28th September, 1613.
My God! how deceitful is this life, Madam, my dearest cousin! and how short its consolations! They appear in a moment, and another moment carries them off: and but for the holy eternity in which all our days end, we should have cause to blame our human condition.
My dearest cousin, know that I write with a heart full of pain, on account of the loss which I have had, but still more on account of the lively sense which I have of the blow which this will be to your heart, when it hears the sad news of your widowhood so early, so unexpected, so lamentable.
If the multitude of those who will share your sorrow could lessen the bitterness of it, you would soon have little left: for no one has known this excellent gentleman but contributes a special sorrow towards the ackowledgment of his merits.
But, my dearest cousin, all this cannot console you till after the strongest feeling has passed away. While this lasts God must sustain your soul and form its refuge and support. Well, this sovereign goodness, without doubt, my dearest cousin, will bow down to you, and will come into your heart, to aid and succour it in this tribulation, if you throw yourself into his arms and resign yourself into his fatherly hands.
It was God, my dearest cousin, who gave you this husband: it is God who has taken him back. He is bound to be pitiful towards you in the griefs which the just affections, given you for your marriage, will henceforth cause you in this privation.
This is, in a word, all that I can say to you. Our nature is so made that we die at an unforeseen moment, and cannot escape this condition: wherefore we must take patience, and use our reason to soften the evil which we cannot avoid; then look at God and his eternity, in which all our losses will be made up, and our union, interrupted by death, will be restored.
May God and your good angel inspire you with every holy consolation, my dearest cousin. I will beg it of his Divine Majesty, and will contribute to the repose of the soul of the dear departed many holy sacrifices: and to your service, my dearest cousin, I sincerely offer you all that is in my power, without reserve. For I am, and wish even more strongly than ever to profess to be, Madam my dearest cousin, your, &c.
Madam my Aunt,—Did I not know that your virtue can give you the consolations and resolutions necessary to support with Christian courage the loss which you have had, I should try to give you some reasons for it in this letter: if it were required I would bear them to you myself. But I consider that you have so much charity and fear of God that, seeing his good pleasure and holy will, you will conform yourself to it, and will soften your sorrow by the consideration of the evil of this world, which is so miserable that but for our frailty we should rather praise God when he takes from it our friends than trouble ourselves about it. It is necessary that all, one after another, should quit it in the order which is appointed; and the first are the best off, when they have lived with care of their salvation and soul, like my uncle and elder, whose actions have been so agreeable and profitable to all his friends, that we, who have been the most familiar and intimate, cannot refrain from much regretting the separation. Such sorrow is not forbidden us provided that we moderate it by the hope which we have of not remaining separated, but in a little time of following him to heaven, the place of our repose, God giving us this grace. There shall we form and enjoy without end good and Christian friendships, which in this world we have only begun. This is the chief thought our friends departed require from us, in which thought I beg you to keep yourself, leaving inordinate sorrow for souls which have not such hopes. Meanwhile, Madam my aunt, I have such love for the memory of the departed, and for your service, that you will greatly increase the obligation I am under if you do me the honour to command me in all liberty, and to employ me in all assurance. Do this, I beseech you with all my heart, and I beg our Lord to increase in you his holy consolations, and to fill you with the graces which are wished you by your, &c.
Learning that you are widowed, my dear daughter, I suffer with the pain you have suffered; but still I exhort you not to let yourself be carried away with sorrow, for the grace which God has given you to wish to serve him obliges you to console yourself in him; and the children of the love of God have so much trust in his goodness that they never become desolate, having a refuge in which they find all content. He who has learnt how to draw from that fountain cannot long remain thirsty from the passions of this miserable life. I know that you are ill, but, my dear child, as your pains increase you must increase your courage, thinking that he who, to show his love for you, has chosen the death of the cross, will draw you more and more to his love and his glory by the cross of tribulation which he sends you. Meanwhile I pray our Lord for you and your departed, and beg you to recommend me to his Divine mercy. I am in him your humble, affectionate, &c.
Madam,—You cannot think how sensibly I feel your affliction. I honoured with a very particular affection this dear departed gentleman, for many reasons, but chiefly for his virtue and piety. How grievous that, at a time when there is so great a dearth of such souls among men of his rank, we should see and suffer these losses, so injurious to the commonwealth.
Still, my dear lady, considering all things, we must accommodate our hearts to the condition of life in which we are: it is a perishing and mortal life, and death which rules over this life keeps no regular course—it seizes sometimes here, sometimes there, without choice or any method, the good among the bad, and the young among the old.
O, how happy are they who, being always on their guard against death, find themselves always ready to die, so that they may live again eternally in the life where there is no more death! Our beloved dead was of this number, I well know. That alone, Madam, is enough to console us; for at last, after a few days, soon or late, in a few years, we shall follow him in this passage, and the friendships and fellowships begun in this world will be taken up again never to be broken off. Meanwhile, let us have patience and wait with courage till the hour of our departure strikes to go where these friends already are; and as we have loved them cordially let us continue to love them, doing for their love what they used to wish us to do, and what they now wish for on our behalf.
Doubtless, my dear lady, the greatest desire your deceased had at his departure was, that you should not long remain in the grief which his absence would cause you, but try to moderate, for love of him, the passion which love of him excited in you. And now, in the happiness which he enjoys, or certainly expects, he wishes you a holy consolation, and wishes you to save your eyes for a better purpose than tears, and your mind for a more desirable occupation than sorrow.
He has left you precious pledges of your marriage; keep your eyes to look after their bringing up, keep your mind to raise up theirs. Do this, Madam, for the love of this dear husband, and imagine that he asked you for this at his departure, and still requires this service from you; for truly he would have done it if he could, and he now desires it. The rest of your griefs may be according to your heart which is in this world, but not according to his, which is in the other.
And since true friendship delights to satisfy the just desires of the friend, so now in order to please your husband be consoled; calm your mind, and raise your heart. And if this counsel which I give you with entire sincerity is agreeable to you, put it in practice. Prostrate yourself before your Saviour, acquiesce in his ordinance; consider the soul of this dear departed, which wishes from yours a true and Christian resolution, and abandon yourself altogether to the heavenly providence of the Saviour of your soul, your protector, who will help and succour you, and will, in the end, unite you with your dead, not as wife with husband, but as heiress of heaven with coheir, and as faithful lover with her beloved.
