If you wish nothing to cross your life, desire not reputation or the glory of the world. Attach yourself not to human consolations and friendships. Love not your life, and despise all that may be painful to your natural inclinations.
Support generously the pains of the body and the most violent maladies, with acquiescence in the will of God. Trouble not yourself about human judgments.
Keep silence about all things, and you shall have interior peace; because, for me and for you there is no other secret to acquire this peace save to suffer, à la rigueur, the judgments of men.
Disturb not yourself about what the world will say of you; await the judgment of God, and your patience will then judge those who will have judged you. Those who run at the ring do not think of the company which is looking at them, but of running well in order to carry it off. Think for whom you labour, and those who wish to give you pain will hardly do so. Your humble, &c.
8th December, 1610.
Sir,—At last then you are going to make sail, and take the open sea of the world at court. God be gracious to you, and may his holy hand be ever with you!
I am not so fearful as many others, and I do not think that profession one of the most dangerous for those of noble souls and manly heart; for there are but two principal rocks in this gulf: vanity, which ruins spirits that are soft, slothful, feminine, and weak (flouets); and ambition, which ruins audacious and presumptuous hearts.
And as vanity is a defect of courage, and has not the strength to undertake the acquisition of true and solid praise, but desires and is content with the false and the empty; so ambition is an excess of courage, which leads us to purchase glories and honours without and against the rule of reason.
Thus vanity causes us to occupy ourselves with those silly gallantries which are in praise with women and other little spirits, and in contempt with great hearts and elevated souls; and ambition makes us want to have honours before deserving them. It is ambition which makes us put to our own credit, and at too high price, the merit of our predecessors, and we would willingly gain our esteem from theirs.
Well, sir, against all this, since it pleases you that I speak so, continue to nourish your soul with spiritual and Divine meats, for they will make us strong against vanity, and just against ambition.
Keep carefully to frequent communion; and, believe me, you could do nothing more calculated to strengthen yourself in virtue. And to make yourself quite safe in this practice, put yourself under the orders of some good confessor, and beseech him to take authority to make you give an account in confession of the failures you may make in this exercise, if by chance you make any. Always confess humbly, and with a true and express purpose of amendment.
Never forget (and this I conjure you) to ask on your knees the help of our Lord, before leaving your house, and to ask the pardon of your sins before going to bed.
Especially beware of bad books; and for nothing in the world let your soul be carried away by certain writings which weak brains admire, because of some vain subtleties which they find therein. Such are the works of that infamous Rabelais, and certain others of our age, who profess to doubt everything, to despise everything, and to scoff at all the maxims of antiquity. On the contrary, have books of solid doctrine, and specially Christian and spiritual ones to recreate yourself in from time to time.
I recommend to you the gentle and sincere courtesy which offends no one and obliges all; which seeks love rather than honour; which never rallies any one so as to hurt them, nor stingingly; which repels no one and is itself never repelled. Or, if repelled, it is but rarely; in exchange for which it is very often honourably advanced.
Take care, I beseech you, not to embarrass yourself in love-makings (amourettes), and not to allow your affections to prevent your judgment and reason, in the choice of objects of love; for, when once inclination has taken its course, it drags the judgment like a slave to decisions which are very improper, well worthy of the repentance which soon follows them.
I would wish that, first, in speech, in bearing, and in intercourse with others, you should make open and express profession of wishing to live virtuously, judiciously, perseveringly, and Christianly.
I say virtuously, that no o ne may attempt to engage you in immoralities. Judiciously, that you may not show extreme signs, exteriorly, of your intention, but such only as, according to your condition, may not be censured by the wise.
Perseveringly, because unless you show with perseverance an equal and inviolable will, you will expose your resolutions to the designs and attempts of many miserable souls, who attack others to draw them to their company.
In fine, I say Christianly, because some make profession of wishing to be virtuous philosophically (à la philosophique), who, however, are not so, and can in no way be so; and are nothing else but phantoms of virtue, hiding from those who are not familiar with them their bad life and ways by graceful manners and words.
But we, who well know that we cannot have a single particle of virtue but by the grace of our Lord, we must employ piety and holy devotion to live virtuously; otherwise we shall have virtues only in imagination and in shadow.
Now it is of the last importance to let ourselves be known early such as we wish to be always, and in this we must have no haggling (marchander).
It is also of the greatest importance to make some friends of the like aim, with whom you can associate and strengthen yourself. For it is a very true thing that the company of well-regulated souls is extremely useful to us to keep our own well regulated.
I think you will easily find either among the Jesuits, or the Capuchins, or the Feuillants, or even outside the monasteries, some gracious (courtois) spirit who will be glad if you sometimes go to see him, to recreate yourself, and take spiritual breath. But you must permit me to say to you one thing in particular.
You see, sir, I fear you may return to gaming, and I fear it, because it will be to you a great evil: it would, in a few days, dissipate your heart, and make all the flowers of your good desires wither. It is the occupation of an idler; and those who want to get renown and introductions by playing with the great, and who call this the best way of getting known, show that they have no good deserts, since they have no better credit than that of having money and wanting to risk it. It is no great merit to be known as gamesters; but if they meet with great losses every one knows them to be fools. I pass over the consequences, such as quarrels, despair and madnesses, from which not one gamester has any exemption.
