Sales, 20th April 1611.
Well now, my dear sister, my daughter, I am going to write to you as fully as I can on the subject of your letter, which has been handed to me by the sister whom you love so much, and who reciprocally cherishes you with all her heart.
It is true we have her at last, this dear sister, but still it is not I who have taken her away from you, it is God who has given her to us, as the result will with God’s help make clear. I have no doubt that that little conversation which you had together at Bourbilly was very sweet to you; for it is a happy thing when two souls meet who love one another only in order to love God better; but it was impossible that this sensible presence should last long, because our common Master wants the one there and the other here for his service. But we do not cease to be ever joined and united, for we keep with one another by the common aim or undertaking that we have.
I am very glad that you fail but little in the exercises which I have appointed you; for this shows that those faults which you commit do not come from unfaithfulness but from weakness; and weakness is not a great evil, provided that a faithful determination put it right little by little, as I conjure you to do, my dear daughter, as regards your own weakness; without at all distressing yourself because ordinarily you have neither feeling nor relish in any of your exercises: for Our Lord does not require this from us, nor does it depend on ourselves to have it or to have it not.
So we must build on solid ground, and consider whether our will is fully delivered from evil affections, such as hardness of heart towards our neighbour, impatience, contpt of others, too strong affection for creatures, and the like. And if we have no reserve as to being all God’s, if we have the determination rather to die than offend him, so long as these are the resolutions of our hearts and we feel them ever stronger in us, there is nothing to fear, and no cause to be troubled at not having sweetness or devout feelings.
Now we have a good proof of the strengthening of these dear resolutions, in that by the grace of God you have persevered in keeping to what I told you in confession, as you assure me; for this is worth a hundred thousand spiritual sweetnesses. Thus then do always.
I will say the Mass that you ask me, though I never say one which is not very expressly yours; but I cannot recall to mind the subject which you say I know—there is no need to do so.
If Madame Theniée continues unwilling to submit, you will have no part in her fault; meantime I rejoice that the rest of our articles are kept. And as for the one who will not accommodate herself to the community, you must bear with her, and show kindness towards her, and God will bring her round to the way of the others.
And so, my dear daughter, the multitude of difficulties terrified you, and you had thoughts of giving it all up; meantime you have found that all is done: it will be the same with all the rest, perseverance will overcome everything.
As to the pensions, they are rightly in your hands, as no one else can look after them; but you may well get one of your daughters to keep account of them. You made me smile when you wrote that you would have given their pensions to each of the religious if you had not feared that I should be cross with you. Oh! my dear daughter, when did you ever see me cross with you? I am, however, very glad that there is some little fear of displeasing a poor miserable father, for truly you will never displease me, my dear daughter, save when you displease Our Lord, and withdraw yourself from his pure and holy love.
You really must go to Chapter, spite of all the repugnance you may feel, and after the reading of the rule you must say something, be it merely— May God give us the grace to observe what has been read.
At Corpus Christi I see no difficulty about having the procession round the cloister, for this does not create a precedent on account of the greatness of the solemnity.
Alas! my daughter, if nobody worked for souls except those who have no difficulty in their exercises and who are perfect, you would have no father in me; we are not to give up consoling others because we are in perplexity ourselves. How many good doctors are there who are far from being in good health, and how many beautiful paintings are made by ugly painters? When therefore your daughters come to you, tell them simply and with charity what God may inspire you with, and do not send them away from you empty.
You do well thus to get Fathers Minim to come from time to time, for that will enlarge the hearts of your daughters, and will comfort their souls. I am grieved, with you, at the dislike which they have for your ordinary chaplain, but the introduction of the Minims can supply for all this, since, as you say, it is hard to find priests properly qualified, and this one is fairly capable. And now, my dear sister, my very dear daughter, you must take up your former courage, and rather die than give in.
Keep as much as you can with your daughters; for your absence can only give them occasions for murmuring; and nothing can so much sweeten their subjection to rule as your own, nothing can so well keep them in the enclosure of observance as to see you there with them; and it is in this that we must crucify ourselves for him who was crucified for us. How happy will you be if you dearly love your little flock—for after the love of God that holds the first rank.
I will write to you whenever I can and as much as I can; and changelessly will I persevere in the affection which I have once with such goodwill given to you. Remain firm in this belief, for it is,
with God’s help, infallible. No, neither death, nor things present, nor those to come, shall ever separate me from that love which I bear you in Jesus Our Lord, to whom be honour and glory. Your, &c.
But look, my dear daughter, what I say to you I recommend to you very decidedly, for your sister has told me you want me to speak so. My dear sister, assure all your good and well-beloved sisters and daughters that I honour and cherish them very greatly, particularly Madame your very dear sister, and I am grieved that I cannot write to them now. And to humble you yet a little, salute from me M. Lafon and those good daughters who are serving God in the person of his servants; for all this is dear to me.
20th January 1612.
It will never happen to me, my dear sister, my daughter, to forget your heart, which mine will perpetually love in Our Lord. I see by your letter that you do not sufficiently lean on holy divine Providence. My dear daughter, if it took away your good sister, which we may hope will not happen so soon, you would not on this account cease to be under the protection of this best eternal Father, who would cover you with his wings. We should be miserable, my daughter, if we only established our trust in God by means of the creatures whom we love; and moreover, my dear sister, we are not to form to ourselves useless fears. It will be quite enough to receive the evils which come upon us from time to time, without anticipating them by the imagination.
As for the office you hold, it is a temptation not to have for it the love which is required, for the time in which you fill it; on the contrary I should wish, and God would wish, that you should exercise it cheerfully and lovingly; and by this means he would take care of the desire which you have of being relieved, and would give it effect in its time. For take notice once for all that we must never be unsubmissive even with one of our wills, but when something happens against our inclination we must accept it heartily, although we would heartily desire that it were not so: and when Our Lord sees that we are thus yielding he condescends to our intentions. I will write to your sister that she must make you do the serving like the others, for that is good.
When thoughts arise in us to the disadvantage of others, and we do not put them away promptly, but delay some little upon them, provided that we do not make a complete judgment, saying within ourselves, it is really so, this is not a mortal sin; nor even if we should say absolutely, it is so, provided that it is not in a matter of importance. For when that for which we judge our neighbour is not a grave thing, or when we do not judge absolutely, it is only a venial sin; and the same for omitting some verse of the Office or some ceremony—there is only venial sin. And when the remembrance of such a fault comes to us after confession, it is not required to return to our confessor in order to approach communion; indeed it is good not to return, but to reserve the matter to be told in the next following confession, and to tell it if you remember it.
As long as your sister has not chosen to receive your pension there is no fault of yours; but it will be well that she should manage it. My dearest sister, you must not lose courage even if you do not so faithfully practise the resolutions you make: you must strengthen your heart and so come to the execution of them. Persevere then, my dear sister, my daughter, and cease not to call upon God or to trust in him, and he will make you abound in his benedictions; thus do I beg him to do, by the merit of his Passion, and the intercession of his Mother and of St. Frances.[1] Our sweet Saviour be with you then, my dear sister, my daughter, and I am, entirely in him, your very humble servant.
The good Mother de Chantal, who is ill, but as I hope without danger, salutes you with all her heart. I recommend her to your prayers, and myself also, my dear sister, my daughter. Adieu.
Annecy, 14th August 1613.
My Lord—It is only about a month since I received the letter which it pleased you to write me on the second of July; since then I have always been either travelling or ill, and have not been able to send you the answer you desire—or rather the answer you do not desire, if I have rightly understood the inclination which you felt when you did me the favour of writing to me. Now you may judge whether I can give your question a very satisfactory answer, since to the ordinary feebleness of my mind the extraordinary of my body, oppressed with the lassitude which the fever has left me, brings a new addition of weakness. But so good an understanding as yours is will see my intention well enough though badly expressed. [2]1st Proposition. To desire to lay down the burden of the episcopate for reasonable causes is not only no sin but is even an act of virtue, either of modesty or humility, or justice, or charity.
2nd Proposition. He is considered to be moved by good reasons to lay down the episcopate who is ready to submit in good faith his opinion of himself, his desire of resigning the episcopal office, and these reasons on which he relies, either to the counsel of a prudent man or at least to the judgment of superiors, and is ready to follow out the one or the other with the same alacrity.
3rd Proposition. Although the thought or desire of resigning the episcopate in lawful way is not a sin, still such an idea is very often not free from grave temptation, and most frequently arises through the action of the devil: the reason is that during the time spent in procuring relief from the burden, rarely or never are sufficient pains taken to bear it properly; as he who is deliberating about putting away his wife is scarcely anxious about duly loving her meantime. Better would it be then for you to urge yourself to take more pains henceforth, than to want to give up all work because hitherto you have not taken pains enough. Besides it is better to raise our eyes to the mountains whence comes help to us, and to hope in the Lord, gladly rejoicing in our infirmities that the strength of Christ may dwell in us, than like the sons of Ephrem to turn back in the day of battle.[3] For they who trust in the Lord shall take wings as eagles, they shall fly and fail not, but those who give way shall vanish like smoke; and he who timidly returns to the baggage has rest indeed, but no greater security than he who fights.
4th Proposition. I seem to hear Christ saying[4]: Simon, son of John, or Peter John, lovest thou me?—and Peter John answering: Thou knowest that I love thee: then at length the Lord strictly commanding: Feed my sheep. There is no greater proof of love than the doing of this work. . . .
Annecy, 18th August 1614.
My dear Sister—This first time of writing to you I want to say one or two words of preface, which may serve for all the letters which I shall send you in future as occasion requires. 1. That neither you nor I will make after this any preface; for the love of God which you have will be a preface to you, and my desire to have it will be your preface to me. 2. In virtue of this same love, possessed or desired, assure yourself, my dear sister, that you and all your daughters will always find my soul open and dedicated to the service of yours. 3. But all this without ceremony, without formalities; since, although our vocations are different in rank, this holy love to which we aspire equals us and joins us in itself.
Truly, both you and your daughters are very fortunate to have at last met with the vein of that living water which springeth up into everlasting life,[5] and to desire to drink it at the hand of Our Lord, to whom, with St. Catharine of Genoa and the blessed Mother (St.) Teresa, you seem to me to be making this prayer: Lord, give me of this water.
May this divine goodness be for ever praised, who himself has made himself a spring of living water in the midst of your community; for our Lord is a fountain from which we draw by prayer the water of cleansing, of refreshment, of fertility, and of sweetness.
God knows, my dear sister, what the monasteries are in which this most holy exercise is not practised; God knows what obedience, what poverty, and what chastity are observed there before the eyes of his divine
Providence, and whether the communities of daughters are not rather companies of prisoners than true lovers of Jesus Christ.
But we have not so much need to consider that evil, as to weigh at its just weight the great good which souls receive from most holy prayer. You then are not deceived in having embraced it, but deluded are the souls which being able to apply themselves to it do not. And yet in a certain fashion (it seems to me) the sweet Saviour of your soul has deceived you with a deception full of love, in order to draw you to his more particular communications, having tied you by means which himself alone could find, and conducted you by ways which himself alone has known. Lift very high then your heart, to follow his attractions earnestly and holily; and so long as true sweetness and humility of heart reign amongst you fear not to be deceived.
Brother N. is ignorant truly, but ignorant with more knowledge than many wise men: he has the true foundations of the spiritual life, and his society cannot but be helpful to you; I am sure that his superior will not refuse him to you, provided that you make use of him with discretion and without causing him too much distraction.
I have not yet been able to read the little book you sent me; I will do so at my first leisure.
You have done well to make yourself familiar with the Blessed Mother Teresa, for in truth her books are a treasure of spiritual instruction.
Above all things, let there reign amongst you mutual, sincere, and spiritual love, that perfection of common life so much to be loved and so little loved in this age, even in those monasteries which the world admires; holy simplicity, sweetness of heart, and love of
one’s own abjection: but this care, my dearest sister, must be diligent and firm, and not eager or by fits and starts.
I shall be very glad to hear news of you often, and do not doubt but that I shall answer. M. N. will let me have your letters safely.
In particular it has been a consolation to me to know the goodness and virtue of your father confessor, who with the spirit of a true father towards you cooperates in your good desires, and is also very glad that others contribute also. Would to God that all the others of your
Order were equally charitable and devoted to God’s glory; the monasteries which are in their charge would be more perfect and more pure.
I salute again my dear Sisters Anne and Mary Salome, and rejoice that they have entered into this Order at a time when true and perfect piety is beginning to flourish again therein; and for their consolation I tell them that their relative, Madame Descrilles, who is now a novice at the Visitation, also tries hard on her part to make progress in Our Lord.
My dear sister, I write to you without leisure, but not without an extreme affection towards you and all your daughters, all of whom I supplicate to recommend my soul to God’s mercy, as on my part I will not cease to wish you blessing upon blessing; and may the source of all blessing live and reign for ever in your hearts. Amen. I am with a most cordial love, your very humble, &c.
