa de Ávila (de Jesús). The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Ávila. Trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. and Otilio Rodríguez, O.C.D. 3 vols. Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 1980–1987.

Secondary Sources Anonymous (A Sister of Notre Dame de Namur). Life of the Venerable Anne of Jesus, Companion of Teresa of Ávila. London: Sands & Co., 1931. Brown, Judith C. Immodest Acts: Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy. New York: Oxford University Press, 1987. Cruz, Anne J. “Introduction.” In Luisa de Carvajal y Mendoza, The Life and Writings of Luisa de Carvajal y Mendoza. Ed. and trans. Anne J. Cruz. Toronto: Iter & Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies, 2014. 1–109. García García, Bernardo José. “Entre Vervins y la Tregua de Amberes: Estrategias de restauración de los Países Bajos Meridionales (1598-1621).” Las monarquías española y francesa (Siglos XVI-XVIII). Ed. Anne Dubet and José Javier Ruiz Ibáñez. Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 2010. 85–94. Marie-Anne de Jésus. Anne de Jésus: Fondatrice du Carmel en France et en Belgique. n.p.: Lion de Juda, 1988. Minnich, Nelson H. and W.W. Meissner. “The Character of Erasmus.” The American Historical Review 83.3 (June 1978). 598–624. Mujica, Barbara. “Chronicles of Pain: Carmelite Women and Galenism.” Health and Healing in the Early Modern Iberian World: A Gendered Perspective. Ed. Margaret Boyle and Sarah Owens. Toronto: Toronto University Press, 2020. Ros, Carlos. Ana de Jesús: Compañera de Teresa de Jesús, Musa de Juan de la Cruz, Fundadora de los Carmelos de Francia y Flandes. Madrid: Cultiva, 2009. Strocchia, Sharon. “The Melancholic Nun in Late Renaissance Italy.” Diseases of the Imagination and Imaginary Disease in the Early Modern Period. Ed. Yasmin Haskell. Tournhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2011. 137–158. Torres Sánchez, Concepción (Concha). Ana de Jesús (1545-1621). Madrid: Ediciones del Orto, 1999. Van Even, Edward. Louvain dans le passé et dans le présent. Louvain: Fonteyn, 1895.

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Van Wyhe, Cordula. Isabel Clara Eugenia: Female Sovereignty in the Courts of Madrid and Brussels. London and Madrid: Paul Holberton Publishing / Centro de Estudios Europa Hispánica, 2011. Velasco, Sherry. Lesbians in Early Modern Spain. Nashville: Nashville University Press, 2011. ——. The Lieutenant Nun: Transgenderism, Lesbian Desire, and Catalina de Erauso. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2000. Vollendorf, Lisa. The Lives of Women: A New History of Inquisitional Spain. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2005. Wilson, Peter H. The Thirty Years War: Europe’s Tragedy. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009.

8. Who Was Ana de San Bartolomé? Abstract Ana de San Bartolomé (García) was born in in rural Spain, the daughter of landholding peasants. She was a loner and a visionary. She became a novice at the convent of San José, in Ávila, in 1570, and met Saint Teresa in the spring of 1571. After Teresa fell and broke her arm, Ana became her secretary and traveled with her to help make foundations. One of Ana’s most important functions was that of infirmarian, or nurse. In her letters, Ana provides detailed explanations of some of the homeopathic cures she used. Infirmarians, who were usually illiterate, white-veiled nuns, rarely left records of their activities, but Ana’s letters provide a wealth of information on health and healing. Keywords: Ana de San Bartolomé (García), homosocial behavior in early modern Spain, convent nursing, health in early modern Europe, early modern women’s letter-writing

Ana de San Bartolomé (1549–1626) was the great chronicler of the generation of Carmelite nuns that followed Saint Teresa. She produced two autobiographies, a Declaration for the beatification of Saint Teresa that includes valuable information on the last years of the Saint’s life, documents on the religious situation in France, a defense of Teresa’s legacy, essays on her own mystical experiences, and 665 extant letters, some of which contain detailed descriptions of struggles within the order. Ana’s autobiographies are the source of much of what we know about her. Like her letters, they illustrate her skill at self-fashioning and the tactics she used to influence her readers. The first, known as the Antwerp Autobiography (AA), is the better known of the two and was originally published in Flemish in 1632. Versions followed in French (1646), German (1669), Italian (1725), and f inally, in Spanish (1969). The early versions are unreliable, as they contain only segments of the text, some quite

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch08

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mutilated (OC, 1998, 325).1 The Antwerp Autobiography consists of fragments written between 1607 and 1624, with a f inal paragraph added in 1625 or 1626.2 The second, known as the Bologna Autobiography (AB), was written during the second half of 1622 and stresses the author’s spiritual development. A critical edition of both, by Julián Urkiza, appeared only in 1981. Like most other nuns of the period, Ana de San Bartolomé usually wrote at the command of her confessors. She remarks at the beginning of AA that she composed it in “holy obedience,” but without mentioning to whom.3 The AB was probably written at the behest of Matías de San Francisco, Father General of the Italian Congregation. 4 Yet, judging from her prolificacy, she really enjoyed writing. Unlike Teresa, she does not complain about having to put pen to paper or about struggling to get her ideas across. Darcy Donahue suggests that “it is quite possible that she perceived writing as her real voice, through which she could express experiences and sentiments otherwise silenced” (“Introduction,” Autobiography, 13). It is clear from her letters, in which she often complains of mistreatment by superiors and other nuns, that she derived comfort from communicating her woes to trusted friends.

Before She Could Write One can hardly imagine anyone as different from the highly intellectual María de San José and the aristocratic Ana de Jesús as Ana de San Bartolomé. Ana García, the future Ana de San Bartolomé, was born in El Almendral, near Ávila, in rural Spain, where her parents owned an estate with farmland and livestock. As a landed peasant, her father would have enjoyed a fairly high social position in the community. María Pilar Manero Sorolla mentions that 1 Julián Urkiza published several editions of the Obras completas of Ana de San Bartolomé. I have used both the two-volume edition, with its extensive Introduction, released by Monte Carmelo in 1988 (OC, 1988, 1, 2) and the condensed one-volume edition, released by Monte Carmelo in 1998 (OC, 1998). Autobiography refers to the Donahue edition in English. 2 Donahue, basing herself on Urkiza’s 1976 edition of Ana de San Bartolomeo’s Obras completas, gives the date 1625. However, in his revised edition published in 1998, Urkiza suggests the illness to which Ana refers in this paragraph occurred in 1626, which is when she added the paragraph (OC, 1998, 324, 433). 3 Urkiza supposes she refers to her superiors in Flanders (OC, 1998, 325). 4 Urkiza deduces that, since Tomás de Jesús, in a letter dated 3 October 1626, states that this autobiography was written at the command of the Father General of the Congregation of Italy, Matías de San Francisco, who held that position from 1621 until 1623, Father Matías was the one who ordered it written (OC, 1998, 477).

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Ana was a conversa declarada, but without providing evidence (“Cartas,” 129). It is more likely that she was, as Urkiza claims, a cristiana vieja, as were most rural folk (1981: I, 56). In the AB, Ana states only that her parents were God-fearing people who lived exemplary Christian lives, and that, although her father was a busy man, he never faltered in matters of conscience. He gave his sons a basic education, making sure they were literate; his daughters learned only catechism. Unlike Teresa, who depicts herself as a social butterfly in her youth, Ana seems to have been a loner.5 She states in both her autobiographies that she began to manifest her spirituality as a young child and never wavered in her complete devotion to Jesus. As an illustration of her spiritual precociousness, she notes that, as a little girl, she heard her sisters remark that children become capable of sin at seven years old. She understood what this meant, she says, and raised her eyes toward heaven: “It seemed to me that I saw heaven open; the Lord showed himself to me there with great majesty” (Autobiography, 37). Spiritual insight and steadfast devotion are characteristics of her nature that Ana stresses throughout her writing. Ana’s autobiographies reveal some rather problematic areas of her personality and may help us to understand her later conflicts with male superiors and fellow nuns. She was an introverted child who preferred the company of Jesus to that of ordinary people: “With such company [as Jesus], I loved solitude so much that to see other people was like death to me” (Autobiography, 38). Her faith was unsophisticated and, from a modern perspective, perhaps even superstitious. She would ask Jesus’s permission whenever she went out to play, and whenever she stopped praying to the saints for a day or two, she became fearful that they would become angry. After her parents died, her relationship with Jesus intensified. Sometimes, in the fields, “the Child Jesus came and sat on my lap” (Autobiography, 38). She saw Jesus as a personal friend, a real physical presence, a reassuring companion who appeared to her as a child of her own age and grew as she grew. Sometimes she became so lost in prayer in some solitary place that night would overcome her, causing her brothers to scold her. But, she explains, “they didn’t know the company I was keeping and I never told them” (Autobiography, 38). In a society in which manifestations of the supernatural had more currency than in our own, Ana’s familiarity with Jesus might not have seemed so extraordinary. From the perspective of modern psychology, Jesus and Mary might be seen as surrogates for the parents Ana lost. In many Vidas of this 5

See Mujica, “Portrait.”

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period, including Teresa’s, women speak of taking Mary for a mother after the death of a biological mother. Today, child psychologists consider surrogates and “imaginary friends” as a normal phenomenon during early childhood, although, when they are kept secret or last into adulthood, they may be indications of unmet social needs.6 However, even if we interpret Ana’s childhood friendship with Jesus as a parasocial relationship born of loneliness, it was certainly also an authentic manifestation of her early spiritual sensitivity. The Jesuit psychoanalyst W.W. Meissner stresses that psychiatry can explore mystical experiences as they are related to the natural faculties, but cannot comment on their source (311). He warns that modern investigators, suspicious of transcendental experience, risk oversimplifying it and reducing it to psychosis (323). More recently, Andrew Newberg has distinguished mystical experience from mental illness. Meissner concludes that, whether early modern mystics like Ana were psychotic is not really the issue, for, within the conceptual framework of faith, pathological factors can be seen as “vehicles of divine influence” (Why God, 329). That is, rather than diminish the significance and authenticity of the religious experience, these factors can be seen as the means through which God manifests His grace. Judging from her autobiographies, Ana’s sexual and social development were problematic. She was uncomfortable with her sexuality as a young girl and writes that, in order to devote herself more completely to Jesus, she determined to “go where no one would know I was a woman” (Autobiography, 39). She and a friend, Francisca Cano, arranged to steal away dressed as men and live like hermits. When her plans for a hermitic life failed, Ana seemed doomed to a conventional existence, as her siblings were already making plans to marry her off. However, Ana had no interest in marriage. She wanted to become a nun. She writes that, although in dreams the Virgin and Jesus showed her a convent that she would someday enter, the opposition of her brothers and sisters made taking vows seem impossible. The situation tormented Ana, who complains in AB that women simply do not have the option to remain single (482). During this time, she says, the devil plagued her with temptations. To combat them, she “took scourges and lay down naked on the ground in a cave, even though it was damp, until the fury of the temptation died down” (Autobiography, 39). Were these temptations sexual? Ana provides no details, but it is clear that the notion of a heterosexual relationship was 6 In Imaginary Companions and the Children Who Create Them, Marjorie Taylor argues that imaginary friends are not only a normal part of early childhood, but often continue to function in people’s lives well beyond the age of seven, and sometimes even into adulthood.

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distasteful to her. “I said to the Lord,” she writes, “‘If there were a man, Señor, so beautiful and wise and perfect that he was like You, and we could live together like two religious [i.e. platonically], I would spend my life with him under this condition, so that no one in the world could point a finger at me and call me unmarried woman’” (OC, 1998, 482). Ana appears to transfer conventional feelings for the opposite sex to a superhuman surrogate. In her mind, no human man could compete with Jesus. She complains, “The men like the ones I saw [around me], I’d rather be dead than find myself in the company of one of them” (OC, 1998, 483). She repeatedly created obstacles to marriage. She writes, “I was wondering if there were a man nearby who hadn’t sinned and was very intelligent and handsome, because I didn’t think I had seen such a one as I was imagining—for they were all ugly; if only there were this man who didn’t sin and didn’t have any other involvement and if they [i.e. her family] would let me alone, [I would marry him], but if he were not like that, I wouldn’t want him for anything in the world” (Autobiography, 40). Although there is no suggestion in these passages that Ana preferred women, her repugnance for men and marriage is evident. The one man whom Ana did not find threatening was Jesus. She recounts in AB that one night in a dream she saw a handsome young man who, to her delight, promised to marry her. Upon wakening, she realized it was Jesus (OC, 1998, 483). In AA, she tells a slightly different version of the story: “One day Jesus appeared to me all grown up, about my age, very beautiful and completely lovely, because ever since I was a little girl out in the fields and he had appeared to me, it seemed to me that he was growing up with me. This time, coming to me as I have said, he told me, ‘I am the one you want and whom you will wed’ and then disappeared” (Autobiography, 40). Throughout her autobiographies, she describes Jesus as “very handsome,” and refers to him in erotic terms, often as a spouse who teases and kisses his wife. However, Ana’s language is not so extraordinary, not only because nuns are wedded to Christ, but also because the marriage metaphor, with roots in the Song of Solomon, is common in mystical writing. Ana self-fashions herself as unsuitable for conventional marriage. Once, when her sister attempted to introduce her to a young man, Ana appeared before him disheveled and dressed in kitchen rags, infuriating her sibling and driving away the suitor (Autobiography, 40). She recounts that whenever her brothers’ friends came to the house, she would go outside or “make a face at them, as though they were a bad vision” (Autobiography, 41). While others saw her as willful or even crazy, Ana saw herself as faithful to God, whom she served with “perfect purity and faithfulness” (Autobiography, 41). Her siblings

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sought to break her will, assigning her tasks that “required the strength of men,” she writes. She welcomed them as a distraction and performed them so easily that the “house servants said that two of them together couldn’t do what I was doing” (Autobiography, 42). Ana’s siblings demanded that she carry heavy sheaves, but “the weight they were ordering me to lift was like straw to me” (Autobiography, 42). She describes with obvious satisfaction how her extraordinary strength left men in awe: “those who were reaping made the sheaves two times bigger than those they made for the men, thinking that I couldn’t lift them onto the carts. I lifted them with great ease, so that the men stopped reaping to watch me, and they were amazed […]” (Autobiography, 42). Lisa Vollendorf argues that, in the seventeenth century, biological sex determined gender; with few exceptions, society had no tolerance for deviations from accepted, sex-based norms of behavior. Departures from convention such as Ana’s were usually explained as signs of divine or demonic intervention. Ana notes that observers saw her aberrant physical strength as coming from “God or the devil” (Autobiography, 42). Given her distaste for men and marriage, transvestite inclinations, and impressive muscle power, it is tempting to see Ana as a transgendered individual, a woman uncomfortable with her biological sex. However, Ana herself interpreted her aversion to men as a sign of spiritual purity and her physical strength as a divine gift that enabled her to combat her siblings’ efforts to marry her off. In spite of her discomfort with gender norms, there is no solid evidence that she harbored lesbian tendencies. She believed that by rejecting men and marriage, she was complying with God’s plan for her, which had been revealed by Christ and the Virgin. She writes that God sent to El Almendral a pastor who read her heart and introduced her to a convent, where the nuns accepted her right away (Autobiography, 41–42). That convent was San José de Ávila, Teresa’s first foundation, which Ana recognized as the same one the Lord had shown her in visions. She was not able to enter immediately because of her siblings’ opposition. In fact, Ana’s brothers became so incensed that one of them actually pulled a sword on her. Only the intervention of one of her sisters or, as Ana believed, an angel, prevented him from killing her (OC, 1998, 486; Autobiography, 45). However, her siblings eventually did give their consent, and Ana entered the novitiate in 1570, at the age of 21. She met Saint Teresa in the spring of 1571 and professed as a Discalced Carmelite on 15 August 1572. The sections of her autobiographies that describe her life prior to entering the convent are filled with miracles that illustrate God’s favor. Once, she writes, her siblings sent her to the pasture to look for some oxen, but she was unable to find one that had gotten lost in the bushes. Out of nowhere,

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a rabid dog appeared. It tore her clothes and was about to bite her, when the lost ox emerged from the bushes. It “confronted the dog as through it were a person, licked me with its tongue, and got on the road and made signs to me that I should hold on to it. I did so, and it took me to the village, so that all who saw it were amazed” (Autobiography, 43). This highly transparent story is a variation of others Ana tells at the beginning of her autobiographies. Hostile forces besiege her (her siblings, suitors, the dog), but God sends a messenger to save her (Christ, the ox), and all are “amazed” at the special love God has shown her. Later, when she was out in the flax fields with a kinswoman, she saw three people dressed in white who suddenly disappeared. “I knew it was the Holy Trinity,” she concludes (Autobiography, 44). Shortly afterward, she was mysteriously cured of exhaustion upon entering the shrine of Saint Bartholomew. During this period of stress, in which she was facing intense opposition from her brothers and sisters, Ana found solace in the certitude that, at all times, God was watching over her. Once in the convent, Ana experienced a period of darkness or perceived abandonment—what Ignatius of Loyola called “desolation” (Spiritual Writings, 21–24; 133). Melancholy was not uncommon among nuns, especially novices, and, in fact, Teresa devotes Chapters 6 and 7 of her Book of Foundations to ways of dealing with it. Ana’s dejection lasted about a year. However, once she completed her novitiate, another vision—this one perhaps inspired by Teresa’s Transverberation7—filled her with renewed zeal to serve God. In it, Jesus appeared to her briefly at a shrine to Christ of the Column and told her that her life must now change course, then disappeared “leaving my heart greatly wounded” (Autobiography, 46). The influence of the Transverberation is even clearer in another vision: “The Lord came to me as when he was in the world. He came so softly and from behind like a man in love about to play a joke on his wife. Coming closer, he put his hand on my heart, and it seemed that he had torn it out. I was in such pain at this moment that without noticing it, I groaned” (Autobiography, 49). After Ana professed, Christ’s role in her visions changed. He became a companion who not only guided her through diff icult moments, but also sought her help. These apparitions were short, often lasting only a moment, and brought significant new insights (Autobiography, 46). On one occasion, Christ unburdened his sorrow to her over the souls being lost to Protestantism in France, which portended Ana’s future activities in the 7 In the Book of Her Life, Chapter 29, Teresa describes a vision in which her heart was pierced by an angel, an event known as the Transverberation. CWST 29:13. 252.

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north. Of course, as with many of her visions, Ana described this experience years after it happened. Accounts such as this one boosted Ana’s sense of destiny—her belief that God had always guided her along a determined path. During this period, Ana began to practice severe mortifications. She writes that, “Many times I threw myself naked on thorns, others on stinging nettles” (Autobiography, 47). To prove her obedience to a confessor, she once held her finger on live coals. On another occasion, she contrived to pass herself off as a wicked woman and have a man strike her for it. Often, Ana gave away her food, starving the body in order to nourish the soul. Even Teresa’s disapproval didn’t entirely put an end to these excesses. Like Teresa, Ana disdained inept priests. As a young girl, she once heard a sermon so poor that it angered her to tears. When her sisters chided her, she retorted, “If I could preach, I would have said it better, that’s what I think” (Autobiography, 49). Ana’s comment displays remarkable audacity considering that she lived in an age when women were not supposed to read the Bible, no less preach, but other women shared her views. Jodi Bilinkoff writes that Teresa herself “deeply envied male priests,” because they had the right to preach and proselytize (“Woman,” 296). When a confessor reproached Ana for excessive zeal in prayer, she complained to Teresa, who told her about her own difficulties with confessors.8 However, while in her writing Teresa is usually deferential toward priests, even when criticizing them, Ana is downright blunt. When Teresa concluded her duties as prioress of Encarnación and returned to San José in 1574, she and Ana renewed their friendship. Teresa recognized in Ana an extraordinary nun whose enormous spiritual energy could be harnessed to advance the reform. Around 20 December 1574, Teresa left for Valladolid and took Ana with her. The following month, Ana accompanied Teresa to Medina del Campo and then back to Ávila. However, later that year, Ana fell seriously ill, so ill that the doctors thought she might die. Some thought she had consumption, but it is possible that she collapsed from exhaustion. She was working the turnstile, helping out with the convent cooking, and also serving as cellaress and infirmarian.9 When Teresa left to make foundations in Beas and Seville, Ana was too sick to accompany her and, in fact, remained incapacitated for two years.10 8 On confessors and spiritual directors who are not “learned men” or are “foolish,” see Life 13:17–19; 20: 21; 23: 13; 30:30; 25:14–15; 26: 4; 34: 11–12. 9 The rotating table at the entrance to a convent through which people can pass notes or packages for the nuns. 10 Ana says one year, but, in fact, she was ill from 1575 until 1577.

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On 24 December 1574, Teresa fell down the stairs and broke her arm. Since Ana was already overwhelmed with her other responsibilities, Teresa appointed another nun to be her assistant, but this girl turned out to be a troublemaker. Teresa then made Ana her personal nurse as well as the convent nurse. She also promised to appoint Ana as her personal assistant and secretary—provided she learned how to write. According to Ana’s testimony for Teresa’s beatification, one of the future Saint’s miracles was teaching her to write. Ana already knew how to read, since Teresa had stipulated in the Constitutions that all nuns be taught reading, but white-veiled nuns often did not know how to write. In her Declaration, Ana says she told Teresa: “Why doesn’t your Reverence give me something to learn with.” Teresa then “gave her a letter written by a nun with good handwriting and told her to learn from that. And the witness [that is, Ana] said that it seemed to her that it would be better if she gave her something in her own hand to copy. So the holy Mother jotted two lines down on a paper.” Before the afternoon was over, Ana de San Bartolomé had learned to write (OC, 1998, 100).

Secretary to a Saint The struggles of the years from 1576 until 1581 caused Teresa endless grief.11 In addition to the pressure exerted by Tostado and the calumnies of the Calced, the convent of San José was suffering from domestic turmoil caused by the woman whom Teresa had originally chosen as her assistant. According to Ana’s account, this nun sowed strife by seeking to turn the prioress and convent confessor against Ana and Teresa. “She was tempted against the saint and me and told the confessor that I was confessing with Mother Teresa, that he should look out because she was deceiving him and I was too” (Autobiography, 53). This was a serious accusation, as only a priest could legitimately hear confessions, and it led to an inquisitorial investigation. Ultimately, the charges were dropped, but the situation affected. Ana deeply.As always, Ana found solace in Christ: […] the Lord appeared to me in the manner of ‘ecce homo,’ as when Pilate took him out to the town crowned in thorns, hands tied, and a rope at his throat and completely wounded, and all the shouting of the Jews entered 11 See Mujica, Lettered Woman, Chapter 3, and the chapter of this volume on María de San José.

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my head saying, “Crucify him!” And the Lord came up to me and with loving speech told me, “Daughter, look at me, the way that I am, do you think your troubles are like mine?” (Autobiography, 53)

Ana’s descriptions of the visions of this period are especially graphic. For example, at a moment of recollection on Wednesday of Holy Week, she sees Christ look at her in his agony, leaving her “penetrated by his affliction” (Autobiography, 54). Ana seems to conflate images of the suffering Christ with the experiences of the suffering Teresa, who was not only battling against the enemies of the reform, but was also dealing with health problems. During this period, Ana accompanied Teresa whenever she traveled. In June 1579, they left Ávila for Medina del Campo, and then went almost immediately to Valladolid. By the end of August, they were in Salamanca, from where they returned to Ávila. In November, they left for Malagón, passing through Toledo. Early in 1580, they departed again for Villanueva de la Jara to found a new convent. Here, Teresa once again injured her arm when the crank of a well she was examining came loose. “This affliction of the Saint was like death for us, her daughters,” writes Ana, “and for me in particular” (Autobiography, 54). Ana passes through these years rapidly in her autobiographies, until they get to Burgos, Teresa’s last foundation. Ana describes in the autobiographies and in Los últimos años de santa Teresa (“Saint Teresa’s Last Years”) the terrible trials of that last foundation: the extreme poverty, the pounding rains that flooded the river and the house, the cold, and the illness that racked Teresa, who was, at that time, “the most distressed person in the world” (Autobiography, 55). The following year, 1582, Teresa died in Ana’s arms. After Teresa broke her arm, her doctors insisted that she dictate her missives to an amanuensis. Many of Teresa’s letters from this period are in Ana’s hand, although Teresa would often add postscripts or addenda in the margins in her own handwriting. Ana’s scrawl, which I examined in the Carmels of Valladolid and Antwerp, is sprawling and nearly illegible, but Teresa was apparently quite satisfied with her services. She wrote to María de San José, “My secretary [Ana] is so good that I can trust her as much as myself” (25 October 1580, Letters 2, 2; 345). Later she wrote to Gracián, “Ana de San Bartolomé does not stop writing; she helps me very much” (4 December 1581, Letters 2, 3; 495). Sometimes when Teresa wrote a letter, she sent greetings from Ana or else Ana would tack on a greeting of her own, as in the missive to Gracián of 20 November 1580 (Letters 2, 7-8; 353). During this period, Ana also began writing her own letters. The only extant example is a note to an unidentified Discalced Carmelite sister,

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possibly the prioress of Toledo or Malagón, dated 25 November 1581 (OC, 1998, 799). This note, in which Ana consoles a friend who has just lost her brother, is full of compassion and warmth. Her frequent use of terms of endearment such as carísima (“dearest”) and expressions of affection, such as “la hablo con amor” (“I speak to you with love”) belie the toughness Ana sometimes displays in other contexts (OC, 1998, 797–798).

After Teresa After Teresa’s death in 1582, Ana returned from Burgos to Ávila. From this time on, she frequently saw Teresa in visions. She writes that once, as the prioress was about to say the Office,12 she saw her above her chair “with great splendor” (Autobiography, 61). Another time, when Ana was exhausted, she went to Teresa’s tomb and asked for help. She heard Teresa respond, “I will do what you ask,” and, when Ana returned to the kitchen and opened the stove, “it was as though I saw that she was there; the fragrance of her holy body in the ashes was so great that it gave me great strength of spirit and none of my fatigue remained” (Autobiography, 61). Often, “the frying pans and everything in the kitchen smelled of the relics of her holy body” (Autobiography, 61). Ana derived fortitude and confidence from Teresa after her death. In times of stress or confusion, for example, after a disagreement with a confessor, Ana would turn to Teresa for advice, and the Saint would respond from beyond the grave. Ana writes in her Declaration for Teresa’s beatification that she never felt as consoled and joyful as when Teresa was with her (OC, 1998, 92). Ana saw herself as Teresa’s successor and champion, the disciple who had been closest to the Foundress and the one who best understood her teachings. She believed that, for Teresa, obedience was the greatest virtue, and she saw the “nuns’ revolt” as a repudiation of Teresian values. In her Conferencias espirituales (“Spiritual Lectures”), she wrote, “Blessed obedience, the easy and sure path, which God values more than any other sacrifice we might make” (OC, 1998, 676). Ana attached so much importance to obedience that she hid the controversy over the brief Salvatoris from the other nuns in order to avoid compromising their loyalty to Doria. Around the time of the “nuns’ revolt”, a tearful Teresa appeared to Ana in a vision, saying: “‘Look, daughter, the nuns who are leaving the order,’” 12 The Divine Office is a compendium of prayers recited at fixed hours by priests, nuns, and others who have accepted this obligation. It does not include the mass or other liturgical rites.

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and then the nuns suddenly “turned black like crows” (Autobiography, 62). Ana explains that, a year after she had this vision, “they wanted to take all the nuns out of the order and give them a separate vicar” (Autobiography, 62). However, as Donahue explains, she misrepresents the issue. The nuns who rebelled against Doria never intended to leave the order, “but rather to preserve what they believed was the truly Teresian rule” (Autobiography, 62, n. 39).

Ana’s First Letters The order was expanding rapidly. During Gracián’s term as Provincial (1581–1585), six foundations were made, and, at the time he left office, more were being planned. Ana’s position as Teresa’s secretary prepared her for an active leadership role in the expansion. She became assistant, nurse, and confidante to the prioress María de San Jerónimo (Dávila) in Ávila and Madrid, and one of the founders of the convent of Ocaña. Ana’s autobiographies depict this period as spiritually rich and filled with visions and miracles. In one revelation, as she kneels in a garden, Christ appears to her as a gardener and gently slips his arm under her head. On another occasion, Teresa appears to her and cures a demented nun. In still another, a pauper comes to the turn and miraculously produces some sweet oranges she craves. Ana claims to be a miracle worker whose prayers produce much-needed rain and a seer who predicts the destruction of the Spanish Armada. Some of Ana’s visions are disturbing: devils confront her or she faces a frightening void. However, Ana never mentions these supernatural happenings in her epistolary writing. Instead, her letters from 1592 to 1604 depict an active, hardworking, down-to-earth member of the community, an organizer as well as a spiritual bulwark. If, as a child, Ana was a loner, during these years, she had many close friends among her sisters. She was loved and respected, and apparently had few squabbles with anyone. The letters suggest that Ana had found her niche. The fourteen extant letters from the period before Ana went to France are mostly personal notes, chatty messages that reveal warm, comfortable relationships. There exists one extant business letter to Mother Águeda de San José, in which she officially requests friars for a new monastery, but more typical is her letter to Mother Leonor de la Misericordia of 5 June 1592, in which she shares news and gossip about mutual friends (OC, 1998, 798). During this period, Ana was clearly very busy. In a letter to María de Jesús written 16 August 1593, Ana apologizes for her delay in answering a previous letter: “I haven’t answered

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[until now] because I’ve had no time […] I’m writing this fast because Mother [María de San Jerónimo] is waiting for me to take dictation” (OC, 1998, 799). In a long letter written from Ocaña to Ana de los Ángeles, in Ávila, between December and February 1595–1596, Ana again apologizes for not writing more often: “[…] you mustn’t think I’ve forgotten you, that’s just your imagination, for you’re as present to me as if you were with me” (OC, 1998, 802).13 In spite of her responsibilities, Ana maintained an avid interest in the well-being of her fellow nuns. For example, she encourages her friend Ana de los Ángeles, in Ávila, to show forbearance in the face of a serious illness: “Your lack of health weighs on my soul, especially in this weather. The winter cold won’t help at all. My sister, have patience. I need it too, knowing your needs and poor health. And I’m not there [to help you].” She concludes in a lighter tone—“Chin up! Don’t be a fraidy cat!”—and requests a detailed report on every one of the nuns, “from the Mother Superior and the most elderly of the nuns, without leaving out anybody” (Ocaña, December–February 1595 or 1596, OC 1998, 802–803). Ana obviously still felt extremely attached to her sisters in Ávila, where she had taken vows. Ana herself was often ill during this time. She writes from Ocaña to Isabel Bautista, in Madrid, that her silence has been due to health problems, although “lack of health doesn’t make me forget my friends” (27 December 1596 or 1597, Ocaña, OC, 1998, 805). However, no matter what the state of her own health, she never fails to inquire about the health of others. Her letter to Leonor de la Misericordia, dated 14 April 1598, is typical: “tell me about your health; you haven’t told me if you’re alright [now], after the death of Mother Catalina de Cristo” (OC, 1998, 807). (Catalina had been prioress in Barcelona. Note that this is not the same Catalina de Cristo discussed in Chapter 12.) In 1598, María de San Jerónimo, one of the first Discalced Carmelites, decided to retire to San José in Ávila to spend her last years. She had professed in 1565 with a substantial dowry, which had been used to build the chaplaincy. While Teresa was making foundations elsewhere, María stayed behind in different leadership positions, and, when Teresa returned to Ávila, María became her subprioress. After Teresa’s death, María succeeded her as prioress of San José. In 1591, she became prioress in Madrid, then founded in Ocaña, with financing from Doña María Bazán, wife of Alonso de Ercilla, the author of La Araucana.14 13 Teresa had serious doubts about the commitment of Ana de los Ángeles (Wasteels) to the Discalced Carmelite life. She thought Ana was a discontented nun who might cause trouble in the convent. However, Ana had a change of disposition and Teresa finally allowed her to profess in San José de Ávila, where she spent the rest of her life. She died in 1625. 14 An epic poem about the Spanish conquest of Chile, La Araucana is considered one of the masterpieces of early modern Spanish literature.

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However, María was ready to return home. Ana de San Bartolomé wrote to Ana de los Ángeles that she had undertaken the procedures for María’s departure, for “[s]he no longer wants to hold office […] And I’m helping her achieve this so she can rest during what remains of her life” (September 1598, Ocaña, OC, 1998, 809). However, Ana was concerned about possible opposition from the Father General, Elías de San Martín. She encouraged Ana de los Ángeles to mention María’s plan to the Provincial, Tomás de Jesús, who might be more willing to support it: “if you want to talk to him in secret about it, so he’ll be forewarned along with the nuns, do it; don’t tell him I told you to tell him; I’m sure you’ll speak clearly to him about our Mother’s plans […]” (September 1598, Ocaña, OC, 1998, 809). Teresa had been a master of political maneuvering; when she anticipated opposition from one superior, she petitioned another. This letter reveals how thoroughly Ana had absorbed some of Teresa’s tactics. She avoided the Father General, approaching the Provincial instead—but, rather than speak to him herself, she encouraged Ana de los Ángeles, a black-veiled nun, to do it. By 1601, Ana seems to have acquired enough authority so that a wealthy gentleman from Navalmorcuende, who was anxious to found a friary, appealed to her rather than to the appropriate Provincial.15 Ana told Águeda de San José, prioress of the Toledo Carmel: “he has been writing to me for more than a year, and every day he presses me to send him a father. As it’s a different province, they [the priests] can’t go. And so, Mother, I’m asking you to take charge of this” (3 February 1601–1602, Ávila, OC, 1998, 815–816). This letter reveals not only the position of influence to which Ana had risen, but also the power of prioresses. Ana assumed that Águeda had the clout to order friars to the new foundation: “Any father that you have around there, send him so they can see if he suits them” (3 February 1601–1602, Ávila, OC, 1998, 816). Like other influential Carmelite women, Ana took it upon herself to offer spiritual direction. In a letter to Teresa’s niece, also called Teresa de Jesús, Ana displays a profound knowledge of one of the tenets of Discalced Carmelite thinking: detachment. She instructs Teresita, who would have been 38 at the time, that the Lord showers mercies on “hearts that are free of the filth caused by our weaknesses and evil inclinations” (c. September 1604, OC, 1998, 817). If we detach ourselves from these, Ana explains, they will have little power over us, for we will be ruled by truth and undeceived about the vanity of the world. Later, in a letter written from Pontoise to an unidentified sister, Ana offers spiritual consolation using quotes from Job, Saint Peter, and Saint Paul. These letters illustrate Ana’s command not only of Carmelite principles, but also of 15 Near Toledo.