I wish you, further, a vigorous heart, not to flatter your body by delicacies, in eating, sleeping, and such other softnesses: for a generous heart has always a little contempt for bodily comforts and pleasures.
Still our Lord said that those who are clothed in soft garments are in the houses of kings,[1] therefore do I speak to you about it. Our Lord does not mean to say that all those who are in king’s houses must be clothed in soft garments, but he says only that customarily those who clothe themselves softly are there. Of course I am not speaking of the exterior of the clothing, but of the interior; for as to the exterior, you know far better what is proper; it is not for me to speak of it.
I mean, then, to say that I would like you sometimes to correct your body so far as to make it feel some rigours and hardships; by the contempt of delicacies, and by frequent denial of things agreeable to the senses; for, again, the reason must sometimes exercise its superiority, and the authority which it has to control the sensual appetites.
My God! I am too diffuse, and I scarcely know what I am saying, for it is without leisure, and at odd moments; you know my heart, and will take all well; but still I must further say this.
Imagine that you were a courtier of St. Louis; this holy king (and the king[2] is now holy by innocence) loved that every one should be brave, courageous, generous, good-humoured, courteous, affable, free, polite; and still he loved, above all, that every one should be a good Christian.
And if you had been with him, you would have seen him kindly laughing on occasion, speaking boldly at proper time, taking care that all was in splendour about him, like another Solomon, to maintain the royal dignity; and a moment afterwards serving the poor in the hospitals, and, in a word, marrying civil with Christian virtue, and majesty with humility.
In a word, this is what we must try after; to be no less brave for being Christian, and no less Christian for being brave; and for this we must be very good Christians, that is, very devout, pious, and if possible, spiritual; for, as St. Paul says: the spiritual man discerneth all things;[3] he knows at what time, in what order, by what method, each virtue must be practised.
Form often this good thought, that we are walking in this world between Paradise and Hell, that our last step will place us in an eternal dwelling, and that to make the last well, we must try to make all the others well.
O holy and unending eternity! blessed is he who thinks of you. Yes; for what do we play here in this world but a children’s game? Nothing whatever, if it were not the passage to eternity.
On this account, therefore, we must pay attention to the time we have to dwell here below, and to all our occupations, so as to employ them in the conquest of the permanent good.
Love me always as yours (chose votre), for I am so in our Lord, wishing you every happiness for this world, and particularly for the other: may God bless you, and hold you by his holy hand.
And to finish where I began: you are going to take the high sea of the world; change not, on that account, patron or sails, or anchor, or wind. Have Jesus always for your patron, his cross for a mast, on which you must spread your resolutions as a sail: your anchor shall be a profound confidence in him,—and sail prosperously; may the favourable wind of celestial inspirations ever fill your vessel’s sails fuller and fuller, and make you happily arrive at the port of a holy eternity, which with true heart is wished you, sir, by your, &c.
Sir,—You have greatly obliged me by taking my frankness in good part, though truly you could not well refuse it this gracious welcome, since it went to you with the safe-conduct of your invitation, and under the favour of a true friendship; otherwise I would have taken good care not to send it. I will by no means return upon the declaration it pleases you to make to me of your intention in the edition of the little book,[4] for I should be sorry if I had ever had a single little suspicion to the contrary: but I will only say this word which springs from the disposition of my soul.
If any one had spoken or written extravagantly of authority, he would be very wrong; for there is no way of bad speaking worse than too much speaking. If we say less than we should it is easy to add: but after having said too much it is hard to take off, and we can never make the withdrawal soon enough to hinder the harm of the excess.
Now, this is the height of virtue, to correct immoderation moderately. It is almost impossible to arrive at this point of perfection. I say almost, because of him who said, I was peaceful with those who hated peace.[5] Otherwise, I think I should not have said it. Huntsmen push into the brambles, and often return more injured than the animal they intended to injure. The greater part of these ill-advised statements which are made or written are better met by disdain than by opposition; but let us speak of them no more. To Cæsar what is Cæsar’s, but to God also what is God’s.
I write to you without leisure, you will bear with me, please, according to your kindness, having regard to my affection which is entirely inclined to honour and cherish you very specially. And now, I pray our Lord to fill you with the grace, peace, and sweetness of his holy spirit, and to give his sacred benediction to all your family; leaving beyond this, the bearer to tell you how well our
daughter is, I am your, &c.
Sir,—It has been to me an extremely grateful honour to have received from you these rich and devout studies which the Rev. Father Angelus le Blanc has handed me; and if I had the rich scented casket or cabinet steeped in unguents, which that prince of old, Alexander the Great, destined for the keeping of the works of Homer, I would destine it also for the treasuring of this beautiful present. It is by so much the more precious to me, as I had the less reason to dare to hope for it, since I did not even think you knew I was in the world; in which being truly so small a thing, held in this nook of our mountains, I think myself invisible. But still, as the strong lights discover the atoms, so have you been able to see me.
But since it has pleased you, sir, to turn not only your thought, but what is still more, your good will, towards me, I beseech you very humbly to continue this grace in my regard, by the same courtesy and goodness which has made it spring in your soul, without any merit on my part. And if I cannot by effects, at least I will try by affection, to correspond with this favour, ever bearing you an honour, or even, if you allow this word, a love, very special. I am further drawn to this by this learned piety which makes you so happily transform the Pagan into Christian muses, taking them from that old profane Parnassus, and putting them on the new sacred Calvary.