Annecy, 22nd August 1614.
My Lord—I rejoice, most truly, for your victories; for, whatever one may say, it is to the greater glory of God that our episcopal order should be acknowledged for what it is, and that this moss of exemption should be stripped from the tree of the Church, where one sees it to have done so much harm, as the holy Council of Trent has very well remarked.
But still I regret that your spirit suffers so much in this war, in which, no doubt, scarcely any but angels could preserve their innocence; and he who keeps moderation amid lawsuits, the process of his canonization is already drawn, it seems to me. “To be sage and to be in love is scarcely granted to the gods;”[6] but I would rather say: “To go to law and not to be out of one’s mind is scarcely granted to the Saints.”[7] Nevertheless, when necessity requires and the intention is good, one must embark, under the hope that the same Providence which obliges you to make the voyage will oblige itself to conduct you.
My greatest regret is to see that at last this bitterness of heart which you describe to me will take you away from us, and from me will take away one of the most precious consolations that I had, and from that flock an inestimable good; for of devoted prelates there are so few: Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto.[8] Save me, O Lord, because there is now no saint.[9]
I see clearly, my Lord, by your letter and by that of M. de N., who is in truth very much my friend and singularly good father, that we cannot preserve in foreign countries the ecclesiastical liberties which the Dukes had left us. Oh may God bless France with his great blessing, and make to spring there again the piety which reigned in the time of St. Louis!
But meantime, my Lord, since this poor little clergy of your diocese and mine has the good fortune to have you to speak to the States in its name, we shall be free from all scruple if after our remonstrances we are reduced to servitude; for what more could one do except cry out in the name of the Church: See, O Lord, and consider, for I am become vile.[10] What abjection, that, having the spiritual sword in our hand, we must, as simple executors of the will of the temporal magistrate, strike when he orders and stop when he tells us; and that we should be deprived of the chief one of the keys which Our Lord has given us, which is that of judgment, of discernment, and of knowledge in the use of our sword! The enemy hath put out his hand to all her desirable things: for she hath seen the Gentiles enter into her sanctuary, of whom thou gavest commandment that they should not enter into thy church.[11]
It is not in a spirit of impatience or murmuring that I say this. I always remember that these evils are come upon us because we have sinned, we have acted unjustly.[12] However, my Lord, you will see our articles, and will do I am sure, all that can be done for the preservation of the rights of God and of his Church; and while our Josue is there, we will keep our hands lifted up, and will pray that he may have a special assistance of the Holy Spirit. We will invoke our angel-protectors, and the holy bishops who have gone before, that they may be round about you, that they may give force to your remonstrances.
There was never question of sending any one to represent my diocese. Is not my diocese yours, since I am so perfectly yours? My people is your people.[13] You will see Father Dom John of St. Malachy at Saint Bernard; if you frequent his company you will find in him a fertile source of piety, of wisdom, of friendship for me, who reciprocally honour him greatly. Tell me some day at leisure the history of Madame Falin, because it is just to announce the glory of the king.[14] May God be for ever the heart of our souls. I am, my Lord, yours, &c
Thonon, 12th September 1615.
Never think, my dear sister, that I can forget your person or the temporal necessities of your monastery; these latter, indeed, I have found even greater than I had been told. Only, I see we must wait till these suspicions of contagion cease before we can profitably make our collection; and meantime I will have the letters got ready. For the rest, my heart, which loves the sanctity of your community, though I have only seen it in passing, and rather had a glimpse than a sight of it, does not permit me to leave without exhorting you in Our Lord to pursue with constancy the execution of the sacred inspiration which God has given you, viz., to make more and more perfect this virtuous company, by a pure and simple abandonment of all private possessing, by the exercise of holy mental prayer, and by a fervent frequenting of the Divine Sacraments.
And do not doubt, my dear sister, that Father Garinus will be favourable to you, if you represent to him, simply and humbly, your praiseworthy intentions; for he is a doctor of great judgment and long experience, and very zealous for the constitutions of the Church, and for working out the decisions of the Council of Trent, as are all good men. You can then tell him with confidence that you have hinted to me a word or two about the state of things with you; for I know well that he will not take this amiss, being, as he is, one of my best friends, and one who well knows that it is not my way to spoil anything, and that I am not an underminer of authority, but a man who causes no disturbance. And you can further tell him all that I have told you, of which, to refresh your memory, I will now make a repetition.
1. The renouncement of all private possessing and the exact community of all things is a point of great perfection, which should be desired in all monasteries and observed wherever superiors so will. For although those religious women, who have not this use in their houses, do not cease to be holy, custom dispensing them, they are all the same in extreme danger of ceasing to be holy, when they oppose the introduction of so holy an observance, so deserving of love and so much recommended by Father Saint Francis and Mother Saint Clare; which makes Orders rich in their poverty and perfectly poor in their riches, since mine and thine are the two words which, as the Saints say, have ruined charity. Nor is it any use to say our veil, our dress, our tunic or our linen, if in fact the use of them is not indifferent and common to all the sisters; words are little if acts do not correspond. And how can a thing be called common which no one uses but myself? Now I have seen in a monastery in which I had a very near relative that all the difficulty of this point lay in the over-niceness of some sisters as regards linen. I wondered that washing was not enough for the daughters of him who tenderly kissed the lepers, and of her who kissed the feet of the sisters when they returned from outside.
Truly when a person is particular about wearing washed linen or cloth because it was worn previously to washing by his Christian brother, I do not see how he dares to say that he loves his brother as himself; and it must be a strong self-love that he has, to make him think himself so clean in comparison with others.
Now the method of putting everything in common is very easy when all is kept together in a box or wardrobe, and a person distributes indifferently to all, according to their necessities, what is wanted; having regard to nothing except necessity and the superior’s will. In some congregations they even change the beads and all the little objects of devotion, by lot, at the beginning of each year.
2. As to prayer and frequenting the Sacraments, there is no difficulty, I think, except that for the latter one must get the father Confessor not to be tired of doing the sisters the charity of hearing them in confession when required by the superior.
But there is a point of importance, of which I said a word to you, which you should for the benefit of your family ask from your superiors, and which they cannot in good conscience refuse you; it is that twice or thrice each year they must offer other and extraordinary Confessors (according to the command of the sacred Council of Trent) who must hear the confessions of all the sisters. And the Congregation of Cardinals has declared that if the superiors are negligent in this point the Bishops are to act themselves, and that this must be done several other times in the year if required. And it is required when the superior sees that some sisters are very much troubled, and find it very hard or repugnant to confess to the ordinary Confessor— provided that this is not constantly the case, but at times only and without abuse. But as to this last point it would seem unbecoming to ask it, because the directions of the Council suffice for the satisfaction of your congregation.
And you must receive no statements to the contrary, for nothing in this world is done which is not contradicted by petty and captious souls; and from everything, however good it may be, one can draw awkward consequences if one choose to cavil at them. We must stay on what God ordains, and his Church, and on what the Saints teach. Nor may it be said that your Order is exempt from the constitutions of the sacred Council; for besides that the Council is above all the Orders, if there is one Order which should obey the Councils and the Church of Rome it is yours, since Father St. Francis has so often inculcated this.
But, it may be said, it might be that a sister knowing she could have an extraordinary Confessor would keep back her sins till he comes, when if she had no hope of another Confessor she would not keep them back.
It is true that this might happen; but it is also true that a sister who would be so unhappy as to make bad confessions and communions while waiting for the Extraordinary will make no great scruple of making many bad ones while waiting for a change of Confessors or the coming of the superior. And in any case this drawback is not to be compared with the thousands of losses of souls which the fact of never being able to confess save to one only may cause, as experience clearly shows; and at last it is intolerable presumption in any one, whoever he may be, to think that he better understands the spiritual needs of the faithful, and is wiser, than the Council. So you must hold firmly to this point, and not let yourself be led away by considerations belonging to the human spirit.
3. There remains the question of spiritual communications, which also I tell you are very useful if properly made. And to begin with, no one, as I think, can forbid them to you; for as far as I can see in the Rule of St. Francis and St. Clare there is nothing to prevent them; what is said simply prevents any kind of abuse. And I will tell you how they are conducted amongst the daughters of Mother (St.) Teresa, who are in my opinion the most retired of all. Thus then are they made:
The sister who desires a conference says so to her superior; the superior considers whether the person with whom she desires to communicate is the proper kind of person to give her benefit and consolation; and the person, if such, is to be asked to come, and when he arrives the sister who wants to hold communication is taken to the grille, the blind remaining on the grille; and then free opportunity is given to communicate, every one retiring to a distance at which they cannot hear the one who is speaking but simply are able to see her. If they find a sister who wants to confer too often with the same person, beyond three times, it is not permitted, unless there is a strong appearance of great fruit, and the persons are beyond suspicion of vanity, are of mature age and practised in virtue.
You have seen, I am sure, what the Blessed Mother Teresa says on the point, and that will suffice to answer all the objections which might be alleged. And never was it the intention of the Saints to deprive souls of such conferences, which are extremely advantageous for many virtues, and are free from danger when properly arranged. This is an important matter, and a subtle temptation; we want to keep the liberty of private possession which is contrary to perfection, and will not accept the liberty of communications which well understood helps us to perfection. We find drawbacks where the Saints find none, and find none where the Saints find so many.
Further, these communications are not to be made in order to learn the different ways of living in a monastery, but to learn to practise better and more perfectly that to which one is bound; and far from injuring the public conferences they serve the better to direct and apply each conference to the particular case.
I had forgotten to say that when the Confessor Extraordinary comes, all the sisters must confess to him, in order that those who require it may not be discovered, and the evil one may not sow a crop of unkind remarks throughout the house. But those who do not want to give their confidence to the Extraordinary can before going to him make their confession to the ordinary one, and afterwards only mention to the Extraordinary some sins already confessed, to serve as matter of absolution.
I have been very long, my dear sister, but I wanted in this to declare my sentiments fully, that you may know them more distinctly. Hold firm with good courage in order to introduce into your house a holy and truly religious liberty of spirit, and to banish therefrom false and superstitious earthly liberty. Bring back these blessed souls to the observance of the holy Councils, and you will be blessed. Our Master Garinus, and all your higher superiors, discreet and reasonable persons, will help you, I do not doubt; as also will your good Confessor, who is a very virtuous and wise religious as I can tell, and one who will readily listen to reason when it is clearly pointed out to him.
I salute you a thousand thousand times in the bowels of the mercy of Our Lord, to whom I beseech you with all your dear and virtuous company, to recommend me continually. Your most humble in Our Lord, &c.
Annecy, 15th November 1617.
My reverend Father—It is the truth that I love your congregation, though with a love unfruitful up to now. May God make it as effective as it is affectionate, and not only at N., but in two or three worthy monasteries of this diocese, we shall see flourish again the sacred piety which the glorious friend of God and Our Lady, St. Bernard, had planted there.
I see indeed in your letter that you are ailing, since you say to me: He whom thou lovest is sick;[15] but still my compassion for you has an extreme sweetness, inasmuch as this sickness is not to death, but that the works of God may be manifested. For behold, he who loves is sick because he languishes with love.[16] And therefore I am very glad to fill the office of a daughter of Jerusalem, and will go tell thy Beloved—behold he who loves and whom thou lovest is sick. And do you, my dear Father, in return, implore for me and over me the assistance of which, in these waters, I have so much need. Many waters, many peoples: Save me, O Lord, for man hath trodden me under foot; and deliver me from many waters.[17]
I have seen with an extreme pleasure the design of your Summa of Theology, which is, to my taste, well and judiciously done. If you favour me by sending me a section of it I will read it lovingly and tell you my opinion frankly and simply, cost what it may. And to give you some assurance of this at once, I say that my idea is that you should omit, as far as possible, all methodic words, which, though they must be used in teaching, are superfluous, if I mistake not, and unseasonable, in writing. What need is there, for example, of: “In this difficulty three questions occur to us: the first question is, what is predestination? the second, to whom does predestination belong? the third, &c.?” For, since you are extremely methodical, it will be clearly seen that you do these things one after another, without your giving notice beforehand. Similarly: “On this question there are two opinions: the first opinion is, &c.” For is it not enough to give the statement of the opinions at once, beginning with a number, in this way:—
1. Scotus, Mayronis, and their followers, &c. 2. Ocham, Aureolus, and the Nominalists. 3. St. Thomas, however, and St. Bonaventure—and so on.
Then instead of saying: “The three conclusions must now be replied to, of which the first is, &c.,” is it not enough to say: “I now then say first, &c.;”
2. “I say;” 3. “I say, &c.?” So again with making prefaces in continuing subjects: “Having treated of God as one, it is proper that we now treat of God as threefold, or of the Trinity, &c.:” this is good for persons who go without method, or who need to make their method known because it is extraordinary or involved. Now this will largely hinder your Summa from swelling: it will be all juice and marrow, and according to my idea it will be all the more tasty and agreeable.