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Scripture. As women were barred from reading the Bible in the vernacular, Ana would have had to have a sharp mind and a first-class memory in order to absorb so thoroughly material gleaned from lessons, sermons, oral readings, and approved books. Ana apparently did not write to men during this period, at least, no extant letters to men from before 1605 have been found. During the years from Teresa’s death until her departure for France, Ana experienced relative calm. Her letters depict an active woman, kindly and affectionate, who is immersed in her work and devoted to her community. By the time she was in her mid 50s, Ana was an efficient and literate nurse and administrator, just the kind of woman that would be needed to carry the reform into distant lands.

Convent Nurse16 One of Ana’s most important functions in the convent was that of enfermera—infirmarian, or nurse. Most convent nurses were, like Ana at the beginning of her career, white-veiled nuns. At the time, nursing was not a profession as it is today. Leigh Whaley notes: “In Spain, nursing did not possess sufficient value to aspire to a body of knowledge. Nurses did not write about their work. They were not discussed in medical literature […] Most of the nurses in Spain were male, and any instruction manuals that there were, were intended for male nurses” (121). In a convent, the enfermera was simply the servant sister who cared for enfermos, or sick people—just one of many tasks that she had to perform during the day. Ana mentions that, in addition to being a nurse, she was a portress, cook, and cellaress. Because convent nurses occupied a lower rung on the ladder and were not required to learn to write, they usually left no record of their therapeutic activities. However, Ana was an exception. She left invaluable information about convent healthcare in her letters and autobiographies. Her letters show she was not only an important health provider in San José, in Ávila, but that her influence extended to other convents and even to lay communities. Although convent nurses were marginalized from professional medicine, they were central to convent life. The infirmary was indispensable to any convent. Sometimes it was the site of miraculous cures or saintly deaths (Lowe, 137). Teresa insisted on the importance of attention to the infirm in the Constitutions of the order: “the sick should be cared for with 16 This section is a synopsis of Mujica, “Healing on the Margins: Ana de San Bartolomé, Convent Nurse.”

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fullness of love, concern for their comfort, and compassion […]” (CWST 3, 327). All Carmels were to have an infirmary, and prioresses were to choose infirmarians who had “the ability and charity for this office” (CWST 3, 327). Healthcare was a major concern in convents for obvious reasons: infirmities could spread rapidly throughout the quarters, incapacitating the entire population. Convent nurses were the first responders to any medical calamity, and among the most important practitioners of informal medicine. Although Teresa did not specify exactly what the duties and qualifications of infirmarians were, it is clear from Ana’s writing that they had to be patient, empathic, knowledgeable about countless cures, and strong enough to attend to many patients at the same time, in addition to performing other chores. Ana probably learned much of what she knew about household medicine from her mentor. The letters of Teresa de Ávila constitute a veritable register of homeopathic therapies used in sixteenth-century Spain, from courbaril resin for rheumatism to orange-flower water for a host of ailments. She also warns against sarsaparilla water, a common remedy for hysteria and inflammations, which can cause gastrointestinal problems (Lettered Woman, 150–156). Although they did not have formal training or access to nursing manuals, early modern women inherited a long oral tradition of herbal remedies. “Recipe books” with formulas for remedies were available to the general reading public (Solomon, 154–155). However, there is no evidence that Ana consulted them. Like nearly all convent infirmarians, Ana relied on remedies that had been passed down for generations and techniques learned from other nuns, some of which were considered rather sophisticated for women. In her dated but nonetheless useful study of English nunneries, Eileen Power mentions that sisters were familiar with bloodletting and possibly also with herbs and other forms of home medicine and simple surgery (Power, 158). In Italy, convent nursing was far more advanced than in Spain. Sister Maria Celeste (1600–1624), Galileo’s daughter, was the apothecary of the San Matteo Convent of Poor Clares in Florence, and provided remedies for the nuns as well as for her father (Sobel). For some Italian orders, producing pharmaceuticals became a business. Sharon Strocchia notes that, after 1500, Italian nuns “capitalized on the burgeoning interest in medicinals to develop new revenue sources and enlarge their charitable scope” (“Nun,” 627). The commercialization of convent medicines made remedies available to a larger number of urban residents than ever before and extended the significance of convent pharmacies beyond the spiritual realm. Despite the requirements

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of clausura (forced enclosure),17 some Italian nuns stayed abreast of the latest developments in pharmaceutical science by reading texts such as Pietro Andrea Mattioli’s Discorsi, which contained an appendix on the art of distilling herbs. Often, the nuns’ concoctions were dispensed through local pharmacies, enabling convents to supply cures to the general public even after the Council of Trent made clausura mandatory (Strocchia, “Nun,” 639). However, in Spain, no such formal medical activity existed in convents. When Teresa returned to Ávila in July 1577, she asked Ana, who was ill herself, to attend to some sick nuns. Ana was not sure how she would fulfill her duties, but accepted. Five nuns were sick in bed with fever, one seriously. “I thought to myself,” writes Ana, “‘How will I do it when I can’t lift my feet from the ground?’” (Autobiography, 50). Only God could help her, she thought. The notion of Christus Medicus meant that health was ultimately in the hands of the “divine physician,” and Ana’s accounts of healings routinely stress divine intervention. Ana was worried because in front of the cell of the sickest woman was a fourteen-step stairway too steep for her to climb. Suddenly, Ana writes, the Lord appeared at the top of the stairs, and she felt herself lifted up and placed before her patient’s cell. Jesus entered with her and knelt, ordering her to attend to the other patients while he took care of this one. Not only did Christ restore the sick nun to health, but also cured Ana, who was then able to care for her charges efficiently. Such miracles are common in Ana’s narration. They establish her authority as God’s collaborator and vehicle and also emphasize her humility, thereby dispelling any claim to expertise that might agitate the authorities. Women who achieved miraculous cures were sometimes thought to be witches whose knowledge came from the devil. On one occasion, Ana was in a cave praying, completely recollected, when a sick nun asked for her. Jesus told her to get up and go to the patient. Ana attended to the sick woman as well as to Teresa, and then took care of all her other chores. That is, Ana was able to perform an inordinate number of tasks, not through her own merit, but through Jesus’s intervention. Years later, Ana’s belief that God is the ultimate healer resounds in her letter to her friend, Anne of the Ascension, prioress of the English convent in Antwerp, about the illness of the nun Claire du Saint Sacrament, who suffered from both physical and psychological ailments: “Neither the doctor nor we can cure her, only God can […]” (July–September 1619, OC, 1998, 1192). Ana writes that other biblical personages besides Jesus also assisted her. Once, when she was caring for a woman from whose eye a surgeon had 17 See Introduction to this volume.

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removed a pustule, Ana fell asleep at her patient’s side. The prophets Elijah and Elisha, whom the Carmelites claimed as Old Testament founders of their order, appeared and reprimanded her for her negligence. This experience caused her to sharpen her awareness of her own imperfections, which helped her become a better nurse. For Ana, every nursing experience conveyed a spiritual lesson. From her successes, she learned more of God’s mercy: “The Lord didn’t do me these favors because I was good but so that his goodness could be seen” (Autobiography, 52). From her failures, she came to terms with her own limitations. Unsurprisingly, Ana had great faith in the curative power of relics, which were thought to convey God’s love to the sufferer through the intercession of a saint. Ana’s dependence on relics is evident in a letter and the holy water blessed by John of the Cross that she sent to Anne of the Ascension, whose hands trembled due to tertian fever: “Other people have been cured of the fever by drinking this water,” she explains (November 1619, OC, 1998, 1212). Holy water blessed by saints was thought to repel evil and cure disease. John would not be canonized until 1726, over a century later, but he was already venerated by Carmelites, and his relics were highly regarded. On another occasion, Ana wrote to her friend Mother Catalina Bautista, thanking her for some images and a jerga—a piece of thick cloth from Saint Teresa’s habit. According to Ana, “a lady who is a friend of the convent had an accident and was in danger of dying, [but] when they put the relics on her, she started to improve. And now they tell me she’s completely cured” (1618–1620, OC, 1998, 1300). Ana goes on to say that three days before, another lady came to the convent, so ill she seemed dead, accompanied by two doctors and many servants. Everyone discouraged her from leaving the house, writes Ana, “because she had been very ill for several months, with a bad fever and severe stomach pains” (1618–1620, OC, 1998, 1300) However, the night before, the patient had dreamed about the Discalced Carmelite convent and, the next morning, asked to be taken there. Ana cut the jerga into small pieces and put one on the woman’s stomach. The woman returned home and recovered completely. A third lady with a heart condition, a nervous ailment, and a “thick tongue as if from pleurisy” appealed to Ana for help. “I sent some cords from these relics, which she took […] She couldn’t even speak, but she put one on her tongue and got better… and even though four months or even more have gone by, the illness hasn’t returned” (1618–1620, OC, 1998, 1300). Ana believed that, as God’s instrument, she could, through her knowledge of cures, including relics, implement God’s will by alleviating the pain of those whom God wanted to help. Relics of the soon-to-be canonized Teresa de Ávila were held in especially high esteem by all Carmelites.

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Like other Discalced Carmelites, Ana believed that illness and suffering were not necessarily a cause for distress, but a blessing that enabled one to share Christ’s suffering. Thus, Ana writes to Ana de Jesús that her terrible illnesses mean that “you are greatly loved (by Him),” which is why “[h]e regales you with the treasures of the holy Cross” (12 April 1619, OC, 1998, 1168). The following year, she writes to Anne of the Ascension, who is wracked with pain: “it seems to me that Our Lord loves you and is greatly in love, and he delights in seeing you carry this cross and how patiently you carry it” (c. 1620, OC, 1998, 1295). Ana did not share our modern intolerance of physical discomfort. She tried to alleviate pain when she could, but when she could not, she, like Teresa, assumed that God in His infinite wisdom allowed people to suffer either as a punishment or so they could share His cross. Almost all of Ana’s 665 extant letters contain comments on health. She nearly always inquires about the health of the recipient, and, when she fails to hear from friends for a while, she becomes concerned about their physical well-being. For example, she writes from Ávila to an unnamed Carmelite nun in Zaragoza, “I’m desirous to know about your health, as in your letter of last summer you told me you weren’t well. I haven’t heard from you since then, and I’m anxious to know if your illness is the reason” (30 December 1599, OC, 1998, 814). In spite of her declared reliance on divine intervention in the inf irmary, Ana demonstrated ample knowledge of practical nursing and homeopathic medicine. At a time when bathing and hygiene were not always priorities, she insisted on cleanliness, describing how she washed Teresa’s bandages and dressed her in immaculate robes (Autobiography, 55). When Bérulle was suffering from Tertian fever, a form of malaria characterized by febrile paroxysms occurring every third day, Ana advised him to refrain from eating before traveling (May 1605, OC, 1998, 841). Today, we know that stale or unhygienic food may contain parasites that carry this form of malaria, so Ana’s advice was solid. The health of the nuns was of constant concern to her. She writes to Bérulle: “I’m very upset about Sister Andrea’s illness; I’d rather see her crippled than so sick in bed” (February–March 1605, OC, 1998, 830). Sometimes, she pondered whether a novice was healthy enough for the convent, as in the case of Agnès de Jésus, who would later be the first to profess in Pontoise: I have doubts about her health and recovery […] although she is trying, I don’t know if she’ll manage to get well. I pamper her as much as I can. We purged her this past week and this week, too, and I’ll do it a few times more, and she’ll eat like an invalid until the day of the Exaltation of the

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Cross18 […] She already looks better and seems happier and has good color in her face […]. (23 July 1605, OC, 1998, 859)

By “eat like an invalid,” Ana meant that Agnès would be permitted to eat meat, which was otherwise forbidden. Purging with different types of enemas and laxatives and the regulation of food intake were two common methods of treating disease at the time. Although the Carmelite Constitutions stated that, “meat must never be eaten except as the rule prescribes,” Teresa routinely made exceptions when she thought a nun’s health warranted it, and Ana continued this practice (CWST 3, 322; Mujica, Teresa, 151–152). In fact, Ana herself ate meat during illnesses, as she explains in a letter to Anne of the Ascension (18 November 1617, OC, 1998, 1138). Ana de San Bartolomé believed in the body’s natural propensity to reject victuals that might harm it and sometimes advised nuns to fast when they found food repellent. When Anne of the Ascension was ill, La Bartolomé counseled her to avoid eating anything at all unless she wanted to (c. 1620, OC, 1998, 1305). In another letter, she advises her friend to eat roughage, as fiber-laden vegetables are important for digestion (c. January 1620, OC, 1998, 1309). Ana frequently mentions her willingness to share vegetables to keep Anne of the Ascension and the other nuns healthy: “Yesterday I sent you just a few garbanzos because they’re still green. When we pick the others, I’ll send you a few more […] If you also want some squash, just ask for it. Until you have a garden, you can share what we have” (c. May 1620, OC, 1998, 1232).19 All Carmels had plots to grow vegetables and herbs, and so Ana would have had easy access to greens and medicinal plants, which she could share with other convents where different products were grown. Bed rest was another important form of treatment. Ana prescribes bed rest for all sorts of ailments and bolsters her authority by insisting that doctors, too, order it, often in addition to other cures. When “Madama Castaño,” a Spanish friend living in Antwerp, falls and hits her head, Ana writes that she must stay in bed and take her medicine (30 April 1613, OC, 1998, 976). She gives the same advice to her spiritual guide Tomás de Jesús: “Father Beda tells me you are in bed […] Your Reverence must be going out in the cold, but if the colic continues, it will be bad to go out […] with that illness, I’d be upset if you left your house […]” (17 December 1616, OC 18 14 September, when Carmelites begin a partial fast that goes on until Easter. 19 The chronology of the letters is off in Urkiza’s volume, as the letter from January 1620 appears after the one from May.

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1998, 1100).20 Similarly, she scolds Anne of the Ascension for getting out of bed after a bout of the fever, and orders her back (October 1619, OC, 1998, 1209). The extraordinarily plentiful references to bed rest in these letters suggest that this was often the first response to any illness and that convent infirmaries were often full. Ana was always anxious to learn about new cures and was not too proud to seek help when she needed it. She wrote from Ávila to her friend Beatriz de Jesús in Ocaña that the prioress, María de San Jerónimo, was suffering from a discharge from the chest: “If over there you know of an herbal or other kind of medicine that could get rid of it—they say it’s not breast cancer—I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know” (9 December 1599, OC, 1998, 813). Like Teresa, Ana was an herbalist who suggested natural remedies to her correspondents and often sent samples. She wrote to Sebastián de San Francisco, subprior and novice master in Brussels, lamenting she had no remedy to send for his reúma (22 February–March 1613, OC, 1998, 967).21 As a convent nurse, Ana had to be knowledgeable about female ailments. It is impossible to know how well she actually understood the female body or if any areas of knowledge were proscribed to her because she was a nun and a woman. Although there was a surge in writing about gynecology in the late sixteenth century, books on the subject were written in Latin and were directed to male physicians. One of the most influential was the medical manual De communibus mulierum affectionibus (1579), by Luis de Mercado, physician to Philip II and Philip III, which circulated widely in Europe (King, 31–32). Although Ana would not have had access to such books, she nevertheless readily offered advice on issues such as menstruation. Writing to Anne of the Ascension at the end of 1620, she says: “Here I’m sending you some little poultices, as I think all that’s wrong is menstrual cramps. That’s why you don’t feel like eating. If they had put a suction cup on your belly when they bled you, you would have felt better […] wear this poultice and don’t eat anything with vinegar or cheese while you’re in this state” (last months of 1620, OC, 1998, 1290). The authority with which Ana prescribes cures suggests that she saw herself as a competent healthcare provider with years of experience. In fact, she expresses scorn for those who did not care for her friend properly: “If I were able to take care of you, you’d be better. I don’t think they’re taking care of your infirmity very well, and that makes me sad” (last months of 1620, OC, 1998, 1290). 20 Mal de ijada is tricky to translate, but one common translation is “colic.” Ijada can be rendered as “side,” “flank,” or “belly.” 21 A general term used for diverse ailments of the joints, muscles, and tendons.

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Ana used many medicinal substances once thought to have curative powers. One was caraña, a balsamic resin imported from tropical America and obtained from Bursera acuminata. A foul-smelling, yellowish-grey material, caraña was used to treat wounds and leprosy as well as to make potions. Ana wrote to Mother Juliana de la Madre de Dios, requesting “some smelly stuff or caraña” (20 July 1615, OC, 1998, 1055). The following year, she wrote to Juliana requesting more (2 August 1616, OC, 1998, 1077). On one occasion, Ana volunteered to care for a female leper, even though the doctors insisted the woman be removed from the convent. Ana’s description of the treatment reveals ample knowledge of common cures: sweating, fasting, and medicinal powders. At the time, it was believed that leprosy was highly contagious, but we now know that most people are immune to the disease. We also know that leprosy is spread by airborne bacteria and cannot be spread by touching. Ana subjected her patient to four hours sweating daily, administered in two two-hour sessions. Before each, she gave the patient a ghastly smelling drink, possibly derived from caraña. According to Ana, the awful stink of leprosy, like that of “dead dogs,” was almost unbearable. Since leprosy affects the motor nerves, lepers often lose sensation in different parts of their bodies as well as the ability to produce sweat. Thus, attempting to stimulate a patient’s sweat glands, as Ana did, made sense. Another cure was fasting, since ridding the digestive tract of impurities is often an effective means of stimulating healing. Ana writes that she and her assistant withheld food from their patient except for a dry biscuit, and, at the end of 40 days—a number that would have had religious significance for her—the leper was cured. Since, with proper treatment, lepers usually show improvement within a month or two, Ana’s report is probably accurate. Ana also had great confidence in the piedra bezel, or bezoar stone, which was thought to be a universal antidote against all poisons. The word “bezoar” is derived from Arabic and means “protection from poison.” People believed that, if a bezoar was placed in a drinking glass, the stone would neutralize any poison poured into it. Often, bezoars were ground up and mixed with water or food, which is apparently what Ana did. She writes to Anne of the Ascension that, if her prioress shows signs of coming down with tertian fever, she should “take a bit of bezoar stone […] that’s what I always give to [nuns with tertian fever] and it does them a lot of good” (29 August 1617 or 1618, OC, 1998, 1130). Ana trusted in bezoars so much that she went to great lengths to obtain them. She writes to Juliana de la Madre de Dios from Antwerp to send her “some high-quality bezoar stones, which are very hard to find here” (20 July 1615, OC, 1998, 1055). She apparently even appealed to Isabel Clara Eugenia, sovereign of the Spanish Netherlands, for in September of 1617 or 1619, she writes to thank

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her “for the gift of the bezoar stone and other things your Excellency sent us” (2 September 1617 or 1619, OC, 1998, 1134). In spite of her sophistication in some areas of medicine, Ana was nevertheless a woman of her times. Therapeutic phlebotomy, or bloodletting, was a common medical practice for the treatment of illness from antiquity until the nineteenth century, and was practiced routinely in European convents. Used along with purging, it was part of the procedure for eliminating pollutants in the body. Ana de San Bartolomé had faith in both practices and mentions them often. For example, she wrote to Anne of the Ascension: “I desire to hear how you are after the bloodletting and purging and the other indisposition […]” (July–September 1619, OC, 1998, 1193). Although Ana placed great stock in cleansing the contents of a sick person’s stomach, she knew that purging could greatly weaken the patient, which is why she was so concerned about her friend. On another occasion, Ana wrote to Bérulle that Sister Jaclina (Jacqueline de Saint- Joseph) had been suffering from a pain in her side, and, although she was doing better, Ana had called for a doctor because of the unpredictability of the ailment: “Yesterday they bled her twice and very carefully,” she writes. “The doctor is taking care of her. For that reason, I don’t think she’ll die” (c. June 1605, OC, 1998, 856). Because phlebotomy could be so dangerous, Ana insisted that the procedure be monitored carefully and performed by a professional. The job of convent nurse could be grueling, as contagious illnesses spread rapidly throughout the household, leaving many women for Ana to care for at the same time. In a letter to Anne of the Ascension, she describes the situation in Antwerp, where both she and several nuns were ill: “the bloodletting didn’t bother me too much, and both the fever and pain that it caused have left me. We should be very careful when we walk around, since there are so many illnesses; I haven’t gotten up at night, except […] when it was necessary to watch over Sister Dionisia [Marie de Saint-Denis]; for Teresa, it wasn’t necessary to get up, she can get up by herself, but not the others, and that won’t change any time soon, it seems” (June–July 1617, OC, 1998, 1125). She writes to the same nun sometime later, “there’s no free time either during the day or night, as we’re all running around like goblins [trying to take care of] the sick ones. The day before yesterday I had a fever the whole night, in spite of which I got up twice […] and [there were] others who were dying. It was very hard for three or four days […] Today, the day of the fevers,22 they didn’t come to anyone, except to Catalina” (29 August 1617 or 1618, OC, 1998, 1130). 22 Since tercian fevers come every three days, the nuns knew when to expect them. The “day of the fevers” was the day the fevers were expected to reemerge.

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Anne of the Ascension was suffering from tertian fever at the time, and La Bartolomé often suggested cures. As Anne’s condition deteriorated, Ana’s letters became urgent. “Even though you tell me you’ve been able to get up out of bed, I don’t think you’re as well as I would like. Tell me everything: how are your hands, and what about the fever?” (October–November 1619, OC, 1998, 1210). Tertian fever can cause quaking of the hands as well as paralysis of the arms, from which Anne of the Ascension apparently suffered. At the end of 1619, Ana writes again: “I’m upset about your arm, being that it’s so cold. Have one of the sisters [write and] tell me how you are and if you’re any better or not and if you sleep at night. As the weather is not very good for sick people, I’m worried; and about your food, she should tell me what you eat, since it’s necessary to eat well in order to tolerate pain” (November 1619, OC, 1998, 1210). Ana de San Bartolomé regularly sent remedies to Anne of the Ascension: “They’ve made these little poultices and I’m sending your Reverence some; I’d like you to never go around without one, and careful that you don’t soften it with fire or a candle; instead, cut off a little piece and put it on your hands, which should be warm, and leave it a while until it softens. Otherwise, it will be too dry and not help” (22 November 1619, OC, 1998, 1217). She also had a cure for her friend’s fainting spells, which she believed were the result of an imbalance in the humors.23 Don’t take a strong purge. If you want ours, it takes nine infusions and that should do it. Ask the doctor, and if he thinks it’s good, ask him how many ounces you should take. I’ll give it to you mixed with a tiny bit of senna [a laxative], as I give it to the sisters [here]. And […] before or afterward take some syrup of borage or chicory; I have both. And before purging, I eat boiled borage at night, with sugar, vinegar and oil—not too much vinegar. And this cure is nice and reduces the effects of the humors […].” (June–July 1620, OC, 1998, 1250)

Later, Ana sent her friend fruit, vegetables, and garbanzo beans to keep her strong, understanding intuitively or through experience the value of vitamins and fiber (July 1620, OC, 1998, 1252). When these proved ineffective, Ana wrote: “I’m upset that you’re so ill and that my gifts have been so badly prepared […] it seems the meat didn’t do you any good” (July–August 1620, OC, 1998, 1252). In addition, she sent Anne a potion to take every morning. 23 The physical condition of a person was attributed to the four humors of the body, black bile (cold and dry), blood (hot and moist), phlegm (cold and moist), and yellow bile (hot and dry). Disease was thought to be caused by an imbalance of the humors.

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Although La Bartolomé sometimes called on doctors, she did not hesitate to give the professionals her own opinion. With stunning authority, she tells Anne of the Ascension: Tell the doctor to allow you to take it until it’s used up, and not to give you anything else at this time, and not to fear it will do you harm, as it’s made of chicory root, parsley, borage, bugloss24 and fennel. Many people have gotten rid of long-lasting fevers with this potion. And I hope, with God’s grace, that a half of a small glass of this will do your Reverence good, or a half of a small container. (July–August 1620, OC, 1998, 1252)

Given Ana’s strong personality, it is not surprising that she sometimes assumed the upper hand with medics, especially considering that the doctor in question may not have been a licensed physician and that many people held doctors in low esteem. As Ana’s mention of humors in her letter of June–July 1620 shows, she was familiar with Galenic medical theory. She may have learned about the humors from Teresa, who was well versed in the topic, as revealed in her letters to María de San José about two nuns suffering from mental disorders. Like Teresa, Ana knew little Latin and probably did not consult the medical books newly available in Spanish to educated men and women. Yet, her contact with aristocrats of both sexes could have exposed her to current medical thinking. She may also have picked up the essentials of Galenism from popular culture. David Gentilcore notes that in southern Italy, Galenism reached the illiterate via proverbs on diet and health (6). The same is true of Spain, where such proverbs abound—for example, Quien quiera vivir sano, coma poco y cene temprano (“If you want to be healthy, eat little and dine early”) and Comida fría y bebida caliente, nunca hicieron buen diente (“Cold food and warm drink were never very good”). One area of convent life in which doctors had growing influence in the sixteenth century was mental health. Increasingly wary of demonic possession, particularly in women, priests needed to know how to diagnose symptoms. Sometimes, they called in physicians to help determine whether such physical indicators as pain or quaking were due to demons in the body or to natural causes. If the physician prescribed medication that proved ineffective, clerics assumed that the ailment was probably due to possession or witchcraft (Sluhovsky, 194–196). Saint Teresa believed that physical weakness made nuns vulnerable to the devil’s wiles. She knew that extreme 24 A plant of the borage family.

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mortifications such as food and sleep deprivation as well as debilitating medical procedures could cause women to hallucinate and see spurious visions, which the medical literature of the period related to mental illness and sinfulness. Rather than trust doctors and priests to determine that a nun was possessed and subject her to exorcism, Teresa tried to bolster her spiritual daughters against the devil through discipline and diet. The common malady of melancholia was believed to result from humoral imbalances, which could be aggravated by excessive prayer or mortifications. Galenic medics, such as Alonso de Santa Cruz, believed that the seat of female melancholia was the uterus. They believed that women generated female semen (unused or putrefying menses) that blended with male semen during intercourse. Melancholia in women, according to this view, resulted from an excess of female semen, and nuns were particularly susceptible to melancholia due to their lack of sexual activity.25 They could suffer from the full range of melancholic symptoms, from mild sadness to profound despair. Juliana Schiersari argues that, while in the Renaissance melancholia was associated with genius in men, in women, it was associated with babbling or demonic intervention. The existence of severely afflicted nuns in a convent could disrupt communal life, which made treatment imperative. Teresa concurred with medical authorities on the humoral causes of melancholia. She was cautious about demonizing it, and, instead, prescribed specific cures, some of which may strike the modern reader as excessive. To counter an afflicted nun’s lowered defenses, she recommended encouraging words or, if that failed, punishment—light at first, and then heavy: “if one month in the prison cell is not enough, try four months” (CWST 2, 136). She also prescribed a healthy diet and plenty of hard work. Like Teresa, Ana saw melancholia as a temptation that could plunge nuns into self-pity and ill temper, especially during Lent, when Catholics are called upon to delve into their consciences. She points out the signs of melancholia in Sister Claire de Jésus and others in letters to Anne of the Ascension: “everything tempts them […] and since their hearts are closed by melancholy, everything angers them.” She goes on: “Some that needed to, I made them have breakfast and also eat in the afternoon without anyone seeing them […]” (February or March 1620, OC, 1998, 1228). Ana was willing to break the rules on fasting during Lent in order to protect the mental health of her spiritual daughters. 25 See Alonso de Santa Cruz, Dignotio et Cvra Affectvvm Melancholicorvm (Sobre la melancolía). See also Mujica, “Chronicles of Pain: Carmelite Women and Galenism.”

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Ana de San Bartolomé shared Teresa’s concern with nuns’ claims to mystical experience, as she knew that visions and locutions could actually be delusions produced by the devil. She complains to Anne of the Ascension that Thérèse de Jésus (Dompré), who desired to enter the convent, is overly given to revelations. “I don’t want her to come here,” writes Ana, “and if she does come here, I won’t let her talk” (end of December 1620/1621, OC, 1998, 1286). Ana remarks that the candidate shows little true spirituality, hardly practices mortification, and rarely speaks. Furthermore, Thérèse’s sister, Angélique du Saint-Esprit, not only claims to have supernatural experiences, but also displays disconcerting physical signs. By September 1622, Angélique was bedridden with some inexplicable ailment, although she was not suffering from fever (22 September 1622, OC, 1998, 1414). By November, the situation had become disturbing. Ana wrote that she was suffering from “scruples” over the situation because Angélique was showing symptoms of possession, one of which was failure to respond to treatment by physicians (c. 15 November 1622, OC, 1998, 1420). Interestingly, Ana refrains from attributing these to the devil, although that would be the likely medical diagnosis. Instead, she expresses skepticism regarding the supernatural nature of Angélique’s condition. The reason may be that she feared that Angélique would be declared possessed, in which case the entire convent would become suspect. Ana was also acutely aware of other ways in which the spirit, psyche, and body were connected, for example, the effect of stress on health. Today, science relates stress to depression, heart disease, ulcers, and many other ailments, information that Ana was able to grasp through observation and experience. For example, she warns Bérulle not to jeopardize his health by worrying about problems for which there is no solution (1–4 June 1605, OC, 1998, 845), but instead to “be glad and pamper your body, so that it will leave you alone and you can return to work another day” (June or July 1605, OC, 1998, 857). Later, she writes to him to “take things in such a way that they don’t hurt your health; instead, let things go and pretend that you don’t hear or see them” (23 July 1605, OC, 1998, 859). She shares the same advice with Tomás de Jesús: “My Father […] you work so much and your health can’t take it; I’m afraid that it will do you harm” (September 1613, OC, 1998, 987). Similarly, she advises her friend Pierre Daems, a Carthusian prior in Antwerp, to avoid overexertion (22 October 1616 or 1618, OC, 1998, 1097). Teresa thought that overwork and psychological strain produced fertile ground for the devil, but Ana was more concerned with their effects on physical health.

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One obstacle to providing adequate medical care in the convent was money. Once, Ana felt so weak after a purging that she begged for food, only to be told that there wasn’t even a crumb. Miraculously, someone unexpectedly left “a pot full of sweetmeats very suitable to my needs” at the turnstile (Autobiography, 67). Although, in that instance, God provided, as convent nurse, Ana sometimes had to resort to extreme measures, even stealing from the subprioress to provide care for her patients. She writes that once a messenger brought a purse with a hundred escudos to the convent, mentioning to the prioress that he thought it held twelve extras. At intervals, Ana pilfered some 20 escudos at a time, praying all the time to the Virgin to keep her from getting caught. Although Ana was afraid the account books would eventually betray her, the prioress concluded that, instead of bringing twelve extra escudos, the messenger was actually 20 short. “I always stole money and she never caught me,” writes Ana, “even though she was a woman who knew as much about money as a man” (AB, OC, 1998, 496). Ana writes that, when Teresa, at the end of her life, was desperately ill and faint with hunger, there was no food to be had except for a few figs. Even when Ana managed to scrape together four reales for a couple of eggs, none could be found, suggesting that Teresa may have actually starved to death (Autobiography, 57). Ana’s concern for the infirm lasted her entire life. Convent nurses like Ana de San Bartolomé were the precursors of the Daughters of Charity, created by Saint Vincent de Paul in 1633, and the Sisters of Charity, created by Elizabeth Ann Seaton in 1809, to serve the ill and the needy. These organizations made significant strides toward establishing nursing as a profession.

Works Cited Primary Sources Ana de San Bartolomé, Bta. Obras completas. Ed. Julián Urkiza. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 1998.

Translations Ana de San Bartolomé. Autobiography and Other Writings. Ed. and trans. Darcy Donahue. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008. Ignatius of Loyola. Spiritual Writings. Ed. and trans. Joseph A. Munitiz and Philip Endean. London: Penguin, 1996.

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Secondary Sources Bilinkoff, Jodi. “Woman with a Mission: Teresa of Ávila and the Apostolic Model.” Modelli di sanità e modelli di comportamento. Ed. Giulia Barone, et al. Turin: Rosenberg and Sellier, 1994. 295–305. Donahue, Darcy. “Volume Editor’s Introduction.” Ana de San Bartolomé. Auto­ biography and Other Writings. Ed. and trans. Darcy Donahue. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008. 1–31. Gentilcore, David. Healers and Healing in Early Modern Italy. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1998. Lowe, K.J.P. Nun’s Chronicles and Convent Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Manero Sorolla, María Pilar. “Cartas de Ana de San Bartolomé a Monseñor Pierre de Bérulle.” Criticón 51 (1991) 125–140. Meissner, W. W. Ignatius of Loyola: Psychology of a Saint. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1994. Mujica, Barbara. “Healing on the Margins: Ana de San Bartolomé: Convent Nurse.” Early Modern Studies Journal 6 (2014). https://www.earlymodernstudiesjournal. org/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/5.-Mujica.pdf. ——. Teresa de Ávila, Lettered Woman. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009. ——. “Teresa de Ávila: Portrait of the Saint as a Young Woman.” Romance Quarterly 63:1 (2016), 30–39, DOI: 10.1080/08831157.2016.1104221. ——. “Chronicles of Pain: Carmelite Women and Galenism.” Health and Healing in the Early Modern Iberian World: A Gendered Perspective. Ed. Margaret Boyle and Sarah Owens. Toronto: Toronto University Press, 2020. Newberg, Andrew M. and Eugene G. D’Aquili. Why God Won’t Go Away: Brain Science and the Biology of Belief. New York: Ballantine Books, 2008. Power, Eileen. Medieval English Nunneries: c1275-1535. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1922. Schiersari, Juliana. The Gendering of Melancholia. Itaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1992. Sluhovsky, Moshe. Believe Not Every Spirit: Possession, Mysticism, & Discernment in Early Modern Catholicism. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2007. Solomon, Michael. Fictions of Well-Being: Sickly Readers and Vernacular Medical Writing in Late Medieval and Early Modern Spain. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010. Strocchia, Sharon. “The Nun Apothecaries of Renaissance Florence: Marketing Medicines in the Convent.” Renaissance Studies 25.5 (2011) 627–647. Taylor, Marjorie. Imaginary Companions and the Children Who Create Them. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001.