I write this, Madam, without leisure, and almost without breath, offering you that very loving service of mine which has long been yours, and also that which the merits and the goodness of your husband towards me require from my soul.
God be in the midst of your heart. Amen.
Annecy, Feast of the Holy Cross, 3rd May, 1604.
Madame,—I write to assure you more and more that I will carefully keep the promise which I made you to write as often as possible. The more I am separated from you exteriorly the more I feel myself united with you interiorly, and I will never cease to pray our good God to please to perfect you in his holy work, that is, the good desire and design of reaching the perfection of Christian life. This desire you must cherish and tenderly nourish in your heart, as a blessing of the Holy Spirit and a spark of his Divine fire. I have seen a tree which was planted by the blessed St. Dominic at Rome: every one goes to see it, and is fond of it for the sake of the planter. In the same way having seen in you the tree of the desire of sanctity, which our Lord has planted in your soul, I cherish it tenderly, and take more pleasure in regarding it now than when present; and I exhort you to do the same and to say with me: may God give you increase, O lovely tree! Divine heavenly seed, may God grant you to produce your fruit unto maturity: and when you shall have produced it, may God guard you from the wind which makes the fruits fall to earth for vile beasts to eat., Madame, this desire should be in you like the orange trees of the coast of Genoa, which almost all the year are covered with fruit and flowers and leaves together, for your desire should always fructify by the occasions which offer of fulfilling it every day, and yet your desire for objects and means to advance further should never cease. These wishes are flowers of the tree of your design; the leaves are the frequent acknowledgments of your weakness, which preserve both the good works and the good desire. This desire is one of the pillars of your tabernacle; the other is love of your widowhood, a holy love, desirable for as many reasons as there are stars in heaven, and without which widowhood is contemptible and false. St. Paul commands us to honour the widows who are widows indeed;[1] but those who love not their widowhood are not widows, save in appearance, their heart is married. These are not they of whom it is said: Blessing, will I bless the widow;[2] and elsewhere: God is the judge, protector and defender of widows.[3] Blessed be God who has given you this dear holy love. Increase it every day more and more, and the consolation of it will increase for you at the same time, since all the building of your happiness is supported on these two pillars. Look, at least once a month, to see whether one or the other be not weakened; use for this some meditation or consideration similar to that of which I send you a copy, and which I have communicated with some fruit to other souls which I have in charge. Do not, however, tie yourself to this same meditation; for I do not send it you for that purpose, but only to show you the direction of this monthly examen and trial of yourself, so that you may learn more easily to get advantage from it. If you like better to repeat this same meditation it will not be useless to you; but I say, “if you like better,” for in all and everywhere I wish you to have a holy liberty of spirit about the means of perfection. If the two columns are preserved and strengthened, it matters not much how this is done. Keep yourself from scruples, and rest entirely on what I have said to you by word of mouth; for I have said it in our Lord. Keep yourself constantly in the presence of God by the means which you have. Keep yourself from eager solicitudes and disquietudes, for there is nothing which more hinders us from journeying to perfection. Throw your heart gently into the wounds of our Lord, and not violently. Have an extreme confidence in his mercy and goodness, and assurance that he will not abandon you; and for this cease not to keep yourself to his holy cross. After the love of our Lord I recommend to you that of his spouse, the Church, this dear and sweet dove, which can alone produce and bring forth little doves for the Spouse. Praise God a hundred times a day for being a daughter of the Church, like Mother (St.) Teresa, who often repeated this sentiment at the hour of her death with extreme consolation. Cast your eyes on the bridegroom and the bride, and say to the beloved: O, to how lovely a bride art thou espoused! And to the Spouse: O, to how divine a lover art thou wedded! Have great feeling for all the pastors and preachers of the Church, and behold them spread over all the face of the earth; for there is no province in the world without them. Pray God for them, that while saving themselves they may procure the salvation of many souls; and here I beg you never to forget me, since God has given me such strong will never to forget you. I send you a little manuscript on the perfection of a Christian life. I have made it, not directly for you, but for several others; still you will see in what you can make it useful for yourself. Write to me, I pray you, as often as ever you can, and with all the confidence possible: for the extreme desire which I have of your good and advancement, make me pleased to learn often what you are doing. Recommend me to our Lord, for I have more need of it than any one in the world. I beseech him to give abundantly of his holy love to you and to all belonging to you. I am for ever, and beseech you to consider me, your very assured and devoted servant in Jesus Christ.
29th May, 1605.
Behold, my child, this little picture which I send you: it represents your holy abbess while still in the monastery of married persons, and her good mother who is come from the convent of widows to visit her. Look at the daughter how she keeps her eyes cast down: it is because she cannot see those of the child; the mother on the contrary lifts them up, because they rest on those of the little darling. Virgins only lift their eyes, to see those of the spouse, and widows lower them when they cannot have this honour. Your abbess is gloriously adorned with a crown on her head, but looks down on some little flowers scattered on the step of her seat.
The good grandmother has near her on the earth a basket filled with fruits. I think that they are the actions of holiness, the little and humble virtues which she wishes to give to her pet as soon as she has him in her arms. Meanwhile, you see that the little Jesus bends and inclines himself towards his aged grandmother, widow as she is, and with poor head-dress and simply clad. He holds a world, which he turns gently away with one hand, because he knows well that it is not suitable for widows; but with the other he gives her his holy benediction.
Keep yourself near this widow, and like her have your little basket. Keep your arms and your eyes towards the child; his mother your abbess will give him to you in your turn: He will very willingly incline himself towards you, and will bless you munificently. Ah! how I desire him, my daughter! This wish is spread abroad in my soul, where it will remain eternally. Live joyfully in God, and salute very humbly in my name, Madame your abbess, and dear mistress. May sweet Jesus be enthroned in your heart and on mine together! May he reign and live there for ever! Amen.
1st November, 1605.
My God! what heartiness and passion I have in the service of your soul! You could not sufficiently believe it, my dear sister. I have so much that this alone suffices to convince me that it is from our Lord, for it is not possible, I think, that all the world together could give me so much; at least, I have never seen so much in the world.
To-day is the Feast of All Saints, and at our solemn matins, seeing our Lord begin the beatitudes with poverty of spirit, which St. Augustine interprets of the holy and most desirable virtue of humility, I remember that you had asked me to send you something about humility. I think I said nothing in my last letter, though it was very ample and perhaps too long. Now, God has given me so many things to write to you, that if I had time I think I should say wonders.