And would to God that so many Christian poets who have in our age worthily shown, like you, sir, the beauty of their minds, had also, like you, shown the goodness of their judgment in the choice of the subjects of their poems! The corruption of manners would not be so great; for it is a marvel how words marshalled by the laws of verse, have power to penetrate hearts and subdue the memory. May God pardon them the abuse they have made of their learning. And do you, sir, ever employ and enjoy thus holily the beautiful, rich, and excellent mind which the Divine Majesty has bestowed on you in this temporal life, in order that you may rejoice for ever, contemplating and gloriously singing the same mysteries in eternal life.
I am with all my heart your, &c.
Annecy, 12th September, 1614.
I have no greater glory in this world, Monsieur my son, than to be named father of such a son, and no sweeter consolation than to see the pleasure you take in it; but I will not say any more on this subject, which indeed is beyond my speech.
It is enough that God does me this grace, which is every day more delicious to me, as I am being told on every hand that you live in God, although amid this world.
O Jesus, my God! what happiness to have a son who knows how to sing so beautifully the songs of Sion in the land of Babylon! The Israelites excused themselves formerly from this, because not only were they among the Babylonians, but also captives and slaves of the Babylonians; but he who is not in the slavery of the court, he can even in the court adore the Lord and serve him holily.
No indeed, my dearest son, though you may change place, occupations and society, you will never, I trust, change your heart, nor your heart its love, nor your love its object; since you could not choose either a worthier love for your heart, or a worthier object for your love than him who will make it eternally happy. Thus the variety of the faces of court and world will make no change in yours. Your eyes will ever regard heaven, to which you aspire, and your mouth will ever demand the sovereign good which you hope to have there.
But think, I beg you, my dear son, what an incomparable joy it would have been to me to get near you on the opportunity of this meeting of the Estates (of Burgundy), to be able to speak to you with that new confidence which these names of father and of son would have given me. Still God not wishing it, since he allows me to be tied here, neither you nor I ought to wish it. You will then be my Josue there and will fight for the cause of God actually; and as for me I will be here like another Moses, and will hold up my hands to heaven, imploring for you the Divine mercy, that you may overcome the difficulties your good intention will meet.
Ask you henceforth to love me, I will not, since I can say it to you more briefly and expressively; be then my true son, with all your heart, sir, as I am with all mine, not only your very humble and obedient servant, but your father, illimitably affectionate, &c.
2nd July, 1619.
Sir,—It is very true that the Sacred Scripture contains with much clearness the doctrine required for your salvation, and I never thought the contrary.
It is also true that it is a very good method of interpreting the Sacred Scripture to compare passages with one another, and to reduce the whole to the analogy of the faith; that also I have ever said. But all the same I cease not to believe quite certainly, and to say constantly, that in spite of this admirable and delightful clearness of the Scripture on things necessary for salvation, the human spirit does not always find the true sense of it; but can err, and in fact very often does err, in the intelligence of passages which are the most clear and the most necessary for the establishment of the faith.
Witness the Lutheran errors, and the Calvinist books, which, under the conduct of the fathers of the pretended Reform, remain in irreconcilable contradiction on the meaning of the words of institution of the Blessed Eucharist. While both sides boast of having carefully and faithfully examined the sense of these works by comparing other passages of Holy Scripture, and adjusting the whole to the analogy of faith, they still remain opposed in their way of understanding words of such great importance. Scripture, then, is plain in its words, but the heart of man is dim-sighted, and, like a night-owl, cannot see this brightness.
The above-mentioned method is very good, but the human spirit knows not how to use it. It is the Spirit of God, sir, which gives the true sense of it to us, and gives it only to his Church, the column and support of the truth; the Church, by whose ministry this Divine Spirit keeps and maintains his truth, that is, the true sense of his word; the Church, which alone has the infallible assistance of the Spirit of Truth to find the truth clearly, surely, and infallibly in the Word of God. So that he who seeks the truth of this celestial word outside that Church which is the guardian of it, never finds it. And he who wants to know it otherwise than through the Church’s ministry, instead of truth, will only embrace vanity, and instead of the certain clearness of the sacred word will follow the illusions of that false angel, who transforms himself into an angel of light.
Thus acted formerly all heretics, who have all professed to have the better understanding of the Scripture, and to wish to reform the Church; vainly seeking truth outside the bosom of the spouse. Whereas the heavenly Spouse confided it to her as to a faithful depositary and guardian, who would distribute it to the dear children of the nuptial bed, which is, and will be for ever, without stain.
This, then, is the substance of what I have to say, sir, and it is neither by little nor by much contrary to the doctrine of the holy Fathers, which M. de Mornay gives in the book which you pleased to send me yesterday evening. This I send back to-day, with thanks, and declaring that I shall continually desire to be able, by some happy opportunity, to testify, sir, that I am yours, &c.
Sir,—Go and bless our Lord for the favourable inspiration he has given you to withdraw yourself from this great and wide road which those of your age and profession are accustomed to follow, and by which they ordinarily arrive at a thousand kinds of vices and inconveniences, and very often at eternal damnation. Meanwhile, to make this Divine vocation fruitful, to realize more clearly the state which you are about to choose, and to better satisfy this infinite mercy, which invites you to his perfect love, I counsel you to practise these exercises for the three months following.