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Urkiza, Julen. Beata Ana de San Bartolomé: Compañera inseparable de Sta. Teresa de Jesús. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 2004. ——. “Introducción.” Bta. Ana de San Bartolomé: Obras completas. Ed. Julián (Julen) Urkiza. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 1998. 5–39. Vollendorf, Lisa. The Lives of Women: A New History of Inquisitional Spain. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2005. Whaley, Leigh. Women and the Practice of Medical Care in Early Modern Europe, 1400-1800. London: Palgrave/MacMillan, 2011.

9. Ana and the French Abstract Ana de San Bartolomé (García) was reluctant to go to France, in part because of the opposition of Ana de Jesús, but she eventually accepted the challenge. Shortly afterward, Pierre de Bérulle ordered her to take the black veil and become prioress of a new convent in Pontoise. A conflict developed between her and Ana de Jesús over several issues, particularly the admission of Catholic converts from Protestantism into the order. Around 1610, Ana de San Bartolomé had a serious falling-out with Bérulle, who became abusive toward her. Finally, at the end of 1611, she left France for Mons. During her years in France and Antwerp, Gallicisms began to creep into Ana’s language. Keywords: Ana de San Bartolomé (García), Ana de Jesús (Lobrera), Discalced Carmelites in France, Pierre de Bérulle, Barbe Acarie, early modern women’s letter-writing

The insistence of Brétigny, Bérulle, and their entourage that only nuns who had worked with Teresa were fit for the task of founding Discalced Carmelite convents in France made it inevitable that Ana de San Bartolomé would make the trip across the Pyrenees. However, from the beginning, Ana was conflicted about the project. Her reluctance stemmed both from her own humility and the opposition of others, including Ana de Jesús: “It seemed a reckless thing for me to go,” she writes, “since I am worth so little, and as they showed me so much displeasure […] I found myself very afflicted” (Autobiography, 78). Her own convent did not want her to leave, mainly because they were afraid that she might have to engage with heretics (AB, OC, 1998, 509). In spite of her reservations, God encouraged her to take up the cross, she writes, telling her that, “‘Olives and the grape must pass through the winepress of martyrdom to give their liquid’” and “‘just as honeycombs attract bees, you will attract souls’” (Autobiography, 78). Ana’s visions during this period reflect her vacillation. Some are disturbing. For example, God communicates to her that she must suffer in a lonely

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch09

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and unfamiliar land (AB, OC, 1998, 509). She sees a “dark place,” which she enters with some nuns, among them Ana de Jesús, and this convinces her of her impending martyrdom (AB, OC, 1998, 509). However, these frightening visions are interspersed with others, in which God consoles and encourages her. For example, the crucified Lord appears to her and says, “‘Daughter, take heart, I will help you and be with you’” (Autobiography, 80). On one occasion, Saint Michael appears to her in a soldier’s uniform and lifts her confidence (Autobiography, 80). Ana writes that many times, she was tempted to give up the project, but, eventually, she gained the support of her convent sisters and accepted the challenge.

Pontoise and the Black Veil Ana had intended to serve as a cook in the Paris convent, for, until then, she had been a white-veiled sister. She tried her hand at cooking in France, but her dishes got a mixed reception. Once, in honor of an important feast day, she prepared a cod seasoned with prunes and spices, in which the French sisters, who were accustomed to a similar sauce, found “certain delight,” but which the novices detested. Ana de Jesús, never loathe to speak her mind, remarked sarcastically, “Every day we have to eat your way, my sisters, and you can’t even put up with our way one single day?” (qtd. in Morgain, 160). Shortly after she arrived in France, the prelates ordered Ana to accept the black veil in order to make her the prioress of the Pontoise Carmel. Ana was “conflicted by great fears” (Autobiography, 82). Perhaps the opposition of Ana de Jesús was what weighed on her most heavily: “The prioress didn’t want it […] she had me in a cell a whole hour telling me things of great temerity: that I shouldn’t believe [the prelates], that I would be the cause of my own damnation, and that because of me the order in France and Spain would become lax and be ruined” (Autobiography, 81–82). With the exception of Leonor de San Bernardo, all of the nuns thought she should refuse the black veil. In the end, God and Teresa, through visions, convinced her to do the bidding of the prelates, but, she writes, her spirit was “quite disturbed” and her affliction “increased greatly, more than I can say here” (Autobiography, 82–83). Before she even arrived in town, the aldermen and people of Pontoise had formed a huge procession to greet her, which intimidated her even more. Seeing herself in a position of leadership among extremely devout people, Ana felt “as though I were sentenced to death and so mortified that it seemed

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to me that the office was infamy for me, that I had never had an occasion of more humiliation for body and soul, and that I was no more than a worm” (Autobiography, 83). Rather than rhetorical expressions of self-deprecation, Ana’s repeated descriptions of angst seem authentic. She had never held the position of prioress before and now felt truly daunted by her new role. Nevertheless, by February 1605, she had set up house. She writes to Madame Acarie thanking her for all the things she and Brétigny have given her for the sacristy: “The linen is good,” she writes, and the “kitchen sister is so happy that, even though she didn’t want to come in the first place, now she’s glad she did” (OC, 1998, 618–619). All the nuns are kind, she explains, and they are striving to be good daughters of Saint Teresa. On 12 February, she writes to Bérulle about receiving new novices, and around the same time, to Jean de Brétigny asking about his health and telling him how much the nuns miss him. Ana’s letters from March to April are chatty and routine. Ana informed Bérulle about how the nuns were furnishing the convent (they had enough altar linen for the sacristy) and that they were getting supplies (they had received alms of fish and fruit). She commented on the health of various nuns and asked him to send books to read in the refectory during meals (March 1605; OC, 1998, 825). She always inquired about his health and that of mutual friends. Sometimes, she gave him an account of the spiritual state of different nuns. She spoke of plans to move to provisional lodgings. (They would not have a permanent residence until 1610.) In several letters from this period, she promised to write down some of the teachings of Saint Teresa. Ana was so busy with the new foundation that she often neglected her correspondence. On 14 April 1605, she wrote to an unidentified Discalced Carmelite nun in Barcelona apologizing for her silence: “I owe answers to so many nuns; you must think I’ve forgotten you. Not at all, for I love you as much as always, but it hasn’t been possible [to write] […] my time is taken up with other things, and until now, I just couldn’t let them go unattended” (OC, 1998, 835). Like Ana de Jesús, La Bartolomé often mentions the pain of separation in her letters, reassuring others that she has not forgotten them. Although she was extraordinarily busy, she was content in Pontoise. She tells the Barcelona nun that the novices are “angels” (14 April 1605, OC, 1998, 835). Even language was apparently not a problem: they all communicated “as though I understood their language and they understood mine” (Autobiography, 84). The nuns told her, “‘Everything you’ve said we’ve understood without missing a word, and this has given us such joy that we cry’” (Autobiography, 84). She and the other Spaniard in the house, Isabel de San Pablo, had become “very close” (14 April 1605,

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OC, 1998, 835–836). Recruiting was also going well. Ana had so many applicants that “if we had to take in all of those who come to us in tears, begging to take the habit, we’d have over a hundred nuns” (14 April 1605, OC, 1998, 836). Yet, Ana was not altogether comfortable in Pontoise. In spite of her toughness and determination, she was a peasant woman with no formal education. Ana de Jesús considered herself an aristocrat and an intellectual, and the French nuns were all of noble lineage. Ana often felt “very alone” and overwhelmed with the administrative requirements of her office. Once, when she had to lead a chapter, she felt “without strength and as though spiritless” (Autobiography, 83). She complains of being “incapable” and “weak” (Autobiography, 83–84).

Conflict with Ana de Jesús The idyll was short-lived, for Ana soon found herself involved in a passionate disagreement with Ana de Jesús over a postulant of Protestant background. In April 1605, La Bartolomé wrote to Bérulle that Ana de Jesús was so upset about “nuns who had belonged to the Religión” that she had determined to leave France and go back to Spain (OC, 1998, 838). (French Catholics called Calvinism la Religion prétendue réformée, “the so-called reformed Religion” [Urkiza, OC, 1998, 838, n 8]). To make matters worse, the convent confessor in Paris sided with Ana de Jesús. Manero Sorolla conjectures that Ana de San Bartolomé, being of converso origin, was sympathetic to the plight of the Protestant-born outsider (“Cartas,” 135). Yet, as there is no proof that Ana’s ancestors were conversos, Donahue’s explanation seems more plausible: that Ana may have known about Teresa’s mixed lineage, and was therefore more inclined to look favorably on novices who were converts to Catholicism (“Introduction,” Autobiography, 11). Or, perhaps, as Teresa had never insisted on blood purity, Ana was simply following her example. In these disputes, Ana de San Bartolomé had an important ally in Pierre de Bérulle. Bérulle admired Ana because, in addition to being a fierce fighter, a visionary, and a mystic, she remained closely connected with Teresa, who continued to guide her from the otherworld. Bérulle was so taken with Ana’s mystical powers that he put himself under her spiritual direction. Ana was, in a sense, Bérulle’s link with heaven. In May 1605, Ana de San Bartolomé wrote to Bérulle from Pontoise accusing Ana de Jesús of being “uncharitable” toward the ex-Calvinist nuns (OC, 1998, 837). The following

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month, she wrote to him twice stressing the seriousness of the situation. She obviously thought that Ana de Jesús was being disloyal to the Teresian notion of obedience by constantly defying Bérulle. By siding with Bérulle, Ana put herself at odds with much of the reform leadership. She began to feel isolated and depressed—a situation that was aggravated by the prelates’ decision to remove her from Pontoise and return her to Paris as prioress because Ana de Jesús was going to Dijon to make a foundation. La Bartolomé’s reluctance to return to Paris was surely in part due to class-consciousness. She complains that Paris is “a court town and pretentious” (Autobiography, 85). Besides, Barbe Acarie and Ana de Jesús had developed a friendship, for “the prioress found that she had an invaluable ally in the woman who exercised such influence in Paris from her salon” (Rohrbach, 243). Although Ana de Jesús herself objected to the aristocratic aura surrounding the Paris foundation, she nevertheless had more in common with Madame Acarie than La Bartolomé did. This alliance—perceived or real—between the two aristocratic women apparently made Ana de San Bartolomé feel uncomfortable. Furthermore, although Madame Acarie was Bérulle’s cousin, both she and Ana de Jesús had qualms about him, fearing he wanted to impose his own notions of spirituality on them. Ana de Jesús had already taken a stand against a superior during the “nuns’ revolt”; it is clear that she was not intimidated by prelates. Barbe Acarie displayed a similar self-confidence. Bérulle resented the two Carmelite friars who had accompanied the Spanish nuns and wrote to Acarie to ask the French Nuncio to have them turned back at the border, which she refused to do. Rohrbach writes that Bérulle was “unnerved” by the presence of these men in Paris for two weeks (243). He believes that it was Acarie who finally defeated Bérulle, cajoling him into letting the friars enter. In La Bartolomé’s view, Ana de Jesús was straying ever farther from Teresa’s teachings. La Bartolomé complained to Bérulle that the other Ana did not plan to found the Dijon convent in poverty (May 1605, OC, 1998, 842). “Mi Padre,” she wrote, “I didn’t want to get into an argument with the Madre” (end of May 1605, OC, 1998, 844). She then wrote to Ana de Jesús explaining her position, but asked Bérulle to hold the letter and decide if and when to give it to her (end of May 1605, OC, 1998, 844). Ana’s conf idence in Bérulle at this time is evident from a letter she wrote to her friend in Ávila, Inés de Jesús, in which she praises André Duval and Pierre de Bérulle: “In the space of a few days many heretics have converted here, according to Dr. Duval, who is one of the great doctors from here […] He’s one of our prelates, an apostolic man, and he and Don Pedro

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[Pierre de Bérulle] are the ones they persecute the most […]” (4 June 1605, OC, 1998, 847). She went on to tell Inés about Louise d’Abra de Raconis, the ex-Protestant from an aristocratic family who was a promising new postulant and another excellent nun in Paris, whose relatives are “all heretics” (4 June 1605, OC, 1998, 848). Although she did not mention Ana de Jesús, she was obviously stewing over her stand against Bérulle and the Catholic converts. In a letter to Tomás de Jesús written from Pontoise, she complains specifically about the refusal of Ana de Jesús to collaborate with the prelates. At the time she wrote this letter, Fray Tomás had not yet arrived from Rome with the Discalced Carmelite friars that Ana de Jesús had requested. Ana de San Bartolomé supported the foundation of male Carmels, but believed that the Carmelite friars should first obtain the approval of the three French prelates originally assigned to the nuns, Jacques Gallement, André Duval, and Pierre de Bérulle. Ana de Jesús, on the other hand, was unwilling to go through the prelates: “[…] she has them [the French prelates] and us nuns mortified with her reckless behavior” (8 June 1605, OC, 1998, 849). Looking back on her time at Pontoise, Ana de San Bartolomé felt sadness. Class issues had existed there, too, but Ana liked the nuns and apparently, they shared her affection. She writes in her autobiographies that she was so popular in Pontoise that she had to leave the convent in the middle of the night to avoid protests. The next morning, “There was no small uproar, and most of all from the parents and relatives who had their daughters there, and they, the daughters, were quite disconsolate, the poor things” (Autobiography, 86). After she reached Paris, she maintained contact with the nuns in Pontoise. In January 1606, she wrote a letter to all of them about her delight in the rigor with which they maintained religious life and the new professions that had taken place. She also spoke with optimism of the new convents planned for other cities in France. In a letter to Marie de la Trinité (d’Hannivel), the new prioress, she mentioned her pleasure at receiving letters from her Pontoise sisters, for “I love them a lot” (11 April 1608, OC, 1998, 888). Yet, beneath her cheerful façade, Ana was suffering. The rift between the two Anas lasted their entire lives, although, as we saw at the end of Part II, they reconciled just before Ana de Jesús died. After the deaths of both women, the Brussels and Antwerp Carmels sought to elevate the image of their respective foundresses over that of her rival. Friends of each nun advocated energetically for her beatification, and the Brussels and Antwerp convents continued for centuries to promote the status of their particular foundress through iconography (C. Wilson, “Taking”).

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The Quarrel with Bérulle Ana left for Paris during the fall of 1605. She writes that during the first year, she was “very peaceful,” for, although the nuns were all high-ranking ladies, they were extremely observant (Autobiography, 86). However, a humiliating incident that occurred soon after Ana’s arrival drove home in her mind that she herself was not a high-ranking lady. She was asked to read the breviary, but “was not capable of marking the place and other things” (Autobiography, 86). The aristocratic women in the Paris convent were certainly more cultured than Ana, whose education was rudimentary and whose knowledge of French and Latin, imperfect. Besides, she had only recently taken the black veil. She writes in Defensa de la herencia teresiana that the French novices “were such good readers, they knew the breviary as well as doctors […]” (OC, 1998, 459). The incident filled her with anguish: “This distressed me greatly; it seemed the greatest disgrace and humiliation I had ever had, and everything was afflicting me, so I didn’t know whether I had erred in what I had done or whether those who had ordered me to do it had erred” (Autobiography, 86–87). Ana may have been so upset by a dispute over confessors that was brewing that her reaction to this episode was especially severe. Although La Bartolomé thought that Ana de Jesús had gone about it the wrong way, she did endorse efforts to bring Discalced priests to France. In this, she had the support of the nuns. Bérulle feared that, if Discalced Carmelite friars came to Paris, the nuns would follow the lead of their prioress, Ana de San Bartolomé, and opt to confess with them. However, Bérulle wanted to confess the Paris nuns, including Ana, himself. In order to undermine Ana’s authority, he contrived to isolate her by driving a wedge between her and her nuns: “ordered by the father of lies,” the French priest told the nuns, “‘Don’t discuss your soul with the Mother, for her spirit is not for you. She is a foreigner and furthermore, Spanish. Don’t trust her, for she wanted the friars, and they will give you a very hard life. They’re harsh. Their rule is not for you’” (Autobiography, 88). Ana did not blame the nuns. She writes in Defensa that Bérulle was sneaky; he spoke to the nuns sweetly, bad-mouthing her and the Discalced Carmelite fathers. And since “the poor little things knew no other prelate, they loved him” and did his bidding (OC, 1998, 464). He convinced the nuns to shun Ana, while at the same time forbidding her to offer spiritual guidance or even speak to the women whom she ruled as prioress. Although Teresa had given nuns the right to choose their own confessors, Bérulle abrogated that privilege, allowing Ana to confess only with him.

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Even before October 1605, tension was developing between Ana and Bérulle. She writes to Jean de Brétigny, “The visits from the secular priests are few, once in the while in the afternoon, and brief […] Unless one of the nuns asks for Don Pedro to confess her, we don’t see him, and many days go by in which I don’t see or talk to him. He usually confesses me once a week, but not always […] and then it’s in a hurry” (OC, 1998, 866). Recalling this situation, Ana later wrote: “At the end of this first year, the devil, father of discord, put suspicion in the superiors about me. Until then they had loved me in the extreme” (Autobiography, 87). Apparently, the French prelates thought that Ana was getting too powerful: “their fear [was] that I had all the nuns in the palm of my hand” (Autobiography, 87). Bérulle sought to impose his own brand of spirituality on the nuns. While Teresian spirituality spoke to the inner person and sought to foster a more intimate relationship between the individual and God, Bérulle “believed in a multiplicity of pious practices sprinkled throughout the day and centered chiefly around the Eucharist, and his piety was therefore rather mechanical and contrived” (Rohrbach, 245). The importance Ana attached to obedience forced her to treat Bérulle courteously and to hide her anger. However, she had learned from the conflict with Doria that obedience did not necessarily produce the desired results. She had remained obedient to Doria during the “nuns’ revolt”, yet he had altered the Constitutions. Ana tried to work behind the scenes with Brétigny, who, at the moment, was in Dijon: “You tell me to keep the Constitution. Your Mercy will have to see, if God wills it, how to keep it. Many things that the nuns tell me that Mother Ana [de Jesús] says they can do will not be done” (end of October 1605, OC, 867). La Bartolomé refers here to Ana de Jesús’s efforts to augment the population of the Paris convent from 20 to 30. La Bartolomé was concerned that the number of nuns would rise beyond what Teresa had wanted and clearly feels that she and Ana de Jesús are working at cross-purposes. She begs Brétigny not to share her thoughts with other nuns, especially the three Spanish women who came from Salamanca with Ana de Jesús, for fear of increasing dissention in the order (end of October 1605, OC, 1998, 867). In April 1608, Ana wrote to the Discalced Carmelite prior in Madrid about the issue of confessors, insinuating that there was too much familiarity between confessors and nuns. She notes that, when Teresa saw that confessors behaved inappropriately, even if they were personal friends, “in time she removed them, for if at the beginning simplicity and virtue prevailed, after a while, as the devil began to become distressed about it, she saw that the confessors began to enjoy gossiping and indulging the nuns more than fomenting virtue, and the nuns and the confessors

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started to enjoy themselves and waste time with silliness and useless pursuits.” She has other things to say, she adds, but “they can’t be put in a letter” (10 April 1608, OC, 1998, 885–886). Ana certainly had in mind the cozy relationship the French prelates had with the Paris nuns, which enabled Bérulle to gossip about her instead of maintaining an appropriate distance. “I don’t want to torment anyone,” she adds, “but I do hold that we reformed nuns must respect our obligations, and those who govern us must pay careful attention to this” (10 April 1608, OC, 1998, 867). Ana’s reluctance to put details in writing is an indication of just how dangerous her defiant stance was. According to Ana de San Bartolomé, Bérulle fomented cultural tensions in the convent by reminding the French nuns repeatedly that she was a foreigner: “[…] they say they don’t want Spanish women to govern,” she says in her Notas sobre la comunidad de Paris (“Notes on the Paris Community”), written at the very time she was undergoing these difficulties (OC, 1998, 189). In Pontoise, language and nationality had never been an issue. Even in Paris, Ana had always managed to make herself understood (OC, 1998, Defensa, 460). However, Bérulle has fostered xenophobia and provoked animosity against her: I knew nothing about this in the beginning. I saw the nuns withdrawing from me; rather than the openness they had shown me, it was quite the opposite […] [The prelate] told me, “It isn’t necessary that they speak to you nor you to them, for your spirit is bad. We don’t want it to attach to them, for you have demons and hatred against us,” and other such things, that if I had one demon, she who consulted with me would have two. (Autobiography, 88)

If labeling Ana a foreigner was hurtful, demonizing her was dangerous—and effective. Nuns afraid for their salvation kept their distance. No wonder Ana had a vision in which she saw “a great cross that seemed impossible to carry” (Autobiography, 88). She must have felt as though her life were a Calvary. Soon, Ana was prioress in name only: “[…] they say I’m not the prioress and that I don’t care one way or another if things go well here, that they’re the ones who have to govern” (Notas, OC, 1998, 189). She complains that the prelates accept new nuns without even informing her. Women who were once cordial and respectful now treat her as though they don’t know her (Notas, OC, 1998, 189). Even those nuns who once came to her for guidance have abandoned her, as Bérulle tells them to go to the novice mistress, Madeleine de Saint-Joseph, instead. To deepen the hurt, he sends “nuns of lower category” to Ana to inform her of her faults (Autobiography, 88).

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During the diff icult years from 1605 to 1611, Ana wrote to Bérulle frequently. In spite of her irritation with him, her letters show extraordinary self-control. Electa Arenal and Stacey Schlau remark: “Her handling of the situation and the people involved demonstrates how complicated the vow of obedience was for women religious subject to the absolute authority of male ecclesiastic off icials, especially confessors” (Untold Sisters, 28). However, her letter of 15 February 1610 makes clear her irritation with him: If I haven’t responded to everything, please excuse me, but I can hardly read your handwriting. I’ll answer your questions some other time, when the occasion comes up. I believe you also are having trouble reading mine, or else you’re forgetting your Spanish. Don’t forget it please, because if I confess to you again, I want you to understand me. (OC, 1998, 920)

Manero Sorolla sees this letter as a turning point in their relationship. Ana by now spoke and wrote passable French, but, henceforth, insisted on dealing with Bérulle in Spanish. Another point of contention was the hour of recreation, which Teresa had described rather vaguely in the Constitutions: “When they are through with the meal, the Mother prioress may dispense from the silence so that all may converse together on whatever topic pleases them most as long as it is not inappropriate for a good religious […]” (CWST 3, 328). Ana objected to the way the hour of recreation was being conducted in the Paris Carmel. “As concerns the novices, as they are so many in this house […] I see it as inappropriate that they should be with the professed nuns during the hour of recreation. It deprives the professed nuns of the ability to speak freely and the novices take liberties with them without realizing that they’re doing anything wrong” (1606 or 1608, OC, 1998, 883). Foreseeably, Bérulle sided with the Paris nuns. As hostilities escalated, Ana began to assume she was being punished for some unknown sin. Bérulle and his allies wore her down. She felt that God had abandoned her. She resented that two laypeople, Acarie and Michel de Marillac, aristocratic benefactors with only a superficial understanding of the Discalced charism, had more authority than she among the sisters. But Ana was a fighter. The sense that Bérulle was diverting the Paris nuns from Teresa’s vision gave her strength to stand up to him. Bérulle posted spies at the door of the house to see if Ana wrote or spoke to anyone; he also enlisted the help of the portress, instructing her to get into Ana’s good graces and

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draw out her thoughts, then report back to him. Thanks to Bérulle, Ana learned to be slippery and sly: “I used malice in dissembling in many things […]” (Autobiography, 91). Ana’s rage against Bérulle is patent in her Defensa: “El Bérulle started treating me like a slave, in words and deeds, every chance he got” (OC, 1998, 465). Her use of the colloquial “el Bérulle” (roughly equivalent to “the Bérulle guy”) reveals her disdain for the man. “On the inside, I was angry at this Bérulle,” she says. But sometimes, she couldn’t hold it “on the inside” and confronted him openly. When she accused him of altering the Constitutions, he responded arrogantly, “‘We’re prelates and we can do it; we know what the order is about.’ And I said to him, ‘I’m sure you’re good priests, but you don’t know about the order, because you don’t experience it. You just live in your houses doing whatever you want.’ And he said, mocking me, ‘And who taught you that?’” (OC, 1998, 465). In addition, Madame Acarie had started slighting the Spanish women. “I was all alone, with nowhere to turn,” Ana writes in Defensa (OC, 1998, 465). “They were cruel, especially Bérulle, for all the love he had had for me turned into its opposite” (OC, 1998, 466). As when she felt persecuted as a girl, Ana sought solitude. She found a statue of Christ in the chapter room and withdrew there to pray “like someone who preaches to himself where no one hears him” (Autobiography, 91). Often, she found comfort in visions of Teresa, who encouraged her to remain strong. But Bérulle refused to leave her in peace. Even after she became ill and had to be bled, he continued to harass her. But now, unlike during the “nuns’ revolt”, Ana was no longer willing to cooperate with highhanded priests: “He was a good hour arguing in matters of the Constitution and the rule about some things he wanted to change. I contradicted him, and he said that he knew these matters as well as I. I told him that was not so, that he would know well from his reading, but not from experience as I did, about matters of the order, and I would not consent to it” (Autobiography, 91). Like Teresa, when locked in battle with letrados, Ana appealed to her own experience to assert her authority to those who relied only on book learning.1 Although Ana praised the French nuns’ spirituality and good intentions in her early letters, over the years, her perception changes. On several occasions, she refers to them as cold, snooty, narrow-minded, and spiritually superficial. Ana complains in her letters that they isolate her, fail to respect her as prioress, and play power politics with the confessors, who humiliate her before her spiritual daughters. Furthermore, the priests constantly search 1

See Mujica, “Was Teresa de Ávila a Feminist?”

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the convents—where, as men, they have no business—looking for scandal. Ana’s sources of irritation with France in general and the Paris convent in particular are inexhaustible: pregnant nuns, a dearth of confessors, poor mail service, the cold, money problems, inattentive Church officials, and gossipy Frenchwomen who refuse to learn Spanish. She writes to a friend to send her some cloth for an altarpiece because the French cannot even produce decent silk. Ana was going through a “dark night” of the soul, and her physical health was also suffering. Yet, rather than avoid confrontations, she sought them. “I was like a sick person in convalescence, and although she sees that the dish they put in front of her will be bad for her, she can’t keep herself from it because of her hunger” (Autobiography, 92). During this period, Ana continued to perform perfunctorily as prioress, but she felt that she was “no more than one of the lowest nuns in the house” (Autobiography, 92). She was especially distressed because her efforts to rid herself of Bérulle as her confessor were unsuccessful. Eventually, Ana de Jesús returned to Paris and, once informed of the turmoil in the convent, requested that Ana de San Bartolomé accompany her to Flanders. However, Bérulle opposed the move, and Ana declined the invitation. Finally, in 1608, Bérulle allowed her to go to Tours, where Antoine de Bois des Fontaines wished to sponsor a new convent. Fontaines was a widow, a secular priest, and the father of Madeleine de Saint-Joseph, who would become the first French prioress of the Paris Carmel. As sponsor of the Tours convent, he thought himself entitled to dictate how the house was run. However, for Ana, the question of confessors was not negotiable (OC, 1998, 919). On 15 February 1610, she wrote to Bérulle from Tours that she had informed Fontaines that the sisters of the new foundation must have the freedom to choose their own confessors. On her way to Tours, Ana had had a vision of Teresa in which Teresa came out onto the road to encourage her. This gave Ana the strength to distance herself from her detractors and remain firm in her stance. Problems abounded at the Tours convent from the beginning. Ana wrote to Bérulle on 20 May 1608, “the house is the most inappropriate for our way of life that I’ve ever seen, and if we stay here, we’ll be prisoners for life. We can’t move around upstairs or downstairs without being seen, and we can be heard no matter how softly we speak” (OC, 1998, 891). Less than a week later, she wrote to him again lamenting the departure of Duval and Gallement, who had accompanied the nuns to Tours, although, as we shall see below, she was actually relieved when they left. Adding to La Bartolomé’s mortification was that Tours was in Protestant territory: “The heretics

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took a great hatred against me and said I was a wicked woman, an idol of the papists” (Autobiography, 96). Once, when a friend of the community rescued a prostitute and brought her to the convent church, the Protestants accused the Discalced sisters of being loose women like her and of keeping their own illegitimate children at the house. Ana had to have the house inspected by a friend of the magistrate in order to prove their innocence. At the end of May, Ana wrote to Bérulle that, in spite of their difficulties with the Calvinists, the nuns seemed to be winning over the general populace (25 May 1608, OC, 1998, 891). Ana felt especially lonely in Tours because she had no adequate confessor, no one “with whom I could communicate my spirit, because the one I had didn’t know a word of Spanish and I didn’t know a word of French” (Autobiography, 97). Her loneliness permeates her letter to Fray Tomás: “the governance of these nuns is fine for the ones who have never known any other kind. However, I don’t glean from it what I need to be faithful to God. I pray to Him every day not to take me from this life without my being able to tell my sins to my true Father and to be under His obedience” (27 June 1611, OC, 1998, 944). For Ana, not being able to confess to a priest of her order was a torture, a cruelty that Bérulle imposed to reinforce his power. Once Duval and Gallement left Tours, Ana felt calmer. She writes that she was relieved to be away from the prelates. However, the long arm of Bérulle reached all the way to Tours. Ana complains that the subprioress, who was “one of them,” informed on her, thanks to which the prelates replaced the doorkeeper with an accomplice of theirs who intercepted Ana’s letters to and from Spain. Nevertheless, Ana persevered, encouraged by visions of Jesus and Saint Teresa. Most of Ana’s letters to Bérulle from Tours show little animosity. She inquires about his health and complains about the various petty jealousies and unreasonable demands of Antoine du Bois des Fontaines. She tells him about the state of the convent, which needs repairs to the choir, and the health of the nuns. She also asks about the progress of his latest project, the creation of a new order, the Congregation of the French Oratory, which was to be loosely modeled on the Italian Oratory of Filippo Neri. Neri’s main objectives were revitalization of ecclesiastical life and priestly perfection, and Bérulle hoped to rehabilitate the French clergy, which had grown lax. As Urkiza suggests, Ana had learned to be prudent and was clearly going out of her way to avoid riling Bérulle (OC, 1998, 921, n. 2). The goal of providing Discalced confessors for the nuns now seemed increasingly attainable. The subject of a Paris friary had surfaced in Ana’s letters to Fray Tomás early in 1607, and, by mid March, she writes to him, “we

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have a founder, and a very good one” (OC, 1998, 877). Nicolas Vivian, a counselor to the King of France and supporter of the Discalced Carmelites, had secured a property for the foundation. In April, she writes to an unknown recipient that Gracián will arrive soon to visit Paris and Pontoise. Things seemed to be moving along. The friars had already founded a monastery in Avignon in 1608, but it was not under French jurisdiction because the city was in papal territory. In 1610, the friars in Rome petitioned Pope Paulo V to request a foundation in the France of Henri IV. The King, who had been supportive of the order from the beginning, acceded and wrote directly to the General in Rome with an invitation to found in Paris. Rohrbach notes, “The General wisely selected two Frenchmen for the foundation, Denis de la Mère de Dieu and Bernard de Saint-Joseph, men who had made their novitiate at La Scala in Rome” (250). By choosing French friars, the General avoided many of the problems faced by the Spanish nuns, whom the French saw as outsiders. Tomás de Jesús, who was planning to stop in Paris on his way to Brussels, took the two friars with him from Rome and left them in the French capital. As might be expected, Bérulle opposed the new friary. On 7 August 1610, Ana writes to Tomás de Jesús encouraging him to strive to found in Paris despite the opposition. “I’m sorry the foundation is taking so long,” she writes, “but I know where this [the difficulty] is coming from […] Have courage.” Ana had grown used to the idea that, in this strange new country, everything was a struggle. Finally, she expresses her desire to be under the jurisdiction of the order, which would remove Bérulle from his position of dominance (OC, 1998, 921). However, eliminating Bérulle was not her primary motive for supporting the friary. It is a fundamental principle of the reform, she argued, that Discalced nuns be under the authority of Discalced friars. Failing to provide appropriate confessors for the nuns would be a betrayal of Teresa herself. Several years later, when Ana was already established in Antwerp, she wrote to Father Denis de la Mère de Dieu in France, “Mother Teresa de Jesús desired to reform priests as well as nuns because God showed her clearly that without them, her daughters could not persevere in the pursuit of perfection as she expected. As she wrote much later in different circumstances, ‘If I don’t leave them under the obedience of reformed friars who maintain the same precepts, soon my daughters will be just like other nuns’” (10 September 1616, OC, 1998, 1084). What gave Ana the courage to combat Bérulle was her clear conviction that she was following the instructions of Saint Teresa herself. The situation was exacerbated by repeated collisions of conflicting personalities and ambitions. Morgain notes that, although Bérulle filtered the correspondence of Ana de San Bartolomé, he could not prevent the new foundation:

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“Bérulle doesn’t like the Carmelite friars and will never hold these sons of hermits in any esteem. It’s true that they don’t do much to make themselves agreeable to him. Nevertheless, he makes an exception for Father Tomás de Jesús, whom he had tried to bring to France in January 1605” (199–200). It is that appreciation of Fray Tomás that Ana would try to make work in her favor. The arrival of the friars apparently had Bérulle tremendously worried. “What is it that makes Pierre Bérulle tremble?” asks Morgain. “From September 9 September 1606 […] he was holding in his hand the brief Cum alias, which provisionally removed from the Carmelite friars the right to visit the monasteries. Mother Ana de San Bartolomé may well strive to teach her daughters that the ideal was to be governed by the friars, yet the pontifical documents said otherwise” (200). The brief seemed to give Bérulle the upper hand. However, at the time, he was hoping to be named tutor to the Dauphin. When that plan failed to materialize, he turned his attention to the establishment of the Congregation of the Oratory. Morgain suggests that it is possible (although not provable) that Bérulle “dreamed of unifying the spirituality of the two congregations, of which he would be in charge, and that the arrival of the Discalced Carmelite friars would hinder this scheme” (202). As a kind of preemptive strike, Ana suggested that the Oratory come under Discalced Carmelite governance. This would allow Bérulle to remain involved with the Discalced Carmelites and, at same time, direct a project of which he would be solely in charge. Ana’s most pressing project was still to bring the French Discalced sisters under the authority of the order, and the establishment of the Oratory was fundamental to her plan. She writes to Bérulle that she is praying for the success of his endeavor (OC, 1998, 929). If the fathers of the Oratory were to be governed by the Discalced Carmelites, she must have reasoned, Bérulle would have no reason to oppose the newly arrived friars. But, of course, Ana’s proposal was completely unacceptable to Bérulle. The new friary was officially founded on 21 May 1611. During the years 1610 to 1611, Ana frequently wrote to Tomás de Jesús, who was passing through France on his way to Flanders, to counsel him on how to deal with the secular French priests. Although Ana knew that Bérulle and his coreligionists were reluctant to relinquish their power over the Discalced nuns, she did not incite Fray Tomás against them. On the contrary, she sought ways to avoid conflict, for example, by recommending to Tomás that he encourage Bérulle in his plans for the Oratory. Ana writes on 30 January 1610: This letter comes only to warn you of something. Don Pedro will tell you about an assembly of good priests for the service of God [the Oratory]

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and the governance of these houses in France. Your Reverence should praise it and encourage them to throw themselves into it wholeheartedly […] That way, it will seem to the three of them that you will cooperate […] God will do our business according to His will, and everyone will be satisfied. Because once you win the goodwill of those gentlemen, which is the hardest thing, everything else will be easy, and the nuns will learn to love your Reverence if they see that you are getting along with their fathers, for they love them unconditionally.” (OC, 1998, 917)

Bérulle should not be entirely excluded from the reform, in Ana’s opinion. He had been instrumental in establishing the Discalced Carmelites in France and could continue to be a valuable ally. Bérulle and his cohort “didn’t like the idea” of bringing the Oratory under Discalced Carmelite authority, she wrote to Fray Tomás (30 January 1610, OC, 1998, 918). However, Ana still believed this maneuver represented a viable solution. In subsequent letters, she encouraged Fray Tomás to speak with Bérulle and to press the issue, but tactfully. On 27 June 1611, after Tomás de Jesús had met with Bérulle, she tells him, “About your meeting with Don Pedro, that’s very good, because we won’t accomplish anything by any other means” (OC, 1998, 944). In the weeks that followed, Ana herself continued to write to Bérulle encouragingly about the Oratory. However, soon after he learned that he would not be serving as tutor at court, Bérulle had an illumination—or premonition—that his plan for the Oratory was doomed. François de Sales and César de Bus had refused to found a congregation of priests and Dom Sans de Sainte-Catherine informed him that he could not count on the support of the priests of the Oratory of Rome. Afraid to make the next move, Bérulle decided to consult with Ana de San Bartolomé and Madeleine de Saint-Joseph about the will of God with respect to his project. In spite of his clashes with Ana, he apparently still had faith in her spiritual insight. In February–March 1611, she wrote to him in response to his query about the Oratory, “your Mercy should hurry to establish your new congregation, and take up this cross with good spirit, because God sees it and wants it […] Several times I have seen in God that this is His will” (OC, 1998, 939). Ana exploited her reputation as a seer to reinforce Bérulle’s trust and advance her own agenda: “I would be delighted for you to dedicate this congregation to Saint Joseph, for the reasons we discussed at the beginning and its devotion to the holy Mother” (OC, 1998, 939). By dedicating the new order to Saint Joseph and the Virgin of Carmen, Bérulle would be bringing the Oratory under the Discalced Carmelite umbrella and accepting Discalced authority.