In the first place, my dear sister, it comes to my mind that doctors give widows, as their proper virtue, holy humility. Virgins have theirs, so have martyrs, doctors, pastors—each his or her own, like the order of their knighthood: and all must have had humility, for they would not have been exalted had they not been humbled. But to widows belongs, before all, humility; for what can puff up the widow with pride? She has no longer her virginity. (This can, however, be amply supplied for by a great widowly humility. It is much better to be a widow with plenty of oil in our lamp, by desiring nothing but humility and charity, than a virgin without oil, or with little oil.) She has no longer that which gives the highest value to your sex in the estimation of the world; she has no longer her husband, who was her honour, and whose name she has taken. What more remains to glorify herself in, except God! O happy glory! O precious crown! In the garden of the church widows are compared to violets, little and low flowers, of no striking colour, nor of very intense perfume, but marvellously sweet. O how lovely a flower is the Christian widow, little and low by humility! She is not brilliant in the eyes of the world; for she avoids them, and no longer adorns herself to draw them on her; and why should she desire the eyes when she no longer desires the hearts.
The Apostle orders his dear disciple to honour the widows who are widows indeed.[4] And who are widows indeed save those who are such in heart and mind—that is, who have their heart married to no creature? Our Lord says not to-day: Blessed are the clean of body, but of heart; and praises not the poor; but the poor in spirit. Widows are to be honoured when they are such in heart and mind; what does widow mean except deserted and forlorn—that is, miserable, poor and little? Those, then, who are poor, miserable and little in mind and heart, are to be praised. All this means those who are humble, of whom our Lord is the protector.
But what is humility? Is it the knowledge of this misery and poverty? Yes, says our St. Bernard; but this is moral and human humility. What then is Christian humility. It is the love of this poverty and abjection, contemplating these in our Lord. You know that you are a very wretched (pauvrette) and weak widow? Love this miserable state; make it your glory to be nothing; be glad of it, since your misery becomes an object for the goodness of God to show his mercy in.
Amongst beggars those who are the most miserable, and whose sores are the largest and most loathsome, think themselves the best beggars, and the most likely to draw alms. We are but beggars; the most miserable are the best off; the mercy of God willingly looks on them.
Let us humble ourselves, I beseech you, and plead only our sores and miseries at the gate of the Divine mercy; but remember to plead them with joy, comforting yourself in being quite empty, and quite a widow, that our Lord may fill you with his kingdom. Be mild and affable with every one, except with those who would take away your glory, which is your wretchedness and your perfect widowhood. I glory in my infirmities,[5] says the Apostle; and it is better for me to die than lose my glory. Do you see, he would rather die than lose his infirmities, which are his glory.
You must carefully guard your misery and your littleness; for God regards it, as he did that of the Blessed Virgin. Man seeth those things that appear, but the Lord beholdeth the heart.[6] If he sees our littleness in our hearts, he will give us great graces. This humility preserves chastity, whence, in the Canticles, that lovely soul is called the lily of the valleys. Be then joyously humble before God, but be joyously humble also before the world. Be very glad that the world makes no account of you; if it esteems you, mock at it gaily, and laugh at its judgment, and at your misery which is judged; if it esteems you not, console yourself joyously, because in this, at least, the world follows truth.
As for the exterior, do not affect visible humility, but also do not run away from it: embrace it, and ever joyously. I approve the lowering of ourselves sometimes to mean offices, even towards inferiors and proud persons, towards the sick and poor, towards our own people at home and abroad; but it must ever be ingenuously and joyously. I repeat it often, because it is the key of this mystery for you and for me. I might rather have said charitably, for charity, says St. Bernard, is joyous; and this he says after St. Paul. Humble services, and matters of exterior humility are only the bark, but this preserves the fruit.
Continue your communions and exercises, as I have written to you. Keep your soul very closely this year to the meditatiom of the life and death of our Lord: it is the gate of heaven; if you keep his company you will learn his disposition. Have a great and long-suffering courage; do not lose it for mere noise, and specially not in temptations against faith. Our enemy is a great clatterer, do not trouble yourself at all about him; he cannot hurt you, I well know. Mock at him and let him go on. Do not strive with him, ridicule him, for it is all nothing. He has howled round about the Saints, and made plenty of hubbub; but to what purpose? In spite of it all, there they are, seated in the place which he has lost, the wretch!
I want you to look at the 41st chapter of the Way of Perfection by the blessed Mother St. Teresa, for it will help you to understand well the doctrine which I have told you so often, that we must not be too minute in the exercises of virtues; that we must walk open-heartedly, frankly, naïvely, after the old fashion (à la vieille françoise), with liberty, in good faith, in a broad way (grosso modo). I fear the spirit of constraint and melancholy. No, my dear child, I desire that you should have a heart large and noble, in the way of our Lord, but humble, gentle, and without laxness.
I commend myself to the little but penetrating prayers of our Celse-Bénigne; and if Aimée begins to give me some little wishes, I shall hold them very dear. I give you, and your widow’s heart, and your children, every day to our Lord, when offering his Son. Pray for me, my dear child, that one day we may see one another with all the saints in Paradise: my desire to love you and to be loved by you has no less measure than eternity. May the sweet Jesus will to give us this in his love and dilection! Amen. I am then, and wish to be eternally, entirely yours in Jesus Christ.
25th April, 1621.
Madame,—I should be much troubled in writing to you on this present subject, if I were not authorized by Madame, your mother; for on what ground could I put my hand to what passes between you two, and how appeal to your conscience, knowing that you are the only and worthy daughter of a worthy mother, who is full of sense, prudence, and piety? But since I must, then, under this authorization, I will say, Madame, that your mother tells me all that she has told you herself and got told you by many excellent persons (in comparison with whom I am nothing) to bring you round to the desire she has that you deprive her not of your filial help, in these great straits, to which the occurrences you know of have reduced her. She cannot bear to see her estate fall under the burden, and above all, for the want of your help, which she considers to be all that is necessary.
She proposes three plans for this: either that you retire altogether into religion, in order that the creditors may no longer want you as security, and that she may have the free disposal of your children’s property; or that you marry again with the advantages which are offered you; or that you remain with her and keep a common purse. She gives in her letter the exceptions you take to the first two plans. She says you have vowed your chastity to God, and that you have four very little children, of whom two are girls, but about the third plan I see nothing in her letter.