Firstly, to cut off some satisfactions of the senses, which you might take without offending God; and for this purpose always to rise at six, whether you have slept well or badly, provided you are not ill (for in that case you would have to condescend to the sickness); and to do something more on Fridays, rise at five. This arrangement will give you more leisure to make your prayer and reading.
Also, to accustom yourself to say every day, after or before prayer, fifteen Our Fathers, and fifteen Hail Marys, with your arms extended in the form of a cross.
Moreover, to renounce the pleasures of the taste, eating those meats at table which may be less agreeable to you, provided they are not unwholesome, and leaving those to which your taste may have more inclination.
Further, I would wish you sometimes in the week to sleep clothed.
For these little light austerities will serve you to a double end; the one, to impetrate more surely the light required for your spirit to make its choice (for the lowering of the body in those who have entire strength and health marvellously raises the spirit); the other, to try and to feel austerity, in order to see if you could embrace it, and what repugnance you will have to it.
This experiment is necessary to test the slight inclination you have to leave the world; and if you are faithful in the practice of the little which I propose to you, you will be able to judge what you would be in the much, which is practised in religious orders.
Pray earnestly to our Lord to illuminate you, and say often to him the word of St. Paul: Lord, what would you have me to do?[7] and that of David: Teach me to do thy will, for thou art my God.[8] Above all, if you awake during the night, employ well this time in speaking to our Lord on your choice; protest often to his majesty that you resign to him, and leave in his hands the disposition of all the moments of your life, and that he must please dispose of them at his will.
Fail not to make your prayer morning and evening, when you can; with a little retreat before supper, to lift up your heart unto our Lord.
Take pastimes which are of the more vigorous kind, such as riding, leaping, and the like; and not the soft ones, such as cards and dancing. But if you are touched with some vainglory about those others,—alas! you must say, what does all this profit one for eternity?
Go to communion every Sunday, and always with prayers to beg the light you need: and on feast-days you may well visit, as an exercise, holy places —the Capuchins, St. Bernard’s, the Carthusians. May God grant you his peace, his grace, his light, and his most holy consolation.
If you feel the inspiration towards religion gather strength, and your heart urged by it, take counsel with your confessor; and in case you make a resolution, gradually dispose your grandfather towards it, that the annoyance and pain of your leaving may fall as little as possible on religion, and that you only may be burdened with it. Oh! how good is God to his Israel! How good to the right of heart.[9]
Considerations proper for a person who has an inspiration to quit the world.
I. Consider, first, that our Lord, being able to oblige his creatures to all sorts of services and obediences towards him, has not, however, willed to do so, but is satisfied with obliging us to the keeping of his commandments. So that, if he had pleased to ordain that we should fast all our life, that we should all live the life of hermits Carthusians, Capuchins, still it would be nothing to the great duty we owe him; and yet he is content that we simply keep his commandments.
II. Consider, secondly, that though he has not obliged us to any greater service than we pay him in keeping his commandments, still he has invited and counselled us to live a very perfect life, and to observe an entire renouncement of the vanities and concupiscences of the world.
III. Consider, thirdly, that whether we embrace the counsels of our Lord, giving ourselves to a stricter life, or whether we live in the common life, and in the mere observance of the commandments, in each we shall have some difficulty. If we leave the world we shall have labour to keep our appetites continually guarded and subject, to renounce ourselves, give up our own will, and live in a very absolute subjection, under the laws of obedience, chastity, and poverty. If we stay in the common path, we shall have a perpetual labour in fighting the world which will surround us, in resisting the frequent occasions of sin which beset us, and in keeping our bark safe amid the tempests.
IV. Consider, fourthly, that in both one life and the other, serving our Lord well, we shall have a thousand consolations. Out of the world, the mere satisfaction of having left all for God is worth more than a thousand worlds; the satisfaction of being conducted by obedience, of being preserved by laws, and of being, as it were, under protection from the chief snares of life, are sweet satisfactions. I leave out the peace and tranquillity found there, the pleasure of being occupied night and day in prayers and Divine things, and a thousand such deliciousnesses (délices). And as to the common life, the liberty, the variety of the service we can pay our Lord, the case of having only to observe the commandments of God, and a hundred other such considerations, make it very delectable.
On all this you will say to God:—Ah! Lord, in what state shall I serve you? Ah! my soul, wherever thy God calls thee, thou shalt be faithful to him. But on which side do you think you will do best? Examine your spirit, to know if it does not feel more inclination to one side than the other; and having ascertained this, still do not as yet resolve, but wait till you are told.
Other considerations.
I. Imagine you see St. Joseph and our Lady, just before our Lord’s birth, arrive in Bethlehem, and seek a lodging everywhere, without finding any one willing to receive them. O God! what contempt and rejection of heavenly and holy persons does the world show, and how willingly do these two holy souls embrace this abjection! They do not set themselves up, they make no remonstrances about their quality, but quite simply receive these refusals and this harshness with an unequalled sweetness. Oh! miserable that I am, the least forgetfulness of the punctilious honour which is my due, or which I think my due, troubles me, disquiets me, excites my arrogance and pride, everywhere I force myself into the front rank. Alas! when shall I have that virtue,—the contempt of myself and of vanities!
