On the fourteenth of October, seventeen hundred and twenty-four, I
entered the Carmelite convent at Lyons, eighteen months after my flight
from the world, and my abandonment of my profession--to adopt which, I
may say, in my own defence, that I was first led through sheer poverty.
At the age of seventeen years, and possessing (if I may credit report)
remarkable personal charms, I was left perfectly destitute through the
spendthrift habits of my father. I was easily persuaded to go on the
stage, and soon tempted, with my youth and inexperience, to lead an
irregular life. I do not wish to assert that dissipation necessarily
follows the choice of the actress's profession, for I have known many
estimable women on the stage. I, unhappily, was not one of the number.
I confess it to my shame, and, as the chief of sinners, I am only the
more grateful to the mercy of Heaven which accomplished my conversion.
When I entered the convent, I entreated the prioress to let me live in
perfect obscurity, without corresponding with my friends, or even with
my relations. She declined to grant this last request, thinking that my
zeal was leading me too far. On the other hand, she complied with my
wish to be employed at once, without the slightest preparatory
indulgence or consideration, on any menial labour which the discipline
of the convent might require from me. On the first day of my admission
a broom was put into my hands.
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