As to the first I do not want to interpose my judgment on the question whether your vow obliges you not to ask a dispensation (although she alleges a great precipitation which may have prevented due consideration), for indeed the purity of chastity is of such high price that whoever has vowed it is very happy to keep it, and there is nothing to prefer to it except the necessity of the public good.
As to the second, I do not know whether you can lawfully give up that care of your children which God has required from you in making you their mother, and they being so little.
But, as to the third, Madame, I say that your purse ought to be common with your mother, in a case of such great necessity. O God! it is the least we owe to father and mother. I fancy I can indeed discern some reason why. I think a daughter, so placed with children, may keep her purse to herself; but I do not know whether this reason exists in your case: and if it does, it must be very clear and strong, and bear to be seen and examined thoroughly. Amongst enemies, extreme necessity makes all things common; but amongst friends, and such friends as daughters and mothers, we must not wait for extreme necessity, for the command of God urges us too much. In such cases we must lift up eyes and heart to the providence of God, who returns abundantly all that we give according to his holy commandment.
I say too much, Madame; for I had no right to speak on this, except to refer your dear conscience, in this regard, to those to whom you confide it.
For the rest, as to your spiritual exercises, your mother is content that you perform them after your customary manner, except your retreats at Sainte-Marie, which she wishes limited to the great feasts of the year, to three days in each forty. You may also be content with this, and supply by spiritual retreats at home, the length of those you could make at Sainte-Marie.
O my God! dear lady, what we should do for fathers and mothers! and how lovingly must we support the excess, the zeal and the ardour, I had almost said the importunity of their love! These mothers,—they are altogether wonderful (admirables): they would like, I think, always to carry their children, particularly the only child, at their breasts. They often feel jealous if one takes a little amusement out of their presence; they consider that they are never enough loved, and that the love which is due to them can never be full-measured except when beyond proper measure. How can we mend this? We must have patience, and do, as nearly as we can, all that is required to correspond with it. God requires only certain days, certain hours, and his presence is quite content that we also be present with fathers and mothers: but these are more exacting. They require many more days and hours, and an undivided presence. Ah! God is so good that, condescending to this, he reckons the accommodation of our will to our mother’s as accommodation to his, provided his good pleasure is the principal end of our actions.
Well, then, you have Moses and the prophets; that is, so many excellent servants of God: hear them. And as for me, I do wrong to occupy you so long, but I have a little pleasure in speaking with a pure and chaste soul, and one against which there is no complaint, except for the excess of devotion; a rare complaint, so rare and admirable that I cannot help loving and honouring her who is accused of it, or being for ever, Madame, yours, &c.
11th May, 1621.
Madame,—It is in the presence of God that I write you this letter, since it is to tell you what you ought to do for his greater glory in the matters you have written about. After invoking, then, his Holy Spirit, I say that I see no just occasion in all you have told me, or your mother has told me, for breaking through the vow of chastity which you have made to God.
1. The keeping up of families is not a considerable cause, except for princes, when their posterity is required for the public weal; and even if you were a princess, or he that wants you a prince, it could be said to you: be satisfied with the posterity you have; and to him: get posterity by another princess. In a word, the Holy Spirit has caused it to be distinctly declared that no price is worthy of a continent soul.[7] Remain then so, since God has inspired you the will and graciously gives the power. This great God will bless your vow, your soul, and your body, consecrated to his name.
2. It is quite true that you are not at all obliged in justice to assist with your means the estate of your father, since by the law of the State your and your children’s property is quite separate from that of your father, and he is in no actual necessity; and particularly since you have not really received any part of your dowry, which was promised only and not paid.
3. On the contrary, if it is true that without preventing your father’s ruin you would ruin your children and their property, and yourself, if you took up the charges on his estate, you are obliged, at least by charity, not to do it; for what is the use of ruining one family without saving another, and applying a remedy to an irremediable evil, at your children’s expense? If, then, you know that your help will be useless to the relief of your father, you are obliged not to give it, to the prejudice of your children.
4. But, Madame, if you can help him without injuring your children, as it seems, apparently, you can, since you are an only child; and as all you can save from being sold will come at last to your children, your father and mother being unable to have other heirs, then I think you ought to do it, for it would be only letting go your property with one hand, and taking it back with the other.
5. And even if you should straiten your circumstances in order to content Madame your mother, provided that it is not with too much loss to your children, it would seem to me you ought even to do it for the respect and love you are obliged to bear her.
6. As for the rest, I think it would be more for your peace, and in accordance with the vow you have made of perpetual purity, to live apart, in your little way, on the condition that you often see your mother. Indeed, if I understand her letter right, she would not be grieved if you even became a religious, so long as you enabled her by your means to keep possession of the family property.
And in truth, as I am unwilling to counsel a second marriage, and unable to encourage the disposition which I see in this lady to live in grand style, and keep the house open for every kind of proper social amusement, I think it will be better for you to live apart; for there is nothing like separation of dwellings to preserve union of hearts between those of opposite (although good) characters and aims. This is my opinion, Madame, on the knowledge I have of the state of your affairs. Oh! if it had pleased God that I should have seen you at Lyons, what a consolation for me, and how much more certainly and clearly I should have been able to explain to you my ideas! But since it has not been so, I will wait to receive your reply, in case you may think I have failed to understand the matter you have proposed to me, and I will try to repair my defects. And I beg you, Madame, not to form any idea which may take away the liberty of writing to me, since I am and shall be entirely and without reserve your very humble and very affectionate servant, who wishes you the highest of the graces of our Lord, and above all a continual progress in the most holy sweetness of charity, and the sacred humility of the most amiable Christian simplicity. I cannot prevent myself saying that I found what you said in your letter very sweet—namely, that your house is a common one and no better; for this is delightful in an age when the children of the world make such a great noise about their houses, their names, and their descent. Live always so, my dearest child, and glory only in the cross of our Lord, by which the world is crucified to you and you to the world. Amen. I call myself henceforth with all my heart, Madame, your, &c.
My dearest Mother,—I share by compassion in the bitter griefs you suffer, and yet I fail not to find much consolation in that you suffer them with a spirit of resignation. My dear mother, the virtues which grow in prosperity are generally delicate and weakly: and those in afflictions are strong and stable, just as the best vines are said to grow among stones.