II. Consider how St. Joseph and our Lady enter the hollow and shed which sometimes served for a stable to strangers, to effect the glorious bringing-forth of the Saviour. Where are the proud edifices which the ambition of the world raises for the habitation of vile and detestable sinners? Ah! what contempt of the grandeurs of the world has this Divine Saviour taught us! How happy are those who know how to love holy simplicity and moderation! A miserable wretch like me must have palaces; and is not satisfied then: and behold my Saviour under a broken roof, and on straw, poorly and pitifully lodged!
III. Consider this Divine baby, born naked, shivering in a manger, in swaddling-clothes. Alas! how poor all is, how vile and abject, in this birth! How soft are we, and slaves to our comforts, and in love with sensualities! We must strongly excite in ourselves the contempt of the world, and the desire of suffering for our Lord abjections, discomforts, poverty and need. If you are sometimes a little difficult to treat in your temporal infirmities, little by little this will pass. The human spirit makes so many turns and doubles, without our thinking of it, that we must make some wry faces: he who makes the least is the best.
My Dear Son,—The true science of God teaches us, above all things, that his will ought to bring our heart to his obedience, and make us find good, as indeed it is most good, all that it ordains for the children of his good pleasure.
You will be, I am sure, of these, and on this principle you will acquiesce, gently and humbly, though not without a feeling of sorrow, in the mercy he has granted to your good mother, whom he has withdrawn into the bosom of his blessed eternity. Thus do the preceding circumstances give us every reason to believe, with as much certainty as we may rightly have in such a matter. Well then, it is done, this is what I had to say to you. Weep now, but moderate your tears and bless God; for this mother will be good to you, as you must hope, much more where she is, then she could have been where she was. Behold her then there with the eyes of your faith, and so calm your soul.
Your good father is well in health and better in spirits. For about a month now he has worn his mourning, of mixed sorrow and consolation, according to the two parts of his soul. Study ever harder and harder in a spirit of diligence and humility; and I am all yours.
20th January, 1614.
Sir,—Knowing what you have felt about your son by what I have felt myself, I realize that your pain has been extreme; for truly, remembering the contentment which you took in speaking to me the other day about this child, I felt a great compassion, when I reflected how painful would be your sorrow at the news of his decease; but still I did not dare to express to you my sympathy, not knowing whether the loss was certain, nor whether it had been announced to you. And now, sir, I come too late to contribute towards the consolation of your heart, which will already, I am sure, have received much relief, so as no longer to remain in the grief which so sensible an affliction had caused it.
For you will have well known how to consider that this dear child was more God’s than yours, who had it only as a loan from that sovereign liberality. And if his Providence judged that it was time to withdraw it to himself, we must believe that it was for the child’s good, in which a loving father like you must quietly acquiesce. Our age is not so delightsome that those who quit it should be much lamented. This son has, I think, gained much by leaving it almost before properly entering it.
The word “dead” is terrifying, as it is spoken to us: for some one comes to you and says: your dear father is dead, and your son is dead:—but this is not a fit way of speaking among us Christians, for we should say: your son or your father has gone into his and your country; and because it was necessary he has passed through death, not stopping in it. I know not, indeed, how we can in right judgment esteem this world to be our country, in which we are for so short a time, in comparison with heaven, in which we are to be eternally. We are on our way, and are more assured of the presence of our dear friends there above than of these here below; for those are expecting us, and we go towards them; these let us go, and will delay as long after us as they can, and if they go with us, it is against their will.
But if some remains of sorrow still oppress your mind for the departure of this sweet soul, throw your heart before our Lord crucified, and ask his help; he will give it you, and will inspire into you the thought and the firm resolution to prepare yourself well to make in your turn, at the hour he has fixed, this terrifying passage, in such way that you may happily arrive at the place in which we hope already is lodged our poor—or rather, our happy departed. Sir, if I am heard in my continual desire, you will be filled with all holy prosperity; for it is with all my heart that I cherish and honour yours, and in this occasion, and in every other, I name myself and make myself, sir, your, &c.
Annecy, 7th August. 1621.
Sir,—I have just learnt from Doctor Grandis the painful yet happy decease of Madam, your dear spouse. Truly, my heart has been as much touched by it as any loss I have experienced for a long time; for the goodness, the piety, and the virtue which I had seen in that beautiful soul had so far obliged me to honour her, that I had made a solemn profession to do so henceforward. How happy she is, this dear lady, to have preserved, amid so many pains and labours, the fidelity she owed to her God! And what a consolation has it been to me, to have known some of the words of charity which her spirit ejaculated with her last sighs into the bosom of the Divine mercy!
But, sir, ought I not to have an immortal obligation for the favour she did me, when in this extremity of her mortal life she so often testified that she had memory of me, as of him whom she knew to be altogether devoted to her in our Lord? Never will this remembrance depart from my soul; and not being able to offer her the very faithful service I had sworn to her virtue and devotion, I beg you, sir, to accept it, and receive it with that which the honour of your goodness had already demanded from my affections. Meantime, on this occasion employ the greatness of your heart in moderating the greatness of the pain which the greatness of your loss has given you. Let us acquiesce, sir, in the decrees of the sovereign Providence, decrees which are always just, always holy, always adorable, although obscure and impenetrable to our understanding.