I add that there is a large number of questions quite useless except to furnish matter of argument. Certainly there is no great need of knowing “Whether angels are in a place by essence or by operation, whether they move from term to term without traversing intermediate space,” and the like: and although I should wish to have nothing forgotten, yet it seems to me that in such questions it should suffice to express clearly your opinion, and to base it on a good foundation, and then at the end or beginning to say simply: “so and so have thought otherwise;” thus leaving more room for enlarging a little more on questions of consequence, in which you must take care to instruct your reader thoroughly.
Further, I know that when you please you have an affective style; for I have a lively recollection of your Benjamin at the Sorbonne. I should approve that in the places where it can suitably be done you should expose the arguments for your opinions in that style; as in the question, “Whether the Word would have taken flesh if Adam had not sinned.” In either view you can draw out the opinions in the affective style. In that question, “Whether predestination is after the foreseeing of merit,” whether one hold the opinion of the holy Fathers who have preceded St. Ambrose, or that of St. Augustine and St. Thomas, or that of others, the arguments can be formed in affective style without amplifying, indeed, rather the contrary; and instead of saying, “The second argument is,” simply put the number 2. Again, it is a great ornament to give some good authorities, when they are full and brief; otherwise, a little with a reference.
Well now, my dear Father, what do you think of my heart? Does it not act simply with yours? But still, believe me, I am not so simple that with another I should act like this. I call to mind your meekness, natural, moral, and supernatural; I have my imagination full of your charity which endureth all things,[18] and how you willingly suffer the foolish while you yourself are wise,[19] wherefore I speak in my foolishness. May God make you prosper in his holy love. I am in him, unto extremity, my Reverend Father, your, &c
Annecy, 12th June 1618.
My very dear Father—I can assure you that our dear Sister Frances Gabrielle Bailly, your sister, is as dear to me as if she were mine own, her piety having won me to this, and I praise God that she receives and gives much consolation in the congregation of our dear sisters. Our Mother here loves her entirely, and we see that she is a vessel well purified, empty, open to receive great celestial graces: for hers is an upright soul, a spirit empty and stripped of all the things of this world, which has neither thought nor aim save for its God. Oh how happy she is in this state! For little does passing time import a soul which aspires to eternity, and which only takes notice of perishing moments in order to pass by them into immortal life. Ah! my dear Father, my brother, let us live thus in this little pilgrimage, cheerfully conforming ourselves to those with whom we live, in all that is not sin. I know that your soul is of those whose eyes fail them through strong fixing on the sacred object of their love and saying: When wilt thou console me?[20]
You ask me for some instruction as to beginning a good religious life. Good heavens! my dear Father, I, who was never so much as a good clerk, is it for me to instruct holy Religious? Carry with sweetness and love this your cross, which as I understand is great enough to load you with blessings if you love it.
Some little occupation hinders me from answering as I should like the sweet letter which you have written me. I only say to you that to-day is the day when I was consecrated to God for the service of souls: I solemnise this day every year with the greatest affection I can, consecrating myself anew to my God. Kindle my sacrifice with the ardour of your charity, and believe that I am at once your very humble servant, father and brother, &c.
20th June 1618.
By this safe opportunity I will tell you, my dear daughter, that our Mother tells the truth; I am extremely oppressed not so much with affairs as with hindrances which I cannot get free from. Nevertheless, I would certainly not wish, my dear daughter, that on this account you should abstain from writing to me when you please, for the receipt of your letters unwearies me and much recreates me. Only you must be somewhat good to me in excusing me if I am a little slow in answering; though I can assure you that it will never be but by necessity that I shall delay, for my spirit is pleased indeed to visit yours.
I cannot refuse you anything, my dear daughter; and therefore the two portraits which you desire shall be made. Why have I not desired to preserve the image of our heavenly Father in my soul, and the integrity of its likeness to him! My dearest daughter, you will kindly help me to ask the grace of having it repaired in me.
Your method of prayer is very good; yes, much better than if you made considerations and reasonings in it, since considerations and reasonings are only to excite the affections; so that if it please God to give us affections without reasonings and considerations it is for us a great grace. The secret of secrets in prayer is to follow attractions in simplicity of heart. Take the trouble to read, or to get read to you, if your eyes cannot serve you so far, the seventh Book of the Treatise on the Love of God, and you will there find all that it is necessary for you to know of prayer.
I remember very well that one day in confession you told me how you were acting, and I said to you that it was quite right, and that although you were to have a point ready, yet if God drew you to some affections as soon as you were in his presence, you were not to cling to the point but to follow the affection; and the more simple and tranquil it was the better it would be, for so it attaches the spirit so much the more strongly to its object.
But, my dear daughter, having once resolved on this do not occupy yourself, in time of prayer, with wanting to know what you are doing or how you pray; for the best prayer or state of prayer is that which keeps us so well employed in God that we think not of ourselves or of what we are doing. In a word, we must go to it simply, in good faith and artlessly, to be with God, to love him, to unite ourself with him. True love scarcely goes by method.
Remain in peace, my dear daughter, walk faithfully in the way wherein God has placed you; take good care holily to give satisfaction to him to whom he has made your companion; and like a little honey-bee, while you faithfully make the honey of sacred devotion make duly also the wax of your domestic affairs; for if one is sweet to the taste of Our Lord, who being in this world eat butter and honey,[21] the other also is to his honour, since it serves to make the lighted candles of edification of our neighbour.
May God who has taken you by the hand direct you, my dear daughter, whom I love tenderly; and more than paternally do I love your soul and your heart, which may God deign to make more and more his own. Amen. Vive Jésus!
Annecy, 13th July 1618.
My Reverend Father—Brother N. came to me in the depth of his affliction, and I am able to say that he was more dead than alive, so extreme was his desolation. And I was reminded of him who did not extinguish the smoking flax, and did not break the broken reed.[22] He presented to me his letters of dismissal, ejection, expulsion from the Order, and by his tears easily obtained from me leave to stay some weeks in this diocese, during which I was at Lyons visiting my Lord the Archbishop, at whose house the Reverend Father V. spoke to me. To say what I think, he spoke to me according to my heart, for he recommended to me this poor man, this priest, bound by the vows of religion, that he might be somewhat comforted. After that, I did still more gladly what I wanted to do in charity for this soul.
But, my Reverend Father, it has always been with this reservation, that he should on every occasion respect and honour your Order, and should conduct himself humbly towards all those who belong to it; and on your information I will keep my hand still more firmly upon him as to this as long as he stays in my diocese, for I desire nothing but to give satisfaction to Religious, and particularly to such as yourselves.
But, my Reverend Father, you propose to me the return of this sheep into your fold; I think he would desire nothing better, and particularly if you would please to assure him that you would further his good intention with some gentle advice, and with some moderation of the penance which perhaps your constitutions impose on those who return. And if you take the trouble to acquaint me with your will in this respect, I will co-operate in this good work with all my heart; with which, saluting you very humbly, and wishing you every holy benediction, I remain, my Reverend Father, yours, &c.
Paris, 25th May 1619.
Madame—No, I beg you, never be afraid that you will weary me with your letters; for I tell you in real truth that they will always give me a very great pleasure, as long as God grants me the grace of having my heart in his love, or at least desirous of possessing it. So let this be said once for all. It is doubtless true, my very dear mother, that if I had not come into this city you would hardly have been able to communicate with me as to your spiritual affairs; but since it has pleased heavenly Providence that I should be here, there is no difficulty about employing this opportunity, if you think well.
And by no means think that there comes to my mind the thought that you are seeking in me any personal excellence; for although this kind of thought would be very natural to my wretchedness, still as a fact it does not come to me on these occasions; but on the contrary there is nothing perhaps which is more capable of advancing me towards humility, than to see (with wonder) that so many men and women, servants of God, have so great a confidence in so imperfect a spirit as mine is; and I take great courage on this to become such as I am thought to be, and I hope that God giving me the holy friendship of his children will give me his own most holy friendship, according to his mercy, after he has made me do penance suitable to my evilness. But I am almost wrong in saying all this to you; it is, then, that wicked spirit, who, deprived for ever of sacred love, would hinder us from enjoying the fruits of that which the Holy Spirit wants to subsist between us for this purpose, that in holy mutual communications we may have a means of advancing in his heavenly will.
It is difficult, my very dear sister, to find universal minds, which can equally well discern in all matters, nor is it requisite to have such in order to be well guided: and there seems to me no harm in gathering from several flowers the honey which cannot be found in one alone.
Yes; but, you will tell me, meantime I keep cleverly favouring my inclinations and humours. My dear sister, I do not see that there is great danger in that, since you do not follow your inclinations unless they are approved of; and though you seek favourable judges, still at the same time you cannot do wrong in following their opinions, although desired by you, provided that for the rest you sincerely expose your case and the difficulties which you have. It is enough, my very clear sister, to let oneself be guided by counsels, and it is not so necessary or expedient to desire them to be contrary to our inclinations; we have only to wish them to conform to heavenly law and doctrine. For my part, I think that we ought not to summon bitternesses into our heart as Our Lord did, for we cannot govern them as he did; it is enough that we suffer them patiently. For which reason it is not required that we always go against our inclinations, when they are not bad, but have been examined and found good.
It is no great harm to listen to persons of the world, or to hear about worldly affairs, when it is to make them good; and you must not be punctilious in the examination which you make as to this; for it is a thing morally impossible to keep long at the exact point of moderation. But, my very dear sister, I would not have you fail in prayer, at least for half an hour, unless for pressing occasions, or when bodily infirmity prevents you.
For the rest, I beg you to believe that nothing will hinder me from having the satisfaction of seeing you again except impossibility; and I will take all the leisure you may desire: so true is it that I extremely desire your satisfaction, and that God has given me a singular affection for your heart, which may his divine Majesty crown with his blessings. Then therefore will we talk at will of your conduct, and of all that you will please to propose to me, and I will not excuse myself in anything, except when I shall not have the light required to answer you. Remain then always God’s, and in him I will be for ever, my very dear sister, without reserve and with my whole soul, your very humble, &c.
[This celebrated woman, abbess at fourteen, had already at the age of seventeen, despite the strongest opposition, introduced a reform into her own abbey, and was now engaged in the still more difficult work of reforming the abbey of Maubuisson. Unhappily she did not persevere in reforming herself. She was irresistibly attracted and subjugated by the virtues and gentle strength of St. Francis, put herself entirely and sincerely under his direction, and begged leave to quit the Benedictine Order and become a sister of the Visitation. He never encouraged her in this idea, though he permitted her to apply to Rome. Her request was not granted. After the Saint’s death she fell under the influence of St. Cyran, and her strong impetuous nature, blinded by personal and family pride, hurried her into the abysses of Jansenism.
The Saint at her request went to preach at Port-Royal, where her sister Agnes was superior in her absence. During his sermon he burst into tears, and being afterwards asked the cause, he said: “It was because God let me know that your house will lose the faith. The only way to preserve it is obedience to the Holy See.”
These letters also seem prophetic in their insight into the dangers which beset the path of the poor young abbess, and the means necessary to avoid them.
It is to be noted that the Saint frequently speaks of her soul as if it were one of her religious daughters—“that daughter whom I have recommended to you.”]
25th June 1619.
I do not write to you, my dear daughter, because I have not the leisure this morning; a soul who has to return to the country and came to make her general confession to me unexpectedly, took away the free time that I had. I affectionately salute your dear soul which my wretched one cares for more than I can say, never ceasing to desire it the protection of divine love; and I will certainly see it before my departure, if possible, in order that, knowing it still more particularly, I may, God so disposing, serve it on occasion more according to its desire.
Meantime tell that well-beloved daughter whom I have so much recommended to you, and who is so dear to my heart, that I continue to say to her that God wills to draw her to an excellent kind of life, and that therefore she must bless this infinite goodness which has regarded her with his loving eyes; but at the same time I tell her that the way by which she is to follow this vocation is not extraordinary; for, my dear daughter, it is a sweet, tranquil and strong humility, and a most humble, strong and tranquil sweetness. Tell her, my dear daughter, that she must in no way think whether she is to be amongst low souls or high; but let her follow the way I have marked out for her, and repose in God, walking before him in simplicity and humility.
Let her not look whither she is going, but with whom she goes, and I tell her she goes with her King, her Spouse, and her crucified God. Whithersoever she may go she will be blessed. To go with her crucified Spouse is to abase and humble self, to put down self even unto the death of all our passions, and I say unto the death of the cross. But, my dear daughter, note that I turn back to say that this putting down of self must be practised gently, tranquilly, constantly, and not only sweetly but gaily and joyously.
Tell her to communicate without fear, in peace, with humility, to correspond with that Spouse who, to unite himself to us, has annihilated and sweetly lowered himself to become our meat and nourishment—ours, who are the food and meat of worms. O my daughter! he who communicates according to the spirit of the Spouse annihilates self, and says to our Lord: masticate me, digest me, annihilate me, and convert me into thee.