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Morgain notes that it is puzzling that, in spite of the papal brief Cum alias, which denied Discalced friars the right to visit convents, Ana de San Bartolomé blamed Bérulle exclusively for the mistreatment of nuns in France. If her letters to Bérulle were guarded, to Tomás de Jesús, she opened the floodgates of her soul. She accused Bérulle of treating the nuns like slaves, of turning them against her, and of maintaining them under his thumb for the sole purpose of reinforcing his power. Her letter to Fray Tomás, written from Tours on 25 September 1610, sounds desperate. Bérulle uses the same tactics to undermine her authority with the nuns in Tours as elsewhere: “They gave me the name of prioress for the outside world, but inside, they order the nuns not to speak to me, unburden their souls to me, or tell me what’s going on in the house because I have a bad spirit that will harm them. Since they don’t know me and I’m just a poor Spanish woman, they shouldn’t pay any attention to me, and things like that” (OC, 1998, 923). Ana felt alone and frantic: “As for the humiliation and disdain, that’s alright. I accept what they say as true and coming from the hand of God. But sometimes God hides. I’m not without danger of sinning, because, although I want to be good, I see so many things that are out of order that I feel great affliction” (25 September 1610, OC, 1998, 923). La Bartolomé was fearful that Ana de Jesús would hear of her conflict with Bérulle and use the information against her, taking it directly to the French prelates, which “will cause a lot of pain” (25 September 1610, OC, 1998, 924). She was especially mortified at the thought of dying in this state. When we juxtapose Ana’s letters to Tomás and with those she wrote to Bérulle, we can better appreciate the caution she used when dealing with the latter. But why did Ana unleash her animus on Bérulle instead of on the Pope, who had, after all, issued the bull charging the French superiors with governance of the order? One reason may be that, as her confessor, Bérulle used his power to demean and humiliate her, making her confessions as unpleasant as possible. Jodi Bilinkoff explores the ways confessors controlled female penitents through confession, and Bérulle provides a textbook case (“Confession”). Teresa herself censured overly meticulous confessors, who “condemn everything as though from the devil” (CWST 2, VI: I, 8, 363). The danger of bad confessors is a constant theme in Teresa’s writing, including her letters, and Ana’s experiences with Bérulle prove Teresa’s warnings justified. Bérulle’s insistence that Ana confess with him and no one else, and that she write down her spiritual experiences instead of just speaking with him, caused her extraordinary anguish. During her last months in Tours, Ana wrote long letters to Bérulle in compliance with his demands, but often expressed her aversion to the task: “As for your directive that I write to you

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about my interior life, I beg you to pardon me, but please don’t command that. Please don’t take this as an act of disobedience, for it truly is not, and I don’t want to be disobedient to you. However, when I speak to you, I can say everything clearly, as I always have” (end of 1610 or beginning of 1611, OC, 1998, 927). She concludes by promising to give him a complete and thorough account of her soul when they speak. Ana learned to write late in life, and, although her prolificacy suggests that writing was not difficult for her, she clearly did not feel comfortable putting her intimate thoughts on paper. Another factor may have been language. Ana spoke French, but did not write it easily. She wrote to Bérulle concerning her spiritual state in Spanish, but his command of the language was imperfect, and Ana may have found it easier to explain things to him orally, which would enable her to clarify misunderstandings as they occurred. However, Bérulle remained firm. Ana repeats her protest against Bérulle’s methods in her letter of November–December 1610. “I am not responding to the point that your Mercy made, except with two or three words, because I can’t in a letter. God will allow me to see your Mercy someday, and then I can empty my soul to you freely” (OC, 1998, 929). However, Bérulle was not satisfied and apparently wrote her a gruff response.2 In her letter from Tours written in December 1610, she shows herself submissive and claims there has been a misunderstanding: Christ be in the soul of your Mercy, my Father, whom I love in Christ, as always. I am so sorry that your Mercy didn’t understand my words in my last letter. My feelings are much different from how your Mercy took them. I thought that since your Mercy has understood me other times, even when I don’t know how to say the words, that you would know that I didn’t speak clearly this time because of my scruples, as God will show you. Excuse me, my Father, for the grief I caused you, and believe me that it’s not out of malice but scruples […]. (OC, 1998, 931)

In her following letters, she does give him an intimate account of her spiritual state and her prophetic visions. Ana’s diffident tone may be a ruse. As her letters to Fray Tomás show, she was furious with Bérulle. Yet, it is also possible that, because of the seriousness with which she took her vow of obedience, she was truly repentant. The issue that tormented her, she explained, is Flanders. Ana de Jesús and Tomás de Jesús both encouraged her to leave France and go north. “I am confused,” she wrote to Bérulle. On the one hand, she had told Fray Tomás 2

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to “commend himself to God and determine what His will is.” On the other, she wrote to Bérulle, “without the will of your Mercy, I can’t do anything” (December 1610, OC, 1998, 931). Ana may simply have been placating Bérulle while waiting for Fray Tomás to make a decision. However, one senses real anguish in her voice. Before closing, she insists once again that she has trouble writing about these things, “but I’m open to telling your Mercy everything in words.” Anticipating his response, she says, “Don’t be angry because I can’t extend this more” (December 1610, OC, 1998, 933). During these years, Ana could not devote herself exclusively to her endless battles with Bérulle, as she had to deal with the everyday challenges of convent administration. As always, the health of her nuns was one of her primary concerns. She also had to deal with the procurement of proper housing, the upkeep of buildings, the assignment of tasks within the convent, prospective nuns, and questions of dowry. Sometimes, even these issues brought her into conflict with Bérulle. For example, early in 1610, a situation arose in which he urged her to take a candidate against her wishes. “Regarding the applicant that your Mercy mentions, […] there’s a good applicant whom I asked to have received instead of this one, and you didn’t want to because this one could pay a larger dowry, but, my Padre, in my opinion, when one allows oneself to be guided by interest, one can go wrong in a lot of ways” (15 February 1610, OC, 1998, 920). Letters such as this one reveal that Bérulle opined about many aspects of convent management, and that Ana was constantly obligated to stand up to him. Although Teresa had given prioresses the right to run their own houses, Bérulle thought he was entitled to involve himself in everything. In the end, though, Ana was able to laugh about Bérulle and her time in France. Years later, early in 1617 or 1618, when she was settled in Flanders, she wrote to her friend Anne of the Ascension that she had written a farce for the nuns about Señor Bérulle (she does not call him Father Bérulle) and his friends, including Barbe Acarie, “and we died laughing” (2 January 1617/1618, OC, 1106).

Invitation to Flanders When Princess Isabel Clara Eugenia brought Ana de Jesús to the Low Countries in 1608, she had wanted Ana de San Bartolomé to accompany her. Instead, Ana went to Tours. That same year, the Discalced Carmelites founded in Avignon their first French monastery for men, which complicated relations between Ana and Bérulle still more. In the years that followed, Ana repeatedly wrote to Bérulle and Tomás de Jesús about the possibility of her going north.

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On 15 February 1610, Ana sent a cautious missive to Bérulle thanking him for bringing up Flanders again. On the one hand, she firmly believed that God wanted her to stay in France: “even if they should all stone me like the adulteress [in the Bible] and throw me out, I would not leave here by my own will” (OC, 1998, 919). Yet, she did not want to appear defiant and so immediately reverted to a position of submissiveness: “in everything else, I am your subject, and those gentlemen [her French superiors] can do with me as they will. I am completely compliant and will do whatever they command” (OC, 1998, 919). Ana mentions her conviction that God wants her to stay in France on several occasions, citing her age and poor health. At age 61, she saw a long trip north to a land even colder and more inhospitable than France as unappealing. In her last letters to Bérulle from Tours, written at the end of 1610 and the beginning of 1611, Ana remains guarded but is clearly still anxious. Three main issues dominate these missives: the likelihood of her making a foundation in Flanders, the creation of the Congregation of the Oratory, and her own spiritual state. It appears that Bérulle taunted Ana, sometimes encouraging her to go to north, sometimes forbidding her to do so. In her letter of November 1610, Ana appealed to Bérulle to desist from badgering her about Flanders. “I explained to your Mercy in another letter my scruples about this. I have the same ones now. I feel I am obligated to tell you this. I don’t have the concentration to take this on […] and my health and age are such that I shouldn’t be required to undertake a mission for which I see that I will not be able to serve God according to my obligations […] Therefore, Father, I beg you not to mention this anymore” (1 November 1610, OC, 1998, 926). About two weeks later, she writes to Bérulle again. Although she now seems more inclined to accept—she says she would go out of obedience—she continues to argue that she is too old to make the trip: “I wrote to Father Tomás that if you want me to go, and if you command me to do so, I would obey […] However, it would be a bad bargain for the nuns in Flanders because I won’t serve them as well as the French women. I am old, and besides, you know you how useless I am” (November–December 1610, OC, 1998, 929). Sometime late in 1610 or early in 1611, she tells him that she has exchanged letters with Ana de Jesús, who is pressuring her to make the move to Flanders. The real question for Ana seems to be obedience. Because of her vows, she felt obligated to follow Bérulle’s commands on this matter. Although she really wanted Fray Tomás, as a priest of her own order, to make the decision, she believed she could not submit to his authority if it meant disobeying Bérulle. For this reason, she urged Fray Tomás repeatedly to speak to Bérulle to resolve the issue. She wrote to Fray Tomás:

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It’s f ine that you spoke with Don Pedro, because that’s the only way we’ll get anywhere […] I really don’t desire to go to Flanders, but I always thought that if the order did not manage to establish itself in France but did in Flanders, I would overcome my repugnance and follow the determination of your Reverence. Even though la Madre [Ana de Jesús] and all the nuns from there are always asking me to go, I have given no sign that I would comply, unless the command comes from your Reverence […] If you determine that this is the appropriate course, then, of course, I will say that I want to go. (27 June 1611, OC, 1998, 944–945)

One senses that Ana was inclined to go, but could not make the decision on her own. She needed Tomás de Jesús to give the order, but not without Bérulle’s acquiescence. For a while, Ana kept Bérulle at bay by promising not to go north without an order from the Father General in Rome. By the summer of 1611, the question still had not been decided, although, she insisted, she was resigned to go, if she was commanded to do so. Once back in Paris, she wrote to Fray Tomás: “I told Don Pedro […] that, if he commanded me to, I would go without considering anything but the spirit of obedience […] He answered with these words: if someone were to command this, it would be by the grace of your Reverence, because he esteems and honors you in all things, but he himself cannot order me to go in good conscience (OC, 1998, 977–978). She concluded by begging Fray Tomás to resolve the impasse. Fray Tomás did as she asked. After praying over the matter, he made the decision himself. By November 1611, Ana de San Bartolomé was in Mons. The Discalced Carmelite friary in Paris that she had so desired had been founded nearly six months before, on 21 May.

An Aside about Language During her years in France and Belgium, French began to influence Ana’s Spanish. For example, in her letter of 21 January 1613, instead of the Spanish word mercader or mercante, she uses merchante, a Hispanicized form of the French word marchand, and she often uses letra, from the French, lettre, instead of the Spanish word carta (OC, 1998, 962; 29 March 1614, OC, 1998, 1001). (We should note that letra, meaning “letter” or “missive” was not unknown in Spain, and, in fact, Teresa, too, sometimes used this word.) More surprising is Ana’s use of demandar, from the French demander,

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when she clearly means pedir, “to ask” (16 September 1613, OC, 1998, 968). Similarly, she uses batimento, from the French bâtiment, instead of edificio (“building”), in her letter to Fray Tomás de Jesús of 30 September 1615 (OC, 1998, 1058). French influenced Ana’s syntax as well as her lexicon. The use of the article before the names of certain countries, for example, La Francia, becomes increasingly common in her writing (21 February 1615, OC, 1998, 1036). In her Conferencias espirituales (Antwerp 1622-1624), we find the construction “continúan a beber,” similar to the French, ils continuent à boire, whereas Spanish would normally use the gerund: “continúan (or siguen) bebiendo” (OC, 1998, 659). Ana lived in France nearly seven years and Mons, a French-speaking city, for one year. Even after she settled in Flemish-speaking Antwerp, she was still in contact with French speakers. Given her constant exposure to French, it was natural that French would influence her Spanish.

Works Cited Primary Sources Ana de San Bartolomé, Bta. Obras completas. Ed. Julián Urkiza. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 1998.

Translations Ana de San Bartolomé. Autobiography and Other Writings. Ed. and trans. Darcy Donahue. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008. Teresa de Ávila (de Jesús). The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Ávila. Trans. Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. and Otilio Rodríguez, O.C.D. 3 vols. Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 1980–1987.

Secondary Sources Arenal, Electa and Stacey Schlau, eds. Untold Sisters: Hispanic Nuns in their Own Words. Trans. Amanda Powell. Alburquerque: Alburquerque University of New Mexico Press, 2010. Bilinkoff, Jodi. “Confession, Gender, Life-Writing: Some Cases (Mainly) from Spain.” Penitence in the Age of Reformations. Ed. Katharine Jackson Lualdi and Anne T. Thayer. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2000. 169–183.

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Donahue, Darcy. “Volume Editor’s Introduction.” Ana de San Bartolomé. Auto­ biography and Other Writings. Ed. and trans. Darcy Donahue. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008. 1–31. Manero Sorolla, María Pilar. “Cartas de Ana de San Bartolomé a Monseñor Pierre de Bérulle.” Criticón 51 (1991) 125–140. Morgain, Stéphane-Marie. Pierre de Bérulle et les Carmelites de France. Paris: Cerf, 1995. Mujica, Barbara. “Was Teresa of Ávila a Feminist?” Approaches to Teaching Teresa of Ávila and the Spanish Mystics. Ed. Alison Weber. New York: Modern Language Association, 2009. 74–82. Rohrbach, Peter-Thomas, O.C.D. Journey to Carith: The Sources and Story of the Discalced Carmelites. Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 1966. Santa Cruz, Alonso de. Sobre la melancolía (ca. 1569). Trad. Raúl Lavalle. Ed. Juan Antonio Paniagua. Pamplona: EUMSA, 2005. Wilson, Christopher. “Taking Teresian Authority to the Front Lines: Ana de San Bartolomé and Ana de Jesús in Art of the Spanish Netherlands.” The Heirs of St. Teresa of Ávila. Ed. Christopher C. Wilson. Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 2006. 72–106.

10. The Antwerp Foundation Abstract Ana arrived in Antwerp at the beginning of the Twelve Years’ Truce. She was involved in every detail of the Antwerp foundation, from the purchase of the land to the acquisition of construction materials. Unlike her earlier foundations, those in the Low Countries were pluralistic centers that recruited from French-, Flemish-, Spanish-, and English-speaking populations. Around 1606, the English recusant Mary Lovel decided to found an English convent in Antwerp. After complicated negotiations, an English Carmel opened in May 1619, with Anne of the Ascension (Worsley) as its prioress. However, conflicts about confessors soon arose. Fearing a rupture in the order, Ana wrote to Anne repeatedly, trying to convince her to remain under the umbrella of the Discalced Carmelites. Keywords: Ana de San Bartolomé (García), Discalced Carmelites in Antwerp, Anne of the Ascension (Worsley), Mary Lovel, English convent in Antwerp, early modern women’s letter-writing

During Ana de San Bartolomé’s last months in France, Pierre de Bérulle behaved something like a jealous lover. He tormented Ana incessantly, yet refused to let her leave him. In spite of entreaties from the Discalced fathers in the Low Countries, particularly Tomás de Jesús, Ana was reluctant to disobey Bérulle’s orders. In July or August 1611, she wrote an anguished letter to Fray Tomás: “I’d have no problem with this, if only God would show me His will, but I can’t discern it in spite of all the times I’ve asked Him” (OC, 1998, 947). Should she obey the Carmelite or Bérulle? One day, while she was praying in the garden, Ana experienced a vision of Christ on the cross: “Christ took me in his arms with great love and said, ‘I want you to go back to Carmel,’ and He remained there, just as He was. And when the vision was over, I felt myself burning in a flame of love for God” (AB, OC, 1998, 529). While she was still at her devotions, Father Sebastián de San Francisco (Fabri) arrived with the patent from the General. This was

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch10

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the sign she had been waiting for. While she was under Bérulle’s thumb, she was not subject to priests of her own order. Now, Jesus was telling her to “go back to Carmel,” that is, to Flanders, where the Discalced friars had already founded a house and she would be under their authority. Although a Discalced friary had just been founded in Paris, Ana would feel beholden to Bérulle as long as she was in France. She was ready to leave Paris and travel north. Bérulle was beside himself, but he could do nothing about it. The presence of Discalced Carmelite friars in Paris meant that his authority over the nuns was destined to end. On 7 October 1611, Ana left for Mons, about 68 kilometers south of Brussels, accompanied by Father Sebastián. En route, she remembered a vision she had had in which God told her she would be in France less than seven years. In fact, she had been there only a few days short of seven years—from 15 October 1604 until 7 October 1611 (AA, OC, 1998, 416). Ana arrived in Mons just as the order was preparing to send nuns to Krakow, but, although several from the Mons convent took part in the project, Tomás de Jesús was anxious to keep Ana in the Low Countries. His plan was for her to found a convent in Antwerp and serve as prioress. Ana resisted. She felt ill prepared to take the helm of a new religious house in an unfamiliar country whose language she did not know. However, through visions, God encouraged her to go, and her superiors commanded it, and so, on 17 October 1612, she left Mons, accompanied by María del Espíritu Santo, Anne of the Ascension, a lay sister called Florentina de la Madre de Dios, Father Tomás de Jesús, and Father Hilario de San Agustín. At the invitation of the Archdukes, she and her companions stopped at the palace in Miramont, where they were graciously received, and then went on to Brussels. Ana de Jesús and her nuns greeted them with candles in hand and singing the Te Deum. Eight days after the nuns arrived in Brussels, Ana de San Bartolomé added Leonor de San Bernardo to her group and continued on to Antwerp, where they arrived on 29 October.

Antwerp at the Beginning of the Seventeenth Century Ana arrived in an Antwerp of appalling economic and material conditions. “The years that marked the rise of the empire of the Protestant provinces in the North witnessed the ruin of the Catholic provinces in the South,” writes Joachim Smet. “The welfare of the country was the last consideration in the treaties that successively closed the continual wars” (III, 109). During the years before the Twelve Years’ Truce, the population diminished severely,

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from 80,000 to 42,000. Dutch soldiers fighting to secure their positions against Spanish troops had closed the gateway to the sea, and the city lost much of its economic power, as citizens emigrated to Amsterdam, Hamburg, Frankfurt am Main, and elsewhere. Furthermore, the Protestants continued their efforts to retake what they had lost. Although Antwerp had been a major commercial hub in Northern Europe during the Middle Ages, as a result of the wars, Amsterdam overcame Antwerp as the most powerful trading center in the region and perhaps even in northern Europe. Holland became an economic powerhouse that attracted a huge population, accounting for around 40 percent of the inhabitants of the Dutch Republic and over 60 percent of its wealth. The southern provinces, on the other hand, saw their resources diminish. Ana was in Antwerp from 1611 until her death in 1626, a period that, except for the last years of the Twelve Years’ Truce, was characterized by violence and destitution. In the south, there was constant fear of attack from the Protestants of the Northern Provinces. Although the Spanish Netherlands were formally independent from Spain, they remained unofficially within the Spanish sphere of influence. With the death of Albert in 1621, they returned to formal Spanish control, with Isabel as sovereign.

Making the Foundation Until they could find more suitable quarters, Ana and her nuns stayed with Íñigo de Borja and his wife Elena de Bossu, staunch supporters of the reform. On 6 November 1612, Ana founded the new Carmel in complete poverty, with 50 borrowed florins, in a rented house near the proposed convent site. Jesuit priests celebrated mass, and the Holy Sacrament was put in place, with the verbal permission of the Bishop of Antwerp. On 21 November, the first novice, Isabel Dompré, entered the new convent, adopting the name Thérèse de Jésus, after the Foundress. Her uncle, Jean Richardot, Archbishop of Cambray, gave her the habit. The next day another novice, Marie Marguerite de la Croix (Van Dame), took her vows. Ana describes the celebrations in a letter to Fray Tomás: “The professions were made, although we were all mortified because you weren’t there. Those ladies [the mother and female relatives of Thérèse] came in with the Archbishop, all of them very serious. The Archbishop said mass and gave the veil to his niece with great solemnity and music. God is good, for in addition those graces, the preacher of their Royal Highnesses gave the veil to María de la Cruz (Marie Marguerite de la Croix)… Everyone said, ‘This is true religious and spiritual

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piety. It seems that these fathers are real saints.’ When I heard that, I felt consoled in spite of everything that was lacking” (2 December 1613, OC, 1998, 992–993). Thérèse brought a dowry of 5000 florins, a welcome addition to the convent’s coffers. At that time, two extraordinary things happened that enhanced Ana’s reputation as a holy woman. One was the conversion of a heretic who practiced black magic and went to Rome to obtain a pardon. The second was the conversion of a soldier, who was so moved by the mass that he left his regiment and joined the order, taking the name Clemente de Santa Catalina and later becoming prior of the Antwerp friary. From early 1613, Ana devoted much of her time to negotiating the purchase of an appropriate property for the permanent cloister. Like Teresa, Ana was an energetic administrator, and her letters from this period illustrate her involvement in every detail of the foundation, from the purchase of the land to the acquisition of construction materials, from the construction process itself to the decoration of the finished product. On 21 January, she wrote to Tomás de Jesús to look into “the business about the site” for the future convent, asking him to inquire of the merchán whether he was ready to make a deal (OC, 1998, 962). However, later in the year, on 11 July 1613, Ana writes to Fray Tomás, that the property she had originally chosen was not suitable: “Now they’ve just told me that we’ve been duped about this location and there’s nothing good about it, not the site, not the street, not the neighborhood” (OC, 1998, 981). Ana believed that some shady maneuvers were going on and that the owner of the first property was trying to unload it. By the end of the month, Ana still hadn’t purchased a lot, but she wrote to Mother Juliana de la Madre de Dios in Seville that their temporary lodgings were serviceable: “in this house we’re all in good health and things are going well, thanks be to God. We have six new novices with many new applicants” (31 July 1613, OC, 1998, 983). Nevertheless, Ana was anxious to move ahead with her project, and her next letters to Fray Tomás illustrate her perseverance and resolve. She was clearly more adept than Ana de Jesús at securing quarters for her nuns. The missives to Fray Tomás of the next few months describe the incessant difficulties Ana faced in purchasing a suitable site. It seems that Boverio, the architect, was mixed up in the deal involving the faulty locality, but nevertheless, Ana was ready to move ahead with him, apparently with another, as yet unchosen, property. In her letter of 6 August 1613, she begs Tomás to write to Boverio to hurry him along (OC, 1998, 893–894). A month later, she wrote again to explain that Boverio refused to accept the power of attorney that he, Tomás, had given her (OC, 1998, 986). On 16 September,

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she complained that Fray Tomás had still not given her the documents she needed to move forward. She seems to have had doubts about Boverio, who had not changed his mind about accepting her power of attorney, but, by early December, she informed Fray Tomás that the architect was now beginning to cooperate and was helping to negotiate the purchase of a site. Furthermore, she was able to pay 3000 florins to her creditors as well as the rent for the house the nuns were occupying. Finally, in June 1614, Fray Tomás came to Antwerp, where he was instrumental in finding a building site. Ana wrote: I can’t believe you’re actually here. It seems like a dream […] The man you left here is delivering this letter to you […] If things are as he says, we should consider it [the purchase of this lot]. Think about it, and if it seems good to you, let’s have a look at this [new] site. It won’t be hard to see it in secret, and if it’s not as good as they say, we can always leave it, but maybe it’s just what we’re looking for. (OC, 1998, 1002–1003)

Ana’s letter illustrates how complicated it was to find the right place at the right price, and just how deeply involved she was in the process. The fact that she had power of attorney, worked with the architect, and negotiated a complicated land purchase attests to the authority some foundresses wielded. Early the following year, 1615, construction began on the site on Rosier Street, where the Discalced Carmelite convent still stands. In March, Ana told Fray Tomás that soldiers and other helpers were already digging the pit, and that “neither ice nor water will do it any harm; [but] we have to remove the bumpy gravel so that they can level the ground” (5 March 1615, OC, 1998, 1038).1 Ana then decided to move to quarters closer to the construction site. She wrote to Father Joannes Ludovicus ab Assumptione, superior of Cologne, that they were “very busy with the move, for we’ve relocated to the site that we’ve purchased. The houses are small, but the men are starting the work in the meantime” (15 July 1615, OC, 1998, 1052). Ana undoubtedly wanted to be near the construction site so she could make certain that things were done correctly. On 22 July 1615, right before construction began, Ana wrote to Tomás de Jesús, reminding him to speak to the Infanta about the stone-laying ceremony (OC, 1998, 1056). On 15 August 1615, Isabel and Albert did in fact 1 In Obras, Urkiza suggests that this letter might be from 1616, but Ana is clearly talking about beginning construction on the new convent, which took place in 1615.

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lay the first stone of the Antwerp Carmel in an elaborate ceremony that included the vows of the Infanta’s lady-in-waiting, Antoinette Claire du Saint-Sacrement. Ana described the scene in a letter to Mother Elvira de San Ángelo, foundress of the Toro Carmel, a month and a half after the event occurred: We’ve had the Infanta and Archduke here with us, for they came to give to religion one of the Infanta’s ladies […] Her Highness placed the first stone of our church with great solemnity, and many people from town attended. This happened on the day of Our Lady,2 in August. She had great tents put up in our garden, which is where the building will be. Their Highnesses’ tent, which we could see from the lofts, was really something to behold. The most serene Infanta appeared so poised when she entered the construction site to lay the stone, surrounded by servants of God and gentlemen. First, they recited a litany as they proceeded around the pit, and her Highness remained on her knees in her pavilion while she recited it. The Bishop3 carried the stone before her, and she took it and lowered it, placing it in the spot that had been prepared. (1 October 1615, OC, 1998, 1059)

Ana’s work was not over once the Infanta had laid the foundation stone, however. For the next couple of years, building and furnishing the convent was one of Ana’s primary concerns and the subject of many of her letters. Aware that she needed a priest on-site who was versed in matters of construction, Ana requested help from Fray Tomás. He recommended Fray Ángel de Jesús (Cebedo Tello), who had professed in Brussels and was extremely knowledgeable about building materials and construction costs.4 Fray Ángel was not only enthusiastic about the project, but meticulous in his oversight. Ana’s involvement in the minutiae of construction is evident in a letter she wrote to Father Ángel de Jesús on 30 September 1615, the day before she wrote to Mother Elvira. We’ve seen the plans and the letter your Reverence sent. With respect to the outside wall, I’m happy for it to come down, and the sisters say the same. We all want the convent to extend further out, but that it shouldn’t intrude into the garden. It should follow the same general plan, although 2 The Day of the Assumption of Mary, 15 August. 3 Jean Malderus. 4 Urkiza, OC, 1998, 1056, n. 3.

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the transepts should be larger, which will not detract from its attractiveness. The closer it is to the street, the happier we will be. We don’t want the house or any little houses to be in front of our batimento [building], but just the small square in front of the convent […] Concerning the wood, it’s all fine. It will come in due time […] As for the altar, we’ll see about that later. Even if the construction extends more toward the street, we don’t want the plan to be altered. The idea of a vaulted refectory isn’t bad, but when your Reverence comes, we’ll see about everything and make final decisions for the best. I told Boverio [the architect] about the boards from Holland and that he should hurry up. (OC, 1998, 1058–1059)

The degree to which the 63-year-old Ana took an active part in this project—dictating the design, choosing the materials, and even overseeing the actual construction—attests to her enormous energy and determination. Naturally, one of her primary worries was money. In October 1615, she wrote to Father Ángel again: I informed Boverio about the planks, and he told me he was worried about them. He made inquiries and found out that they’re waiting for the ships that are bringing them, for they’re coming from very far away. The vendor will not sell them on credit. Your Reverence should know what it’s like to deal with that Dutchman. If they’re going to charge anything, you’ll have to take care of it, because here we have no money […] Anyway, if we buy them, his profit will be larger. Remind our Father [Fray Tomás] about this, so he can figure out how to deal with the man who is collecting the money.” (OC, 1998, 1062)

The town gave money in alms, she explained in another letter, and it would probably be enough to cover the cost of the roof, but the situation was difficult because so many of the people were heretics (30 December 1616, OC, 1998, 1101). Apparently, she was able to resolve the issue of payments for the wood because, in June 1616, she wrote to Mother María de San Ángelo that construction was advancing rapidly: “I’m very busy with work on our convent, which is going quickly, and I’m hoping the roof will be up by the summer” (OC, 1998, 1073). That same year, 1616, the Discalced Carmelites founded a female convent in the Flemish city of Mechelen, and Leonor de San Bernardo was one of the first inhabitants. In December, Ana wrote to Leonor about progress on the building, of which the roof tiling was nearly complete, “except

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for a tiny piece that should be covered in three days” (30 December 1616, OC, 1998, 1101). By mid May 1617, the house was almost ready to occupy. Ana wrote to her friend Anne of the Ascension that she was anxious to conclude the project, and, in fact, she and her nuns moved into the house on Rosier Street soon afterward (OC, 1998, 1119).