I pray God ever to be in the midst of your heart, that it may not be overturned by such shocks, and that sharing with you his cross, he may communicate his holy patience, and that Divine love which makes tribulations so precious.
I will never cease to invoke the help of this eternal Father for a daughter whom I honour and cherish as my mother.
I am, my dear mother, yours in our Lord, &c.
14th October, 1604.
Madame,—May God give me as much power as I have will to make myself clearly understood in this letter! I am sure that I should give you consolation about part of what you want to know from me, and particularly in the two doubts which the enemy suggests to you on the choice you have made of me as you spiritual father. I will do what I can to express in a few words what I think necessary for you on this subject.
As to the first doubt, the choice you have made has all the marks of a good and legitimate election. The great movement of soul, which brought you to it almost by force, and with consolation; the consideration which I have given to it before consenting; the fact that neither of us trusted self, but used the judgment of your confessor, a good, wise and prudent man; that we gave time for the first agitations of your conscience to grow quiet, supposing they were illfounded; that the prayers, not of one or two days, but of many months, went before;—these are, undoubtedly, infallible signs that it was the will of God.
The movements of the bad spirit or the human spirit are of a very different kind. They are terrible and vehement, but without constancy. The first word they say in the ear of the soul is to avoid counsel; or if it takes counsel it must be that of people of no weight, and without experience. They hurry, they want to make a bargain without stating terms, and content themselves with a short prayer, which only serves as a pretext to decide the most important questions.
There is nothing like this in our action. It is neither you nor I that formed the contract: but a third person, who in this can have regarded only God. The difficulty I made in the beginning, which proceeded only from the deliberation which I was bound to give to it, ought completely to reassure you. For be certain it was from no want of a very great inclination to your spiritual service; this I had beyond words; but because in a thing of such consequence I wanted to follow neither your desire nor my inclination but God and Providence. Stop there, I beseech, and dispute no more with the enemy on this subject; tell him boldly that it is God who wanted it and did it. It was God who placed you under that first direction, profitable to you at that time; it is God who has brought you to this, which, though the instrument of it is unworthy, he will make fruitful and useful to you.
As to the second doubt, my dearest sister, know that as I have just said, from the beginning of your conferring with me about your interior, God gave me a great love of your soul. When you opened yourself to me more particularly, it was an obligation on my soul to cherish yours more and more, which made me write to you that God had given me to you. I do not believe that anything could be added to the affection I felt in my soul, and above all when praying to God for you.
But now, my dear child, a certain new quality has developed which I seem unable to name. I can only say its effect is a great interior sweetness which I feel in wishing you the perfection of the love of God, and other spiritual benedictions. No, I do not add a single line to the truth; I speak before the God of my heart and yours: every affection has its particular difference from others: that which I have for you has a certain specialty which immensely consoles me, and which, to say all, is extremely profitable to me. Hold that for the truest truth, and doubt it no more. I did not mean to say so much, but one word brings on another, and besides I think you will apply it properly.
It is remarkable, I think, my child, that the holy church of God, in imitation of her Spouse, does not teach us to pray for ourselves in particular, but always for ourselves and for our Christian brethren: Give us, she says: grant us, and such like terms, which include many. I had never happened to think, under this general form of speech, of any particular person: but since I left Dijon, under this form, us, several persons who have recommended themselves to me have come into my mind,—yourself almost always the first; and when not the first, which is rarely, then the last, to dwell more on it. Can I say more than that? But, do not communicate this to any one; for I say a little too much about it, though with all truth and purity.
This is quite enough now to answer henceforth all those suggestions, or at least to give you courage to laugh at their author, and to spit in his face. I will tell you the rest one day, either in this world or in the other.
In the third place you ask me for remedies in the trouble caused you by the wicked one’s temptations against faith and the Church; for so I understand you. I will say what God gives me to say.
In this temptation you must behave as in temptations of the flesh, disputing neither little nor much. Do as did the Children of Israel with the bones of the Paschal Lamb, which they did not even try to break, but simply threw into the fire. You must not reply at all, nor appear to hear what the enemy says. Let him clamour as he likes at the door; you must not say as much as, Who goes there?
True, you will tell me, but he worries me, and his noise makes those within unable to hear one another speak. It is all the same; patience,—we must prostrate ourselves before God, and remain there at his feet: he will understand, by this humble behaviour, that you are his, and that you want his help, though you cannot even speak. But above all keep yourself well shut in, and open not the door at all, either to see who it is or to drive the nuisance away; at last he will get tired of crying out, and will leave you in peace.
And never too soon, you will say. I pray you get a book called On Tribulation, composed by Father Ribadaneira, in Spanish, and translated into French. The Father Rector will tell you where it is printed; read it carefully. Courage, then, it will come to an end at last; provided he enter not, it matters not. And meanwhile it is an excellent sign when the enemy beats and blusters at the door; for it is a sign that he has not got what he wants. If he had it, he would not cry out any more, he would enter and stay. Take note of this, so as not to fall into scruple.
After this remedy, I give you another. Temptations against faith go straight to the understanding, to make it parley, and think, and dream about them. Do you know what you must do while the enemy is occupied trying to escalade the intelligence? Sally out by the gate of the will, and make a good attack on him. That is, when a temptation against faith comes to engage you:—how can this be? but if this, but if that?—instead of disputing with the enemy by argument, let your affective part rush forth vehemently upon him, and even joining the exterior voice to the interior, cry: Ah! traitor, ah! wretch, thou hast left the church of the angels, and wishest me to leave the church of the saints! Disloyal, faithless, perfidious one, thou didst present to the first woman the apple of perdition, and thou wantest me to eat of it! Get thee behind me, Satan! It is written: thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.[8] No, I will not reason or dispute. Eve wishing to dispute with the devil was seduced and ruined. Vive Jésus, in whom I believe! Vive the Church, to which I cling! and similar words of fire.
You must also say words to Jesus Christ, and to the Holy Spirit (such as he will suggest to you), and even to the Church: O mother of the children of God, never will I separate myself from you, I will to live and die in your bosom.
I know not if I make myself understood. I mean to say that we must fight back with affections and not with reasons; with passions of the heart and not with considerations of the mind. It is true that in these times of temptations the poor will is quite dry; but so much the better: its acts will be so much the more terrible to the enemy, who, seeing that instead of retarding your progress he gives you an opportunity of exercising a thousand virtuous affections, and particularly the protestation of faith, will leave you at last.