This beautiful and devout soul has died in a state of conscience, in which, if God gives us the grace to die, we shall be too blessed to die, at whatever time it may be. Let us acknowledge this grace which God has shown her, and quietly have patience for the little time we have to live here below without her, since we have hope of living with her eternally in heaven, in an indissoluble and invariable society. Sir, I will pour out blessings all my life on Madam, your dear departed, and I will be invariably yours, &c.
My Dear Brother (for I am in the place of the one whom our good God has withdrawn to himself),—I am told that you weep continually over this truly very painful separation. This must not be; either you weep for him or for yourself; if for him, why weep that our brother is in Paradise, where tears have no more place? but if for yourself, is there not therein too much self-love?
I speak with you quite frankly; for one would think that you love yourself more than his happiness, which is incomparable. And do you wish that, for your sake, your brother should not be with him who gives all of us life, movement, and being, so long as we acquiesce in his holy pleasure and Divine will?
But come and see us, and often, and we will turn tears into joy,[10] recalling together that joy which our good brother is enjoying, and which shall never more be taken from him; and in general, think often on it and on him. Thus you will live joyful, as, with all my heart, I wish you to be. I heartily recommend myself to your prayers, and assure you that I am yours, &c.
Annecy, 24th August, 1613.
Sir,—Amid the lassitudes and other inconveniences which illness has left behind, I have prepared the document which you pleased to desire of me, and I have added to it an abridgment, that it might be more easy to carry and look at in your confessions. The large one is, as it were, in reserve for you, to have recourse to in your difficulties, and to find in it the illustration of what might be obscure in the abridgment. The whole is in good faith, without art or colour; for these matters want none, simplicity being their beauty, as in God who is the author of them. You will find, sir, marks of my illness; for if I had written this little work in full health, I would, without doubt, have taken stricter care to make it less unworthy of your acceptance. Neither have I been able to write it myself; but those who have written it have no notion of the use for which I meant it.
Blessed be God eternally for the goodness which he shows towards your soul, sir, inspiring it so powerfully to the resolution of consecrating the rest of your mortal life to the service of the eternal life. Eternal life, which is no other thing than the Divinity itself, in so far as it will vivify our souls with his glory and felicity; a life which is the only true life, and for which alone we ought to live in this world, since all life which has not its term in a living eternity, is rather death than life.
But, sir, if God has so lovingly inspired you to aspire to the eternity of glory he has just so far forth obliged you to receive humbly, and carry out carefully his inspiration, under pain of being deprived of this grace and glory. And the mere name of this loss fills with terror a heart which has the least degree of feeling.
Wherefore, in the simplicity of my soul, I conjure you, sir, to be very attentive to preserve well what you have, that you may not lose your crown. You are undoubtedly called to a masculine, courageous, valiant, invariable devotion—to serve as a mirror to many in favour of the truth of celestial love, in reparation of past faults, if ever you have been a mirror of the vanity of terrestial love.
See, I beg you, sir, with what liberty I let my spirit act towards yours, and how this name of father, with which it has pleased you to honour me, carries me away. For it has entered into my heart, and my affections have set themselves to the laws of love which the name father signifies, the greatest, the liveliest, and the strongest of all loves. In harmony with which I must beg you again, sir, to practise diligently the exercises which I mark in chapters x, xi, xii, xiii, of the Second part of the Introduction, for the morning and the evening, for the spiritual retreat, and for aspirations to God. The goodness of your soul, and the noble courage which God has given you, will serve you greatly for this practice, which will be so much the more easy to you as it is only necessary to employ in it moments which are stolen or justly detached, on occasion, here and there, from other affairs. The tenth part of an hour, or even less, will suffice for the morning, and the same for the evening.
Oh! if you could gently deceive your dear soul, sir, and instead of undertaking to communicate every month during a year, a year of twelve months, would, when you have finished the twelfth, add the thirteenth, then the fourteenth, then the fifteenth, and go on thus continuing from month to month! What a happiness to your heart, which, in proportion as it would receive its Saviour oftener, would also convert itself more perfectly into him! And this, sir, could well be done without noise, without injury to your affairs, and without giving the world anything to say. Experience has made me realize in my twenty-five years of serving souls, the allpowerful virtue of this Divine Sacrament, to strengthen hearts in good, exempt them from evil, console them, and in a word deify them in this world, if it be frequented with faith, purity, and devotion.
But enough is said, sir; heavenly influences, your good angel and your generosity, will supply what my insufficiency does not permit me to propose to you. Also, I pray our Lord to make you more and more abound in his favours, and I am, without end, &c.
Sir,—I am truly in a great trouble to know how much you have suffered in this severe and painful illness, from which, as I hope, you will recover. I should have had very much more pain if on every hand I had not been assured that, thanks to God, you have been in no sort of danger, and that you begin to take up your strength, and are in the way of health again.
But what gives me more apprehension now is that besides the evil you suffer through corporal infirmities, you are overcharged with a violent melancholy: for I know how much this will retard the return of your health, and indeed work in the opposite direction.
It is here, sir, that my heart is greatly oppressed; and according to the greatness of the lively and extreme affection with which it cherishes you (beyond what can be said), it has an extraordinary compassion for yours. If you please, sir, tell me, I beg you, what reason have you for nourishing this sad humour which is so prejudicial to you? I fancy your mind is still embarrassed with some fear of sudden death, and of the judgments of God. Alas! what a dreadful torment is this! My soul, which endured it for six weeks, is very capable of compassionating those who are afflicted with it.