Chaplains A convent is not just a building and furnishings; it is primarily people. Naturally, Ana was concerned with procuring good priests for her nuns. Under the leadership of Tomás de Jesús, the Discalced Carmelite friars had established a house in Brussels in 1610. From Mons, Ana wrote to the prioress in Grenoble expressing her gratitude to Fray Tomás de Jesús (23 December 1611, OC, 950). Once she was established in Antwerp, she wrote to Fray Tomás about a priest who was currently serving the sisters as chaplain and doing an excellent job. Furthermore, she wrote: “another vicar who lives nearby says mass for us every day. We have two regular priests and often three or four. I don’t think we’ll be without friends” (29 January 1613, OC, 1998, 963). In November, she informed him that she even had “a handsome young boy to be sacristan, very devout and with honorable parents, who does the job very well” (30 November 1613, OC, 1998, 991–992). At the time, Jean Navet, who had accompanied Brétigny to Spain and helped bring the Discalced Carmelite sisters to France, was in the Low Countries. He had been ordained and served the sisters in Brussels as chaplain. He had also served as a canon priest and now wanted to be chaplain of the new Antwerp convent. However, Ana vigorously opposed the idea. On 9 January 1613, she wrote to Fray Tomás: “this canon […] is not right for us, and it’s not appropriate for us to have him” (OC, 1998, 961). While she appreciated Navet’s great devotion to the Discalced Carmelites, she wrote, and that he “wants to be a chaplain even though he’s a canon priest,” she diplomatically suggested that he become canon at the castle.5 Ana probably would have preferred to have a Spanish priest by her side in Antwerp. Early in 1618, she wrote to Hilario de San Agustín (Pedro Arias de Armendáriz), a close friend who had assisted Tomás de Jesús in making foundations in Brussels, and urged him to become confessor to her nuns (24 February 1618, OC, 1998, 1142). Once again, Ana took charge of every detail herself, from the appointment of a confessor to securing a sacristan. 5

Probably the medieval castle known as Het Steen, which had been rebuilt by Charles V.

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New Professions Just as important was admitting new nuns, and, fortunately, Ana had a robust pool of applicants. From the very beginning, women clamored for admission into the Antwerp convent. Soon after Thérèse de Jésus and Marie Marguerite de la Croix took the veil, Ana wrote to Father Bernard de Saint-Joseph, assuring him that the novices were “extremely happy and in good health” (21 December 1613, OC, 1998, 995). The next two nuns, Françoise de JésusMarie (de Saisy) and Marie de Saint-Denis (Denise Challon, called Dionisia) professed at Antwerp on 14 June 1614. More than a year earlier, in 1612, Ana had written to Father Bernard asking that they be allowed to profess together (23 November 1612, OC, 1998, 958). Early in January 1614, however, Ana had begun to worry about the health of Dionisia. She wrote to Fray Nicolás de la Concepción, begging him to pray for the novice. “I’ll be worried until I see her professed,” she wrote to him (OC, 1998, 997). Throughout her career, Ana showed concern for attracting the best novices possible. On one occasion, a woman who had been dismissed from another convent wanted to enter the Antwerp Carmel. Ana wrote to Fray Tomás that she was not willing to receive the aspirant without his approval. She explains: “She was a nun in Amiens and they threw her out. But even if that weren’t the case, we don’t like her attitude. I told her that your Reverence wouldn’t take her because we aren’t allowed to admit women who have been nuns in another monastery” (6 August 1614, OC, 1998, 1015). In fact, the Constitutions of 1581 clearly state: “Once a novice has been expelled from a monastery, she cannot be received in another without a vote of all the nuns of the house from which she was dismissed” (OC, 1998, 1015). Letters such as this one illustrate the power of priests, especially Provincials, in determining the makeup of a convent. However, just as in the Spanish Carmels before Doria, prioresses maintained the authority to refuse or at least severely hinder the admission of candidates with whom they felt uncomfortable. On another occasion, Ana wrote to Fray Tomás about a candidate he had suggested: “Since your Reverence accepts this young lady, here we will also accept her, since she has been called by God to our order, and her vocation is clear (25 August 1614 or 1615, OC, 1998, 1016). By 1616, Ana had more candidates than she knew what to do with. She wrote to Mother Elvira de San Ángelo, “Many young ladies from Holland have come here to ask for the habit. It’s a wonderful thing, to see how they’ve been blessed. They come from places where everyone’s a heretic, and God plucks them out, like flowers from among the thorns” (8 June 1616, OC, 1998, 1073).

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The Belgian Carmels were different from Ana’s earlier foundations. While the Spanish foundations had been populated by Spaniards and the French foundations by French and Spanish women, those in the Low Countries (Mons, Brussels, Louvain, Antwerp) were pluralistic centers that recruited from French-, Flemish-, Spanish-, and English-speaking populations. María Jesús Pando-Canteli notes that the Flemish convents were “truly cosmopolitan places where various nationalities shared common spaces and religious practices” (89). Such houses were difficult to govern because “they also became sites of intense political activity and conflict, which required management skills and a leadership that transcended the walls of the cloister” (89). The Flemish cloister was “a transcultural space of transit and influence […]” writes Pando, “conditioned by permanent exchange and mobility” (89). The multitude of nationalities, backgrounds, outlooks, and special interests meant that power struggles would arise, and many of Ana’s letters attest to tensions and conflicts within the foundations.

Financial Worries Funding was a constant worry for Ana, just as it had been for Teresa. Although Thérèse had brought a handsome dowry of 5000 florins, her family did not produce the cash right away. Another benefactress did give Ana 5000 florins, but most of it went to paying off debts, so that, when Ana wrote to Fray Tomás on 2 December 1613, there was almost nothing left: The lady brought 5000 florins of the donation she made and promised to bring a thousand more when she could. They didn’t bring Teresa’s dowry. They say they’ll give it to us in three months […] We’ve paid the 3000 florins [that we owe], and tomorrow we’ll pay the rent to Franco Castaño, who has asked us for it. We’ve also paid for other things for which we owe him, such as firewood and blankets for the next year—it’s all been paid. I don’t want him to think we’re not going to pay him just because he’s a friend. The result is, my Father, that only a thousand florins are left of the 5000. (OC, 1998, 993)

When Ana de los Ángeles (Wasteels) wrote her from Ávila requesting money, she responded: “As for money, I can’t give you what you’re asking for […] If you’re short, put together what you need from relatives and the nuns, especially since your aunt is the abbess […]” (17 July 1614 or 1615, OC, 1998, 1053).

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Yet, when she could, Ana often sent her friends gifts. She wrote to Fray Tomás, “I’m sending you a little something that should serve for two nights’ dinner […] [A]s your daughter, I dare to send you this, even though it’s very little” (early January 1614, OC, 1998, 997). She sent Mother Elvira de San Ángelo a copy of Teresa’s Life and some relics of John of the Cross, which, she swore, had strong curative powers (26 July 1614, OC, 1998, 1011; 1 October 1615, OC, 1998, 1059). Sometimes, she sent costly items, such as images and artifacts, for which she expected to be paid back. She wrote to Mother Elvira: “I’ll let you know about the image […] It’s very expensive […] If you can’t pay for it now, I’ll take care of it if I have the money” (8 June 1616, OC, 1998, 1073). Teresa had originally thought to accept worthy novices regardless of their ability to pay a dowry. However, she soon learned that, for her convents to survive, she needed to accept dowries, an important source of income for religious orders. Likewise, Ana had to be concerned with the dowries potential novices might bring. Broaching the subject could be delicate, however. In her letter to Fray Tomás of 25 August 1614/1615, mentioned above, she notes, “Concerning the dowry, I won’t say anything […] it’s better to leave it to her discretion and devotion, because those ladies [the mothers of the novices] get frightened [when you ask for money]. They’re more generous when they see the need these houses have” (OC, 1998, 1016). A letter she wrote to an unidentified Discalced Carmelite priest on 5 May 1615 seems positively calculating: “I think that young lady will be very good […] It would be wonderful if she brought what your Reverence wrote to me about before, because we’ve just bought a lovely property [on Rosier Street]. Make her feel comfortable, your Reverence, as if she were one of your own family. Tell her not to get rid of her jewelry and dresses, but instead, to bring everything she can […] convincing her that it would be a great consolation to contribute them to the beginnings of this new foundation—but go lightly, being careful not to upset her” (OC, 1998, 1050).

Beatification of Mother Teresa Another of Ana’s concerns at this time was the beatification of the Foundress, which took place on 24 April 1614. Teresa had died at 9 P.M. on 4 October 1582, but the next day, rather than 5 October, was 15 October, due to the Gregorian reform. Nevertheless, Ana continued to celebrate Teresa’s feast day on the 5th, as was ordained at her beatification in the bull Regis aeternae gloriae (Urkiza, OC, 1998, 915). Eighteen years earlier, Ana had made a declaration in the beatification procedure on 19 October 1595. Now that the beatification

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was finally taking place, it must have been deeply moving for her. Ana writes to Father Bernard de Saint-Joseph, “I feel greatly consoled, for they’ve informed me from Brussels that the Cardinals’ investigation is complete, and they have determined that she will be beatified” (21 December 1613, OC, 1998, 995). On 29 March 1614, she wrote to Tomás de Jesús, telling him that the necessary bull had been issued. Ana was anxious to name the new Antwerp convent after Teresa, and now she would be able to: “If the beatification has been approved,” she writes, “there will be no danger in giving the house her name” (OC, 1998, 1001). In the months that followed, many events were organized in honor of Teresa. In the letter to her friend in Consuegra, Ana describes an elaborate eight-day celebration ending in a procession:6 [O]n the eighth day, the whole leadership of the main church [participated], and after mass we had a wonderful sermon. We had to stay until after vespers because all those gentlemen of the clergy and the magistrate wanted to carry [the statue of] the Saint and the Holy Sacrament in a procession. All the orders and guilds congregated and made a highly solemn procession. The natives of the town say that they have never seen it so devout, peaceful, and cohesive, for there was no bickering. Instead, they all seemed to be praying. The streets were adorned with altars and music and sonetes. When the procession stopped, they say that in the space between our Saint and the Holy Sacrament, there were three hundred torches […] Girls dressed like Virgins with baskets of flowers in their hands went ahead of the Saint, which inspired great devotion. The Calced Carmelite fathers7 carried the litter with the Saint on their shoulders, and when they got to their convent, they put her on an altar […] in the middle of the church. There, the friars sang the Te Deum accompanied by the organ. Every day of the octave so many people came that guards were posted at the door to prevent too many people entering all at once and causing a hubbub, for God wanted it all to proceed peacefully. Before enclosing the Holy Sacrament, we chanted the Compline, and some of us have good voices. During the whole day people just kept coming, and the church was so packed that not everyone fit. After they put away the statue, some chanted hymns very beautifully. So, dear Mother, our Saint was properly honored, and every day she is better known. (OC, 1998, 1026–1027) 6 Unfortunately, part of this letter has been lost. 7 Ukiza mentions that this is the only mention of the Calced Carmelites in all of Ana’s letters and comments that it is “rather strange” (OC, 1998, 1027).

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Ana had always seen Teresa as a role model, and she accepted her as such for the rest of her life. In Antwerp, she claimed that the Saint was the true prioress of the convent, and that she served her as though she were living among the sisters (Urkiza, Beata, 94).

The English Convent By the late 1610s, Antwerp was regaining prominence as a bustling commercial city, and large numbers of English Catholics anxious to remake their fortunes settled there. The Recusancy laws first enacted during the reign of Elizabeth I imposed punishments on those who refused to adopt Anglicanism and resulted in an exodus of Catholics. Almost immediately, interest blossomed in founding English convents. One of the most prominent recusants was the widow Lady Mary Lovel (née Jane Roper), a descendant of Thomas More and a friend of Luisa de Carvajal, who may have put her in touch with influential people in the Low Countries. After she lost her husband in 1606, Lovel moved to Brussels, where she entered a Benedictine convent in 1608—the first English foundation to be made under the protection of the Infanta. However, Lovel soon had a falling-out with the prioress, Mary Percy, and left. Although Lovel intended to found other religious houses, including one in Antwerp, she did not immediately succeed. Ana de San Bartolomé had met Anne Worsley, another English Catholic, some years earlier in Mons.8 She and Worsley, who had professed as Anne of the Ascension, became fast friends, and, when La Bartolomé left for Antwerp, Anne went with her. However, they were forced to separate by a male spiritual director who became angry when Anne opposed his efforts to change the convent’s constitutions. Anne was transferred against her will to the new Carmelite foundation in Mechelen. Both women were uncomfortable with Lovel, whose aggressive and authoritarian personality would inevitably cause complications. “She is a terrible woman,” Ana wrote to Anne, “and if I anger her, everyone will know about it” (mid May 1617, OC, 1998, 1119). Yet, both Ana and Anne knew that Lovel had the contacts and money necessary to get things done. The people of Antwerp were not supportive of the plan to launch an English Carmel in their city, but Lovel appealed to Tomás de Jesús and managed to advance the project. 8 According to Nicky Hallett, Anne of the Ascension Worsely was English, although Urkiza says she was a native of Antwerp who professed in Mons. She participated in the foundation of an English Carmel in Antwerp in 1619 and became the convent’s first prioress. She remained prioress until her death in 1644.

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The nuns and friars did not uniformly support Lovel either. Some feared that the English nuns had been too contaminated by Anglicanism to be good Catholics. Ana offered her support, but was unable to move things forward as quickly as Lovel wanted. On 27 November 1618, Ana wrote to Anne Worsley that the English foundation still had not been approved (OC, 1998, 1154–1155), but finally, on 13 December, she was able to tell her friend: “The Englishwoman [Lovel] has taken a good house here […] and with that, things will calm down” (OC, 1998, 1157). The English Carmel opened in May 1619, and Anne was immediately transferred to the new foundation. Anne was not happy about her new assignment. She wrote that she was “extreamly opprest & grieved,” “so immortifyed that the littleness of the House did opress me” (Hallett, 49–50). This “affliction was redoubled” when, five weeks after her arrival, she was elected prioress and had to deal with the sisters’ conflicts, gossip, and bickering (Hallett, 49–50). La Bartolomé tried to help her deal with the constant squabbling among the sisters: “What you can do until they have love for you is to treat them with sweetness to get them to like you and always show that more than anything else you want peace and love among them” (Antwerp, c. July 1619, OC, 1998, 1181). Ana and Anne continued to enjoy a close relationship during this period. Ana regularly addressed Anne as “my dearest daughter,” “my dearest mother,” “daughter of my soul.” “I love you more than I can say,” she wrote in one letter (July–August 1620, OC, 1998, 1254). She sent Anne gifts (pieces of cloth, vegetables, cherries, garbanzos) and offered advice on how to prepare food: “Here I’m sending you a few black cherries. If you don’t have any apples, I’ll send a few so that you can cook them for eating. Even though they’re not fully ripe, they’ll be fine if you cook them. Otherwise, they’ll get all dried out in this air, and that would be a shame” (July 1620, OC, 1998, 1244). She continued to show concern for Anne’s health and to prescribe remedies. When she thought Anne was worrying too much, she wrote: “I think you’re taking things too much to heart, my daughter” (August 1620, OC, 1998, 1255). When the English nuns moved to their new convent, Ana became enthused with the possibility of enjoying a brief reunion with her friend (July–August 1620, OC, 1998, 1254). The banality of these letters might give the impression that Ana was so immersed in her normal routine—cooking, healing, guiding, and praying—that she was oblivious to the goings-on in the English convent, but, in reality, she was growing deeply concerned about it, for things were not running smoothly. Anne was struggling to govern effectively in an environment rife with dissent. Ana’s letters to Anne during this period were frequent and reassuring. “Courage, daughter of my soul. Don’t dwell on the present difficulties, but look toward the good that will

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come of these hard beginnings […] Open your eyes and embrace the cross,” she urged her (June 1620, OC, 1998, 1238). Sometimes, she offered guidance on accepting novices. On one occasion, she wrote to her about a girl who wanted to take vows: My dearest Mother, just because she’s ugly doesn’t mean she can’t do things for the honor of God. And it will be [for the honor of God] when it is known that this sister comes from so far away, facing so much danger, to seek her [spiritual] health. Wash her face and make her look as good as possible, and receive her with a sermon and solemnities. She shouldn’t go through town, but she can be in the house […] Once you get her settled, send her here. I want to see her […].” (1619, OC, 1998, 1225)

This girl was one of three who entered the English convent that year (Urkiza, n. 1, OC, 1998, 1225). The letter reveals the great importance prioresses placed on the physical appearance of their nuns. At one point, Teresa vacillated over whether to accept a nun with a scar—blemishes and deformities being considered at the time marks of the devil—but finally did so because the girl brought a substantial dowry (Lettered Woman, 122, 147). Several of Ana’s letters have to do with novices and nuns Anne found difficult. One such nun was an orphan who was often ill. “If that novice of yours has a good personality, I hope she’ll turn out fine and will mature. She’s an orphan, and God will be like a father for her. He will help her and give her the grace to be a good nun” (end of 1620, OC, 1998, 1291). A few months later, Ana was still worried about the novice. “I have nothing more to say about the novice, only that I feel sorry for her because she’s an orphan.” Apparently, the girl had made some negative comment about the Rule of the order, for Ana went on: “I think that she must have said what she did about our Rule because she didn’t feel obligated to it, and if she feared God, she’d behave differently” (1620 or 1621, OC, 1998, 1292). Early in 1621, Ana wrote, “As for that novice, I wish for you to profess her. I believe she will obey once she feels obligated to, and she’ll do everything your Reverence commands her to” (January–February 1621, OC, 1998, 1313). However, the novice turned out to be devious and deceptive: “What I don’t like about that novice is that she dissimulates; she’s not authentic, which is something I abhor” (February–March, 1621, OC, 1998, 1330). Urkiza believes that the novice probably did not profess (OC, 1998, n. 3, 1313). Ana’s detailed comments on so many of the nuns in the English convent show just how invested she was in the project. In the meantime, the rift was widening between Anne and Mary Lovel, who demanded stricter rules than those favored by the new prioress. By

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several contemporaneous accounts, she was a difficult woman. Thomas Edmonds, a British diplomat and politician, refers to her as “the most passionate besotted poore woman that ever was” (Walker, 116). Anne must have complained bitterly about Lovel, because Ana wrote to her friend promising to speak to the prior about the situation (July 1620, OC, 1998, 1245). Lovel had turned out to be quite unreliable, failing to maintain the convent she had founded. Ana wrote to Anne that she hoped Fray Tomás de Jesús could get her to “give the funds she promised, because to found a monastery as a sponsored house and not to provide what is needed makes us even poorer,” presumably because others, thinking the house is funded, would not give alms (16 August 1620, OC, 1998, 1246). Pando characterizes the situation in Brussels as a knot of power struggles in which money was a key issue: On the one hand, the Carmelite expansion in Flanders required the financial support of the Catholic gentry; on the other, the orders distrusted the laypeople and feared they might use their wealth to exert control on the foundations and compromise their autonomy (97). Lovel was clearly playing power games. She had intended the English convent to be subject to the local clergy, not to the Carmelite superiors, but Tomás de Jesús managed to maintain his authority, at least in the beginning, despite her maneuvering. Finally, Lovel’s “radical opposition to regular confessors and her refusal to admit non-English nuns to the cloister”—a drastic departure from the usual policy of admitting women from diverse backgrounds—led to an open clash with Anne and the Discalced superiors (Pando, 97). Ana sensed that the situation was getting out of hand and feared that some of her decisions—perhaps the one to work with Lovel—were to blame. “Help us, my Father,” she wrote to an unidentified Discalced Carmelite friar, “so that the plant of our blessed Mother grows in this weed patch of heretics. Let it not die because of me” (17 June 1620, OC, 1998, 1241). Although there were multiple points of contention, as in the case of the “nuns’ revolt”, the main issue was confessors. In 1621, Tomás de Jesús ordered the nuns to burn their constitutions and accept new ones that gave him license to assign confessors. Anne resisted the change, arguing that Teresa herself had given nuns the freedom to choose their own confessors. Passages from Anne’s Life reveal how anguishing these developments were for her: “After this convent had been almost 3 years, the Provinciall sent us new constitutions with a command in virtue of holy obedience to burn all ye old wee had or did know of. I was in great perplexity.” Anne resolved to seek advice on whether disobedience would constitute a sin, but to stand by her decision to defend the Constitutions regardless. She had the support of her nuns: “All the religious [were] of ye same mind, to endeavor by all meanes

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possible to maintain our Blessed Mother’s Constitution […]” Although at times she had “such [a] sensible feeling” that she “was inclined to yield,” in the end, she “stood hard against all they said or did […] I knew if the fryers did prevail I should suffer all my life for what I did […]” (Hallett, 50). The following year, Ana wrote to Anne of the Ascension assuring her that it was not the intention of the Discalced fathers to take away the English nuns’ confessors. “I know that they will not take away the freedom you’re asking for, and that they will give you the confessors [you choose], just the same as all of us.” The Constitutions were freer on this point than the previous ones, she explained, probably referring to those published in Brussels in 1621. “Don’t be upset,” Ana begged her. She quotes the Contemptus Mundi from The Imitation of Christ, by Thomas à Kempis: “‘You will not find rest but in simple obedience’” and Saint Paul in Romans 13:2: “‘Whoever resists obeying his prelates, resists the spirit of God’” (first months of 1622, OC, 1998, 1381). Shortly afterward, she wrote to Anne again, assuring her that the English nuns would be able to maintain their freedom if they remained under the Discalced Carmelite friars: “Don’t worry about it and don’t worry your daughters, for, since the foundation was made on the condition you’d have freedom [to choose your confessors], they can’t do otherwise” (first months of 1622, OC, 1998, 1382). Ana was making every effort to persuade Anne and her nuns to remain under the umbrella of the Discalced friars, but the English nuns were just as stubborn as she. Later that year, Tomás de Jesús specified the details of new Constitutions that would transfer the convent’s jurisdiction and the appointment of confessors to the regional Provincial and put the nuns under Italian superiors. This led to heated discussions between the nuns and friars that ended in an impasse. Because the friars were unable to resolve the issue at the Provincial chapter in Flanders in 1622, they determined to submit the matter to Rome. For Ana de San Bartolomé, this development was a repeat of the “nuns’ revolt”, and it was disturbing. She had never completely forgiven Ana de Jesús for joining with María de San José in the rebellion against Doria, in spite of their professed reconciliation. Even though she was saddened by the death of Ana de Jesús—“it has caused me more loneliness than I can say”—she maintained until the end that Ana de Jesús was wrong (Antwerp, 6 March 1621, OC, 1998, 1319). When the Brussels nuns attributed a miracle to Ana de Jesús (the cure of a crippled sister, Juana del Espíritu Santo [van der Noot]), La Bartolomé snapped: “She certainly wasn’t granted the favor of performing miracles because of the harm she caused to the order. No matter how many miracles she performs, including this one—which was

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neither authentic nor an act of God—I won’t change my mind. If God granted her mercy, it’s because she has already been through purgatory” (Antwerp, 18 March 1621, OC, 1998, 1324). Ana may be in heaven, says La Bartolomé, but only because she did her time in purgatory in the form of a long, torturous illness. As Urkiza argues, La Bartolomé was not willing to grant the title of miracle-working saint to a defiant, disobedient sister who not only opposed Doria, but also the authority of Rome in the tussle over Discalced confessors in 1613 (OC, 1998, 1324 n. 6). Ana de San Bartolomé believed that the principle of obedience meant that nuns had to follow the directives of their Discalced Carmelite superiors, even if they didn’t agree with them. Ana may have had these renegade nuns of the English convent in mind when, between 1622 and 1624, she wrote her Conferencias espirituales, in which she insists on the importance of obedience. Christ was obedient to the Father, she argues, even unto the cross, so “May we be worthy of the grace to imitate him faithfully” (OC, 1998, 635). She offers the example of Teresa, who obeyed “without saying a word” the order to go to Alba, where she died, although she was ill and disinclined to make the trip because Alba was out of her way (OC, 1998, 637). Another example is Saint Eufrasia, whose obedience was put to the test when her prelate ordered her to move heavy rocks from one place to another. Although she was a delicate girl and a Princess, explains Ana, she complied with “perfect obedience” because to do so gave her supernatural powers to enable her to complete the task (OC, 1998, 638). Ana ends with the examples of Lot and the angel Lucifer, whose punishment for disobedience was eternal damnation. For Ana, those who failed to take their vow of obedience seriously were doomed.

Works Cited Primary Sources Ana de San Bartolomé, Bta. Obras completas. Ed. Julián Urkiza. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 1998.

Secondary Sources Hallett, Nicky. Lives of Spirit: English Carmelite Self-Writing of the Early Modern Period. Hampshire, UK and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2007. Mujica, Barbara. Teresa de Ávila, Lettered Woman. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009.

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Pando-Canteli, María Jesús. “Expatriates. Women’s Communities, Mobility and Cosmopolitanism in Early Modern Europe: English and Spanish Nuns in Flanders.” Women Telling Nations. Ed. Amelia Sanz, Francesca Scott, and Suzan van Dijk. Leiden: Brill, 2014. 85–101. Smet, Joachim.The Carmelites: 1600-1750. Darien, IL: Carmelite Spiritual Center, 1982. Urkiza, Julen. Beata Ana de San Bartolomé: Compañera inseparable de Sta. Teresa de Jesús. Vol. 4. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 2004. ——. “Introducción.” Bta. Ana de San Bartolomé: Obras completas. Ed. Julián (Julen) Urkiza. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 1998. 5–39. Walker, Claire. Gender and Politics in Early Modern Europe. English Convents in France and the Low Countries. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003.

11. Friends and Enemies: The Last Years Abstract War resumed in May 1618. The Isabel Clara Eugenia provides a detailed description of the attack by Protestant forces on the Castle of Antwerp. The English and Louvain nuns decided that they did not want to confess to Discalced Carmelite priests, which put them at odds with Ana de San Bartolomé and the hierarchy. Finally, the Congregation in Rome decided that the rebel convents would come under the jurisdiction of their respective bishops, not the hierarchy of the order. Ana’s sadness turned to rage when Anne of the Ascension, the English prioress, attempted to make a new foundation in Bruges under the jurisdiction of the Bishop. Ana’s Meditaciones sobre el Camino de Cristo reveals her distress over these events. Keywords: Isabel Clara Eugenia, Ana de San Bartolomé (García), Anne of the Ascension (Worsley), Discalced Carmelites in Antwerp, English convent in Antwerp, early modern women’s letter-writing

When Ana de San Bartolomé died in 1626, at age 77, she was still a lucid, active member of her community. Her letters and other writings from this period show that she remained concerned with the same issues that had occupied her during her whole life: Teresa and her legacy, the health and well-being of her friends and spiritual daughters, and the stability of the order. However, the resumption of hostilities with the Dutch, new problems with Bérulle in France, and the rupture with the English nuns marred Ana’s last years.

The War Resumes The Twelve Years’ Truce ended in May 1618, when war broke out in Bohemia. Having produced no sons, Matthias, the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Bohemia, sought to make Ferdinand of Styria his successor during his

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch11

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lifetime. Ferdinand was zealously Catholic, and, while certain Protestant leaders supported him, others did not, preferring instead the Protestant Frederick V, elector of the Palatinate. When Ferdinand sent two representatives to Prague Castle on 23 May 1618 to take charge of the government in his absence, a furious assembly of Protestants seized them and flung them through the palace window, in an event known as the Defenestration of Prague. Miraculously, the men survived, but the incident provoked a massive revolt, which spread throughout the entire land and eventually engulfed all of Europe. Now Ana and her nuns were living in a city constantly under siege. The secession of the Calvinist Northern Provinces meant that Flanders was the new Catholic frontier, whose religious and political development was of utmost importance to the Vatican and the rest of the Catholic world. After the death of Archduke Albert in 1621, the Hapsburg Netherlands reverted to the Spanish Crown, as stipulated in the 1598 Act of Cession. Instead of the sovereign ruler, Isabel became the governor and regent for the heir successor, Philip IV. For the moment, Antwerp was under Catholic control, but the situation was precarious, as the city could fall back into Protestant hands at any moment. Ana saw the end of the Twelve Years’ Truce as a tragedy. She wrote to her cousin, Sister Francisca de Jesús (Cano):1 “[W]e’re involved in a war with the Dutch, who are a constant irritation. The truce is now over and the country has taken up arms. May God give victory to our men if He sees fit. The Lord does not want us to make peace with the enemy, even if we die in the effort [to win]” (24 March 1621, OC, 1998, 1327). At the time she wrote this letter, Ana had no idea how close to home—that is, to her and her nuns—the war would come. Under the circumstances, the Infanta had little time for the monasteries. She was constantly involved in affairs of state and in negotiations with the Vatican.2 Yet, she never lost contact with Ana de San Bartolomé, and the success of the Discalced Carmelite reform in the Low Countries owes much to the enduring friendship of these two women. In November 1524, the Infanta wrote to Fray Domingo de Aza, her confessor: “they say the enemy will return to Antwerp, and if this happens, Mother Ana de San Bartolomé will protect it with her prayers” (Antwerp Archives). Ana’s 1588 vision foretelling 1 Urkiza identifies Francisca de Jesús (Cano) as Ana’s cousin, who was baptized at the same time and place as La Bartolomé. She was a lay sister at the convent in Medina del Campo (OC, 1998, 1010, n. 8). 2 See Vermeir, “The Infanta Isabel Clara Eugenia and the Papal Court (1621-1633)”.

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the disastrous defeat of the Invincible Armada had secured her reputation as a seer, and the Infanta enhanced the nun’s fame by openly entrusting her with the protection of the city. During this period (1620–1626), Ana was preoccupied with the war, as is manifest in her letter to Hilario de San Agustín: “With regard to our enemies, I don’t know if they’ll manage to get what they think […] Here we pray continually […]” (February 1625, OC, 1998, 1534). For Ana, as for Teresa, prayer was a form of activism, even a form of combat. By praying, Ana believed, nuns were contributing to the war effort.3 Ambroggio Spinola, commanding the Spanish forces, was determined to retake the areas that had been lost to the Dutch. Breda was one of the strongest cities under Dutch control, with a strategically located navigable river. By 2 May 1625, Spinola had an army of approximately 80,000 soldiers, the largest ever seen in Flanders. About 25,000 of these men were encamped along the supply corridor, and 25,000 were charged with containing the city. About 30,000 more served as general reserve. Spinola laid siege to Breda in August 1624. The battles went on for months and inflicted heavy losses on Spain, but Spinola eventually triumphed, forcing Justin of Nassau to surrender in June 1625. Although the Siege of Breda greatly enhanced Spinola’s reputation and is considered one of Spain’s greatest victories of the war, it seriously depleted Philip IV’s resources. In July 1624, Ana wrote to the Infanta congratulating her on the outcome of Spinola’s campaign: This letter comes to congratulate your Highness for so many victories […] It seems that God obeys you and does whatever your Highness wishes, and with an abundance of rewards. And I’m not surprised, for the Dutch say that your Highness has prayed constantly, and that’s how you were able to vanquish them, but now they think your Highness is a sorceress […] Let those miserable Dutch see who you are. (OC, 1998, 1556)

Still, the Infanta was worried: “They’re saying that the enemy wants to retake Antwerp,” she wrote to her confessor, “but I’m hoping that Mother Ana de San Bartolomé will keep it safe with her prayers” (Antwerp Archives). Ana was indeed praying for the city, but she was concerned with other political matters as well. In this same letter, she appeals to Isabel Clara Eugenia to ransom a dozen or so Spaniards whom the Turks had captured, or else to exchange them for Turkish prisoners. 3

See Mujica, Lettered Woman, 70.

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On 18 October 1625, the Infanta wrote to Fray Domingo telling him that, since the Dutch had not been able to retake Breda, they had once more turned their attention to Antwerp. However, thanks to the spiritual powers of Mother Ana, their efforts were coming to naught. The Infanta sent Fray Domingo a detailed description of the attack by Protestant forces on the Castle of Antwerp, where the nuns had taken refuge. The vividness of the narrative makes this letter worth reproducing in its entirety: But now I can’t fail to ask you to help me give thanks to Our Lord and Our Lady of Victory for the grace that He has granted us, which, as I will tell you, is very great. On Sunday after the Octava of our Holy Mother Teresa, at three in the morning, the enemy attacked with 3000 infantrymen, a thousand horses, and 30 war vehicles with ladders and instruments of battle, some of which were brand new. Then came some gondolas or long, thin wagons made of reed carrying two ladders to be placed against the wall of the castle in Antwerp. And because the night was so awful, with terrible winds and darker than anyone had ever seen before, they could approach without being heard, and without anyone suspecting they were there. All of them were carrying red sashes, and their vehicles had Burgundy crosses, just like our munitions transport wagons. They told any of the villagers or other people they ran into [during the day] that they were our soldiers and had come to escort a convoy. And since we have a lot of soldiers who do accompany convoys, everyone believed them and expected them in Antwerp. When it got dark and the convoy didn’t arrive, people began to worry because they thought something had happened to them. They did arrive, as I told you, at three in the morning, but because of the big storm, it seems they couldn’t set up the bridge, also made of reeds, that they had brought. And it was God’s will that the sentinel, in spite of the extreme darkness, thought he saw something in the trench, and so he fell down flat on his stomach on the wall to see better. Finally, he made out something, and it turned out to be one of the wagons. So he called out, “Who goes there?” And they answered, “Amici”. When he heard this, the sentinel fired a shot, calling the squadron of guards, who started to shoot and call the men to arms. That brought out the castellan and everyone in the castle, even the women, forcing the enemy to withdraw. At dawn, they found the ladders and wagons and all the war engines, for the enemy had retreated so hurriedly that they left everything there. I can assure you that if one of them had realized what had happened, they would have done what they set out to do; before anyone had heard anything, they’d have taken over the castle, because not only were there

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very few people there—since many had gone to Breda—those that were left were ill. In fact, there weren’t more than 25 healthy men available to fight. But healthy and sick, all of them answered the call and were even cured of their fevers. All of us are certain that the prayers of Mother Ana de San Bartolomé saved us, because at midnight she ran to awaken her nuns very hastily to have them go pray in the choir, telling them there had been a great act of betrayal. The enemy had 300 lancers ready to come later as reinforcements. But the weather prevented it and scattered them all everywhere. So Our Lord liberated Antwerp twice with storms, and the good thing is that since the weather was so bad, I told my ladies-inwaiting, laughing, that without doubt should the enemy come again to Antwerp, Our Lord would defend us again with another storm like the last one. (Antwerp Archive)

Even after the death of Ana de San Bartolomé, the Infanta’s faith in her powers continued undiminished. In fact, a letter written on Holy Wednesday, 1627, reveals it to be stronger than ever. The Infanta depicts Ana not as a sharp listener who ran to awaken the nuns to call them to prayer, but as a supernatural being who herself unleashed the storm against the Dutch: […] the enemy amassed a great collection of ships and men. People said they were for Antwerp, which I hope Mother Ana de San Bartolomé will defend with the same storm that vanquished them last time, with great loss of materiel and marines. Give thanks to God and Our Lady of Victory for all these favors […] not the least of which is the death of Mansfeld, although we’re never done with this seven-headed monster. (Antwerp Archives)

In fact, Antwerp would be vulnerable to Dutch aggression for decades to come. Peace did not come until the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648. At that time, the Schedlt River was closed to navigation, which ruined the trading activities of the city. Antwerp’s population decreased dramatically, reaching an all-time low of 40,000 in 1850, and only began to recover in the late nineteenth century.