In the third place, it will be sometimes good to apply fifty or sixty strokes of the discipline, or thirty, as you may be disposed. It is remarkable how good this recipe was found in a soul whom I know. It is, doubtless, because the exterior pain diverts the interior mischief and affliction, and provokes the mercy of God. Add that the wicked one, seeing that his partisan and confederate the flesh is getting beaten, fears and flees. But this third remedy must be used with moderation, and according to the profit you find from it after the experience of some days.
In fine, these temptations are only afflictions, like others; and we must stay ourselves on the saying of Holy Scripture: Blessed is he that suffers temptation; for when he has been tried he shall receive the crown of glory.[9] Know that I have seen few persons make progress without this trial, and we must have patience. Our God, after the storms will send the calm. But above all use the first and second remedy.
For the fourth point, I am not willing to change the offerings you made the first time you vowed yourself, nor the condition which was appointed you, nor any other thing.
As to your daily prayers, this is my counsel. In the morning make the meditation with the preparation as I have marked it in the writing which I send for this purpose. Add the Paternoster, Ave Maria, Credo, Veni Creator, Ave Maris Stella, Angele Dei, and a short prayer to the two Saints John, and the two Saints Francis of Assisi and of Paula, which you will find in the Breviary, or perhaps you already have them in the little book you mean to send me. Salute all the Saints with this vocal prayer:
Holy Mary, and all Saints, deign to intercede for us with our Lord, that we may obtain to be helped and saved by him who liveth and reigneth, world without end. Amen.[10]
Having saluted the Saints who are in heaven, say a Paternoster and Ave for the faithful departed, and another for the faithful living. Thus you will have visited all the church, one part of which is in heaven, another on earth, another under the earth, as St. Paul and St. John witness. This will take you a full hour.
Hear Mass every day, if possible, in the manner which I have described in writing on meditation.
And either at Mass or in the course of the day I wish the Rosary to be said with the greatest devotion possible.
Throughout the day, plenty of ejaculatory prayers, and specially those of the hours when they strike; this is a useful devotion.
In the evening before supper, I approve of a short recollection, with five Paternosters and Ave Marias, to the five wounds of our Lord. The recollection may be made by the entrance of the soul into one of the five wounds of our Lord for five days, into the thorns of the crown for the sixth, and into his pierced side for the seventh: for there we must begin the week, and there end it; that is, on Sundays we must return to this heart.
In the evening, about an hour or an hour and a half before supper, retire, and say the Paternoster, the Ave, the Credo: this done, the Confiteor up to meâ culpâ: then the examination of conscience; after which finish the meâ
culpâ, and say the Litany of our Lady of Loretto, or, in order, the seven Litanies of our Lord, our Lady, the Angels, and the others as they are in a book made for this purpose. This book is not easy to find; and therefore, if you cannot get them, the Litany of our Lady will do. This will take you nearly half an hour.
Every day take a good half-hour’s spiritual reading, this is quite enough for each day. On Feasts you can assist at Vespers, and say the office of our Lady. But if you have a great taste for the prayers you have been used to say, do not change, I beg. And if you happen to omit something that I order, do not make a scruple of it; for here is the general rule of our obedience written in great letters: we must do all by love, and nothing by force. we must love obedience rather than fear disobedience.
I leave you the spirit of liberty; not that which excludes obedience, for this is the liberty of the flesh; but that which excludes constraint, and scruple, and worry (empressement).
If you very much love obedience and submission, I wish that if a just or charitable necessity require you to omit your exercises you should make this a species of obedience, and supply the defect by love.
I wish you to have a French translation of all the prayers you say. I do not want you to say them in French, but in Latin, for they will give you more devotion; but I want you to have the meaning at hand, even in the Litanies of Jesus, of our Lady, and the others. But do all this without anxiety, and in a spirit of sweetness and love.
Your meditations will be on the life and death of our Lord. . . . I approve your using the Exercises of Thauler, Meditations of St. Bonaventure, and those of Capiglia; for being on the Gospels they are on the life of our Lord. But you must reduce all to the method I send you in this paper. The meditations of the four ends of man will be useful to you, on condition that you always finish with an act of confidence in God, never representing to yourself death or hell on the one side without the cross on the other; so that, after exciting yourself to fear by the one you may return to the other by confidence. The hour of meditation must be only three-quarters at most.
I love spiritual canticles, sung with affection.
As to the ass (body) I approve the fast of Friday, and the frugal supper of the Saturday. I approve your keeping it down the whole of the week, not so much by abstinence from meats (sobriety being observed) as by abstinence from choice in them. I approve your flattering it sometimes, giving it some oats to eat, as St. Francis did, to make it go quicker. I mean the discipline; which has a wonderful force, by stinging the flesh to quicken the spirit; but only use it twice a week.
You must not lessen the frequency of your communions, unless your confessor orders it. I have this particular consolation, on Feast-days, namely, to know that we are going to communion together.
For the fifth point, it is the truth that I cherish, with a very special love, our Celse-Bénigne, and all the rest of your children. Since God has given your heart this desire to give them entirely to the service of God, you must bring them up in this design, sweetly inspiring suitable thoughts. Have the Confessions of St. Augustine, and read them carefully from the end of the eighth book; you will there see St. Monica, a widow, with the care of her Augustine, and many things which will console you.
As to Celse-Bénigne, you must suggest generous motives, and plant in his little soul the noblest and most gallant aspirations after the service of God, and impress on him a very low idea of mere worldly glory; but this little by little. In proportion as he grows up, we will think of the particular things required, God helping.
Meanwhile, take care, not only about him, but about his sisters, that they sleep alone as far as possible, or with persons in whom you have as full confidence as in yourself. I cannot tell you how important this advice is; experience recommends it to me every day.
If Frances wishes, of her own accord, to be a religious, it is well: otherwise I do not approve that her will should be anticipated by resolutions, but only, like the others, by sweet attractions (inspirations).
We must, as much as we can, act on souls as the angels do, by gracious and gentle movements. But I quite approve that you have her brought up in the order of Puy-d’Orbe, in which I hope devotion is soon going to begin to flourish again in good earnest. And I want you to cooperate in this intention. But from all the girls keep away vanity of soul: it is almost born with the sex.