I find nothing in the world of which we have more possession, or over which we have more dominion, than the food which we annihilate for our conservation; and Our Lord has come to this excess of love, that he has made himself food for us: and we, what should we not do that he may possess us, eat us, chew us, swallow us and swallow us again (avale et ravale)—do with us as he will? If any one murmur, take it humbly and lovingly: the murmurs will change into benedictions. For the rest I will speak to you in person.
Take no pains to construct carefully the letters you send me; for I do not seek fine buildings nor the language of angels, but the nest of doves and the language of love. Live all for God, my dear daughter, and often recommend to his goodness the soul of him who, with an invariable affection, is entirely dedicated to yours.
I only thought of writing to salute you, but insensibly I have gone on to write a letter. My brother salutes you very humbly, and I salute our three dear sisters. I salute the little sister, daughter of M. Thonzé, and wish her a happy perseverance.
About August 1619.[23]
There shall then no more be My Lord with me for you, nor Madame for you with me; the old cordial and charitable names of father and daughter are more Christian, more sweet, and of greater force to testify the sacred love which Our Lord has willed to be between us. I say thus boldly which God has willed between us, because I feel it strongly, and I believe that this feeling comes from nowhere else. And besides I know that it is profitable to me, and that it encourages me to do better; that is why I will preserve it carefully. Tell you to do the same I will not; for if it please God he will inspire you with it, and I cannot doubt that he will.
So, my dear daughter, then, the truth is that I am at present in such great uncertainty as to the time of my departure, that I dare no longer promise myself the consolation of seeing you again with my mortal eyes: but if I have the leisure I will do so, with great affection; and if I see that this might be an important benefit for your soul I will do all I can to ensure it.
In any case, my dear daughter, remember what I have told you: God has cast his eyes on you to make use of you in matters of consequence, and to draw you to an excellent sort of life. Respect then his election, and follow faithfully his intention. Continually animate your courage with humility, and your humility and desire of being humble animate with confidence in God, so that your courage may be humble and your humility courageous.
Season every part of your conduct, both interior and exterior, with sincerity, sweetness, and cheerfulness, according to the direction of the Apostle[24]: Rejoice in the Lord always, again I say rejoice; let your modesty be known to all men. And if possible be equal in temper, and let all your actions display the resolution you have made to love constantly the love of God.
This good bearer, whom I love cordially because he is all yours, carries to you the book of Father Dom Sans, General of the Feuillants, in which there is great and profound spiritual doctrine, full of very important maxims. If it were to seem to you that he was leading you out of that holy joyousness which I have so strongly recommended you, believe that this is not his aim, but only to make this joy serious and grave, as also it should be: and when I say grave, I do not say taciturn, nor affected, nor gloomy, nor disdainful, nor haughty, but I mean to say holy and charitable.
The good Father holds an opinion, founded on his virtue and humility, that one cannot pass a day without a venial sin deserving of accusation in confession.[25] But in this point experience has made me see the contrary; for I have found several souls who when well examined had nothing which I could observe to be a sin, and amongst others the blessed servant of God, Mlle. Acarie. I do not say that perhaps some venial faults did not escape her, but I do say that she could not note them in her examination, nor I in her confession, and that therefore I had reason to make her repeat the accusation of some former fault.
You will not say this to any one, if you please, my dear daughter; for I so highly revere this good Father and all he says that I would not have it known that even in this I do not agree with him. Besides, I do not know how he has treated this point, not having read it in his book which I have not yet seen, but only having heard him say it; and further I am speaking to your heart in confidence.
Do not burden yourself with too many vigils and austerities, my dear daughter; for I know well what I am saying in this. But go to the royal port of the religious life by the royal road of the love of God and your neighbour, of humility and gentleness.
If ever you write me news of your heart, you have no need to sign your name, nor to mention the place from which you write, nor to speak of yourself, but only of that daughter whom I have recommended to you.
I do not know why I write to you thus at large; it is my heart which does not weary of speaking to yours. But I must finish in order to go and take my bath, since I am in the hands of the doctor. May God be for ever in the midst of your heart, my dear daughter, and I am with all mine unchangeably your father and servant.
9th September 1619.
My dear Daughter—Since I have seen your heart I have loved it, and recommend it to God with all my heart, and beseech you to have care of it. Try, my dear daughter, to keep it in peace by equality of its emotions. I do not say: keep it in peace, but: try to do so; let this be your principal solicitude. And carefully beware of making an occasion of troubling yourself out of this, that you cannot all at once subdue the variety of the movements of your feelings.
Do you know what a monastery is? It is an academy of exact correction, where each soul should learn to let itself be treated, worked and polished, in order that being well smoothed and planed, it may become able to be joined, fixed and glued more exactly to the will of God. To be willing to be corrected is the evident sign of its perfection; for it is the principal fruit of humility, which makes us know that we have need of it.
The monastery is a hospital of spiritual sick who want to be cured, and who to be cured offer themselves to suffer cupping, the lancet, the razor, the syringe, the steel, the fire, and all the bitterness of medicines. And in the beginning of the Church, Religious were called by a name which means healers.[26] O my daughter! let us be truly that, and take no account of all that self-love will tell you to the contrary; but sweetly, graciously, and lovingly, take this resolution: either to die or to be healed, and as I do not will to die spiritually I will to be healed; and to be healed I will to suffer cure and correction, and to beseech the doctors not to keep back what I ought to suffer in order to be healed.
As to other matters, my dear daughter, I am told that you are afraid of spirits. The sovereign Spirit of our God is everywhere, without whose will and leave no spirit stirs. He who has the fear of this divine Spirit, should fear no other spirit. You are under his wings like a little chicken; what fear you? I, when young, was affected with this imagination, and to free myself from it I forced myself little by little to go alone, my heart armed with confidence in God, to the places in which my imagination threatened me with fear: and at last I strengthened myself so much that the darkness and solitude of night are delightful to me, on account of this all-presence of God, which we enjoy better in this solitude.
The good Angels are around you like a company of soldiers on guard. The truth of God shall compass thee with a shield; thou shalt not be afraid of the terror of the night.[27] This assurance will be gained little by little, in proportion as the grace of God will grow in you; for grace brings forth confidence, and confidence is not confounded.
May God be for ever in the midst of your heart, my dear daughter, to reign therein eternally. I am in him your most humble brother and servant.
Paris, 12th September 1619.
I start at last, to-morrow morning, my dear daughter, since such is the will of him whose we are, to whom we live and shall die. Oh may he be praised, this great eternal God, for the mercies which he exercises towards us! Your consolation consoles my heart, which is so closely united with yours that nothing will ever be received in the one but the other will therein have its part, yea the whole, since in truth they are, as seems to me, in perfect community, and I seem able to use the language of the primitive Church, one heart and one soul.[28]
This was written when I received your second letter, but I continue answering the first.
I hope that God will strengthen you more and more: and to the thought or rather the temptation of sadness from the fear that your present fervour and attention will not last, answer once for all that those who trust in God are never confounded, and that as much for the spirit as for the body and for temporals you have cast your care upon the Lord, and he will nourish you.[29] Let us then serve God well to-day; as to the morrow God will provide for it. Each day should bear its own burden. Have no solicitude for to-morrow, for God who reigns to-day will reign to-morrow. If his goodness had thought, or rather known, that you would have had need of a more present assistance than that which I can render you from such a distance, he would have given it you, and he will always give it you, when required to supply the deficiency of mine. Remain in peace, my dear daughter; God works from afar and from close by, and calls distant things to the service of those who serve him, without bringing them near—absent in body present in spirit, says the Apostle.[30]
I hope that I shall understand clearly what you will tell me of your prayer, in which, however, I do not want you to curiously regard your process and method of making it; for it is enough that you quite simply acquaint me with any important change in it according as you remember after having made it. I approve your writing down things as they occur to send me afterwards as you may think well, not fearing that you will weary me; for you will never weary me.
Beware, my dear daughter, of that word fool, and remember the saying of our Lord[31]: He who shall say to his brother Raca (which is a word that means nothing, but only manifests some indignation) shall be guilty of the council; that is, there will be deliberation as to how he must be punished. Gradually tame down the vivacity of your spirit to patience, sweetness, and affability, amid the littleness, childishness, and feminine imperfections of the sisters who are tender with themselves, and inclined to be always teasing a mother’s ears. Do not glory in the affection of fathers who are on earth and earthly, but in that of the heavenly Father, who has loved you and given his life for you.
Sleep well: little by little you shall return to the six hours, since you desire it. To eat little, work hard, have much worry of mind, and refuse sleep to the body, is to try to get much work out of a horse which is in poor condition without feeding him up.
As to the second letter—ought you not to have been tried in this beginning of higher aims? Well then, there is nothing in this but effects of the Providence of God, who has abandoned this poor creature in order to effect that her sins may be more severely punished, and that by this means she may return to herself and to God from whom it is so long since she departed. I should have wished you not to treat those persons with ridicule or sarcasm, but by a modest simplicity to have edified them by the compassion of which they are worthy, according as our Lord has taught us in his Passion: still, God be praised that the affair has passed with so much edification of other neighbours, according as the good M. du V. writes me.
My dear daughter, I say adieu to you, and conjure your heart to believe that never will mine separate from it: ’tis impossible; what God unites cannot be separated. Keep your heart high uplifted in that eternal Providence, which has named you by your name, and bears you graven in his paternally maternal bosom; and in this greatness of confidence and of courage faithfully practise humility and mildness: Amen. I am yours beyond compare, my dear daughter. Rest in God: Amen. I am starting in some little haste, because the R.[32] desires that I give her an answer before my return. That which is not God ought to be little in our estimation. May God be your protection: Amen.
16th December 1619.
I begin where you finish, my dear and most truly well-beloved daughter; for your last letter of those which I have received finishes thus: I think that you know me well. Yes, it is true, without doubt, I know you well, and that you have ever within your heart an invariable resolution of living wholly to God, but also I know that your great natural activity makes you feel many vicissitudes in your impulses.
No, my daughter, I pray you do not believe that the work which we have undertaken to do in you can be so soon done. Cherry-trees soon bear their fruits, because their fruits are only cherries, lasting but a short time; but the palm, the prince of trees, does not bear fruit for a hundred years after it has been planted, it is said. A life of lower level may be gained in a year, but the perfection to which we aspire—oh! my dear daughter, it cannot come till after many years, speaking of the ordinary course.
And say this further to that daughter whom I have so much recommended to you, that in truth I cannot forget her either day or night, my soul incessantly imploring the grace of God for her: and tell her confidently that no, never will I be cast down about her weaknesses and imperfections. Should I not be cruelly unfaithful if I did not look upon her with sweetness amid the efforts which she makes to strengthen herself in gentleness, in humility, in simplicity? Let her continue her efforts faithfully, and I will ceaselessly continue to long and strive for her good and progress. The good father thanks me so kindly for the affection which I bear towards this dear daughter, without considering that it is an affection so precious to me, and so naturalised in my soul, that no one should be more pleased with me for that than he would be for my wishing good to myself.
But tell her, that dear daughter, that in her morning exercise she must put her heart in an attitude of humility, of sweetness, and of tranquillity, and that she must put herself back into it after dinner during grace, and at Vespers, and in the evening, and that during the day she must remember I have told her to do it.
Tell her that I stay here in my diocese, so long as God pleases, and that as nothing can draw me from it save some particular occasion which I shall think to be to the glory of Our Lord, so when this presents itself, I shall have no more difficulty in at once detaching myself from the favours which I receive than before they were given me. I am and will be and wish to be for ever at the mercy of God’s Providence, without willing that my will should hold there other place than that of follower. You always know everything, but keep your knowledge to yourself.
I am again invited to go to Paris, and on advantageous conditions. I have said: I will neither go there nor stay here save according to the good pleasure of heaven. This country is my fatherland according to my natural birth; according to my spiritual birth the Church is. Wherever I think I can better serve the latter there I will gladly be, without attaching myself to the former.
No, my daughter, do not leave out your prayer unless for causes which it is almost impossible to control. There is no harm but on the contrary good in treating with our good Angel.
But let us say a word of our dear daughters. Alas! will poor N. also lose the fruit of her vocation? O my God! permit it not. Her poor sister is in great danger, according to what is written to me; and I assure you that my soul is very much afflicted about it; and I should like, if I could, to do much to retain these two sisters for God, who wants them provided they do not resist.
I do not write at present to our dear Sister Catherine of Genoa. I think that the assembly of L. can have done nothing against her, since you say nothing to me about it. Oh no; for God will protect that dear soul, and will not let so fierce a storm come to beat her down. Let her take good heart again and live joyfully.
As to the C. you must not be vexed at the refusal of it; the good which is to come from it is too great to allow no difficulty or contradiction over it.