The Canonization of Teresa Without doubt, the most important event of the early 1620s for Ana was the canonization, in 1622, of her beloved friend, mentor, and spiritual

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guide, Teresa de Jesús. Because Teresa was a “spiritual” and a woman, her canonization faced considerable opposition. The inquisitor Alonso de la Fuente attempted to have her books banned, arguing that they were partially heretical and possibly even written by the devil, since they clearly surpassed the abilities of a woman (Weber, Rhetoric, 160). Francisco de Pisa, professor of Scripture at the University of Toledo, did not condemn her writings outright, but thought they should be withdrawn from circulation because it was inappropriate for clergy to take instruction from a woman (Weber, Rhetoric, 162). During her lifetime, Teresa was repeatedly accused of unorthodoxy, and during her canonization proceedings, the same accusations resurfaced that had been leveled against her earlier. Although Teresa was popular among the people, her canonization was hardly a fait accompli. After her sainthood was approved, the ceremony was delayed because of the Pope’s illness, which must have made her supporters nervous. Finally, on 12 March 1622, Teresa was canonized. The occasion was celebrated with great festivity in Antwerp in the early spring. In April 1622, Ana tells Father Fernando de Santa María, General of the Italian congregation, “I felt consoled the day of her canonization. It was in doubt whether it would take place or not, for they told us that his Holiness was ill” (OC, 1998, 1391). But now, Ana could feel “peace and delight” in seeing “this saint honored by God as she deserves” (April 1622, OC, 1998, 1391). The following letter to the Duchess Caterina Gonzaga, dated 3 December 1621, shows that, months earlier, Ana was already making preparations: I dare to beg your Excellency to do us a favor so we can solemnize the feast in honor of our saint, I mean the day of her canonization, which, according to what we hear, will be soon. For this purpose, we’ve been making flowers for months out of the silk in different shades that you were kind enough to give us, but in order to finish, we need more, and I beg you to be kind enough to send it to us […] [The flowers] will help us to make a perfect celebration, along with the gift of the statue of the Child Jesus that your Excellency was kind enough to give us. (OC, 1998, 1362)

The convents were abuzz with activity, as nuns cleaned, sewed, and decorated. Later, Ana wrote to the Duchess again, this time thanking her for the silk and expressing her joy at the canonization (27 May 1622, OC, 1998, 1394). Ana surely breathed a sigh of relief when it was over. Yet, even after Teresa was canonized, some clerics still opposed her, and her supporters

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expended considerable effort reconstructing her image into that of a proper saint whose legitimacy could not be questioned. 4 In the months that followed, Ana made frequent mention of the canonization. She clearly saw it as a triumph for the order and perhaps a vindication of Teresa over the Carmelite fathers who had tried to hinder her career. In March or April 1622, Ana wrote to the Infanta, thanking her for her help: “What Your Highness has done to make sure she gets canonized—because it has all been because of you—she will repay you in this lifetime and the next with rewards that will last an eternity” (OC, 1998, 1388–1389). In this same letter, Ana mentions several times that the Infanta had been ill. Ana, too, was ill and, in fact, had only four years left to live. Even so, she threw herself into the rejoicing over the newly canonized saint. Around this time, Ana also wrote to Anne of the Ascension congratulating her on her convent’s preparation for the canonization celebration. However, Ana’s relationship with Anne was beginning to show signs of strain. Ana saw the efforts of the English nuns to withdraw from the jurisdiction of the Discalced Carmelite friars as an outrage. Around June 1622, she wrote a pointed letter to Anne reminding her that the best preparation of all for this life and the next is to practice the virtues taught by Teresa: “To prepare ourselves properly, giving pleasure to God and our saint, we must dress ourselves in the clothing of Christ our Redeemer, which was purple: the clothing of scorn and disdain” (OC, 1998, 1400). Patience and humility were certainly not the virtues displayed by the English nuns, in Ana’s opinion.

Revolt of the English Nuns From the British perspective, the English nuns in Flanders were a dangerous bastion of Popish thought, while for the Spaniards, their Englishness kept them inexorably apart.5 The resistance of the English nuns to the authority of Tomás de Jesús was, for some, proof of their recalcitrance, and this grieved Ana. Fray Tomás had written to her complaining about a nun who did not want to confess with a Carmelite friar, and, on c. 19 November 1620, Ana responded that she had resolved the problem by speaking with the woman’s preferred confessor, who convinced her to go back to the one to whom she was assigned (OC, 1998, 1270). Although the letter does not specify that the 4 5

See Mujica, Lettered Woman, 181–188. See Bowden and Kelly, “Introduction.”

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problematic nun was English, it is reasonable to assume that she was, given the increasingly belligerent mindset of some of the English nuns. Friction was growing among these nuns, and Anne frequently complained to Ana that one of her spiritual daughters was angry with her—for example, Claire de Jésus, with whom she had had a serious run-in. However, Ana de San Bartolomé had her own gripe with Anne, with whom she was growing increasingly impatient, although she apparently still thought she could bring her around to her own way of thinking. Around November, Ana wrote her a letter that begins with encouraging words: “I don’t want you to become disheartened; don’t be gloomy.” But then, she adds: “Look at things the way our Saint did when she was abandoned, the spirit and joy with which she endured the gossip about her. Be her true daughter and be a man, and since things are as they are, say to the Lord: ‘It’s done. Forgive me and let’s be friends as before. I will mend my ways’” (OC, 1998, 1273). Gently but firmly, Ana accuses Anne of going astray and needing to make amends. The tone of this letter is kind and reassuring, but Ana is clearly trying to coax Anne into changing her position on confessors. Soon afterward, Ana writes Anne again showing herself to be solicitous of her friend’s health and hopeful about the English foundation (October–December 1620, OC, 1998, 1278). She seems to be trying to avoid a confrontation, yet tensions are growing. Anne must have felt pressure from all sides. She was coping with a prolonged illness, turmoil in the convent, and Ana’s growing annoyance with her. Ana tries to reassure her, “I don’t know why you say I’m angry. I couldn’t be angry with your Reverence because I love you so much” (1620, OC, 1998, 1294). Yet, she was displeased because she believed Anne to be on the wrong track with respect to confessors. Anne surely felt torn between Ana, her longtime friend, and her English compatriots, who were beginning to demand to break with the order. By the end of the spring, Ana was furious, but in May–June 1622, she wrote to her friend promising to put the whole matter behind them. At the same time, she made it clear that she thought Anne was in the wrong: I won’t remember what happened. We all make mistakes sometimes, and it’s wrong for us to judge mistakes made with good intentions and under the influence of others, out of ignorance. It gives little satisfaction to know that these are people who love us and desire our health even more than we do ourselves. I’m consoled that you realize that I love you and would never counsel you to do anything that wasn’t right for you and your daughters. (OC, 1998, 1398)

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Ana and Anne were both clearly suffering because of the dispute over confessors. Ana’s promise of forgiveness—that is, her pledge to forget the whole thing—was clearly construed to give Anne a way out: she had “good intentions” and was acting “under the influence of others” and out of “ignorance.” Ana’s letter to Fernando de Santa María defines her position more explicitly: The poor little Englishwomen and the ones from Louvain don’t know what they’re giving up. And since they don’t know, they remain blind. The evil spirit deceives them about this business concerning freedom of confessors. It’s the deceptions of these lands, where they’re raised with these notions. And it’s quite hard to put them straight, for although they’re sweet women, they’re not strong and allow themselves to be easily brought down. (8 June 1622, OC, 1998, 1406)

Because she believed them to be good nuns, but weak and deceived, Ana appealed directly to their virtuous natures. In September 1622 or1623, she wrote directly to the English nuns, assuring them of her great love for them individually and as a group, and then begged them, obliquely, not to separate from the order: “This is what God asks of us: that we love one another, that we live in unity without complaint. Where will we find what we seek but in the love, patience, and humility of each other?” (OC, 1998, 1413) As Discalced Carmelites, they need to obey the rules of the order and not introduce fissures into the group. However, the English nuns were not about to back down. Their petition was now in the hands of the Congregation of Bishops and Regular of the Holy See. Everyone anxiously awaited word from Rome. Between May and October, Ana wrote to Anne that they still hadn’t heard the Congregation’s determination (OC, 1998, 1415). On 18 December 1622, the Congregation finally reached a verdict: The English convent and the Louvain convent would come under the jurisdiction of their respective Bishops. The judgment was confirmed by Pope Gregory XV on 17 March 1623. Now that the Carmelites of Louvain and the English Carmelites of Antwerp were no longer subject to the hierarchy of the order, Ana became apprehensive that the rebellion could spread. She communicated her concern to the Infanta, who wrote to her confessor, Fray Domingo de Aza, “This has mortified Mother Ana de San Bartolomé […] The devil, who sees what good fruit these monasteries bear, is really going out of his way to mess things up, and I’m doing all I can to stop him” (Antwerp Archives). After her extraordinary successes in Antwerp, Ana must have felt that her oeuvre was

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beginning to disintegrate. Obedience was the cornerstone of the Discalced Caramelite charism, in her view, and entire convents were choosing to disobey their superiors and follow their own inclinations. Ana de San Bartolomé still had deep affection for Anne—so deep that, as in the case of Ana de Jesús and Beatriz de la Concepción, some modern critics have looked askance at their friendship (Velasco, 109). They had corresponded for years, Ana writing in Spanish and Anne in Flemish (Pando, 97). For Ana, it must have seemed like treason that Anne had sided with her compatriots in this matter of vital importance to the order. Still, even after the Congregation had decided the matter, Ana clung to the hope that she might win her friend back. On 16 August 1624, she wrote a rather strange letter: I would rather speak with you than write to you, but since I can’t, I’ll tell you that last night in a dream I was with you and saw you and talked about things. I want you to know that even though it was a dream, I desire your well-being, and if you want to take my advice, tell me what will give you greater consolation: to come with me to [live under the obedience of] the order, or to keep on as you are? (OC, 1998, 1488)

Ana’s invitation is clear, but what does she mean by “we talked about things?” By situating their meeting in a dream, is she attempting to shield herself from the pain a more direct encounter might entail? For Ana, the rupture with the English nuns was not just a matter of disloyalty to the Rule. It was a personal tragedy. This is the last complete extant letter of Ana to Anne of the Ascension. There is one remaining fragment, which Urkiza dates 1622–1624, but it is too sparse to convey much information, and the lack of a precise date makes it impossible to know whether Ana was still trying to convince Anne after Rome’s decision. During the last two years of her life, Ana’s sadness evolved into a veritable rage. Soon after Rome gave the English nuns their victory, Anne and a group of her daughters left for Bruges, where they planned to found another convent under the jurisdiction of the Bishop. In 1624, Ana wrote to the Infanta Isabel Clara Eugenia about the situation. At the time, the army of the Archduchess was engaged in the battle of Breda, and Ana begins the letter by wishing for success. After praising Isabel as a defender of Catholicism and expressing her fervent desire that “God give us victory in this war,” she notes that “we also have spiritual wars, in which no one can defend us but Your Highness” (September 1624, OC, 1496). With these

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words, Ana attempts to involve the Infanta in the matter of the English nuns. “These Englishwomen have been the greatest cross I’ve had to bear in Flanders,” she writes, because they want to found convents everywhere, but without the necessary structure and discipline. “This discredits the order,” she adds, “for since they’ve broadcast they have freedom and we’re restrictive, the world sides with them […] although it’s not true that we’re so restrictive, but people are more apt to believe evil than good” (September 1624, OC, 1998, 1497). Ana then calls on the authority of Teresa, arguing that the Saint wanted nuns to have the right to choose confessors, not so they could be free, but so they could put themselves under the guidance of priests with whom they felt comfortable. But among the English, “there’s no order or respect for the rules” (September 1624, OC, 1497). Around the same time, Ana wrote to Hilario de San Agustín: “It’s a shame how relaxed they are. Novices are accepted without a vote by the convent. Instead, the prioress and subprioress and the sister of the prioress [Thérèse de Jésus Marie] make the decision. And with the nuns who profess, it’s the same thing. And in other matters, too, it’s pure disorder. They’ll soon be lost, just like the ones in France, as they hardly have a Rule or a Constitution to show them the way of proceeding” (29 September 1624, OC, 1497). As we shall see below, under Bérulle’s influence, many French Carmelite nuns were also confessing to priests of a different order. Ana was beside herself about Anne’s foundation in Bruges. She wrote to Beatriz de la Concepción: [T]o respond to what you say about being afraid of what Ascensión is doing, yes, I’m afraid. If my illness permitted it, I would go in person, with permission from her Highness [the Infanta] and my superiors, and I’d take some faithful nuns with me so that the foundation would be under the order. Since Ascensión cannot lead it to perfection because she’s under obedience to the Bishop, I beg you to tell her Highness to let you go, since I can’t. (10 April 1625, OC, 1998, 1543)

Although Ana was on her last legs, she orchestrated the resistance. With the help of Beatriz and Leonor de San Bernardo, she appealed to the superiors of the order in Flanders and Rome to stop the new convent. She also took her complaint to the Infanta Isabel, her close friend and a reliable ally for more than a decade. With only months left to live, Ana wrote to Isabel Clara Eugenia around January 1626, attacking the English nuns, who, she groused, “have made

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me good and mad” (OC, 1998, 1599). In this letter, she begs Isabel to resist the demands of these nuns and to “command them to leave this land if they don’t follow the rules of the order, since they are foreigners and so freewheeling that they are disrespectful to your Highness” (OC, 1998, 1599). Ana argues that the English nuns have overstayed their welcome in the Low Countries: “they do not deserve courteous treatment, and with this lack of constraint, they might bring in customs from their own country and introduce some heresy, God forbid! Anything fearful is possible from their boldness” (OC, 1998, 1599). She begs the Infanta to exercise once again her role as champion of the faith, for “we have no other help or defense but your Highness” (OC, 1998, 1599). Ana’s campaign was successful. Isabel Clara Eugenia agreed to permit the new convent in Bruges only if it was subject to the friars of the order. Seeing her project blocked, Anne returned to Antwerp, while Ana’s supporters founded a new convent in Bruges under the jurisdiction of the order on 7 March 1626. On 3 May, Ana wrote to Beatriz that Anne, now back at the Antwerp convent, had come to see her. She was “so sad and bitter that she could hardly get a word out of her mouth, and she told me that she’d never see me again. ‘Why?’ I asked her. ‘Are you planning on dying?’” (7 May 1626, OC, 1998, 1609). She felt that her plans had come to naught and that she’d been deceived, explains Ana. “I told her that if I had permission, I’d invite her into the house, but I didn’t have permission, and she said that she hadn’t requested it from the Bishop. And with that, she left” (7 May 1626, OC, 1998, 1609). It was a pitiful ending to a once beautiful friendship between a Spaniard and an Englishwoman. Did Ana thwart Anne’s project purely out of principle, or was there a touch of malice in her actions?

Problems in France From Ana’s perspective, things were going from bad to worse. As she was struggling with the English, alarming news of unrest among the convents in France reached her. Ana had left France in 1611, and almost immediately afterward, Bérulle began his machinations to reclaim power over the Discalced Carmelite nuns. On 17 April 1614, Rome issued a brief revising the mode of governance of the French Carmels, which from then on would be visited only by Bérulle and his successors. Morgain notes that, by this act, Bérulle acquired three important and distinct positions: Superior of the order, Visitator of the monasteries, and Superior General of the Oratory (312). Two years later, Ana de Jesús and Brétigny published a new edition of the

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Constitutions, which was meant for use in France exclusively and included material applicable specifically to the French Kingdom. Bérulle interpreted the brief “as a constituent element of his personal vocation,” writes Morgain (313). As visitator of the Discalced Carmelites, Bérulle assumed that his role was one of “Dionysian hierarch, or, at least, that’s the spirit in which he operated” (313). He saw himself as a fusion between juridical counselor and spiritual guide (313). Bérulle did not understand that the kinds of theological distinctions and obligations that were in force among the Oratory were neither necessary nor welcome among the Carmelites, leading to conflicts between Bérulle and his two colleagues, Gallement and Duval. The situation deteriorated further when, on 7 July 1615, the Bishops of France declared their commitment to the Catholic reform. In accordance with the decrees of the Council of Trent, which gave ordinary (non-diocesan) priests increased authority, the Bishops supported the rights of friars to oversee female convents of their orders. Bérulle failed to take the Council into consideration when he began his power grab, Morgain notes (313). Father Denis de la Mère de Dieu, one of the first two French Carmelite friars in France, argued that Teresa had wanted her daughters to be governed by men of their own order. He enlisted the support of Ana de San Bartolomé in his efforts to free the French nuns of Bérulle’s interference. However, Morgain notes, Fray Denis soon hit an impasse because no document published in France supported his position. Ana was enraged over the situation in France and wrote to her nephew, Toribio Manzanas, who, as a young man, had accompanied Ana and the other Discalced Carmelite nuns on their journey from Spain to France. Manzanas stayed in Paris to study theology, then returned to Ávila, where he became the cathedral cantor. Over the years, he had remained in contact with Ana and was well apprised of Bérulle’s machinations. In a fury, Ana wrote to him condemning the unacceptable position of the French nuns: “[I]n a reformed order like ours, that position is not permitted, and I will be the first to go to war against them [the French nuns]. What kind of times are these, that now we have that kind of nun? No, it’s not right at all!” (7 April 1621, OC, 1998, 1332). The French nuns had appealed to the new Constitutions to justify their position, but, Ana argued, the 1581 Alcalá Constitutions, which were approved by Saint Teresa herself, were quite clear. I will tell you everything […] so that after I am gone, those who are ignorant can understand the intentions of our Saint, which have nothing to do with the liberties these nuns want to take. I heard this from her mouth, and

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after she died, she confirmed the same thing. As for these Constitutions that give so much liberty, I have the ones that were written during that first chapter in which Father Gracián was elected Provincial and which were sent, written in his own hand, to the Saint […] I am [still] healthy and have the courage to take on all of France. (7 April 1621, OC, 1998, 1332)

On this issue, she was not willing to give an inch. Around 1616, Bérulle had attempted to impose a vow of servitude to Our Lady on the Discalced Carmelite nuns. By then, Barbe Acarie had taken the veil, and she protested energetically against the vow. Rohrbach explains: Bérulle’s vow was a long, intricate pietism, covering almost three pages of small type, and it was condemned by both the Universities of Louvain and Douai, and by the distinguished Jesuit theologian Lessius, on the grounds that it was obscure, unnecessary, and full of clauses that could cause needless scruples. Francis de Sales also disapproved of it, and Cardinal Bellarmine in Rome later condemned it. (Rohrbach, 247)

Eventually, Barbe’s position prevailed, and “the nuns remained Teresian, not Bérullian” (Rohrbach, 247). Not all French nuns were willing to accept the new Constitutions, what’s more. Some resented Bérulle’s dominance and wanted to return to Discalced Carmelite jurisdiction. On 3 June 1620, Ana wrote to François d’Escobleau de Sourdis, Cardinal of Bordeaux, thanking him for his support of the French nuns attempting to free themselves from Bérulle: “I have given thanks to Our Lord above all for inspiring your illustrious Lordship to defend and protect them.” She and Ana de Jesús had left France, she explains, precisely because their French superiors had “introduced an alien spirit, separating and distancing us from obedience to our fathers and legitimate superiors.” They had uprooted themselves and gone to Flanders because they were “unable to tolerate this, for it was so contrary to our makeup and to the profession of obligations that we’d always seen our holy Mother practice, and that we continue to practice” (OC, 1998, 1237). A while later, she wrote to him again, thanking him for his support and urging him to continue his efforts. He would not be doing the will of God and Saint Teresa if he abandoned them, she wrote. “Don’t pay attention to those who tell you different, for they are of the world and speak as men of the world, while your illustrious Lordship is of God” (11 September 1620 or 1622, OC, 1998, 1257). Ana had reason to seek support from powerful clerics. The situation was growing thornier by the day in France.

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Isabelle de Jésus Christ, who had professed under Ana’s guidance in 1607 in Paris and had gone on to serve as prioress in Amiens, later founded a Carmel in Bourges. Now, the Bourges nuns were among those who wanted to remain under the authority of their Carmelite superiors. On 11 September 1620, Ana wrote to Isabelle expressing her great joy at their decision. “Don’t be afraid,” she wrote, “even though they tell you that this will lead to your perdition. I assure you that it will lead to your salvation” (OC, 1998, 1258). But pressure was mounting against the Bourges nuns. Nicolas Vivian, counselor to the King of France, had befriended the Discalced Carmelites and acquired the site for their first foundation in Paris, but he took Bérulle’s side in the dispute. On 24 October 1620, Ana wrote to him, “I’m surprised that you think our nuns would be governed better by other priests than by our own fathers […] Although our order is new in France, your Lordship thinks that your newly professed novices know more about the order than others. They [your novices] will be good, and good servants of God in their own way, but not for the Carmelites. Our Lord hasn’t chosen them for what our holy Mother wanted” (OC, 1998, 1266). Ana was not convinced that priests of other orders understood the principle of suavidad that characterized Discalced Carmelite spiritual direction. “Your Lordship can believe that the nuns who stay in the order would prefer to be governed with the gentleness that Saint Teresa gave to her children” (OC, 1998, 1266). Teresa had encouraged founding friaries precisely so that her nuns would have access to confessors who understood the Discalced charism and methods, and Ana was not afraid to stand up to powerful men to protect the Foundress’s legacy. In March 1623, Bérulle expelled the defiant community of Carmelite nuns from Bourges. The nuns made the long trek from central France to Flanders, but Isabel Clara Eugenia, occupied with the war, was reluctant to receive them in Brussels and wrote to Fray Domingo that they would be better off in Antwerp with Mother Ana de San Bartolomé. They did, in fact, continue on to Antwerp, where Ana received them with great affection (Morgain, 449). The Nuncio Ottavio Corsini took the position that the disobedient Bourges nuns should be denied refuge in Flanders and, in fact, should be severely punished for their rebelliousness. However, once informed of the machinations of Bérulle, the ecclesiastical authorities gave the nuns permission to found a Discalced Carmelite convent in Ypres, West Flanders. On the same day that the Infanta wrote to Fray Domingo about the Bourges nuns, she informed him about the political situation in Flanders. The mercenary Ernst van Mansfeld, although raised a Catholic, had entered into the service of the Protestant United Provinces and launched numerous attacks from his quarters in East Frisia. In the midst of this bedlam, the Infanta was

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distraught that “I have not been able to take care of these nuns because I have so much other business to attend to […] I hope they are good nuns […] but just so everyone is at ease, it is important that we take care of this matter of the confessors, because you will certainly have heard what happened with the English nuns” (Antwerp Archives). The fissures in the order caused by the actions of the English Carmelites had left the Infanta profoundly uneasy.

Meditaciones sobre el Camino de Cristo6 Between 1621 and 1624, Ana composed her little studied Meditaciones sobre el Camino de Cristo (“Meditations on the Path of Christ”), a commentary on the life and death of Christ. Ana’s composition is not a theological treatise, but a thoughtful reflection on alienation and suffering. Like María de San José’s Ramillete de mirra, Meditaciones clothes commentaries on the author’s lived experience in a biblical metaphor. Although María is more specific in her criticisms of her persecutors, Garciálvarez and Doria, both works strive to censure wrongdoers and encourage nuns to remain faithful to Discalced Carmelite ideals. Indirectly, Ana censures the rebellious nuns who put themselves under the Bishop’s authority and praises the Bourges nuns who remained true to the Rule. Ana probably wrote the original version of the Meditaciones between 1606 and 1611, when she was still in France. A later version composed in Antwerp in 1618 includes new material and expands on the old. Ana wrote a third version of the Meditaciones at the request of Tomás de Jesús for an unidentified acquaintance who wanted a commentary on the nails of the Crucifixion and the wounds of Christ (Urkiza, 714). Ana composed the updated essay not only for Tomás’s friend, but also for the sisters, whom she addresses throughout the piece. Given the topic, one might expect a rather somber treatise that focuses on pain and affliction. However, by recalling the anguish Christ endured for them, Ana seeks positive, joyful images to uplift her readers. Instead of scolding or coercing, Christ taught by example, letting people use their free will to opt to follow him. Teresa, who was weak and infirm, did the same, deriving from her frailty extraordinary strength, explains Ana, and she, Ana, will follow their lead. Ana uses several techniques to engage and inspire her audience. As does Santa Teresa, she frequently employs direct address, speaking to the nuns, 6 For a fuller exposition of the Meditaciones, see Mujica, “Guiding the Sisters.”

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the general reader, inanimate objects, or Jesus himself. “How did you dare to drive holes into the precious flesh of Jesus Christ?” she admonishes the nails (OC, 1998, 717). And then, interjecting a comment to Jesus in the middle of her harangue: “You were crueler and harder than the lance, for that object couldn’t do harm, since the harm was already done—You were already dead, my Lord—but you and your coarseness took his life” (OC, 1998, 717). Through the use of direct address, she creates a sense of immediacy and intimacy that transforms her treatise into a conversation, easy and informal, rather than a sermon meant to intimidate. The nails become animate objects that the nuns can relate to on a personal level. By directing many of her comments to the women, she makes them participants in a learning process whose goal is to teach compassion and forgiveness. Ana constructs her Meditations around a paradox: The cruel nails that wound the hands and feet of Christ are actually agents of immeasurable good, for they make possible our salvation. Even though they seem “worthy of odium,” Christ has honored them, and, as a result, all faithful men and women should adore them (OC, 1998, 717). The nails, then, are not really our enemies, but the source of the wounds that serve as our safe harbor in the storm of life. “Let’s not call them cruel,” she exhorts her daughters, for they were only obeying the command of God, which was made out of love, so that we could enjoy eternal life (OC, 1998, 718). The nails opened a pathway in the sacred flesh, and she calls on the sisters to enter through the gate the nails have opened for them. For Ana, the nails are a source of delight whose willingness to play a role in the salvation story the sisters should celebrate. In view of the exhortation that closes the Meditation, the implication seems to be that the forces that lead the sisters astray, that is, toward disobedience, must be forgiven, for they, like the nails, are acting out of ignorance. Yet, in the end, they will strengthen the sisters’ resolve to obey and thus turn out to be a force for good. Ana builds on this paradox with another: Christ accepts His nails and wounds with silence, and, through that silence, speaks volumes, offering the sisters and all people a lesson in humility. “Without speaking you speak, and without acting you work the mysteries you came to perform,” she says, addressing Jesus (OC, 1998, 716). Then, addressing the sisters, she adds: “Where would we find the patience and humility and poverty of spirit and the other virtues to suffer the cross, if Christ hadn’t shown us first?” (OC, 1998, 716). Finally, she addresses Christ again: “Oh, fortunate silence, for through it you shout and preach as an example to the whole world!” (OC, 1998, 717). We are all weak and sinners, Ana tells the sisters, but Christ is the way, the One who, if we follow Him, will give us strength in spite of our

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flaws (OC, 1998, 725). She explains this paradox with the words of Saint Paul: “‘The weaker I am, the stronger I am’” (OC, 1998, 725). Christ himself was weak from physical abuse, yet found strength in the knowledge that He was doing God’s will for the good of humankind. The paradox is more than a literary conceit for Ana; it is an efficacious tool for conveying the unfathomable nature—the mystery—of all spiritual experience. Ana heaps paradox upon paradox to achieve an almost dizzying effect, which leaves the reader in awe of the immense power of Christ to reconcile the irreconcilable. Thus, the nails bring death, but also life. They are “cold, hard iron,” yet bring the warmth of God’s love (OC, 1998, 718). Christ’s silence is a shout. The wounds of Christ drain Him of life, yet they give strength to the faithful, satisfying our thirst and watering the flowers of His garden. Who are these flowers? They are the nuns themselves, the true believers who bring Him delight. We are lost sheep, she tells the sisters, but Christ’s blood transforms us from helpless animals to people who are worthy to sit at His sacred table. From the image of the suffering Christ on the cross, Ana derives a sense of power and vigor and a lesson full of optimism regarding the destiny of humankind. Christ as spouse is, of course, a traditional metaphor, but Ana imbues it with new energy. Christ’s beloved is the Church, that is, the faithful, and, through the Crucifixion, their marriage is sealed with suffering. But the “pain and distain” Christ endures on the cross are, paradoxically, objects of beauty. They are the gifts He gives his bride, signs of His love. They are embellishments for her costume, for she had been “deprived of these riches” (OC, 1998, 719). Christ goes joyously to his wedding bed (tálamo) like a lamb, his feet and hands bound like a sacrificial animal. Yet, this torment constitutes lavish wedding garb and the thorns in His crown are the plumes that bedeck His head. The image is so vivid that we can almost see it, as Ana addresses Christ directly: “the thorns, entering into your precious head, bring forth drops of blood that run over Your divine face like precious jewels, and so, Lord, that’s how you show yourself in public: as a man truly in love” (OC, 1998, 719). And herein lies another paradox: Although Christ is the groom, he obeys his bride, who demands these sacrifices of Him (OC, 1998, 720). Although a man, he succumbs to the will of a woman, not as a courtly knight to a cruel lady, but as a loving husband who seeks the well-being of his wife. The Church demands the Crucifixion because, through Christ’s sacrifice, the faithful will be saved. In yielding to his bride, explains Ana, He does God’s will and sets an example for His followers. In Ana’s hands, Christ becomes a living figure who walks among everyday people, showing His wounds and sharing His love.

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Like Saint Teresa, Ana uses images of material wealth to convey spiritual values: suffering is wedding garb; drops of blood are jewels; thorns are fancy hat plumes. She creates vivid scenes and images, making Christ’s sacrifice real and immediate to her audience. Many of her images are taken from everyday experience with which her audience can easily relate, for example, Christ as a bridegroom in His wedding finery or the Holy Family as a working-class family that must be sustained through the parents’ hard labor. Sometimes, they had nothing to eat, Ana says, almost as if they were neighbors whom she knew personally: “Many days they had to go hungry because neither the Virgin nor Saint Joseph could always find work” (OC, 1998, 722). Interestingly, she depicts Mary as a working woman who does her part in providing for the family, much as Ana’s own peasant mother did. Ana makes Mary the center of many of the scenes she creates: Mary cradles and nurses her infant or shares tender moments with her son just as any other mother might (OC, 1998, 728–729). Ana expresses Mary’s purity by comparing her to a mirror in which not even a speck of dust has ever fallen, yet insists on her flesh-and-blood reality (OC, 1998, 729). She also compares her to a bouquet of flowers,7 a dove without bile, and a great eagle that flies so high that it singes its wings only to renew its plumes.8 This abundance of metaphors creates a sense of confusion that conveys the awe and disorientation of the individual before the divine. Yet, although she amasses metaphors, Ana never loses sight of the flesh-and-blood Mary who not only raises and nourishes Jesus, but also serves as a friend and a guide to the sisters. Often, Ana bases her descriptions on Scripture passages with which she would have been familiar through sermons or inspirational readings. In an allusion to Matthew 13, 54–56, she recreates the voices of the crowds who reject Jesus. However, Scripture merely says, “Where did this man get this wisdom and his miraculous powers? This is the carpenter’s son, surely? […] And they would not accept Him.” In contrast, Ana writes, “Who is this guy, so handsome and able to do great things, and he doesn’t do them? He’s worthless […] He’s a useless man, just the son of a carpenter, and they shook their heads and insulted him” (OC, 1998, 716). Here again, Ana recreates a scene that would have been familiar to her audience: the boorish crowd that marginalizes an obviously superior young man because of his social class and apparent inactivity. 7 María de San José distorts this metaphor by calling her own situation a “ramillete de mirra” (“bouquet of myrrh”). 8 Urkiza notes that this image may come from Jerome’s Regula monachorum, Ch. 18, LP 30, col. 376). See Urkiza, 727.