But, sir, I must speak a little with you, heart to heart, and tell you, that whoever has a true desire to serve our Lord and to avoid sin, ought not at all to disquiet himself with the thought of death or of the Divine judgments. Although both are to be feared, still the fear should not be of that terrible and terrifying nature which beats down and depresses the vigour and strength of the soul, but should be a fear so mixed with confidence in the goodness of God as by this means to become gentle.
And it behoves not, sir, that we doubt whether we may trust in God when we find it difficult to keep from sin, or when we imagine or fear that in occasions and temptations we may not be able to resist. Oh! no, sir; for distrust of our strength is not a failure of resolution, but a true acknowledgment of our misery. It is a better state of mind to distrust our own power of resistance to temptation than to look on ourselves as sufficiently strong and safe. Only we must take care that what we do not expect from our strength we do expect from the grace of God. Hence many, with great consolation, have promised themselves to do wonders for God, who, when it came to the point, have failed; and many who have had great distrust of their strength, and great fear of failing on trial, have suddenly done wonders: because this great sense of their weakness has urged them to seek the aid and succour of God, to watch, pray, and humble themselves, so as not to enter into temptation.
I say that if we feel we should have neither strength nor even any courage to resist temptation, if it presented itself at once to us, provided that we still would desire to resist it, and hope that if it came God would help us, and if we ask his help, we must by no means distress ourselves, since it is not necessary always to feel strength and courage. It suffices that we hope and desire to have it in time and place; and it is not necessary to feel in ourselves any sign or any mark that we shall have this courage; it is enough that we hope God will help us.
Samson, who was called the strong, never felt the supernatural strength with which God helped him except at the actual times; and hence it is said that when he met the lions or the enemies, the spirit of God came upon him to kill them. So God, who does nothing in vain, does not give us the strength or the courage when there is no need to use them, but at the necessary time nothing is wanting; hence we must always hope that in all occurrences he will help us, if we call upon him. And we should always use the words of David: Why are you sorrowful, my soul, and why do you disquiet me? Hope in the Lord;[11] and his prayer: When my strength fails, O Lord, forsake me not.[12] Well, then, since you desire to be entirely God’s, why do you fear from your weakness, in which you are to put no sort of trust? Do you not hope in God? Ah! He who trusteth in him, shall he ever be confounded?[13] No, sir, he shall never be. I beseech you, sir, to quell all the objections which might arise in your mind. You need make no other answer to them save that you desire to be faithful on all occasions, and that you hope God will make you so. There is no need to test your spirit, to see whether it would or no; these tests are illusive; many are valiant while they do not see the enemy, who are not valiant in his presence; and, on the contrary, many fear before battle, to whom the actual danger gives courage. We must not fear fear. So much on this point, sir. Meanwhile, God knows what I would do and suffer to see you entirely delivered. I am your, &c.
Sales, 7th October, 1604.
Sir,—Charity is equally easy in giving and in receiving good impressions of our neighbour; but if to its general inclination we add that of some particular friendship, it becomes excessive in this facility. Monseigneur de Bourges, and Madame de Chantal, your worthy and dear children, have doubtless been too favourable in the desire with which they have inspired you to wish me well: for I see clearly, sir, by the letter you have written me, that they have employed colours in it, with which my wretched soul was never painted. And you, sir, have not been less ready, nor, I believe, less pleased, to give them an ample and liberal belief. Charity, says the Apostle, believeth all things, and rejoiceth with the truth.[14]
In this only were they unable to exceed in saying, or you in believing, that I have devoted to them all my affections. Thus these affections are yours, since these children are yours, with all they have.
Allow me, sir, to let my pen follow my thoughts in answering your letter. I have truly recognized in M. de Bourges such an ingenuous goodness of mind and of heart, that I have let myself confer with him about the duties of our common vocation with so much liberty, that, returning to myself, I did not know which had used more simplicity, he in listening to me, or I in speaking to him. And, sir, friendships founded on Jesus Christ do not cease to be respectful for being extremely simple and in good faith. We are well cut out for the profit of one another; our desires to serve God and his Church (for I confess that I have some, and he cannot conceal that he is full of them) have been, it seems to me, sharpened and animated by contact.
But, sir, you wish me to continue the conversation on this subject by letters. I assure you that if I would I could not hinder myself from doing so; and, in fact, I am sending him a letter of four sheets, and all of that material. No, sir, I pay no attention to what I am less than he, nor to what he is more than I, and in so many ways: amor æquat amantes (love equalizes lovers). I speak to him faithfully, and with all the confidence my soul can have in his soul, which I consider most frank, true, and vigorous in friendship.
And as for Madame de Chantal, I would rather say nothing of the desire I have of her eternal good than too little.
But has not the President of Finance, your good brother, told you that he loves me also very much? I will tell you, at least, that I consider myself quite certain of it.
There are no persons in your house, down to the little Celse-Bénigne and your Aimée,[15] who do not know me, and love me.
See, sir, if I am not yours, and by how many links; I abuse your goodness in displaying to you my affections so extravagantly. But, sir, whoever provokes me to contention about love must be very firm, for I spare him not.