M. will return to himself, no doubt; I could not restrain myself from writing to him at much length, although I do not know him; I thought I ought to do this for the advantage of Our Lord’s business.
Remain in peace, my dear daughter, and often pray for my amendment that I may be saved, and that one day we may rejoice in the eternal joy, remembering the attractions with which God has favoured us, and the mutual contentments which he has willed us to have in speaking of him in this world. O my daughter, may he be for ever the sole object of our heart’s desires! Amen.
About the end of 1619.
I see clearly this ant’s nest of inclinations which self-love nourishes and pours forth over your heart, my dear daughter, and I am well aware that the nature of your mind, subtle, delicate, and fertile, contributes towards this; but still, my dear daughter, they are only inclinations, and since you feel their importunateness, and your heart complains of them, there is no appearance that they are accepted with any deliberate consent. No, my daughter; your dear soul having conceived the great desire with which God has inspired it of being his alone, do not easily yield to the thought that it gives consent to these contrary movements. Your heart may be shaken with the movement of these passions, but I think that it rarely sins by consenting.
Miserable man that I am, said the great Apostle,[33] who shall deliver me from the body of this death? He felt within him an army composed of his natural humours, aversions, customs, and inclinations, which had conspired his spiritual death; and because he fears them he bears witness that he hates them, and because he hates them he cannot endure them without sorrow, and his sorrow makes him thus exclaim; to which he himself answers that the grace of God by Jesus Christ will defend him, not from the fear, not from the terror, not from the alarm, not from the fight, but from defeat, and will prevent him from being conquered.
My daughter, to be in the world and not feel these movements of the passions are incompatible things. Our glorious St. Bernard says that it is heresy to say we can persevere in one same state here below, inasmuch as the Holy Spirit has said by Job,[34] speaking of man, that he never continueth in the same state. This is in reply to what you say of the levity and inconstancy of your soul; for I believe firmly that that soul is continually agitated by the winds of its passions, and that consequently it is always shaking; but I firmly believe also that the grace of God and the resolution which it has given you remain continually at the pinnacle of your spirit, where the standard of the cross is ever upraised, and where faith, hope, and charity ever loudly proclaim—Vive Jésus!
You see, my daughter, these inclinations to pride, vanity, self-love, mingle themselves with everything, and sensibly or insensibly breathe their spirit into almost all our actions; but at the same time they are not the motives of our actions. St. Bernard feeling them tease him one day while he was preaching said: “Depart from me, Satan; I did not begin for thee and I will not end for thee.”
One thing only have I to say to you, my dear daughter, on your writing to me that you nourish your pride by little arts in conversations and in letters. In conversation, indeed, affectation sometimes enters so insensibly that one scarcely perceives it at all; but still if one does perceive it the style should immediately be altered; but in letters this is certainly a little less, yea much less, to be tolerated; for we see better what we are doing, and if we perceive a notable affectation we must punish the hand that wrote it, making it write another letter in other fashion.
For the rest, my dear daughter, I do not doubt but that amid so great a multitude of turnings and windings of the heart there glide in here and there some venial faults; but still, as they merely pass through, they do not deprive us of the fruit of our resolutions, but only of the sweetness which there would be in not making these failures, did the state of this life permit.
Well now, be just: do not excuse, no, nor accuse your poor soul save after mature consideration, for fear lest if you excuse it without foundation you make it presumptuous, and if you lightly accuse it you dull its spirit and make it low-hearted. Walk simply and you will walk confidently.[35]
I must yet add on the remaining space of my paper this important word. Do not burden your weak body with any other austerity than that which the rule imposes on you; preserve your bodily strength to serve God with in spiritual exercises, which we are often obliged to give up, when we have indiscreetly overdone that with which the soul has to go through them.
Write to me when you please, without ceremony or fear; do not let respect oppose the love which God wills there should be between us, according to which I am for ever unchangeably your very humble brother and servant, &c.
Annecy, 4th February 1620.
O my dear daughter, what can I say to you on this decease? Our good mother of the Visitation has given me the news of it; but at the same time she writes to me that she had seen Madame your mother, and my dear daughter your sister Catherine of Genoa, brave, resolute, and full of courage, and that M. de Belley had received letters from you by which you testified to him your steadiness on this occasion. I did not doubt, my dear daughter, that God had a care of your heart in these occurrences, or that if he wounded it with one hand he applied his balm with the other; he strikes and he heals; he killeth and maketh alive;[36] and so long as we can lift up our eyes and look at celestial Providence grief cannot oppress us. It is enough then, my dearest daughter; God and your good Angel having consoled you I no longer try to do so: your bitterest bitterness is in peace.[37] In what measure God draws to himself, one by one, the treasures which our heart had here below, that is, what we love, he draws with them our heart itself, and “since I have no longer a father on earth,” said St. Francis, “I will say more freely: Our Father who art in heaven.”
Courage, my daughter, all is ours and we are God’s.
I have said Mass for this soul, and every day celebrate with a particular memory of it before God. But, my daughter—and our sisters, Catherine of Genoa, Anne and Marie, what are they doing, poor things? They are constant, are they not, for they are our sisters? Of M. d’Andilly and of M. Arnauld, my son, there can be no doubt. Certainly when I remember how M. d’Andilly spoke to me of his little Francis, I am further comforted. The peace of God be ever in our hearts. Amen.
I now answer your two last letters of the 19th November and the 14th December. It is true, I am extraordinarily burdened with affairs, but your letters, my daughter, are not business, they are refreshment and solace to my soul; let this be said once for all.
It is a great thing that exteriorly you are more observant of the rule. God formed first the exterior of man, then he breathed into him the breath of life, and this exterior was made into a living soul.[38] Humiliations, says Our Lord, very often precede and introduce humility; continue in this exterior which is easier, and little by little the interior will accommodate itself thereto.
Ah! yes, my daughter, I see your entanglements in these thoughts of vanity; the fertility, and at the same time subtlety, of your mind lend a hand to these suggestions; but what do you put yourself in trouble about? The birds came down upon the sacrifice of Abraham[39]: what did he do? With a branch which he kept waving over the holocaust he drove them away. My daughter, a simple little pronouncing of some word of the cross will drive away all these thoughts, at any-rate will take away from them all hurtfulness:—O Lord! pardon this daughter of the old Adam, for she knows not what she does. O woman! behold thy father on the cross. You must sing very quietly: He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and he hath exalted the humble.[40] I say that these renouncements must be made quite gently, simply, and as if one made them for love, and not from the necessity of the struggle.
Accustom yourself to speak softly and slowly, and to go, I mean walk, quite composedly, to do all that you do gently and quietly, and you will see that in three or four years you will have quite regulated this hasty impetuousness. But carefully remember to act thus gently and speak softly on occasions when the impetuosity is not urging you, and when there is no appearance of danger of it; as for example when going to bed, getting up, sitting down, eating, when you speak with our Sister Marie or Anne, or with our Sister Isabel: in short, everywhere and in everything dispense not yourself from it. Now I know that you will make a thousand slips a day over all this, and that your great natural activity will be always breaking out; but I do not trouble myself about this provided that it is not your will, your deliberation, and that when you perceive these movements you always try to calm them.
Be very careful about what may offend our neighbour, and not to make known what is secret to his disadvantage, and if you do so try to repair the injury as far as you can immediately. These slight movements of envy are of no importance, yea are useful, since they make you clearly see your self-love, and since you make contrary acts.
But, my daughter, is it not good in this daughter whom I have so often recommended to you, and who in truth is dear to me as my soul, to confess that little trait of self-love? For what is there more delicate than that little aversion, which she describes, to the being called daughter by that poor mother?[41] (Ask her, I beg you, if she has not also a repugnance to my calling her my daughter, and if she does not want me to call her my mother?) Oh! what effort it has cost her to tell me this little weakness! I do not know indeed, my daughter, how much it costs her, but I would not for anything in the world have it unsaid, since she has hereby practised such profound resignation, and such confidence towards me. She is, however, still more agreeable when she forbids me to say this to the poor mother. O my daughter, tell her that these little communications of her soul to mine enter into a place whence they never go out save by leave of her who puts them there. Besides, my dear daughter, I do not know what this daughter has done to me, but I find such satisfaction that she describes her miseries so naturally to me that more could not be. Tell her now always to write simply to me, and that although when I was there with her she never showed me any of the letters which she wrote to her sisters, now if I were there she would make no difficulty in doing so; for she knows me much better than she did, and well knows that I am not of a mocking turn.
As to prayer, my dear daughter, I approve your reading a little in your Theotimus, in order to restrain your mind, and your saying to Our Lord from time to time, quite quietly, words contradicting the distractions in which you may perceive yourself to be. But look, do not disturb yourself over these distractions—if I were a Saint, if I were speaking to the Pope, and the like; for they are distractions all the more completely for being very silly; and no other remedy is wanted than quietly to bring back the heart to its object.
I have answered everything, my dear daughter. Ah! salute with some greater tenderness from me the poor dear eldest sister; my heart regards her with pity. I know that it is so much in Our Lord that not even this rude blow has been able to drive away interior peace; but her distress and her fears will have been great. This sister is dear to me in quite an extraordinary degree. May God for ever be our all. Amen. I am in him all yours in a way that Providence alone can make you conceive. The grace, peace, and consolation of the Holy Spirit be with you. Amen.
My brother is still with Madame. May I venture to salute the little brother Simon, and the dear little sister? But my daughter Marie Angélique, without doubt I salute her with all my heart, and the good M. Manceau, and, when you see her, your great friend and my dear sister de la Croix. God be in the midst of your heart. Amen.
14th May 1620.
In spite of all that you write to me in three of your letters, my dear daughter, I do not cease to have a great confidence that the daughter whom I have so greatly recommended to you, and whom in truth I love as my own soul, will turn out a great servant of God; for she commits no fault on purpose or on account of any will that she has to follow her perverse, unprofitable, and somewhat rebellious inclinations. This then being so, there is nothing to fear; her natural impetuosity is the cause of all her trouble; for it excites her vivacity, and her vivacity excites her impetuosity. Meantime you will tell her from me that her chief care must be to keep her spirit in modesty, sweetness, and tranquillity, and that just on this account she must tone down her outward actions, her bearing, her gait, her behaviour, the movements of her hands, and, if she please, also to some extent her tongue and her speech, and that she must not be surprised if this is not done in a moment: to train a young horse to his paces, and to make him steady under his saddle and bridle, takes whole years.
But look you, my dear daughter, you are a little too severe with her, this poor daughter: you must not give her so many reproaches, since she is a daughter of good desires. Tell her that all unstable as she may be she must never be disheartened nor be vexed with herself; let her rather regard Our Lord, who from the heights of heaven regards her, as a father does his child when the child as yet quite feeble can hardly take its steps, saying: gently now, my child: and if it tumble he encourages it, saying: he is up again, he is very good, do not cry—then he goes up to it and gives it his hand. If this daughter be a child in humility, and knows well that she is a child, she will not be astonished at a fall; besides she will not fall from a great height.
Ah! my dear daughter, if you knew how much my heart loves this daughter, and with what eyes I regard her from here at every moment, you would take a great care of her, for love of me also, besides what you are to her; for you love me with a love which is strong enough to make you love all that I love.
When the great Apostle recommends to Philemon the poor young man Onesimus, and says to him a thousand such sweet words that they enrapture one with love: “If you love me,” he says, “if you have given me a place in your heart, receive also my bowels,”[42]—thus styling Onesimus, who had done some injury to Philemon, for which Philemon was angry. O my dear Philemona, my daughter I mean, if you love me, if you have received me within your heart, receive therein also my dear daughter Onesima, and bear with her, that is, receive my bowels, for this daughter is truly that in Our Lord. And if sometimes she gives you pain, bear with her patiently for my sake, but above all for the sake of him who has loved her so much, that to go and rescue her in her nothingness wherein she was, he abased himself unto death and the death of the cross. And as for you, my dear daughter, how shall you not love God who loves you so greatly? What a mark of his love, my daughter, in this happy decease of that good father, for whom you have so much desired such an end! Certainly, I am in raptures over it. A thousand blessings on your heart, my dear daughter, and on all our dear sisters, and on all that is yours, in you and for you: and then I shall have my good share therein, since I am infinitely yours in Jesus Christ and for Jesus Christ.
[See following Letter.]
31st May 1620.
Well now, in God’s name, my dear daughter, it is true, God wills that you should make use of my soul with an entire confidence, in all that regards the good of yours, which on this account he has made wholly dear and precious to me in his heavenly love.
Behold then, you are out of this troublesome business, my dear daughter, with an entire liberty which the eternal Providence has given you; and since you know it to be so, bless from the very depths of your soul this divine sweetness; and I will bless it with you, destining for this purpose the most holy sacrifices which I will offer upon his holy altars. For, better thank-offering I cannot make to the divine Majesty than to present to him the One for whom and by whom everything is agreeable to him in heaven and on earth.