I know you have the Epistles of St. Jerome in French: look at what he says of Pacatula and the others, about the education of girls: they will do you good. Still you must use moderation. I have said all when I have said “sweet attractions.”
I see that you owe 2,000 crowns; hasten the payment all you can, and be sure to avoid retaining anything of any one’s, as far as possible.
Give some little alms, but with great humility. I like the visitation of the sick, of the old, and women chiefly, and of the young when quite young. I like the visitation of the poor; particularly of women, with great humility and mildness.
For the sixth point, I approve your dividing your abode between your father and your father-in-law, and that you occupy yourself in procuring the good of their souls, after the fashion of the angels, as I have said. If the stay at Dijon is a little longer, no matter: it is also your primary duty. Try to make yourself every day more agreeable to both your fathers, and further their salvation in a spirit of sweetness. No doubt the winter will suit you better at Dijon.
I am writing to your father, and as he had commanded me to write him something for the good of his soul, I have done it with much simplicity, perhaps too much.
My advice lies in two points: one, that he should make a general review of all his life for a general confession; a thing without which no man of honour should die; the other that he should try little by little to despoil himself of worldly affections—and I tell him the way to do it.
I propose this to him, in my opinion clearly and gently enough; and with this conclusion, that we must not exactly break through the ties of alliance which we have with the affairs of the world, but unsew and undo them. He will shew you the letter, I doubt not. Help him to understand and practise it.
You owe him a great charity in leading him to a happy end, and no consideration should hinder you from employing yourself in this with a holy ardour; for he is the first neighbour whom God obliges you to love; and the first part you should love in him is his soul, and in his soul the conscience, and in his conscience, purity, and in purity the seizing hold of eternal life. I say the same to your father-in-law.
Perhaps your honoured father, not knowing me, will find my freedom improper; but make me known to him, and I am sure he will love me for this freedom more than for anything else.
I am writing to Monseigneur de Bourges a letter of five sheets, in which I point out to him the method of preaching, and with this I tell him my opinion about several points of the life of an archbishop. Well, as for him, I have no doubt he will find it agreeable. In fine, what would you further? Father, brother, uncle, children, all are infinitely dear to me.
As for the seventh point, about the spirit of liberty, I will tell you what it is.
Every good man is free from acts of mortal sin, and does not keep any affection to it. This is a liberty necessary for salvation. I do not speak of this; the liberty of which I speak is the liberty of well-beloved children. And what is it? It is a detachment of the Christian heart from all things to follow the known will of God. You will easily understand what I mean to say, if God gives me the grace to propose to you the marks, signs, effects, occasions of this liberty.
We ask from God before all things, that his name may be hallowed, his kingdom come, his will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
All this is no other thing than the spirit of liberty; for provided that the name of God is sanctified, that his majesty reigns in you, that his will is done, the soul cares for nothing else. First mark: the soul which has this liberty is not attached to consolations, but receives afflictions with all the sweetness that the flesh can permit. I do not say that it does not love and desire consolations, but I say that it does not attach its heart to them. Second mark: it does not at all attach its affection to spiritual exercises; so that, if by sickness or other accident kept from them, it feels no grief thereat. Here also I do not say it does not love them, but I say it is not attached to them.
Such a heart scarcely loses its joyfulness, because no privation makes him sad whose heart is quite unattached. I do not say he does not lose it, but that he scarcely loses it, that is, only for a short time.
The effects of this liberty are a great suavity of soul, a great gentleness and condescension in all that is not sin or danger of sin; a temper sweetly pliable to the acts of every virtue and charity.
For example: interrupt a soul which is attached to the exercise of meditation; you will see it leave with aunoyance, worried and surprised. A soul which has true liberty will leave its exercise with an equal countenance, and a heart gracious towards the importunate person who has inconvenienced her. For it is all one to her whether she serve God by meditating, or serve him by bearing with her neighbour: both are the will of God, but the bearing with her neighbour is necessary at that time.
The occasions of this liberty are all the things which happen against our inclination; for whoever is not attached to his inclinations, is not impatient when they are contradicted.
This liberty has two opposite vices, instability and constraint, or dissolution and slavery. Instability, or dissolution of spirit, is a certain excess of liberty, by which we change our exercises, our state of life, without proof or knowledge that such change is God’s will. On the smallest occasion practices, plan, rule are changed; for every little occurrence we leave our rule and laudable custom: and thus the heart is dissipated and ruined, and is like an orchard open on all sides, whose fruits are not for its owners, but for all passers by.
Constraint or slavery is a certain want of liberty by which the soul is overwhelmed with either disgust or anger, when it cannot do what it has planned, though still able to do better.
For example: I design to make my meditation every day in the morning. If I have the spirit of instability, or dissolution, on the least occasion in the world I shall put it off till the evening— for a dog which kept me from sleeping, for a letter I have to write, of no urgency whatever. On the other hand, if I have the spirit of constraint or servitude, I shall not leave my meditation at that hour, even if a sick person have great need of my help at the time, even if I have a despatch which is of great importance, and which cannot well be put off, and so on.
It remains for me to give you one or two examples of this liberty which will better make you understand what I cannot properly describe. But first I must tell you that you are to observe two rules, to avoid stumbling in this point.
A person should never omit his exercises and the common rules of virtues unless he sees the will of God on the other side. Now, the will of God shows itself in two ways, by necessity and charity. I want to preach this Lent in a little place of my diocese; if, however, I get ill, or break my leg, I must not be grieved or disquieted because I cannot preach; for it is certainly the will of God that I should serve him by suffering and not by preaching. Or if I am not ill, but an occasion presents itself of going to some other place, where, if I go not, the people will become Huguenots,—there is the will of God sufficiently declared to turn me gently from my design.
The second rule is that when we are to use liberty for the sake of charity, it must be without scandal and without injustice. For example: I may know that I should be more useful somewhere very far from my diocese. I cannot use liberty in this; for I should scandalize and commit injustice, because I am obliged to be here. Hence, this liberty never interferes with vocations; on the contrary, it makes each one satisfied with his own, since each should know that he is placed in it by the will of God.
