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I was born in July, 1626, in the French city of Tartas to my father Christopher de Lis and my mother Elisabeth de Pas. She nursed me with her own milk, taught, educated, and held me on her own lap…
In a dream, in a night vision, while [I was] asleep upon [my] bed during my imprisonment, a voice called in my ears. The voice was the voice of Jacob, like the voice of my father, may his memory be…
[ . . . ] Let us return to my maternal grandmother, Matte, of blessed memory. After she married off my late aunt Ulk, she was left penniless with the fatherless child my mother, may she live…
The bathroom looked as though some spiteful thug had left his calling card after having robbed the house. As my father was tended to and he was what counted, I would just as soon have nailed the door…