But now, my daughter, what shall we do with this liberty which we have? We will, without doubt, wholly immolate it to him of whom we hold it; for this resolution is invariable that without any reserve or exception even for a single moment, we will live for him alone, who, to make us live with true life, even willed to die on the cross.
But how?—in what state?—in what condition of life? To stay in the state which you are in would indeed be the easiest in appearance, but in reality the hardest. That world of Paris, or indeed of the whole of France, would not let you live peacefully in this middle state. They would not cease to drive you violently outside the limits of the resolution which you would have taken about it; and to promise yourself a resolution so constant that it could not be shaken, yea overcome, would be to promise yourself a real miracle in this age, with your attractive appearance, among so many subtle advocates and intercessors which the world and its prudence would have with you, who without any pity or cessation would attack, now on one side now on another, your repose; and by dint of importunities, or of deceits or surprises, would at last procure for their aims the victory over your powers. And I well know that I need say no more on this point, since you yourself own that it is true, and know the impossibility. There remains then, as matter for consideration, marriage, or religion.
But, my dear daughter, I have needed no extraordinary penetration to discern which of the two I should counsel you to choose; for, as you clearly describe to me, and as you have already let me know, during the time when I had the benefit of hearing you speak with confidence of your soul to mine, the feeling which you have against marriage comes from two causes, of which even the one would be enough to determine a person not to embrace it—a great aversion, a most entire disgust, a very strong repugnance. O my daughter! that is quite enough, we need say no more about it. Why! those souls which have a particular inclination for marriage, let it be as happy a one as it may, find in it so many occasions of patience and mortification that only with great difficulty do they bear the burden of it. And how would you manage, entering into it wholly against your feelings? Of other difficulties I have a hundred times seen alleviations; of this one never.
The Apostles, as you know, having once heard Our Lord speak of the indissolubility of the marriage tie, said to him:[43] Lord, if it be so, it is not good to marry. And Our Lord, approving their opinion, answered them: All receive, not this word; . . . he that can receive it let him receive it. My dear daughter, I also, having heard you speak and seen your letter on this subject, speak to you boldly and say to you: without doubt, my daughter, since the case is so it is good for you not to marry; and although all do not understand, that is, do not accept, do not adopt, this saying, do not understand its excellence, do not put it into effect, still you, my dearest daughter, you can easily effect it, you can easily attain this good, and understand and relish this counsel. Do so then.
Now I say this with still more assurance because I see marriage to be more dangerous in you than in another on account of that ambitious spirit which you describe to me, which would make you continually pant after aggrandisement and incessantly plunge into vanity.
But after taking this resolution without there being any subject for scruple, it is far more difficult to say to yourself next, Enter then into religion. And yet it must perforce be said to you; since neither the customs of France, nor the inclinations of your relatives, nor your age, nor your appearance, would allow you to remain as you are. I say this to you then perforce: My daughter, enter into religion; but in saying it to you I feel a secret sweetness in this force, which makes it not forced but sweet and agreeable. The Angels pressed[44] that good man Lot, and his wife and daughters, and took his hand and forcibly brought him forth and set him without the city, but Lot finds no violence in this force, indeed he says he well knows he has found grace with them. And Our Lord in his parable[45] commands his servant: Compel them to come in, yet not one of them that were compelled said: Let me alone, you hurt me. I am forced and compelled to say to my daughter: Enter into religion, but this compulsion does not distress my heart.
O my daughter! let us speak together in some degree heart to heart. Think you that God always gives the vocation to religion or to perfect devotion according to natural qualities and the inclinations of the souls whom he calls? Certainly not, my daughter, do not be afraid of that. The religious life is not a natural life, it is above nature, and it needs that grace give it and form the soul of this life. It is true that the sovereign Providence many times uses nature for the service of grace, but this is far from being always the case or almost always. He who cried so piteously:[46] The good which I will I do not, but the evil which I will not, that is present in me; . . . that is to say, there dwelleth not in my flesh that which is good; for to will good is present with me, but to accomplish that which is good I find not . . . unhappy man that I am: who shall deliver me from the body of this death? The grace of God by Jesus Christ; or I give thanks to God by Jesus Christ: therefore I myself, with the mind and in the mind serve the law of God, but with the flesh, and in the flesh, the law of sin—he, I say, showed clearly that his nature but little served grace, and that his inclinations were but slightly submissive to inspirations: and yet he was one of the most perfect servers of God whom God ever had in this world, and was so blessed at last that he could say with truth:[47] I live, now not I, but Christ liveth in me, after grace had subdued nature, and inspirations had subjected inclinations.
My daughter, these fears of finding superiors indiscreet, and these other apprehensions which you explain to me so faithfully, all this will vanish before the face of Our Lord crucified, whom you will affectionately embrace; your spirit, noble with the world’s nobility, will change by force, and will make itself noble with the loftiness of the Angels and Saints. You will see the foolishness of the human understanding and its reasonings, and will laugh it to scorn. You will love the word of the Cross,[48] which the pagans have looked upon as foolishness and the Jews as a scandal, but which to us, that is, to those who are saved, is the supreme wisdom, the virtue and power of God.
But, my daughter, there is this very great softening of a counsel which is so absolute and seems so rigorous. You are rich; a twentieth or perhaps a hundredth part of your means would suffice to make you foundress of a monastery, and in that capacity you would have a graceful means of living in a religious manner outside the pressure of the world, whilst waiting for custom, consideration, and inspiration to give the last courage to your heart and the last perfection to your resolution, so as to be altogether a religious. Thus would you finely cheat your nature and artfully entrap your heart. Oh! as Our Saviour lives, to whom I am consecrated, this advice regards your soul only, and has no aim, either to right or to left, but your peace and repose. And meantime pray to God, my dear daughter; humble yourself, direct your lire to eternity, elevate your intentions, purify your aims, often think how that a single little increase in the love of God is worthy of great consideration, since it will increase our glory for all eternity. In short, your spirit, and what God has done to have you his, and a thousand considerations, call you to no common Christian generosity. I recommend you to have confidence in the good Mother of the Visitation as in myself, for she will serve you faithfully. And I am, without end and without reserve, your very humble and unchanging servant, &c.
[See preceding Letter.]
Annecy, 9th August 1620.
It causes an incomparable sweetness to me, my dear daughter, to see the heavenly operation which the Holy Spirit has effected within your heart, in this your strong and generous resolution to withdraw from the world. Oh how wisely you acted according to supernatural wisdom, my dear daughter! —for so was it, in the Gospel of the feast which was being kept, that Our Lady went with haste into the mountainous country of Juda.[49] This promptitude in doing the will of God is a grand means of drawing down great and powerful graces for the following out and accomplishment of every good work; and you see, my dear daughter, that after the violent shock which your heart felt when by main force it stripped itself of its feelings, humours, and inclinations, to follow that superior attraction, you are now here all happy and at rest in the blessed bush which you have chosen, to sing therein for ever the glory of your Saviour and Creator of your soul.
Raise, my dear daughter, often raise your thoughts to that eternal consolation which you will have in Heaven, for having done what you have done; though it is nothing (and I see well that you think it so), it is indeed nothing in comparison with your duty, or with those immortal rewards which God has prepared you. For what are all these things which we despise and quit for God? After all, they are but brief little moments of a liberty which is a thousand times worse slavery than slavery itself— perpetual disquiets, aspirations vain, inconstant, incapable of being ever satisfied, which would have agitated our spirits with a thousand useless solicitudes and anxieties, and all this for miserable days, so uncertain, and short, and evil. Nevertheless it has so pleased God, that he who quits these nothings and vain occupations of the moment, gains in exchange a glory of eternal felicity, in which this sole consideration of having willed to love God with all our heart, and having gained a single little degree more of eternal love, will inundate us with joy.
In truth, my dear daughter, I would have carefully forborne from saying to you, trample under foot your feelings, your hesitations, your fears, your aversions, if I had not had confidence in the goodness of the celestial Spouse, that he would give you the strength and courage to take the side of inspiration and reason against that of nature and disliking.
But, my daughter, I must needs say to you—here you are sweetly all dead to the world and the world all dead in you: it is a part of the holocaust. But two parts still remain; the one is to flay the victim, stripping your heart of itself, running the knife under and cutting away all those little imperfections which nature and the world cause you; the other is to burn and reduce to ashes your self love, and wholly convert your dear soul into flames of heavenly love.
But, my daughter truly all dear, this is not done in one day; and he who has done you the grace of making the first stroke, will himself make with you the other two; and because his hand is entirely paternal, either he will do it insensibly, or if he let you feel it, he will give you the constancy, yea gladness, which he gave on the gridiron to the Saint whose feast we keep. Wherefore you must have no fear: He who has given you the will he will give you the accomplishing:[50] only be faithful over a few things and he will set you over many things.[51]
You promise me, my dear daughter, that if you are allowed you will write me all the circumstances of your happy retreat; and I promise you that you will be allowed, and that I shall receive this account with an extreme love. May God be for ever blessed, praised and glorified, my dear daughter, and I am in him and for him, most singularly, your very humble, &c.
P.S.—The good Carthusian uncle will be greatly pleased when he knows what you are.
Annecy, 11th November 1621.
My reverend Father—With a thousand thanks for the trouble you have taken to write to me, I say in answer that when at Paris I would never acquiesce in the desire that Madame de Port-Royal manifested to me of withdrawing from the Order in which she had so profitably lived up to that time; and veritably I brought into this country not so much as a thought of it, but time after time I received by letters very earnest pleadings, with which she excited me to enter into her ideas and approve her wishes.
I temporised as much as I could, and showed myself not only cold, but altogether opposed to her dispositions, until after eighteen months a person of great consideration wrote to me in such a sense that I considered it well not to make myself the sovereign judge on this occasion, but to leave the final decision to the event. I refrained then from giving her advice, and wrote to her that since her heart found no repose in all that I had said to her she might have her petition presented for what she desired; that if His Holiness granted it there would be a very probable appearance that her desire is the will of God, inasmuch as the thing being in itself difficult could not succeed without a special concurrence of the divine favour; that if on the contrary His Holiness refused it, there would no longer be anything left save to humble herself and abase her heart. This, my reverend Father, is as far as I have gone. I clearly saw that this design was extraordinary, but I also saw an extraordinary heart. I saw indeed the inclination of this heart towards commanding; but I saw that it was to conquer this inclination that she wanted to bind herself to obedience. I saw indeed that she was a woman, but I saw she had been more than a woman in commanding and governing, and that she might well be so in obeying properly.
As for the interest of the Visitation, certainly, my reverend Father, I protest before God and your Reverence that I never thought of it, or if I thought it was so little that I have no recollection of doing so. I confess indeed that I have a particular loving affection for the institute of the Visitation; but Madame de Chantal, your dear daughter and mine, will tell you that for it I would not have withdrawn the most excellent and most esteemed creature in the world from her just vocation, even though she might become a canonised Saint in the Visitation. I rejoice when God draws good subjects to it, but I will never employ either word or art, however holy it might be, to attract any one, unless it might be some feeble prayer before God. The inconstancy of woman is to be feared, but one cannot guess, and constancy is in this case equally, and better than equally, to be hoped for.
Oh! my Father, how extraordinarily our ancient friendship makes my soul familiar and effusive with yours! I am running on too much. I let myself go by the advice of others; I will also willingly accommodate myself to the advice of those who will take the pains to examine this affair, but above all your own, which therefore I will very affectionately wait for and very lovingly receive, being ever, my reverend Father, your most humble, &c.
[This was a Cistercian Abbey near Annecy.]
29th August 1622.
I answer your letter frankly, my very dear cousin, my daughter. It is true that I have long perceived the desires which several of your daughters had for a reform, and as far as my conscience permitted I have told you of it from time to time. But it is also true that I should have wished them to have a little more patience, since we are on the eve of seeing a general order for the reform of all the monasteries of this province this side the Alps, in particular of the monasteries of women, amongst whom little failings are more blamed than great ones among men. But, my dear cousin, the thing has now come out. That there have been some acts of impatience, immortification, disdain, disobedience, self-love, certainly cannot be denied: still for all that the substance of the affair does not cease to be good and according to God’s will. All the defects which occur in a good work do not spoil its essential goodness; wherever good comes from we must love it. My inclination was to wait before doing this till the order came from Rome, in order that there might be less resistance. The fervour of the charity of some, or if you like the ardour of the self-will of others, has chosen another means which seemed to them shorter. It must not on this account be rejected, but we must contribute to it all that holy, sincere, and true charity will suggest to us; and we must take care not to let our own interest or self-love use our own prudence contrarily to the will of the heavenly Spouse. But of all this we must talk more at length, God helping.
Madame my dear cousin, my daughter, that this matter was so designed I knew before my departure from this town; that it had come to execution I knew in Argentine; but you were the first to give me information as to particulars, although I have since learnt even more. It matters little whether good be done in one way or in another, provided that it be done in such sort that a greater glory may come to Our Lord from it. I am, madame my dear cousin, your, &c.