Now, I want you to look at Cardinal Borromeo, who is going to be canonized in a few days. His was a spirit the most exact, rigid, and austere that it is possible to imagine: he drank nothing but water, and eat nothing but bread; he was so austere that, after he was archbishop, he only entered twice during twenty-four years into the house of his brothers, when ill, and twice into his garden. Yet, this rigorous soul, when eating with the Swiss, his neighbours, as he often did to keep a good influence over them, made no difficulty in drinking bumpers and healths with them, besides what he drank for his thirst. There is a trait of holy liberty in the most austere man of this age. A dissolute spirit would have done too much; a constrained spirit would have considered it a mortal sin; a spirit of liberty would have done it for charity.
Spiridion, an ancient bishop, having received a pilgrim almost dead with hunger, during Lent, and in a place in which there was nothing but salt-meat, had some of this cooked, and offered it to the pilgrim. The pilgrim was unwilling to take it, in spite of his necessity. Spiridion had no need of it, but ate some first for charity, in order to remove, by his example, the scruple of the pilgrim. Here was a charitable liberty in this holy man.
Father Ignatius of Loyola, who is going to be canonized, ate meat on Wednesay in Holy Week on the simple order of the doctor, who judged it expedient for a little sickness he had. A spirit of constraint would have had to be besought three days.
But I want now to show you a shining sun of detachment, a spirit truly free, and unbound by any engagement, and holding only to the will of God. I have often thought what was the greatest mortification of all the Saints I know; and after many considerations I have found this: St. John Baptist went into the desert at the age of five years, and knew that our and his Saviour was born quite near him, that is, one day’s journey, or two or three, or so. God knows whether St. John’s heart, touched with the love of his Saviour from the womb of his mother, desired to enjoy his holy presence. Yet he stays twenty-five years there in the desert, without going even once to see our Saviour. Then he stays everywhere to catechize, without going to our Lord, and waits for him to go to him: afterwards, having baptized our Lord, he does not follow him, but stays to do his own work. O God! what a mortification of spirit! To be so near his Saviour, and not to see him! to have him so near and not to enjoy him! And what is this but to have the heart free from all, even from God himself, to do the will of God and to serve him? To leave God for God, and not to love God, in order so much better and more purely to love him! This example overwhelms my soul with its grandeur.
I forgot to say that the will of God is known not only by necessity and charity, but by obedience; so that he who receives a command must believe that it is the will of God. Am I not writing too much? but my spirit runs quicker than I wish, carried on by the ardent desire of serving you.
For the eighth point, remember the day of the blessed King St. Louis, the day on which you took again the crown of your kingdom from your own soul to lay it at the feet of the King Jesus: the day on which you renewed your youth, like the eagle, plunging it in the sea of penance; a day, the harbinger of the eternal day of your soul. Remember that after the grand resolutions you expressed of being all God’s, body, heart, and soul, I said Amen, on behalf of the whole Church our Mother: and at the same time, the Holy Virgin, with all the Saints and blessed made their great Amen and Alleluia resound in heaven. Remember to hold that all the past is nothing, and that every day you must say with David: now I have begun[11] to love my God properly. Do much for God, and do nothing without love. Apply all to this love; eat and drink for it.
Be devout to St. Louis, and admire in him his great constancy. He was king at twelve, had nine children, made war continually, against either rebels or the enemies of the faith; was king more than forty years; and at the end of all, his confessor, a holy man, swore that having confessed him all his life, he had never found that he had fallen into mortal sin. He made two voyages beyond the sea: in both he lost his army, and in the latter he died of pestilence, after having for a long time visited, helped, served, dressed and cured the plague-stricken of his army—and dies joyous, constant, with a verse of David in his mouth.[12] I give you this saint as your special patron for all the year; you will have him before your eyes, with the others named above. In the coming year, if it please God, I will give you another, after you have profited well in the school of this one.
For the ninth point, believe two things about me:—the one that God wants you to make use of me, so do not hesitate; the other, that in what is for your salvation, God will help me with light necessary to serve you; as to the will, he has already given it me so strong, that it cannot be stronger. I have received the note of your vows, which I guard and regard (garde et regarde) carefully, as a fit instrument of our alliance, entirely founded on God, and which will last for eternity, by the mercy of him who is the author of it.
Monseigncur, the Bishop of Saluzzo, one of my most intimate friends, and one of the greatest servants of God and the Church, died a little while ago, to the incredible sorrow of his people, who had only enjoyed his labours one year and a half; for we were made bishops together and on the very same day. I ask you for three chaplets for his repose, certain that if he had outlived me he would have procured me a like charity from all those with whom he had credit.
You seem, from one passage of your letter, to consider it settled that we shall see one another again some day. May God will it, my dearest sister! but for my part, I see nothing before my eyes which can make me hope to have the liberty to go thither! I told you the reason in confidence, at Saint-Claude.
I am tied here, hand and foot, and as for you, my good sister, does not the inconvenience of the past journey frighten you? But we will see, between this and Easter, what God wishes from us: his holy will be ever ours.
I pray you to bless God with me for the effects of the voyage of Saint-Claude: I cannot tell them you, but they are great; and at your first leisure write me the history of your gate of SaintClaude,[13] and believe that it is not from curiosity that I ask it.
My mother is as entirely yours as she can be. I have been consoled to see that you willingly call Madame du Puy-d’Orbe sister; she is a great soul if well assisted, and God will make use of her to the glory of his name; help her and visit her by letter. God will be pleased with you for it.
If I decide for myself, I shall never finish this letter, which is written without other design than to answer yours. Still I must finish it, begging the great assistance of your prayers, and declaring my great need of them. I never pray without making you part of the subject of my prayers. I never salute the angels without saluting yours; do the same for me, and get CelseBénigne to do it. I always pray for him and for all your household! Be sure I never forget them, nor their deceased father, in Holy Mass. God be in your heart, your mind, your soul, my dearest sister; and I am in his merciful love, your very devoted servant, with liberty because it is par homme.[14] Pray sometimes for the return of my unfortunate Geneva.
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[1] 1. Tim. 5:3.
[2] Ps. 131:15.
[3] Ps. 67:6.
[4] 1. Tim. 5:3.
[5] 2. Cor. 12:9.
[6] 1. Kings, 16:7.
[7] Ecclus. 26:20.
[8] Matt. 4.
[9] James 1:12.
[10] Prayer at Prime.
[11] Ps. 76:11.
[12] I will enter into your house, O Lord, &c.—Ps. 5:8.
[13] Referring to a certain vision of Madame de Chantal’s.
[14] I think this means that his sort of feudal service to Madame de Chantal is not direct, but by deputy, as kings acknowledged their vassalship.
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