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What makes it possible for contemporary men and women to connect with these biblical luminaries is faith: “Faith opens our eyes and teaches us the truth” (OC, 1998, 725). Faith enabled the Magi—all pagan kings—to yield to the signs and allow themselves to be guided to Jesus. And faith encompasses another paradox, for, although “you can say that faith is blind,” it is faith that allows us to see clearly (OC, 1998, 726). A shared faith links us to our forefathers and continues to guide us. Ana concludes by reminding the sisters that, although the models provided by Scripture may seem unattainable today, there are modern saints who have reached a degree of perfection: “We have before our eyes, in our own times, saints who are as great as those of the primitive Church, and who rouse us to imitate them” (OC, 1998, 832). They struggled with weakness just as we do, she writes, but, through penitence and the pursuit of virtue, they managed to lead exemplary lives. She cites several saints (some of them not yet canonized) who would be familiar to the nuns, among them Pedro de Alcántara (1499–1562), the ascetic who befriended and supported Teresa when she made her first foundation; Juan de Ávila (1499–1569), an ascetic and reformer who had a wide following in the circle of Teresa and her friend Guiomar de Ulloa; Ignatius of Loyola (1491–1556), founder of the Jesuit order, which provided the first confessors who took Teresa’s mystical experiences seriously; and John of the Cross (1542–1591), Teresa’s collaborator and cofounder of the first Discalced Carmelite friary. These are the “stars” who guide the faithful, but they were also “weak and sickly like us” (OC, 1998, 733). Of course, the culminating figure is Saint Teresa, who shines “above the rest of the stars (OC, 1998, 733). She is the “shining star that always looked toward the sun from the time when she had the use of reason” (OC, 1998, 733). The sun was a common metaphor for God in early modern Europe. The Discalced Carmelites of Antwerp had suffered poverty and persecution during the early years of the foundation, but, when Ana de San Bartolomé concluded her treatise, Teresa had just been canonized. The order had triumphed. Ana ends on a celebratory note, with an exhortation aimed at creating pride and cohesion in the order. Teresa, their Foundress, is a spiritual “superstar”: “In all of Holy Scripture there’s no other woman to be found who has done such things. In short, she is the morning star in which the sun’s rays reverberate and make glow more than all the others” (OC, 1998, 733). As her daughters, Ana reminds the nuns, it is incumbent on them to imitate her. Now, her political intention becomes clear. In view of the “nuns’ revolt” and the present manifestation of disobedience of the Louvain and English nuns, Ana asserts her authority as Teresa’s personal friend and nurse. She reminds her readers of her intimate conversations with Teresa. Of all of Teresa’s virtues,

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obedience was the most salient, she tells the sisters. “I remember that [Teresa] once told me, when speaking about two of our nuns […]‘This sister seems less gifted than the other, but she is the greater [of the two] in my eyes, because she has simple and true obedience’” (OC, 1998, 735). Thus, is it imperative, Ana says, that Discalced Carmelite nuns take their vow of obedience seriously and not follow the pernicious example of the rebellious nuns. Anticipating the same negative response from some of her sisters that she had experienced in France after the Doria affair, she writes: Look, the time of false prophets will come, and they will tell you not to pay any attention to me, that I didn’t know anything, that I was simpleminded and worth nothing, which is true and they’re right about that; I’m ignorant and deserve to be disdained more than any of those who would teach you. But what I’m telling you about this particular subject doesn’t come from my fantasy, but from the love that God has given me for this house and my desire that we all be true daughters of our holy mother Teresa de Jesús. Believe me, if [Teresa] were alive, she’d tell you the same thing. (OC, 1998, 734).

Without mentioning their names, she warns against the kind of rebellion staged by María de San José and Ana de Jesús: “It’s not necessary to get worked up about what the prelates say about if some point in the Constitutions is good or better than some other point” (OC, 1998, 734). What is important is to be obedient because following “false prophets” has already brought harm to the order. In other words, obedience is not only a matter of vows, but of strategy. In order to avoid crises like the ones the community has already experienced, obedience is a wise course of action. Ana concludes by bringing to bear Teresa’s teachings on this matter and warning against prioresses who overstep their authority. Obedience, poverty, and humility are the hallmarks of Discalced Carmelite spirituality, and any infringement jeopardizes the order, she argues. She ends with a prayer that the nuns will remember their vows and go forth with the humility demonstrated by Christ and the Virgin. In this meditation, Ana guides the sisters by calling to mind examples of humility, love, obedience, hope, and faith from Scripture and by providing concrete examples that make the story real and immediate to the nuns. Rather than threatening or frightening them, she attempts to inspire them with the desire to imitate Christ. Rather than macabre symbols, the wounds and nails become models of devotion and sacrifice for the nuns to follow. These paradigms of good behavior are not abstractions, but have applications in the everyday world. Ana offers several examples of modern saints, men and

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women in living memory, who faced daunting opposition yet lived their lives in imitation of Christ. Foremost among them is Teresa, whose lead Ana endeavors to follow. The political implications are clear: Just as Teresa emulated Christ and Ana emulates Teresa, the nuns of this generation should emulate Ana, accepting her as their leader and teacher and rejecting those who endeavor to delude or distract them. The English sisters have taken a mistaken path, while the Bourges sisters have remained true to the Teresian charism.

Works Cited Primary Sources Ana de San Bartolomé, Bta. Obras completas. Ed. Julián Urkiza. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 1998. Antwerp Archives. Karmelklooster. Antwerp, Belgium.

Secondary Sources Bowden, Caroline and James F. Kelly, eds. “Introduction.” The English Convents in Exile, 1600-1800: Communities, Culture and Identity. London and New York: Routledge, 2016. 1–15. Morgain, Stéphane-Marie. Pierre de Bérulle et les Carmelites de France. Paris: Cerf, 1995. Mujica, Barbara. “Guiding the Sisters: Carmelite Suavedad and Ana de San Bartolomé’s Meditaciones sobre el camino de Cristo.” The Sword: A Journal of Historical, Spiritual, and Contemporary Carmelite Issues 77 (2017). 1: 91–105. ——. Teresa de Ávila, Lettered Woman. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009. Pando-Canteli, María Jesús. “Expatriates. Women’s Communities, Mobility and Cosmopolitanism in Early Modern Europe: English and Spanish Nuns in Flanders.” Women Telling Nations. Ed. Amelia Sanz, Francesca Scott, and Suzan van Dijk. Leiden: Brill, 2014. 85–101. Rohrbach, Peter-Thomas, O.C.D. Journey to Carith: The Sources and Story of the Discalced Carmelites. Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 1966. Velasco, Sherry. Lesbians in Early Modern Spain. Nashville: Nashville University Press, 2011. Vermeir, René. “The Infanta Isabel Clara Eugenia and the Papal Court, 1621-33.” Isabella Clara Eugenia. Female Sovereignty in the Courts of Madrid and Brussels. Ed. Cordula van Wyhe. London: Paul Holberton Publishing, 2011. 332–351. Weber, Alison. Teresa de Ávila and the Rhetoric of Femininity. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990.

12. The Ones Who Stayed Behind: The Letters of Catalina de Cristo to Ana de San Bartolomé Abstract The letters of Catalina de Cristo (Muñico), a close friend of Ana de San Bartolomé, provide insight into how nuns in Spain experienced their sisters’ forays into foreign lands—their anxiety and strategies for coping. They also provide some rare examples of two-way correspondence between nuns. Aware of the brutality of the wars in Flanders, Catalina became apprehensive when she didn’t hear from Ana. She began to see Ana as a martyr who, like earlier martyrs, would be rewarded for her sacrifices. Catalina saw herself as an intercessor between Ana and God, a vehicle through which God conveyed messages. As nuns routinely shared their letters, other nuns read Ana’s missives and often attached their own messages to Catalina’s. Keywords: Catalina de Cristo (Muñico), Ana de San Bartolomé (García), early modern women’s letter-writing

In our own highly connected age of jet airplanes, Skype, iPhones, and email, it is hard to imagine the anxiety of heretofore cloistered nuns setting off for unknown and perhaps hostile lands. Several were close to 60, had never left Spain, and had lived in convents their entire adult lives. In an era when women did not usually venture far from home, these nuns would have to make their way over rough terrain where bandits might lurk, accompanied only by a few unarmed priests. In their new environment, they would be isolated by language, custom, and perhaps, religion. They would have to leave behind intimate friends whom they would probably never see again. For those who remained in Spain, the departure of their sisters was no less traumatic than for the travelers, some of whom were headed for war zones.

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_ch12

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Those who stayed at home had no way of knowing if their sisters were safe. Letters might come, but, then again, they might not. One of Ana’s most devoted friends was Catalina de Cristo (Muñico), a lay sister who professed on 20 April 1584 at San José de Ávila, where she lived until her death in 1627. The Ávila convent was of special importance to Ana, as she herself had professed there and had many friends among the inhabitants. A collection of letters housed in the Antwerp convent from Catalina de Cristo to Ana de San Bartolomé gives us some idea of the apprehension felt by those who stayed behind. It also provides a rare example of two-way correspondence, that is, letters from Ana to Catalina and also from Catalina to Ana. The collection is somewhat disorganized, with folios not always clearly marked, but it provides invaluable information about how some nuns experienced their sisters’ foray into foreign lands. Catalina’s missives reveal the tremendous affection the Ávila nuns felt for Ana de San Bartolomé, their anxiety about her well-being, and some of their strategies for coping with this anxiety. The Ávila nuns would have heard that the northern territories were a very dangerous place. The extant correspondence between Ana and Catalina covers roughly from 1617 to 1624, a period during which Flanders was under continuous siege. Ana’s letters to Catalina reveal her sense of alienation and anxiety in Antwerp, a city that many feared could be destroyed at any moment. Sometime between 1617 and 1620, Ana wrote to Catalina describing the difficult situation in Flanders and begging her to pray for her and her companions. They needed the support of their sisters in Ávila “so that I and these sisters and brides [of Christ] can work to please Him in the midst of the many troubles they [the Protestants] cause Him” (OC, 1998, 1225). Like Teresa, Ana saw prayer as a means of combatting heresy; through prayer, she believed, it might be possible to bring the Protestants back to the Church. Therefore, she asks Catalina to pray “for those who are damning themselves” (OC, 1998, 1225). In 1622, Ambrogio Spinola, the Italian General serving the King of Spain, lost the battle of Bergen op Zoom to German mercenaries serving under Mansfeld and Christian of Brunswick. On 28 October 1622, months after Spinola’s defeat, Ana wrote to Catalina: “My dearest sister, in other letters I will write more and give more details about things over here, for the wars are going poorly; people here are highly distressed” (OC, 1998, 1418). Such bad news must have greatly upset Catalina and her sisters, with whom she shared Ana’s letters, but at least she knew that Ana was still alive. The unreliability of the mails was a source of distress for both the nuns abroad and those who remained in Spain. As we have seen, letters were often lost or destroyed due to bad weather, bandits, or negligence, contributing to

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the nuns’ frustration and worry. On 2 September 1614, Ana writes to Luisa Guillamas, one of her close friends in Ávila, “I don’t know what’s going on with these letters. I have answered all of yours and also those of my Mother [Inés de Jesús, prioress of San José de Ávila], and you complain that you haven’t received an answer from me […] I’m tired of writing and writing and of your always telling me that you don’t receive the things I send” (OC, 1998, 1017). Because the post was unpredictable, Catalina tried whenever possible to send letters with a friend. She writes sometime in 1624, “[…] but I’m in a hurry because [he] wants to leave now […] this letter will go more securely [with him]. I write so many to my Mother that get lost. I’d like to write to my Teresa, but because he’s in such a hurry, there’s no time […]” (Antwerp Archives).1 She would rather cut her letter-writing short than send her missive through the mail. The long periods of silence were difficult for both the nuns abroad and those in Spain. On 21 July 1614, Ana writes to Catalina del Espíritu Santo, who was probably at the Carmel in Barcelona, “I haven’t seen a letter from you in more than four years; they must be getting lost” (OC, 1998, 1004). On c. 22 July 1614, Ana writes to another Carmelite sister in Ávila—possibly Isabel Bautista, the subprioress—complaining about her silence: It’s true I get angry sometimes because I’m always writing to my mothers and sisters, and even though I’m alone here and nevertheless take the trouble to write because of the love I have and will always have for my house and mothers, among all of you no one will give me the consolation of answering me and telling me about your health, and if the prioress can’t do it, let her command some other nun to do it, since my love for you deserves it. (OC, 1998, 1007)

For Ana, writing from Flanders was a particular chore, as she had no Spanishspeaking secretary in Antwerp: “If I had someone to write for me in Spanish, [the Antwerp nuns] would all be delighted to write to that house [in Ávila], which they love and respect” (OC, 1998, 1007). However, rather than dictate, Ana had to write in her own hand. By 1614, she was 65 years old and suffering from several infirmities, which made the task extremely difficult. In addition to problems with the mail, silence could be due to other causes. It could be an ominous sign for the nuns in Spain, who were unsure about how to interpret it. Had something happened to Ana de San Bartolomé? Was she ill, under attack, or worse? News of the Protestant upheavals in 1

Thérèse de Jésus (Dompré).

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Antwerp trickled back to Ávila through letters and visitors to the convent. Without confirmation of the safety of the sisters abroad, what were the nuns in Spain to think? When Catalina failed to receive letters, she often relied on reassurances about Ana she received in visions that she believed came directly from God. As we saw earlier, one of the greatest causes of anxiety for the nuns who left Spain was the fear of being forgotten. Ana de San Bartolomé begins a letter to an unidentified nun in Spain, “Mother, don’t forget me […]” (Antwerp 1618–1621, OC, 1363). However, not only those who left their homeland but also those who stayed behind feared being forgotten. María de la Concepción, Catalina’s companion in the Ávila Carmel, writes to Ana: “we’ll see each other in Heaven, don’t forget me […]” (Antwerp Archives). Catalina’s sorrow is almost palpable in her letter to Ana of June 1622: “My dearest Mother, there are no words with which to stress the grief I feel at the thought that you have forgotten me so much that your Reverence hasn’t answered the many letters [that I’ve sent you]. A year of my sins wouldn’t cost as much as the complaining I’ve done to our Lord […] They’ve told me that you must be someplace where you can’t write, but His Majesty told me that you were well. I told Him that He must have made you very tired, but He responded that He loved your Reverence dearly, and since this is the case, please don’t exhaust yourself because I love you so tenderly, more than any other person, and this my Mother will see, and Our Lord, who knows what is in people’s hearts, will show it” (Antwerp Archives). And in a letter dated 11 February 1624, Catalina writes: “don’t forget me, that should be the main thing” (Antwerp Archives). What binds women together in a religious order is precisely the sense of community and sisterhood that is fostered by the routine interaction of convent life, and so it is not surprising that separation often provoked a profound sense of grief. On the other hand, letters from abroad caused intense joy. The Ávila nuns treasured and revered them. María de la Concepción writes to Ana in 1621: “My Mother, I esteem so highly your lines, that I will hold them dear […] and I hold your letter as a great relic” (Antwerp Archives). In another letter, she writes: “May God compensate you for the charity you have done me with your letter, which I have and hold as a great relic, which it is for me” (Antwerp Archives). María de la Concepción adds the following note at the end of one of Ana’s letters: “Mother of mine, I esteem the lines [you write to me] more than I can express because I esteem you in my heart and I commend you to God; I hold your letter to be a great relic, for that’s what it is to me […] we truly love you and never tire of commending you to God. May He remain in your heart. Amen” (Antwerp Archives).

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By the early 1620s, Ana had become a veritable hero to her sisters in Ávila. In a florid missive dated c. 17 June 1621, Catalina expresses her great love and longing for Ana. She depicts Ana as a kind of mystical intermediary, a soul that has been favored by Christ and, by virtue of her great affection for the spiritual daughters she left behind in Ávila, shares Christ’s light with them: […] His Majesty says that the soul who esteems God is His Paradise and His delight, and she in whom the Blessed Trinity resides, it’s as though she too enjoys Paradise. It is so close that she can taste it, for it doesn’t come down [from Heaven] so concealed that my Mother won’t see its light and splendor and fire, which can’t be hidden because of the intense effects that its light causes, and the Mother of my soul sees it, for here we enjoy the soul of your Reverence with those [same] magnificent favors as we will enjoy there in His celestial Kingdom. Mother of my soul, tell me if you love me, for I love you more and more, and so I speak to you with great love and I always reveal my heart to you, and I will do so until we see each other with God, which will be sooner than we think. And so, if I went first, I wouldn’t [want to] be absent from your prayers, and this and much more I will do for your Reverence, wherever you are, whether you’re dead or alive. Let this remain very clear between us, for this is the effect of this love that we share in Christ. (Antwerp Archives)

By means of conventional metaphors often used to describe the Virgin, Catalina refers to her friend’s heart as a temple and a garden: […] her heart is His living temple, where the King takes pleasure, and it is an orchard of delicate scent from a variety of flowers of such perfect fragrance and such great beauty that they sweep you away. They are the virtues, and this intense desire that my Mother has to give a thousand lives for Him emanates from her love. She was so anxious to suffer for the honor of her celestial Spouse that she went away. Her love carried my Mother off to those [dangerous] places, where she succeeded in winning souls for God through her intervention, and she has suffered hardships with courage and goodwill. And the main thing about my Mother is that where others usually lose, my Mother won, and it’s for that reason that God loves her so much and appreciates her as much as He did His Apostles. (Antwerp Archives)

For Catalina, Ana is a true champion of the faith who saves souls through prayer: “Your deeds are those that God greatly takes into account. And

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your charity, so perfect, [serves] the health of souls, and so many souls through the deeds and prayers of your Reverence may be saved. He has set so many crowns aside for you and your good example, and those gardens and monasteries [of your soul] are palaces of the Holy Spirit […]” (Antwerp Archives). Jodi Bilinkoff has argued that, for Teresa, founding convents was a means of achieving an apostolate. Teresa yearned to be able to proselytize and save souls as male priests did, asserts Bilinkoff. She looked with envy at conquistadors, such as her brothers, who were able to spread the Word of God and win lands for God (“Woman,” 296). Carole Slade suggests that Teresa aspired to follow the example of Mary Magdalene, whom she saw as a female apostle working to bring souls to Christ (“Social Reformer,” 95). Ana de San Bartolomé surpassed Teresa in that she really did foray into enemy territory to defend the faith. For Catalina, she is a crusader and a living martyr. She is the “great guardian of God’s honor, for she keeps in her soul the precious virtue of humility, finding solace in the secret mortification of accepting the cross, in which she is called to take delight. She is the chosen bride, filled with the precious Word of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, for all three persons [of the Trinity] want her for their marriage bed […]” (Antwerp Archives). Catalina concludes with a wish for Ana’s continued success: “May He give you more and more, in proportion to my desire. And I will write to your daughters as our Mother commands, and don’t neglect to write me always, no matter who is elected prioress, for they all love you and so much more so because our Lord commands it, and may you live a thousand years, the most insignificant slave of your Reverence, on the 17th of June, Catalina de Cristo” (Antwerp Archives). Catalina sees Ana as one of God’s chosen, and she sees herself as a kind of intercessor between Ana and God, a vehicle through which God conveys messages to Ana: “[…] on holy Thursday the Lord told me that your Reverence was his chosen bride and that He would therefore place you on the marriage bed with the Groom among the virgins. On holy Friday, the Lord told me that through my prayer He would fill your heart with His precious blood […]” (5 April 1624, Antwerp Archives). Catalina writes that God told her that He was keeping Ana by the Column so that she could partake of Christ’s sweat and blood, which is “precious and rich nourishment” (5 April 1624, Antwerp Archives).2 Ana’s martyrdom is one of Catalina’s preferred subjects. Marcel Bouix, Ana’s nineteenth-century biographer, includes a commentary at the end of 2 Reference to the Flagellation of Christ, also known as Christ at the Column, an incident from the Passion of Christ. According to Scripture, Christ was tied to a pillar and whipped.

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his edition of the Antwerp Autobiography on revelations to Catalina about her friend’s situation in Antwerp. According to Bouix, Jesus appeared to Catalina and conveyed to her Ana’s interior crucifixion. He told her how much He valued Ana’s resignation, humility, and patience, and He commanded her to write to Ana using words that He himself would dictate (Bouix, 300). Catalina’s letter reads: I love you so much and I want to regale you and tell you [things] and show my respect, for the Lord has shown me your difficulties and troubles and He told me to tell you these words, but let the Lord say them, let Him say them and you receive them from His angelical mouth, for all of them are spoken to your Reverence by the Holy Spirit: ‘beloved daughter, daughter beloved, look at how I love you, look at it, just look at it, for because of the love between the world and my Father, He sent me to drink a bitter chalice. From the day of my birth, I’ve tasted the cross. My sacred flesh began to suffer, and has never stopped day or night […] I did my Apostles the favor of sharing my cross with them, and like me, they were mistreated. As for my mother, the largest part of my suffering fell to her; she was the Queen of martyrs, her martyrdom having been incomparably above that of all the others. I love my daughter Ana so much that I place her, through her suffering, at the level of my Apostles. This is a gage of my love, that I send her so many trials and tribulations.’ (c. 9 May 1624, Antwerp Archives)

Catalina describes herself as Jesus’s messenger to Ana and as a visionary whom God has favored with supernatural knowledge of Ana’s suffering. In fact, she believes, God reveals Ana’s tribulations to her far more explicitly than Ana herself. Catalina elevates Ana not only to the status of an Apostle, but to that of the Virgin, comparing her friend’s suffering to Mary’s. According to Bouix, the Virgin and the recently canonized Saint Teresa appeared to Catalina and ordered her to tell Ana of their great love for her and of their promise to sustain her in her trials and tribulations. They assured Ana, through Catalina, that God would compensate her for her suffering: “They told me their love for you was very great, and they ordered me to make this known to you and to assure you that they would assist you in all your sufferings and tribulations; that they would be your most faithful Mothers until the end, giving you always the support of their favor and their consolation; that in the future life they would give you thousands of favors […]” (Bouix, 115). Another time, according to Catalina, Jesus came to her and conveyed the messages that God would protect all her nuns and that “He had reserved [for you] the martyr’s crown; that without having shed your

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blood, you have been a martyr in your will, and that your life has been a long martyrdom” (Bouix, 115). Few people can live in imitation of Christ, writes Catalina in an undated letter, but, she affirms, He has told her that Ana does, which is why He appreciates and loves her so much. Several of Catalina’s letters to Ana conclude with a prayer that God bless her in her suffering. Bouix explains that Ana received these letters in Antwerp at the height of her travails, and “[t]hey dissipated the clouds which enveloped her soul, and restored it to serenity” (115). Not all of Catalina’s letters deal with spiritual matters. Because correspondence served to maintain the sense of community among sisters who were separated by distance, many of them have to do with everyday conventual life. They are filled with news of mutual friends, and the tone is generally lively and intimate. For example, in one letter Catalina writes about Ana’s nieces, who “are very pretty, like angels, and praise God, they are highly inclined toward religious things” (Antwerp Archives). Of course, health is a major topic. The missives from Ávila show an active concern for Ana’s health and that of the other nuns in the Flemish convent. Often, Catalina reports on illness in the Spanish convent. For example, in a letter of 1621, she tells Ana that “we have many sick nuns, and quite a few will soon go with God” (Antwerp Archives). She goes on to say that Ana de los Ángeles is close to death, but Ana de la Trinidad and Catalina de Jesús are getting along. She also mentions that Sister Pretonila Bautista died on Easter and Ana de los Ángeles is very ill and may die soon. In a letter written in 1622, right before Teresa’s canonization, Catalina writes that some of the novices are suffering from quartan fever. After the signature, she adds, “I already had written that part when I received your lines, which I greatly appreciate, and it consoles me to know about your health, Mother, and I thank you, for it gives me infinite consolation” (Antwerp Archives). Curiously, she mentions the canonization only briefly at the end of this long, newsy letter. She begins another letter, written 11 February 1624, with a long prayer for the well-being of Ana, and then goes on, “I am healthy, thanks be to God, and Sister Trinidad and Catalina de Jesús are doing okay. All the mothers have been ill. They commend to you our sister Ana de los Ángeles and Sister San José, and María de Jesús, Father Mena’s niece; they’re all ill, including Isabel Bautista” (Antwerp Archives). Catalina seems almost obsessed with Ana’s health, and one can understand why. With Ana living so far away and in such terrible conditions, Catalina can never be certain if she is even alive. The only shield she can offer against the dangers in those distant lands is prayer. “I went to the little portal where the statue of the Holy Child Jesus

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and His mother is found and I asked Him as a Christmas gift for your life, so, your Reverence, don’t fail to satisfy my desire and maintain your health” (Antwerp Archives). Modern medicine has elucidated the psychological effects of separation from loved ones. The most prevalent is persistent anxiety, which manifests itself especially among women.3 Although there is no reason to assume Catalina’s distress reached the level of a disorder, it is clear that she and the other Ávila nuns lived in a state of constant apprehension about Ana’s safety and health. Catalina’s letters include updates not only about nuns but also about mutual friends and goings-on beyond the convent walls. The Guillamas family, old friends of Teresa, had daughters in the Ávila convent and was a recurring subject. For example, Catalina mentions that Francisco Guillamas is making her a statue of Saint Bartholomew, “so that each one can have in her church an altar [dedicated to the] one of your Reverence’s name [San Bartolomé],” which will cost “quite a few ducats.” Ana should send the money along with some religious images, she writes. And, she adds, “forgive me that your Reverence is the one who has to pay for everything” (Antwerp Archives). As poor as the Antwerp convent was, San José de Ávila was apparently poorer. In another letter, Catalina notes that Francisco Guillamas and his wife are in great need. She asks Ana to pray for them and to send them some religious images, as they are old friends. On May 16, in a letter with no mentioned year, Catalina informs Ana of the convent elections: “I don’t know who will be elected prioress, but I think it will be Inés de Jesús. I don’t know for sure, but I think it would be good because she’s someone who speaks clearly, and I really love her. I love Christ so much, that I trust in this love so that anything He orders will be suitable, and so I hold in my heart an extraordinary satisfaction and happiness” (Antwerp Archives). In another letter, she mentions the political problems that plague the order: Many of the nuns are unhappy because of the controversies over the English convent and the position taken by Tomás de Jesús. In this letter, too, Catalina mentions Teresa’s canonization only in passing, at the end. Most of the subsequent letters are concerned with the goings-on in the convent. On 22 June 1622, Catalina writes of the improvements they are making to the house and remarks that everything is running so smoothly that “the house is a real paradise” (Antwerp Archives). On several occasions, she asks for images or other gifts, although, because some text is missing, it is not clear whether she wanted Ana or someone else to send them. She 3 “Separation Anxiety Disorder: Top Five Symptons,”Newmax, 26 October 2010, http://www. newsmax.com/FastFeatures/Separation-anxiety-disorder-symptoms/2010/10/26/id/374886

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complains: “I’m asking for a crèche […] there are no images and I’m very devoted to the most holy Nativity” (1624, Antwerp Archives). In other letters, she speaks of the beautiful gifts Ana has sent—the religious images for Francisco Guillamas, a statue of San Bartholomew for the convent, and other objects (1624, Antwerp Archives). On 11 February, she mentions “three statues of the Child, a half a dozen crosses, and the image of Our Lady, all from the hand of your Reverence. I thanked the Lord with tears and I asked him again to reward you” (Antwerp Archives). Comments such as these show that not only Catalina, but also Ana was struggling to maintain the unity of the Ávila community. Ana’s gifts of goods and money and her sensitivity to the needs of the sisters back home demonstrate how essential the connection between the Spanish and Flemish convents was to all these nuns—those who traveled abroad as well as those who stayed behind. Ana’s concern for the community extended not only to the nuns, but also to the priests who guided and confessed them. Likewise, Catalina was anxious to hear about the priests who attended to the Flemish convents, particularly Tomás de Jesús, who was summoned back to Rome in 1621 to serve as Definitor General. In the closing paragraph of a letter from Catalina dated 17 June 1621, she writes: “I’m so desirous to know about my Father, if he’s been recalled or if he’s there. I ask God that your Reverence put this letter into his hands when you see him, for he remains in Christ in my heart” (Antwerp Archives). Given Fray Tomás’s central role in the secession of the English Carmel in Antwerp, Catalina is rather circumspect in her inquiry, avoiding any mention of the circumstances surrounding the recall. Letters were a communal phenomenon. They were routinely passed around the community and even shared with friends outside the convent. Often, they were read aloud at mealtime in the refectory. Sometimes, others beside the recipient contributed to the response; it was not unusual for Catalina’s sisters to tack notes onto her letters to Ana. For example, at the end of one missive, Ana de San Alberto writes: “In order not to multiply letters, I’ll add these lines. My Mother, since I’ve written before, I won’t say much, only to express the great desire I have to know how your Reverence is, for this winter is very bitter in these parts” (Antwerp Archives). The abundance of notes such as these evinces the collective nature of correspondence in early modern convents. These letters present numerous difficulties. Catalina wrote from margin to margin and filled in all the remaining space. Often, she wrote along the miniscule edge or on the back flap of the page folded into an envelope. The ink has passed through the paper, and, since Catalina wrote on both sides, some words are illegible. As is typical of the period, spelling is not uniform;

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punctuation, tildes, and capital letters are usually absent. Confusion exists between j and g and several other pairs of characters. Often, symbols are used for words, such as a X with an o above it for Cristo. Many words are left incomplete and some are routinely written with missing letters, such as muho for mucho. Words are often repeated, without it being clear whether this is deliberate. Sometimes, words are joined together or separated in the middle gratuitously. The handwriting is uneven and challenging to read. Many letters are not dated or are dated only with the month and day. Furthermore, the letters are not always organized in folders in any particular order, and folio numbers are often missing. Worm holes, ink drippings, and crossed-out words hinder the researcher. Yet, the very messiness of these letters betrays a certain urgency. Catalina and her sisters were eager to communicate and took advantage of every centimeter of paper to do so. This, as well as the content, conveys the anxiety of those who stayed behind.

Works Cited Primary Sources Ana de San Bartolomé, Bta. Obras completas. Ed. Julián Urkiza. Burgos: Monte Carmelo, 1998. Antwerp Archives. Karmelklooster. Antwerp, Belgium.

Secondary Sources Bilinkoff, Jodi. “Woman with a Mission: Teresa of Ávila and the Apostolic Model.” Modelli di sanità e modelli di comportamento. Ed. Giulia Barone, et al. Turin: Rosenberg and Sellier, 1994. 295–305. Bouix, Marcel, ed. Autobiographie de la Vénérable Mère Anne de Saint-Barthélemi. Paris: J. Lecoffre, 1869. “Separation Anxiety Disorder: Top Five Symptons,”Newmax, 26 October 2010, http://www.newsmax.com/FastFeatures/Separation-anxiety-disordersymptoms/2010/10/26/id/374886 (Accessed 10/12/1025). Slade, Carole. “St. Teresa of Ávila as a Social Reformer.” Mysticism and Social Transformation. Ed. Janet K. Ruffing. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2004. 91–103.

Conclusion Abstract Personal writing such as letters tells us how individuals experienced historical developments. The letters discussed in this book provide insight into the psyches of particular persons involved in the Carmelite expansion, notably María de San José, Ana de Jesús, and Ana de San Bartolomé. Not all the convents founded by María and the two Anas survive. São Alberto was closed in the nineteenth century, after the Portuguese civil war. Influenced by the Enlightenment, Emperor Joseph II closed the Belgian convents. The Antwerp community went to Lanherne in Cornwall. The Brussels nuns migrated to Paris, arriving just before the French Revolution abolished religious communities. Yet, many convents were reestablished in Europe, and others were founded in the Americas. Keywords: María de San José, Ana de Jesús, Ana de San Bartolomé, French Revolution, Discalced Carmelites and the Enlightenment, early modern women’s letter-writing

History books tell us what happened. They recount recorded events, with dates, names of participants, victories and losses—always from a particular perspective and sometimes with outright bias. Personal writing such as letters and diaries tell us, in ways not afforded by other means, how what happened was experienced by individuals. The letters discussed in this book provide insight into the psyches of particular persons involved in the Carmelite expansion. They reveal how these persons interpreted and coped with the political and personal unheaval that the expansion entailed. Like Teresa de Ávila, the women included here used letters as a vehicle for self-fashioning, presenting themselves as compliant, tough, vulnerable, needy, or victimized depending on the recipient and the situation. Consequently, not all of these letters offer an accurate depiction of the writer’s psychological or emotional state at the time she was writing. María de San José does not express her hurt and anguish when she communicates

Mujica, B., Women Religious and Epistolary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform: The Disciples of Teresa de Ávila. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789463723435_concl

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with Doria in the same way as she does when she writes to her spiritual sisters, and Ana de Jesús does not write to ecclesiastical authorities with the same candor as to her friend Beatriz de la Concepción. Ana de San Bartolome’s later missives to Pierre Bérulle are cautious and guarded, very different from her letters of the same time period to Tomás de Jesús, which are much franker. Yet, taken as a whole, this epistolary corpus provides us with considerable understanding of the minds and spirits of the women who took the Teresian charism to foreign lands. The sparsity of extant letters by María de San José speaks volumes about the impact of this outspoken nun, considered so subversive that her missives had to be burned. The letters that do remain reveal an undying rage against Doria and his cohort, a passion that continued to dominate María’s thoughts until the end of her life. Her 1597 letter to an unidentified Carmelite nun recounts her physical and psychological deterioration due, in part, to mistreatment by her adversaries. María’s letters to Teutónio de Bragança, Archbishop of Évora, portray her as an obedient daughter, yet a tough negotiator who resists her superior’s efforts to place her in a difficult situation. Other letters reveal a warm and tender relationship with her own nuns, with the Clarissas she helped resettle after their escape from Flanders, and with other personal friends. The letters of Ana de Jesús depict her evolution from an enthusiastic pioneer into a lonely and frustrated foundress whose separation from her friend Beatriz and ordeals in France and Flanders left her depressed. Through her letters, we feel her exasperation over the extreme cold and the scarcity of necessities such as firewood, food, and adequate housing. We share her yearning for Spain and her fear of being forgotten by her Spanish friends. Her descriptions of the ailments of her old age capture poignantly the physical decline of a once healthy, vibrant woman reduced to inactivity. Ana de San Bartolomé left the most substantial corpus of epistolary writing of the three. She wrote about the peculiarities of the French and Flemish, her friendship with the Parisian nuns and their duplicity, her feelings of inadequacy among her educated, aristocratic sisters, and her fear of war in the Low Countries. Her most moving letters are perhaps those in which she expresses her sense of betrayal by Ana de Jesús, Bérulle, and, particularly, Anne of the Ascension. Equally poignant are the letters of Catalina de Cristo, whose fear for the safety of her friend in Antwerp became obsessive. Other writers contribute to this story, too. The letters of Brétigny express his unbridled enthusiasm for the Carmelite project. Those of Bérulle convey his disdain for the Spaniards, who couldn’t even provide him with a proper

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mount when he visited Spain or decide which nuns to send to France. He is especially aggravated with Francisco de la Madre de Dios, whose mindboggling obstinance threatened to prevent the Paris foundation. Of particular interest is Isabel Clara Eugenia’s letter, which describes the invasion by Protestant forces so graphically and powerfully that we can almost sense the approaching soldiers and hear them scaling the walls of the castle. Letter-writing was a centerpiece of early modern convent life. It was a means of conducting business, striving to maintain cohesiveness in a quickly expanding order, combatting loneliness, and expressing sentiments to which outsiders would usually not be privy. Letters are a window into the minds and hearts of people removed from us by culture, time, and place. The Discalced Carmelite nuns who took the reform to Portugal, France, and the Low Countries sought to leave a lasting legacy, but not all the convents mentioned in this book survive. At the end of the civil war in Portugal (1824–1834), all male religious orders were abolished. Friaries were closed, the properties sold, and the assets transferred into the Public Treasury. Nuns were allowed to stay in their communities until the last one died, but, within a few decades, convents such as São Alberto vanished. The same fate almost befell the convents of the Holy Roman Empire, which then included Flanders. Under the influence of the French Enlightenment, Emperor Joseph II sought to impose “enlightened absolutism,” which held that rulers should govern as despots for their subjects’ well-being. In Joseph’s view, priests and nuns were a blight on society, especially those belonging to contemplative orders, which, he believed, contributed nothing to the realm. One by one, the convents closed. The Antwerp community went to Lanherne in Cornwall. The Brussels nuns migrated to Paris, arriving just before the French Revolution unleashed a bloodbath, of which priests and nuns were among the principal targets. Yet, eventually, the order recovered, and, by the end of the nineteenth century, many convents had been reestablished. Today, Discalced Carmelite life flourishes in many parts of Europe and the Americas. The Antwerp convent, where I researched much of the material for this book, sitting at a table under the watchful eye of Ana de San Bartolomé, whose portrait hangs on the wall, still exists on the Rue Rosier.