I have learnt then, by the mouth of our dear cousin, in how many ways our Lord had tested your heart and tried your steadiness, my dear daughter. Well now, we must holily animate and invigorate ourselves amidst all these storms. Blessed be the wind, whencesoever it come, since it makes us speed to a good port.
These, my dear daughter, are the conditions with which we should give ourselves to God; namely, that he may at once do his will with us, with our affairs and with our plans, and may break and contravene ours, as it shall please him. Oh how happy are they whom God turns as he likes, and leads according to his good pleasure, whether by tribulation or by consolation! But still the true servants of God have always more esteemed the way of adversity, as being more conformed to that of our Head, who would only succeed in our salvation and the glorifying of his own name by the cross and ignominies.
But, my dear daughter, do you realise well in your heart what you write to me, that God by thorny ways conducts you to a state which had been offered to you by easier means? For if you had this knowledge you would extremely cherish this state which God has chosen for you, and would love it so much the more because he has not only chosen it but leads you to it himself, and by a way by which he has conducted all his dearest and greatest servants. Beseech him that this sentiment which he gives you may not die out, but that it may increase to perfect maturity. As for me, I bless your dear soul, which Our Lord wants for himself, and I have for you all the holy love which can be expressed. Our dear cousin is tender in this affection, and has a heart perfectly yours.
This bridegroom of Cana in Galilee makes his marriage feast, and intends to be bridegroom; but he is quite too fortunate, for Our Lord gives him an exchange, and converting the water into very good wine makes himself the Bridegroom and the soul of this poor first bridegroom his spouse. For whether it was St. John the Evangelist or some other, and not on the eve but on the day of marriage, Our Lord carries him off to follow him, draws to himself his chaste soul, and makes him his disciple; and the bride, seeing that this Saviour could have many spouses, would be of the number: and for one sole nuptial banquet, where the wine ran short, behold two excellent ones; for the souls of both one and the other are espoused to Jesus Christ.
It is so that we read that Gospel; and it has come to my heart to say this word to you: blessed are they who thus change their water into wine; but it must be by the agency of the most holy Mother. I beseech her ever to give you her sweet and maternal protection. I am in her your most affectionate servant, &c.
My dear Daughter—What a consolation for you that it is God himself who has made you superioress, since you are such by the ordinary ways! Wherefore his Providence is under obligation to you, on account of its being the disposer of things, to hold you with its hand, that you may do well what it calls you to. Be sure of this, my dear daughter; you must walk with good confidence under the guidance of this good God, and not except yourself from that general rule that God who has begun in you a good work will perfect it,[52] according to his wisdom, provided that we are faithful and humble.
But, here now, it is required amongst the dispensers that one be found faithful[53] and I tell you that you will be faithful if you are humble. But shall I be humble? Yes, if you will it. But I will it. You are it then. But I feel distinctly that I am not. So much the better, for this serves to make it more certain. It behoves not to subtilise so much, but to walk simply; and as he has charged you with these souls, charge him with yours, that he may carry it all himself, both you and your charge on you. His heart is large, and he wants yours to have a place there. Rest yourself then on him; and when you commit faults or defects do not distress yourself, but after having humbled yourself before God, call to mind that God’s power is made perfect in infirmity.[54]
In a word, my dear daughter, it is necessary that your humility be courageous and brave in the confidence which you must have in the goodness of him who has put you in office; and to cut right off those many doublings which human prudence under the name of humility is accustomed to make on such occasions, remember that Our Lord does not will us to ask our annual bread, or monthly, or weekly, but daily. Try to do well to-day, without thinking of next day; then next day try to do the same, and not think of all you will do during the whole time of your office; but go from day to day fulfilling your charge, without increasing your solicitude; since your heavenly Father, who has care to-day, will have care to-morrow and after to-morrow, of your guidance, in proportion as, knowing your infirmity, you hope only in his Providence.
It seems to me, my dear daughter, that I act with great confidence indeed in thus speaking to you, as if I did not know that you know all this better than I do: but it matters not, for it makes more impression when a friendly heart says it to us. I am your, &c.
May our dear crucified Jesus be for ever a bouquet between your breasts,[55] my dear daughter. Yes, for those nails of his are more desirable than carnations, and his thorns than roses. God knows, my daughter, how greatly I desire you to be holy and all sweet-scented with the perfumes of this dear Saviour. This is to thank you for your nosegay, and to assure you that little things are great to me when they come from your heart, to which mine is all devoted, I assure you, my dear daughter.
The Our Father which you say for your headache is not forbidden; but oh! my daughter, no indeed, I should not have the courage to ask Our Saviour by the pains which he had in his head that I should have none in mine. Ah! did he endure that we should not endure? St. Catherine of Sienna, seeing that her Saviour offered her two crowns, the one of gold the other of thorns:—“Oh! I desire the painful one,” said she, “for this world, the other shall be for heaven.” I would rather use the crowning of Our Lord to obtain a crown of patience around my aching head. Neither is it any harm to eat on the Fridays of Lent nothing which has had life; it savours, however, a little of levity of mind, if done merely on that ground; but if done out of mortification it is good. Live wholly amongst the thorns of the Saviour’s crown; and, my daughter, like a nightingale in its bush, sing Vive Jésus!
I have obeyed your desire, but you will see that this paper of the book has drunk all that I have written; and I quite think your heart will do the same, for this is the delicious wine of the soul, which holily inebriates and enraptures it.
May this divine and celestial love ever confidently advance; and while observing a loving fidelity and loyalty towards this dear Saviour do not distress yourself about not doing well enough: no, my daughter; but acknowledging your lowness and abjection, cast your spiritual care upon the divine goodness, which accepts our little and poor efforts, if they are made with humility, confidence, and loving fidelity. Now I call that a loving fidelity by which we will, as far as depends on us, to forget nothing of what we should think to be most agreeable to the Beloved, and this because we love his pleasure more than we fear his chastisements.
This our flesh is marvellously disinclined for anything that pricks it, but still the repugnance which you feel does not show any lack of love; for, as I think, if we thought he would love us better flayed we would flay ourselves, not without repugnance but despite repugnance. I should approve that by manner of experiment one should make two or three efforts to overcome oneself, with some little violence, at least now and then; for he who never overrules these repugnances becomes every day more tender of self.
The poor mother of our Visitation is cruelly afflicted with a breaking-out which she has on the mouth; but she rejoices over it, and says that provided she applies her heart to God she finds sweetness in this burning pain. She is a good daughter, and very resigned, and loves you dearly: as so indeed do I, who am all yours in God. My dear daughter, live all in him. Your, &c.
Madame—I received a double consolation from the letter which you wrote me some months ago; for it testifies to me your good-will, which I greatly desire, and gives me information of the graces which God does to your monastery, which form the dearest news that I can receive, inasmuch as I extremely honour and esteem that house, through a certain inclination which God has given me for it.
I hope that in our days, your sacred mountain will be found spread with flowers worthy of the blood with which it has been watered, and that their perfume will render so many testimonies to the goodness of God that it will be a true Mount of Martyrs.
The favour which the king did you in the octave of your great Apostle, in giving up the nomination, is a good presage of it, and so is the being supported by the favour of those virtuous souls who concur with you in the desire of a complete reformation. I often recommend at the altar this holy design to him who has originated it, and who has given you the affection of embracing it that he may give you the grace of making it perfect. I seem to see the gate open to it: I only beg you, madame (and pardon the simplicity and confidence which I use), that because the gate is narrow and hard to pass, you would take the trouble and the patience to lead all your sisters through it one after the other; for to want them to pass in a flock and a crowd, I do not think it can well be done; some go not so quick as others. You must pay regard to the old ones; they cannot so easily accommodate themselves, they are not flexible; for the nerves of their spirits, like those of their bodies, are already contracted.
The care which you ought to bring to this holy work ought to be a sweet, gracious, compassionate, simple and gentle care. Your age, methinks, and your own disposition require it; for rigour is not becoming in the young. And believe me, madame, the most perfect care is that which approaches nearest to the care which God has of us, which is a care full of tranquillity and quietness, and which in its highest activity has still no emotion, and being only one yet condescends and makes itself all to all things.
Above all, I beseech you, make use of the help of some spiritual persons, of whom you will easily find a choice at Paris, the city being very large. For I will say to you, with the liberty of spirit which I ought to use everywhere: your sex needs to be led, and never did it succeed in any undertaking save by submission; not that it has not very often as much light as the other, but because God has so appointed. I am saying too much about it, madame, since I do not doubt your charity or humility; but I do not say enough about it for the extreme desire which I have of your happiness, to which alone you will please attribute this manner of writing; for I have not been able to restrain my spirit from artlessly presenting to you what this affection suggests to it.
For the rest, madame, doubt not that I am communicating and applying to you many sacrifices which Our Lord permits me to present to him. I beseech you to exchange them with your prayers and most fervent devotions: you will never give them to one who is with better heart nor more than I, madame, your very humble and very affectionate servant in Jesus Christ, &c.
No, my dear daughter, I do not find it at all surprising that you desire my letters; for, besides that God wants it (which is the great point of our mutual intercourse), I feel so much consolation from your communication with me that I easily feel that you gain a little from mine; and we need not wait for any other subject, either you or I, beyond that of a holy spiritual conversation between our souls, and the debt which we owe one another of contributing mutual consolations.
I say nothing, my good daughter, about your heart, and your having no tears; no, my daughter, for the poor heart cannot help it, since this does not arise from a want of resolutions or lively desires to love God, but from a want of sensible feelings, which does not depend on our heart, but on certain conditions which we cannot command. For just as, in this world, my dear daughter, we cannot make it rain when we like, nor prevent it from raining when we do not wish it to rain, so is it not in our power to weep when we will through devotion, nor again not to weep when the impetuous tears well up. The lack of tears does not for the most part arise from our own fault, but from the Providence of God, who wants us to make our way by land and by desert, and not by waters, and who wills that we accustom ourselves to labour and hardship.
Hold your nosegay in your hand; and if haply some sweet and salutary perfume arise from it, do not refrain from gratefully smelling it; for it is only gathered in order not to leave you all day without comfort and spiritual pleasure. Keep yourself quite firm in this disposition of making your heart entirely God’s,—for there is no better.
On no account desire persecutions for the trial of your fidelity, for it is better to wait for those which God will send than to desire any; and this your fidelity has a thousand other kinds of exercises, in humility, sweetness, charity, the service of your poor sick one—but a hearty, loving, and earnest service. God gives you a little leisure to make ready your provision of patience and vigour, then the time will come to use them.
Oh my daughter, take off all the garments of your captivity by continual renunciation of your earthly affections; and say not that the King does not give you royal ones to draw you to his holy love. Vive Jésus! my dear daughter. This is the interior word under which we must live and die, and with which I protest that I am ever wholly yours.
My dear Daughter—I will answer you in a few words, since I know what you would have said to me by your letter almost as if I had heard you speak with the mouth; for still it is that you are ever that same person which you used to describe to me in past years.
To which I answer, first, that you should meekly bear with yourself, humbling yourself much before God, without any vexation or discouragement.
Secondly, you should renew all the purposes which you have previously made of amending yourself; and although you have seen that in spite of all your resolutions you have remained involved in your imperfections, you must not on this account give up undertaking a good amendment, or resting upon the assistance of God: you will be all your life imperfect, and will always have much to correct in it; wherefore you must learn not to get tired in this exercise.
Thirdly, labour to acquire sweetness of heart for your neighbour, considering him as a work of God, and one who will enjoy, if it please the celestial goodness, the Paradise which is prepared for you: and those whom Our Lord bears with we ought tenderly to bear with, cherishing a great compassion for their spiritual infirmities.
Accept willingly this little visit which the divine goodness has made to you. We must be faithful in little occasions to obtain fidelity in great ones.
Remain in great peace, and feed your soul with the sweetness of heavenly love, without which our hearts are without life, and our life without happiness. On no account give way to sadness, the enemy of devotion. For what cause should a servant of him who will be our joy for ever make herself sad? Nothing but sin should sadden and distress us; and to this sorrow for sin it is necessary that holy joy and consolation should be attached. I salute you a thousand times, and am without end, my dear daughter, your, &c.
God then is good to you, my dear daughter, is he not? But to whom is he not good, that sovereign love of hearts? Those who taste him cannot be satisfied with him, and those who draw near to his heart cannot restrain theirs from blessing and praising him for ever.
Keep this holy silence which you tell me of, for truly it is good to be sparing of our words, for God and for his glory. God has held you with his kind hand during your affliction. Well then, my dear daughter, you must always act so. “Alas!” said St. Gregory to an afflicted bishop, “how can our hearts which are henceforth in heaven be disturbed by the accidents of earth?” It is rightly said: the mere sight of our dear Jesus crucified can in a moment soften all our pains, which are but flowers compared with his thorns. And then our grand goal is in that eternity, and compared with this what power can that have with us which ends with time?