So must I then obey you again in your command to write down for you the principal points of your duty. I prefer to obey at peril of discretion, rather than to be discreet at peril of obedience. It is in truth an obedience a little bitter to me, but you will rightly judge that it is the more worth. You exceed indeed in humility when you make me this request; why may I not exceed in simplicity when I obey you?
Sir, I know that you have passed a long and very honourable life, and have always been very constant in the Holy Catholic Church; but, after all, it has been in the world, and in the management of affairs. It is a strange thing, but experience and authors witness it: a horse, however fine and strong he may be, travelling on the paths and trail of the wolf, becomes giddy and stumbles. It is not possible that living in the world, though we only touch it with our feet, we be not soiled with its dust. Thus says St. Leo.
Our ancient fathers, Abraham and the others, usually offered to their guests the washing of their feet; I think, sir, that the first thing to be done is to wash the affections of our souls in order to receive the hospitality of our good God in his paradise.
It seems to me that it is always a great matter of reproach to mortals to die without having thought of this; but doubly so to those whom God has favoured with the blessing of old age.
Those who get ready before the alarm is given, always put on their armour better than those who, on the fright, run hither and thither for the cuirass, the cuisses, and the helmet.
We must leisurely say good-by to the world, and little by little withdraw our affections from creatures. Trees which the wind tears up are not proper to transplant, because they leave their roots in the earth; but he who would carry trees into another soil must skilfully disengage little by little all the roots one after the other. And since from this miserable land we are to be transplanted into that of the living, we must withdraw and disengage our affections one after the other from this world. I do not say that we must roughly break all the ties we have formed (it would, perhaps, require immense efforts for that), but we must unsew and untie them.
Those who depart suddenly are excusable for not saying good-by to their friends, and for starting with a poor set out; but not so those who have known the probable time of their journey; they must keep ready, not, indeed, as if to start before the time, but to await it with more tranquillity.
For this end, I think, sir, that you will have an incredible consolation if you choose from each day an hour, to think before God and your good angel, on what is necessary to make a happy departure. What order would your affairs be in if you knew it would be soon? I know these thoughts will not be new to you; but the way of making them must be new in the presence of God, with a tranquil attention, and rather to move the affections, than to enlighten the intellect.
St. Jerome has more than once applied to the wisdom of the old the history of Abisag, the Sunamitess. Wisdom and the consideration of philosophy often engage young people; it is more to recreate their spirit than to excite good movements in their affections; but they should not be with the old except to give them the true warmth of devotion.
I have seen and enjoyed your fine library; I present you, for your spiritual lesson on this matter, St. Ambrose, De bono mortis (of the advantage of death), St. Bernard, De interiori domo (of the interior house), and several scattered homilies of St. Chrysostom.
Your St. Bernard says that the soul should first go and kiss the feet of the crucifix, to rectify its affections, and to resolve, with firm resolution, to withdraw itself little by little from the world and its vanities; then kiss the hands, by that newness of actions which follows the change of affections; and finally kiss the mouth, uniting self by an ardent love to the supreme goodness. This is the true progress of a becoming departure.
It is said that Alexander the Great, sailing on the wide ocean, discovered, alone and first, Arabia Felix, by the scent of its aromatic trees. He was at first the only one to perceive it, because he alone was seeking it. Those who are seeking after the eternal country, though sailing on the high sea of the affairs of this world, have a certain presentiment of heaven, which animates and encourages them marvellously. But they must keep themselves before the wind, and their prow turned in the proper direction.
We owe ourselves to God, to our country, to parents, to friends. To God, firstly; then to our country, but first to our heavenly country; secondly, to our earthly. Then we owe ourselves to our near ones, but no one is so near as ourself, says our Christian Seneca;[16] in fine, to friends; but are you not the first of your friends? He remarks that St. Paul says to Timothy: Attend to yourself and to your flock;1360 first to yourself, then to your flock.
This is quite enough, sir, if not too much, for this year, which flies and melts away before us, and in these two next months will make us see the vanity of its existence like all the preceding, which exist no more. You commanded me to write you every year something of this sort. I am now straight for this year, in which I beseech you to withdraw your affections from the world as much as possible, and in proportion as you withdraw them to transport them to heaven.
And pardon me, I beseech you, by your own humility, if my simplicity has been so extravagant in its obedience as to write to you, at such length and freedom on a simple demand, and with the full sense that I have of your abundant wisdom, which should keep me either in silence or in an exact moderation. Here are waters, sir; if they come from the jawbone of an ass, Samson will not refuse to drink of them. I pray God to heap up your years with his benedictions, and I am, with an entirely filial affection, sir, &c.
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[1] Matt. 11:8.
[2] Louis XIII., aged nine years.
[3] 1. Cor. 2:15.
[4] St. Francis had disapproved a book of which his correspondent was the author, or which had at least been published by his means.
[5] Ps. 119:6.
[6] Probably the Baron de Lux.
[7] Acts 9:6.
[8] Ps. 142:11.
[9] Ps. 72:1.
[10] John 16:20.
[11] Ps. 41.
[12] Ps.70.
[13] Ecclus. 2:11.
[14] 1. Cor. 13.
[15] Children of Madame de Chantal.
[16] S. Bernard.
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