About the Author

Bárbara Mujica is a Professor Emerita of Spanish literature at Georgetown University, where she taught early modern Spanish literature with a specialization in the Spanish mystics, women’s writing, and Spanish theater. Her most recent scholarly books are Women Writers of Early Modern Spain: Sophia’s Daughters (Yale University Press, 2004); Teresa de Avila, Lettered Woman (Vanderbilt University Press, 2008); Shakespeare and the Spanish Comedia: Essays in Honor of Susan L. Fischer (Bucknell University Press, 2013); A New Anthology of Early Modern Spanish Theater: Play and Playtext (Yale University Press, 2014); and Collateral Damage: Women Write about War (University of Virginia Press 2020). She is founder and editor of Comedia Performance, a journal devoted to early modern Spanish theater. At Georgetown, she was awarded a Presidential Medal, the School of Languages and Linguistics Service Medal, and the Dean’s Medal for Excellence in Teaching. Dr. Mujica is also a fiction writer and essayist. Her novel Frida (Overlook Press, 2001) was an international bestseller that appeared in eighteen languages and was a Book-of-the-Month Club alternate. Her novel Sister Teresa (Overlook Press, 2007) was adapted for the stage at the Actors’ Studio in Los Angeles; the play premiered in November 2013. Her novel I Am Venus (Overlook 2013) was a winner in the Maryland Writers’ Association National Fiction Competition and is a quarter-finalist in the StageCraft Cinematic Novel Competition (2020). Her other prizes for fiction include the E. L. Doctorow International Fiction Competition, the Pangolin Prize, the Theodore Christian Hoepfner Award for short fiction, and three Maryland Writers’ Association awards for short fiction.

Index This Index includes topics and names of people mentioned in this book. It omits bibliographical material in the Works Cited sections or in parentheses in the body of the text. Acarie, Barbe 139-140, 143, 147, 149-151, 159, 160, 162, 164, 237, 239, 241, 246, 247, 255, 294 Agrippa von Nettescheim, Henricus 12 Alba, Duke of See Álvarez de Toledo, Fernando. Albert of Austria 64, 65, 66, 80, 91, 92, 95, 168, 169, 173, 174, 175, 176, 179, 182, 197, 198, 263, 282 Alberta da Madre de Deos 85 Alumbradismo 41 Álvarez de Toledo, Fernando (Duke of Alba) 79, 80, 174 Álvarez, Baltasar 76 Álvarez, Hernando 41 Ana de Jesús (Lobrera) 9, 10, 17, 18, 127, 135-204 and Acarie, Barbe 140, 159, 164, 241 and Ana de San Bartolomé 112, 127, 137, 143, 152, 155, 157, 159, 161-167, 169, 177, 201-202, 208, 225, 237, 238, 239, 240-244, 248, 253, 254, 255, 256-257, 262, 264, 277, 290, 294, 301, 315, 316 and Beatriz de la Concepción 157, 164, 169, 173, 175, 178, 180-185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 196, 200, 290, 316 and Bérulle, Pierre de 137, 143, 152, 153, 155, 157, 169, 160, 161, 162, 164, 165, 166, 169, 191, 237, 240, 241, 242, 248, 253, 255, 316 and the Brussels foundation 154, 168-169, 173, 175-176 and Carvajal, Luisa de 192-194, 273 death 202, 242 debates at the Sorbonne 155 and Discalced friars 138, 139, 159, 169, 190, 191, 192, 194-196, 242, 243, 278 (See also Confessors.) and epistolary writing 10, 17, 18, 112, 114, 144, 145, 155-157, 160, 161, 162, 163, 166, 168, 169, 180-187, 188-202 in France 137-169 and Guevara, Diego de 155, 156, 157, 169, 177, 178, 185, 193, 196, 198, 199 illness 198-202 and John of the Cross 143, 144, 145 journey to France 152-154, 158 and the “nuns’ revolt” 25, 28, 79, 93, 95, 108, 154, 241 (See also general heading: “Nuns’ Revolt”.) and Paulo V 194 and Teresa de Ávila 18, 143-146, 147, 153, 156, 161, 178, 179, 189, 190, 197, 200, 202 youth 148 Ana de los Ángeles (Wasteels) 219, 220, 270, 310

Ana de San Bartolomé (La Bartolomé): and Ana de Jesús 143-146, 147, 153, 156, 161, 178, 179, 189, 190, 197, 200, 202, 208, 240-242, 253, 254, 255, 256-257, 262, 264, 277, 290, 294, 301, 315, 316 and Anne of the Ascension 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 255, 261, 262, 268, 273-278, 281, 287, 290, 316 and the Antwerp foundation 190, 201, 242, 261-278, 281 autobiographies 207-210, 213, 216, 218, 221, 242 and Bérulle, Pierre de 225, 229, 233, 237, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243-257, 261, 262, 281, 292, 295, 316 Conferencias espirituales 217, 258, 278 death 281 Defensa de la herencia Teresiana 162, 169 Note 26, 243 epistolary writing 207, 218-221, 238-240, 274 financial issues 270-271 in France 237-258 Gallicisms 237, 257-258 infirmarian 207, 215, 221-234 and John of the Cross (relics) 224, 271 nurse See Ana de San Bartolomé: infirmarian. Meditaciones sobre el Camino de Cristo 281, 296-302 mortification 214 Notas sobre la comunidad de Paris 245 and priests/confessors 214, 243, 244, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 253, 261, 276-277, 278, 288, 289, 291, 295, 296 takes the black veil 137, 152, 161, 163, 237, 238, 243 takes vows 213 and Teresa de Ávila (de Jesús) 155, 207, 208, 209, 212-234, 238, 239, 240, 244, 247, 248, 249, 250, 257, 264, 270, 271-273, 278, 281, 283, 284, 285-287, 291, 293, 294, 295, 296, 299, 300-302, 304 youth 208-213 visions 212, 213, 214, 216, 217, 218, 233, 237, 238, 247, 249, 254, 262 Ángel de Jesús (Cebedo Tello) 266 Ángelo de San Paulo 79, 80, 82 Anglicanism 192, 273, 274 Anglo-Dutch War 79-85

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Anne of the Ascension (Worsley) 261 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 255, 261, 262, 268, 273-278, 281, 287, 290, 316 Antoinette Claire du Saint Sacrement 266 Antonio de Jesús 66, 88, 94, 99 Antwerp, city of 262-263 Antwerp convent See Monasteries. Arenal, Electa 13, 246 Arias de Armendáris See Hilario de San Agustín. Asceticism 75, 138 Baade, Colleen 46 Baltasar de Jesús 102 Balthazar de Jesús 85 Báñez, Domingo 153 Baranda Leturio, Nieves 10, 13, 15 Bautista de la Trinidad 95 Beach, Alison I 11 Beas See Monasteries. Beatriz de Jesús (Acevedo y Villalobos) 151, 227 Beatriz de la Concepción 157, 164, 169, 173, 175, 178, 180-185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 196, 200, 290, 316 Beatriz de la Madre de Dios (Chaves) 51-56 Belchior de Santa Anna (Sant’Anna) 33-35, 64-67, 70-74, 84, 85, 106, 120-122, 129-130, 132 Benstock, Shari 59 Bentivoglio, Guido 195, 195 Note 18 Berlaimont, Countess of 183, 187, 189 Bernard de Saint-Joseph 250, 269, 272 Bérulle, Pierre de 137, 143, 152, 153, 155, 157, 160,169, 160, 161, 162, 164, 165, 166, 169, 191, 225, 229, 233, 237, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243-257, 316, 261, 262, 281, 292, 295, 316 Bilinkoff, Jodi 214, 253, 308 Black, Georgina Dopico 12 Blood purity 165, 240 Bois des Fontaines, Antoine de 248, 249 Bonaventure 75 Note 10 Boniface III 11 Borja, Íñigo de 263 Bossu, Elena de 263 Bouix, Marcel 308-310 Boverio (Architect) 264-265, 267 Bracamonte family 190 Bracamonte, Luis 190 Bragança, Teutónio 27, 65, 91, 103, 120, 316 Breda, Siege of 283, 284, 285, 290 Brétigny, Jean de 33, 63-69, 123-125, 137-143, 152, 153, 157, 158, 161-164, 166, 168, 176, 178, 179, 181, 188, 190, 237, 239, 244, 268, 292, 316 Bus, César de 252 Bynum, Caroline Walker 75

Cano, Francisca 210, 282, 282 Note 1 Cárdenas, Diego de 52, 54-56, 58, 59 Carmelite reform See Discalced Carmelites Carranza, Miguel de 91 Carthusians (Grande Chartreuse) 101, 160 Carvajal, Luisa de 192, 192 Note 17, 193, 273 Castiglione, Baldassare 12 Castro, Américo 16 Catalina de Cristo (Muñico) 18, 303-313 Catherine d’Orléans, Princess of Longueville 140, 152, 169 Catherine de’ Medici 137 Catherine du Saint-Esprit 69, 138, 148 Catherine of Siena 15 Catholic League 137, 138 Cecil, Robert 192 Cerda, Luisa de la 25, 26, 112, 119, 169 Note 27 Cerda, María de la 94 Cerezo Pardo, Pedro 65, 68 Challon, Denise See Marie de Saint-Denis. Chamizo, Cristóbal 41 Charles IX 137 Charles V (Carlos V) 39, 173, 174, 268 Note 5 Christian of Brunswick 304 Cixous, Hélène 112 Claire du Saint Sacrement (d’Abra de Raconis) 166, 223, 242, 266 Clara dos Anjos 67 Clarissas 63, 64, 66, 67, 316 Cobergher, Wenceslas 175 Compagnot, Philibert 64 conduct manuals 12 Confessors 32, 139, 143, 160, 191, 197, 214, 243, 244, 246, 247, 248, 250, 253, 261, 276, 300; right to choose 197, 276, 277, 291, 295 Congo, missionary activity 65, 86 Consejo, Pilar 16 Constitutions 13, 25, 28, 46, 52, 67, 70, 71, 79, 87, 89, 91, 92, 103-108, 111, 139-140, 145-146, 159, 163, 165, 167, 178, 182, 197, 198, 215, 221, 226, 244, 246, 247, 269, 273, 276, 277, 291, 293, 294, 301 of 1567 13, 28, 46 of 1581 28, 79, 103-108, 178, 269 Consulta 86, 87, 90, 92, 101, 126 converts to Catholicism 139, 165-166, 174, 191, 237, 240, 242 Corro, María del 41, 42, 45 Corsini, Ottavio 295 Couchman, Jane 16 Counter-Reformation 9, 139 Crabb, Ann 16 Cruz, Anne 168 Curiel, Juan Alfonso 196

Calced Carmelites 19, 27, 39, 41-42, 44, 46, 47, 50-52, 54, 55, 57, 58, 59, 66, 91, 92, 93, 108, 126, 127, 163, 215, 272 Calvinism See Protestantism.

Defenestration of Prague 282 Definitory 142, 150 Denis de la Mère de Dieu 250, 293 Diefendorf, Barbara 159, 160

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Index

Dijon See Monasteries. Discalced Carmelites 7, 9, 13, 14, 17, 19, 25, 27, 28, 33, 34, 39, 40-47, 50-51, 54, 56, 57, 59, 63-77, 79, 83-108, 111, 120, 122, 123, 124, 125, 129, 137-169, 173-202, 212, 216, 219, 220, 224, 225, 237-278, 281-296, 317 (See also: “Nuns’ Revolt,” Doria, María de San José, Ana de Jesús, and Ana de San Bartolomé.) clashes with Calced 19, 40-47, 54 expansion into southern Spain 39, 40-47, 50 in France 123-124, 137-169, 237-258 literacy among 13 in the Low Countries 173-202, 255-278, 281-296 in Portugal 63-77, 83-108, 111, 120, 122 in the Spanish Armada 83 Doglio, Maria Luisa 16 Domingo de Aza 282, 284, 289, 295 Dompré, Isabelle See Thérèse de Jésus. Donahue, Darcy 208, 208 Notes 1 and 2, 218, 240 Doria, Nicolás (Niccolò) 17, 25, 28, 32, 34, 52, 58, 71, 79, 85-108, 111, 113, 118, 120, 123, 125, 126, 128, 133, 140 Note 1, 145, 146, 154, 155, 163, 169, 195, 198, 217, 218, 244, 269, 277, 278, 296, 301, 316 Dorotea de la Cruz 151 Drake, Francis 79, 80, 87 Durán López, Fernando 15 Duval, André 159, 161, 162, 164, 241, 242, 248, 249, 293 Écriture feminine 112 Edict of Nantes 138 Eighty Years’ War 174, 190 Note 15, 202 Eiximenis, Françesc 75 Note 10 Elías de San Martín 125, 220 Elizabeth I of England 79, 80, 174, 273 Elvira de San Ángelo 266, 269, 271 English convent in Antwerp See Monasteries. Epistolary exchange 7, 9-12, 13, 14, 15, 25, 26, 32-34, 55, 47-51, 88-108, 125, 177, 218, 315-317 (See also Ana de Jesús, Ana de San Bartolomé, Bérulle, María de San José.) Epistolary practices 16-18 Erasmus of Rotterdam 16, 185 Escobleau de Sourdis, François de 294 Fernández, Pedro 52, 93 Ferrante, Joan 9, 10 France 19, 69, 123, 124,137-169, 237-258, 292, 293, 294, 295 Francisca de Jesús (Cano) 282, 282 Note 1 Francisco de la Madre de Dios 125, 141, 149, 150, 152, 160, 191, 317 Françoise de Jésus-Marie (de Saisy) 269 Frairs, Calced Carmelite (Friars of the Cloth) 44, 50, 54, 139, 272

Friars, Discalced Carmelite 28, 43, 45, 46, 50, 54, 59, 66 Note 3, 71, 80, 82, 83, 86, 89, 90, 91, 94, 96, 103, 112, 114, 115, 121, 122, 124, 138, 140141, 148, 149, 151, 156, 159, 160, 169, 169 Note 25, 190-196, 218, 220, 241, 242, 243, 250-251, 253, 262, 268, 272, 274, 277, 287, 292, 293 Galen/Galenic medicine 231, 232 Gallement, Jacques 159, 162, 163, 242, 248, 249, 293 Garciálvarez 39, 42, 51-60, 72 Note 6, 120, 296 Gentilcore, David 231 Ginnasio, Domenico 152 Gracián, Jerónimo (Jerome Gratian) 14, 27, 27 Note 8, 28, 33 Note 12, 39-48, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 63, 65, 66, 67, 79, 85-108, 125-127, 131, 144, 145, 163, 176, 199, 216, 250, 294 biography 30, 39 and the Calced Carmelites 44, 163 and María de San José 39-48, 50, 52, 53, 54, 58, 63, 67, 79, 85-108, 125-127, 131 and Teresa de Ávila 39-48, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 57, 86, 144, 216 Granada See Monasteries. Gravelines, Battle of 81 Gregory of Nazianzus 116 Gregory XIII 40, 66, 89 Gregory XIV 28, 107, 197 Grimani, Antonio 14 Guevara, Diego de 155, 156, 157, 169, 177, 178, 185, 193, 196, 198, 199 Guillamas, Francisco de 311, 312 Guillamas, Luisa 305 Guise, Henri, Duke de 137, 139 Gusdorf, Georges 59 Gynecology 227 Hallett, Nicky 273 Note 8 Hannay, Margaret 29 Hannivel, Marie d’ See Marie de la Trinité. Hatzfeld, Helmut 16 Healthcare 221-234 Hellemans, Constance 179 Henri III of France 123, 137 Henri IV of France 138, 139, 140, 250 Henry VIII of England 79 Hilario de San Agustín (Pedro Arias de Armendáriz) 262, 268, 283, 291 Hildegard of Bingen 11 Homosexuality / homosocial behavior 59, 173, 185, 185 Note 10, 207 Howe, Elizabeth 28 Huarte de San Juan, Juan 12 Huguenots 123, 137, 138, 139, 158 Hurtado de Mendoza, Diego 26 Ignatius of Loyola 76, 119, 213, 300 Imperato, Joseph 152

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Invincible (Spanish) Armada 79-83, 218, 283 Isabel Clara Eugenia 65, 144, 168, 169, 173-177, 179, 182, 189, 199, 201, 228, 255, 265, 266, 273, 281, 282, 282 Note 2, 283, 284, 285, 287, 289, 290, 291, 292, 295, 296, 317 Isabel de San Jerónimo 58, 88, 141 Isabel de San Pablo 157, 162, 179, 184, 239 Isabel de Santo Domingo 149, 150 Isabel I of Castile 74 Isabelle de Jésus Christ 295 James I of England 192 Jardine, Lisa 16 Jerónima de la Madre de Dios 72, 72 Note 6 Jesuits 18, 39, 76, 119, 139, 143, 149, 153 Note 10, 167, 174, 175, 178, 179, 210, 263, 294, 300 Joannes Ludovicus ab Assumptione 265 John of the Cross (Yepes) 51, 66 Note 3, 75, 86, 88, 96, 108, 143, 144, 145, 300 (See also Ana de San Bartolomé, John of the Cross [relics], and Ana de Jesús.) José de Jesús María 157 Joseph II 315, 317 Joyeuse, Henriette Catherine de 139 Juan de Jesús María 196, 197 Juana del Espíritu Santo 190, 200, 201, 277 Juana Inés de la Cruz 14 Junta 98, 102 Justin of Nassau 283 Kavanaugh, Kieran 25 Note 1, 27 Note 6, 49 Note 14, 159 Krakow See Monasteries. León, Basilio de 178, 198, 199 León, Luis de 103, 106, 145, 178, 198, 199 Leonor de la Misericordia 218, 219 Leonor de San Bernardo 152, 157, 176, 179, 180, 184, 187, 238, 262, 267, 291 Lerma, Duke of 174, 175 Letrados 29, 52, 247 literacy 13 (See also Women’s Literacy.) Lobrera, Cristóbal de 158, 187 Louvain See Monasteries. Lovel, Mary (Jane Roper) 261, 273-276 Low Countries 19, 173-202, 255-278, 281-296 Ludolph of Saxony 75 Note 10 Luther, Martin 64, 75 Machiavelli, Niccolò 12 Madeleine de Saint-Joseph 245, 248, 252 Magdalena de San Jerónimo See Zamudio, Magdalena. Mail service 17, 147 Note 6, 181, 186, 248 Manero Sorolla, María Pilar 26, 26 Note 3, 208, 240, 246 Mansfeld, Ernst van 285, 295, 304 Manzanas, Toribio 293 Margarita de la Concepción 51-52, 55

Margarita de las Llagas (Elio) 151, 153 María Celeste (Galileo’s daughter) 222 María de la Visitación 66 María de San José 25-136 and the Anglo-Dutch war 79-85 Avisos para el gobierno de las religiosas 32, 71, 76, 120 Book for the Hour of Recreation 26, 28-32, 40, 51 Carta de una pobre y presa Descalza 33, 111-117 and Castellobranco, Affonso de 132 and Christ’s suffering 33, 63, 73, 74-77, 116, 128 and convent governance / administration 70-74 and the devil 29, 43, 47, 55, 56, 73, 84, 87, 90, 91, 92, 96, 98, 105, 106, 113, 117, 118, 119, 120, 124 death 118, 125, 133 and Doria, Nicolás 17, 25, 28, 32, 34, 52, 58, 71, 79, 85-108, 111, 113, 118, 120, 123, 125, 126, 128, 133, 140 Note 1, 145, 146, 154, 155, 163, 169, 195, 198, 217, 218, 244, 269, 277, 278, 296, 301, 316 epistolary writing 32-35, 47-51, 88-108, 315 and France 19, 69, 123, 124 feminism 28-32, 89 (See also Book for the Hour of Recreation.) and Garciálvarez 51-60 and health 130-132 illness 128 imprisonment 25, 33, 108, 111-116 and the Inquisition 39, 41, 45, 49, 52, 54, 57 “Memoria de la Pasión” 77 Menino de Jesus, reform of 120-122 and Nacianceno 90, 101, 132 in Portugal 9, 18, 19, 25, 30, 34, 44, 63-133 on priests/confessors 32, 39, 42, 51, 52, 54, 55, 77, 86, 92, 97, 103, 118, 119-120, 127 Ramillete de Mirra 33, 33 Notes 11 and 12, 34, 41, 42, 51, 52, 56, 59, 89, 93, 97, 103-104, 127, 296, 299 Note 7 in Seville 39-60 and the Invincible (Spanish) Armada 79-83 and Teresa de Ávila 25, 26, 27, 28, 34, 39-108, 128, 142; letters from Teresa de Ávila 47-51 youth 26-27 Mariano, Ambrosio 28, 40, 44 Note 9, 49, 66, 94, 95 Marichal, Juan 16 Marie de la Trinité (Hannivel) 159, 167, 242 Marie de Saint-Denis (Denise Challon, Dionisia) 229, 269 Marillac, Michel de 246 Marín Pina, María Carmen 13 Matías de San Francisco 208, 208 Note 4

Index

Matthias, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Bohemia 177, 281 Mattingly, Garrett 81 Mattioli, Pietro Andrea 223 Maximilian of Bavaria 168 Mechelen See Monasteries. medieval 10-12 Medina Sidonia, Duke of 81 Medinaceli, Duke of 26 Mendoza, Álvaro de 42 Mercado, Luis de 227 Meissner, W.W. 210 Mexico, missionary activity 86, 87, 90, 108 Monasteries: Admont 11 Alba de Tormes 189 Amiens 169 Antwerp 190, 201, 242, 261-278, 281 Antwerp (English convent) 223, 261, 273-278, 281, 287-292, 311 Ávila (Encarnación) 161, 214 Ávila (San José) 18, 50, 161, 212, 219 Note 13, 304, 305, 311 Beas 27, 39, 40, 41, 44, 143, 144, 145, 153, 165 Note 23, 214 Bourges 295-296, 302 Brussels (Saint Anne and Saint Joseph) 154, 168, 169, 315, 317, 154, 168, 169, 173, 175-177, 178-179, 180, 181, 182, 184, 187, 188, 190, 191, 191 Note 16, 192, 193, 194, 195, 242, 268, 270, 276, 277, 295, 315, 317 Congo 65, 86 Dijon 143, 166-170, 191 Note 16, 241, 244 Granada 134, 143, 144, 153, 165 Note 23 Granada (friary) 40 Krakow 196, 262 Lisbon (São Alberto) 28, 33, 63-77, 79-133, 152, 184, 315, 317 Lisbon (São Felipe) 65, 66 Louvain 14, 169, 173, 179-180, 191, 191 Note 16, 196, 270, 281, 289, 300 Mechelen 267, 273 Mons (Saint Joseph) 169, 173, 179, 180-184, 186, 187-190, 191, 191 Note 16, 273, 273 Note 8, 237, 257, 262, 268, 270, 273, 273 Note 8 Paris (Incarnation) 137-169, 191, 192, 194, 238, 240, 241-242, 243-250, 257, 262, 295, 315, 317 Paris (friary) 262 La Peñuela (friary) 40, 108 Pontoise 137, 143, 161-166, 167, 168, 179, 191 Note 16, 200, 225, 237, 238-242, 245, 250 Los Remedios (friary) 44, 94 Salamanca 65, 143, 145, 146, 152, 153, 162, 164, 165 Note 23, 184, 187, 216, 244 Seville (San José) 39-60, 66, 72, 72 Note 6, 87, 94, 120, 135, 214, 264 Seville (Calced friary) 40, 46, 68, 108 Tours 143, 191 Note 16, 248-249, 253-256

325 Windesheim 12 Mons (Saint Joseph) See Monasteries. Morgain, Stéphane-Marie 250, 251, 253, 292, 293 Moriones, Ildefonso 71, 140 Note 1, 146, 154 Mortification 63, 70, 72, 73, 74-85 Morujão, Isabel 34, 86 Multinational convents 270 Music 19, 46, 188, 263, 272 Nacianceno, Gregorio 90, 101, 132 Navet, Jean 181, 268 Neri, Filippo 249 Newberg, Andrew 210 Nicolás de Jesús María See Doria. Nicolás de la Concepción 269 Notre Dame de Namur, Sister of 145, 147 Note 5, 154, 167, 180, 181 Note 6 Nuns’ Revolt 25, 28, 79, 85-108, 145, 154, 217, 241, 244, 247, 276, 277, 300 Nursing See Infirmarian. Nursing manuals 222 Oratory, Congregation of the 249, 251, 252, 256, 292, 293 Ormaneto, Nicolás 41, 45 Pando-Canteli, María Jesús 270, 276 Pantoja, Hernando de 56, 57 Papal briefs and bulls: In Apostolicae Dignitis 148 Periculoso 10 Pia Consideratione 66 Sacrarum Religiosum 148 Salvatoris 93 In Supremo 160 Pardo de Saavedra, Arias 26 Paris (Incarnation) See Monasteries. Paris dévot 137, 139, 162 Parma, Duke of 80, 81, 82 Paulo V 194, 195 Note 18, 250 Pax Hispanica 174 Pender, Patricia 29 Percy, Mary 273 Pérez García, María de la Cruz 33, 54 Note 21, 96 Note 5, 132 permeable space 13 Philip II 17, 27, 28, 39, 40, 46, 47, 50, 64, 64 Note 1, 79, 80, 91, 96, 107, 123, 138, 139, 173, 174, 227 Philip III 176 Note 1, 227 Philip IV 202, 282, 283 Philippe le Bel 173 Piacenza 39, 45, 47 Pius V 40, 93 Pontoise See Monasteries. Poor Clares See Clarissas. Portugal 9, 18, 19, 25, 30, 34, 44, 63-133, 175, 317 Poutrin, Isabelle 13

326 

Women Religious and Epistol ary Exchange in the Carmelite Reform

Power, Eileen 222 Prioress of the Wounds See María de la Visitación. Priulli, Lorenzo 14 Protestantism 18, 19, 79, 123, 137, 138, 143, 146, 154, 166, 168, 173, 175, 191, 193, 199, 202, 213, 237, 249, 263, 282, 304 Quesada, Francisco de 123, 142 Radegund of Thuringia 11 Ray, Meredith 14 Recreation, hour of 28, 71, 72, 73, 90, 246 Ribadabeira, Pedro 153 Ribera, Francisco de 9, 140 Richardot, Jean 263 Robinson Cynthia 74, 75 Note 10 Rodríguez, José Vicente 66 Note 3, 96 Note 5,145 Rohrbach, Peter-Thomas 241, 250, 294 Roisin, Baroness de 180, 182, 183, 184, 186 Rojas Sandoval, Cristóbal 58 Romero, Francisco 66 Roper, Jane See Mary Lovel. Rossi, Giovanni Battista (John Baptist Rossi) See Rubeo. Rubeo, Juan Baptista (Giovanni Battista Rossi) 27, 39, 40, 42, 43, 44, 44 Note 9, 45, 46, 47, 93 Rudolph II (Holy Roman Emperor) 168 Saint-André, Jacques d’Albon, Maréchal de 137 Salamanca See Monasteries. Salazar, Ángel de 58, 94 Sales, François de 139, 140, 252, 294 Sánchez Hernández, María Leticia 10 Sans de Sainte-Catherine 252 Santa Cruz, Alonso de 232, 232 Note 25 São Alberto See Monasteries. São Felipe See Monasteries. Schlau, Stacey 13, 246 Seaton, Elizabeth Ann 234 Sebastián de San Francisco (Fabri) 227, 261, 262 Sega, Felipe (Filippo) 39, 45, 46, 51, 54, 59 Séguier, Louise (Marie des Anges) 166 Self-representation 59 Serouet, Pierre 63 Note 19, 64, 65 Note 2 Seuse, Heinrich 75 Seville (San José) See Monasteries. Sisters of Charity 234 Sixtus V 28, 79, 93, 103, 106, 107, 146, 197 Slade, Carole 16, 308 Sluhovsky, Moshe 119 Smet, Joachim 25, 59, 91, 92, 107 Note 10, 262 Speziano, César 90 Spinola, Ambroggio 283, 304 Strocchia, Sharon 222 Suavidad 71, 73, 74, 86, 295

Tarabotti, Arcangela 15 Taylor, Marjorie 210 Note 6 Tello, Cebedo See Ángel de Jesús. Teresa de Ávila (de Jesús) 305, 309, 322 and Acarie, Barbe 140 and Ana de Jesús 143-146, 147, 153, 156, 161, 178, 179, 189, 190, 197, 200, 202 and Ana de San Bartolomé 155, 207, 208, 209, 212-234, 238, 239, 240, 244, 247, 248, 249, 250, 257, 264, 270, 271-273, 278, 281, 283, 284, 285-287, 291, 293, 294, 295, 296, 299, 300-302, 304 beatification 146, 177, 189, 190, 271-273 and Bérulle, Pierre de 160, 246, 255 and the Blessed Sacrament 184 and blood purity 240 The Book of Foundations 45 The Book of Her Life, Latin translation 198 in the Book of the Hour of Recreation 28, 29, 30, 31, 32 and Brétigny, Jean de 141 canonization 285-287 and convent architecture 159-161 and convent governance/administration 50-51, 70-71, 73, 74, 76, 86, 87, 157, 197, 270, 275, 276 converso background 165 and the devil 119, 231-232 and epistolary writing 7, 9-10, 13, 14, 15, 16-19, 315 exile to Toledo 46 and France 124, 146, 147, 151, 153, 162, 237, 239, 243, 244, 293, 294, 295 and Garciálvarez 51-60 and Gracián 39-48, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 86, 87-108 and health 190, 221-222, 226, 231-233 The Interior Castle 14 and language 257 On Making the Visitation 30 and María de San José 25, 26, 27, 28, 34, 39-108, 128; letters to María de San José: 47-51 on melancholy 213, 232 military metaphors 113 on novices 50-51 and the “nuns’ revolt” 85-108 on physical suffering 201 and Portugal 65-66 postulants 165 and poverty 169 Note 27 and priests / confessors 214, 214 Note 8, 244, 253, 291, 295, 300 relics 130-131, 224 rhetoric of modesty 29 and the Seville foundation 39-60 special friendships 19, 185 and the Transverberation 213 The Way of Perfection 76, 185

327

Index

Teresa de Jesús See Teresa de Ávila. Teresita de Jesús (niece of St. Teresa) 50 Thérèse de Jésus (Isabelle Dompré) 233, 263, 264, 269, 270, 305 Note 1 Thirty Years’ War 174, 202, 281-296 Tinsley, David Fletcher 75 Tolosa, Pedro de 65 Tomás de Jesús 194, 195, 208 Note 4, 220, 226, 233, 242, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 257, 258, 261, 262, 264, 265, 268, 272, 273, 276, 277, 287, 296, 311, 312, 316 Tompkins, Jane 59 Torres Sánchez, Concepción 140 Note 1, 143, 144, 154, 155, 155 Note 11, 167 Note 24, 169, 178 Note 3, 185, 185 Notes 9 and 10, 186, 188, 202 Tostado, Jerónimo 45, 48, 50, 140, 215 Tours See Monasteries. Trent, Council of 12, 13. 223, 293 Twelve Years’ Truce 177, 184, 190, 202, 261, 262, 263, 281, 282 Urban III 34 Urkiza, Julián 162 Note 16, 208, 208 Notes 1, 2, 3 and 4, 209, 249, 265 Note 1, 273 Note 8, 275, 278, 282 Note 1, 290, 299 Note 8

Vargas, Francisco 40 Vázquez de Mármol, Juan 96 Vervins, Treaty of 138, 174, 177 Vincent de Paul 139, 234 Vives, Juan Luis 12, 16 Vivian, Nicolas 250, 295 Vollendorf, Lisa 185, 212 Walker, Claire 14 Wars of Religion, French 137, 139 Weber, Alison 15, 26, 31 Note 10, 32, 43, 52, 70, 76, 76 Note 12, 119, 119 Note 3 Westwater, Lynne Lara 14 White-veiled / black-veiled nuns 137, 152, 152 Note 7, 153, 159, 161, 164 Note 20, 207, 215, 221, 238 White, Richard 14 William of Orange 174 Wilson, Christopher 154 Wilson, Peter H. 174 “Woman question” (querelle des femmes) 12 Women’s writing 9-18 Yepes, Diego de 9 Zamudio, Beatriz 168, 192