Continue, my daughter, to unite yourself more and more with this Saviour; plunge your heart into the depths of the charity of his, and let us always say with all our heart: Let me die and Jesus live! Our death will be happy if it is made in his life. I live, says the Apostle;[56] but he corrects himself: no, now not I, but my Jesus lives in me.
Blessed may you be, my dear daughter, with the blessing which the divine goodness has prepared for the hearts which abandon themselves as a prey to his holy and sacred love. And courage, dear daughter; God is good to us; if everything be evil to us what should it matter? Live joyously by his side; it is in him that my soul is wholly dedicated to yours. The years pass away, and eternity comes towards us. May we so employ these years in divine love, that we may have eternity in his glory. Amen.
Another time you must keep your heart quite open and have no kind of apprehension; for it will be much more useful to confer mouth to mouth than by writing.
These inclinations which you have are precious occasions which God gives you of nobly showing your fidelity towards him, by the care which you will have to repress them. Make efficacious prayers and affections contrary to them; and immediately you feel you have gone astray, repair the fault by some contrary action of sweetness, humility, and charity towards the persons whom you have a repugnance to obey, submit to, wish well to, love cordially: for, in a word, since you know on what side your enemies press you the most, you must steady yourself and well fortify and guard yourself there. You must continually lower the head and charge against your customs or inclinations, must recommend this to Our Lord, and in everything and everywhere calm yourself down, scarcely thinking of anything else than the effort after this victory. For my part, I will by Our Lord to give you it and the triumph of his holy Paradise. He will do it, my dear daughter, if you persevere in the pursuit of his holy love, and take care to live humbly before him, amiably towards your neighbour, and sweetly towards yourself. And I will ever be cordially, your, &c.
You ask me, my dear daughter, what bouquet you can give to your Valentine. It should be made of some little acts of virtue which you should practise expressly for the sake of this heavenly Valentine; and at the end of the morning’s meditation you shall offer it to him that he may consecrate it to your dear Beloved. You can also sometimes gather some from the garden of Olives, or from the mount of Calvary—I mean those bouquets of myrrh of your St. Bernard—and beg your heavenly Valentine to receive them from your heart, and to praise God for them, which is as if he spread abroad their perfume; for you can neither smell his divine flowers worthily enough, nor highly enough extol their sweetness.
Again you can ask him, this dear Valentine, that he also would take this bouquet and let you smell it from his hand, and also that he would give you some other in exchange; that he would give you scented gloves, covering your hands with works of charity and humility, and bracelets of coral and chains of pearls. In such way should you have loving tendernesses with these blessed knights of the King of Glory.
I think it was St. Thomas Aquinas that you drew for the month, the greatest Doctor that ever was; he was a virgin, and the sweetest humblest soul that could be conceived.
But let us speak a little of this heart of my dear daughter. If it were in front of an army of enemies would it not do wonders, since the sight and presence of a troublesome and ill-behaved little girl troubles her so greatly? But do not distress yourself, my dear daughter. There is no annoyance so great as the annoyance which is composed of many trifling, but pressing and continual, worries. Our Lord permits us to fail in these little occasions, that we may humble ourselves, and may know that if we have overcome certain great temptations it has not been by our strength, but by the assistance of his divine goodness.
I see well that through these little troubles there are very many chances of exercising the love or acceptance of our own objections. For what will be said of a daughter who has not made this little girl get on, not trained her well nor given her good manners? And then what will our sisters say to see that for the smallest disagreeableness that a creature causes us we get ruffled, we bemoan ourselves, we grumble.
There is no help for it, my dear daughter; St. Athanasius’s good woman would have bought this state of things for gold; but my daughter is not so ambitious; she would rather have the occasion removed from her, than try to make good out of it. Well, let us betake ourselves to humility, and for the little time that this exercise will last try to bear it in the presence of God, and to love this poor little thing for the love of him who has so loved her that he has died for her. Do not correct her, if you can help it, in anger; take cheerfully the pain she gives you, and believe me to be, yours entirely, &c.
I assure you, my dear Mother, my daughter, that I would greatly wish to bear in my body and in my heart all the pains which you suffer from your remedies; but as I am unable thus to relieve you, holily embrace these little mortifications, receive these abjections in a spirit of resignation, and, if possible, of indifference. Accommodate your imagination to reason, and your natural feelings to your understanding, and love the will of God in these subjects which are of themselves disagreeable, as if it were in the most agreeable of things. You do not receive your remedies by your choice nor through sensible feeling; you do so then through obedience and by reason:—is there anything so agreeable to our Saviour?
But there is some abjection:—And St. Andrew and so many Saints have suffered the nakedness of the cross. O little cross! thou art dear to me, because neither sense nor nature loves thee, but higher reason alone.
My dear mother, my heart salutes yours filially and more beyond comparison than filially. Be a little sheep, a little dove, all simple, mild and affectionate, without art or second thought. God bless you, my dear mother; may your heart be ever in him and to him. Do not employ your mind in matters of business, and receive humbly and lovingly the little attentions which your infirmity requires. Vive Jésus et Marie! I am he whom this same Jesus has made your, &c.
Yes indeed, my good and dear daughter, let us bless God together for this happy day on which, by a quite new fire, you renewed the holocaust of your heart, offered and vowed henceforth to the divine Majesty; and may this day be therefore counted amongst the memorable days of our life. May it hold the second rank after that of our baptism. Day of the renewal of our interior temple; day in which by a favourable exchange we consecrated our life to God to live no more but in his death; foundation-day, God helping, of our salvation; day the harbinger of the holy and desirable eternity of glory; day whose memory will not only rejoice us at temporal death but also in immortal life. Ah! my dear daughter, truly, methinks, did God then make you to be born again in my interior arms, which certainly embraced you with tenderness, and my heart was quite dedicated to yours.
I well know that you very often have occasion for exercising the love of contempt, of rebuffs, and of your own abjection. Do this indeed; for it is the great point of humility to see, serve, honour and converse with, as opportunity occurs and at proper time (for one must not make oneself troublesome in our attempts) those whom we have an aversion for, and to be humble, submissive, sweet and tranquil amongst them. This is a very admirable point; for you see, my daughter, the humilities which are least seen are the finest. But still for the exterior also I should greatly desire, on account of religious propriety, that you amend yourself of this haughty and unrestrained way of speaking.
It is nothing to feel these movements of anger and impatience, if they are mortified as soon as you see them arise, that is, if you try to put yourself back into restraint and calmness of heart; for thus, although the combat should last all day, it would be practice but not loss for you. Have good courage, my daughter. I clearly see that Our Lord wills to love us and to make us his. I hope in Our Lady that no fire will ever inflame our hearts save that of the holy love of his Son, for whose sake I am in all truth, yours entirely, &c.
What joy, my very dear daughter, did my heart receive to see the frankness and simplicity of your heart at this beginning time. Do not be troubled about these tears; for although they are not good, still they come from a good place. If our resolutions were trifling and liable to be revoked, we should not have these strong feelings in these abnegations or in these high determinations which we have made. David wept those abundant tears over the dead Saul, though he was his greatest enemy; we may weep a little over this world, which is dying, yea, which is dead for us, and to which we mean for ever to die.
O my daughter, my good daughter, how glad I am to see you suffering a little these pains of spiritual child-birth! No, never did any soul bring forth Jesus Christ without pain, save the Blessed Virgin, to whom he gave in exchange great pains as he died. But, my daughter, you will see that after these pangs you will have a thousand sorts of consolations. And as for me, do you not think that my heart grows tender with yours? Indeed yes, I assure you, but with a gentle and sweet tenderness, to see that your pains are a presage of future favours which God will do you if constantly and faithfully you persevere in this enterprise, the worthiest, the most generous, the most useful that you could ever undertake.
Continue then, my dear daughter; keep your heart quite open to me; doubt not of my fidelity; trust in me, without fear, without reserve, without exception: for God who has willed it will keep me with his holy hand, that I may serve you properly.
This same God knows that on your departure he put it into my mind to tell you that you must cut off your musk and your perfumes; but I waited, after his method which is sweet, to leave place for the movements which little by little spiritual exercises are wont to make in souls which consecrate themselves entirely to the divine goodness. For truly my soul extremely loves simplicity; but the knife by which to cut off these useless shoots I generally leave in the hands of God, and here now he is going to use it on you as to these powders, this gilded paper. May his mercy be ever blessed! —for merciful it is, I clearly see.
Yes, give these powders and this gilded paper to some lady of the world, who should however be of such confidence that you can tell her the subject of this little renunciation; and do not be afraid that this may scandalise her. On the contrary, it will edify her soul, since I am presupposing that it is a lady who has a good one. You are right, my dear daughter, in renouncing all this; believe me, these little renunciations are very agreeable to God. And truly, I must tell you this, since I have begun to communicate my soul with simplicity. I have never so much as worn knitted socks,[57] nor coloured or scented gloves, since I gave myself to God, nor used gilded paper, or powders: these are daintinesses too trifling and vain. Oh! what a heart do you give me towards you, walking so bravely.
Yes indeed, my dear daughter, it is certainly true; these eternal and irrevocable renunciations, these immortal adieux which we have said to the world and to its friendships, cause some grief to our heart; and who would not shrink under the action of this keen-edged knife cutting between, and separating, the soul and the spirit and the flesh’s heart from God’s heart, and ourselves from ourselves? But thanks be to God the knife has been applied, and it is over: no, never shall there be a rejoining of one with the other, by his grace whom to join ourselves with inseparably we have separated ourselves for ever from all else.
Give up entirely these cures by words: such things are nonsense, which I might permit to a heart less resigned than yours; but to yours, my daughter, I say at once: put away these childish trifles, which if not sins are useless amusements, tending to superstition.
My daughter, as to all these worldly visitors who come to you, receive them with a sweet and cheerful countenance. But in order that you may mutually give news, entertain them as if you came from the other world; for if you talk to them in the language of the parts where they live, it will be no great news to them.
For a month after my consecration to the episcopal office, coming from my general confession and from amid the Angels and the Saints, amongst whom I had made my new resolutions, I only talked as a man strange to the world, and it seems to me that this was graceful in me: and although affairs have a little quieted these ebullitions of the heart, yet the resolutions, by God’s grace, have remained with me.
Be brief when you cannot do good. May this great God ever strengthen more and more in us the reign of his love! I am in him, but with a quite special affection, yours. If I had the advantage of leisure I would write more, for I do not weary of this sweet conversation on God, on his love of our souls. Earnestly demand of the little new-born Jesus his holy simplicity for your heart, that nakedly and purely it may be his. Your very affectionate father and servant, &c.
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[1] The sister of the Abbess of Puits d’Orbe (see p. 32. ) was named Françoise. It seems clear that this letter was written to her. [Tr.]
[2] The remainder of this letter is in Latin. [Tr.]
[3] Ps. 77:9.
[4] John 21.
[5] John 4:14.
[6] Sapere et amare vix diis conceditur.
[7] Litigare et non insanire vix sanctis conceditur.
[8] Æneid, i. 117. . They are seen here and there swimming on the wide waves.
[9] Ps. 11:1.
[10] Lam. 1:11.
[11] Ib.10.
[12] Gen. 42.
[13] Ruth 1:16.
[14] Tobias 12:7. [?]
[15] John 11:3.
[16] Cant. 5:8.
[17] Ps. 55. , 143.
[18] 1. Cor. 13:7.
[19] 2. Cor. 11:19.
[20] Ps. 118:82.
[21] Isa. 7:15.
[22] Matt. 12:20.
[23] The French says, “Before 12. th September 1619. .” [Tr.]
[24] Phil. 4:4. , 5.
[25] Page 131. of fourth edition: “Sur la Confession.” [Tr.]
[26] Therapeuts.
[27] Ps. 90:5.
[28] Acts 4:32.
[29] Ps. 54:23.
[30] 1. Cor. 5:3.
[31] Matt. 5:22.
[32] Reine (Queen)?
[33] Rom. 7:24.
[34] † 14:2.
[35] Prov. 10:9.
[36] 1. Kings 2:6.
[37] Isa. 38:17.
[38] Gen. 2:7.
[39] Ib. 15.
[40] Luke 1:52.
[41] Madame Arnauld entered Port Royal on the death of her husband. [Tr.]
[42] Phil.
[43] Matt. 19.
[44] Gen. 19.
[45] Luke 14.
[46] Rom. 7.
[47] Gal. 2:20.
[48] 1. Cor. 1.
[49] Luke 1:39.
[50] Phil. 2:13.
[51][51] Matt. 25:21.
[52] Phil. 1:6.
[53] 1. Cor. 4:2.
[54] 2. Cor. 12:9.
[55] 1. Cant. 1:12.
[56] Gal. 2:20.
[57] At this time still a luxury in Savoy. [Tr.]
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