Letter 868. To Mother Marie Aimée de Blonay

at the First Monastery of Lyons.

{Moulins} 20 July [1628]. Vive > Jésus!

My very dear Daughter,—I frankly confess that I used exaggerated expressions in my letter, yet without bitterness of heart, but solely from the impulse of my sorrow. I beg forgiveness of my dearest sister the Superior and of you. I did not mean to offend, but only to make you realise that this project of keeping you on in the charge of Superior was a very grave fault, which I saw by your letter was not looked upon as any offence at all. I wrote to you alone, in absolute confidence, and with the candour of our old friendship. That is why my heart, as it was used to, without ceremony poured out into your heart all its feelings, not thinking that you might show my letter. Nevertheless, I am really glad that Pére Maillan has seen it and that by this means you have relieved your heart, which I would never willingly wound: no more than I have any wish or thought of accusing you of any fault in your way of acting at your election. I consider it very satisfactory and to have been blessed by God, for I do not think you could have made a better choice than my dear sister your Superior. She may well then be at peace, and you likewise, dearest daughter, in what regards yourself. I know quite well that you are very far from procuring for yourself the charge of Superior. I tell you frankly the only fault I saw in you was that you treated this matter as a jest, while to me it was too serious to be taken in that way, lest the belief that this law, whose absolute inviolability for us ought to remain imprinted on the minds of our sisters, might be violated, and that with time bad results would ensue and overthrow this most important rule of our Institute. Certainly if our sisters had re-elected you—as you tell me, notwithstanding your opposition, they very nearly did—the election would have had to be declared invalid, or else the field was open to do the same everywhere else.

For God’s sake, dearest daughter, why have you taken so bitterly what I said to you? I own my words were hard and strong, but certainly I did not say them in a hard manner. Do you not know my heart as God has made it for you? Why then so many tears? Read my letter over again, and you will see that I pour out my woes to you as to my own soul, and not as attributing any guilt to you. Can you not see that you must bear a little with my ardour and jealousy for the perfect preservation of this poor little Institute? If I exceed sometimes and slip into faults about it, is it not just what might be expected of me? I am not surprised at myself, and although I do not commit these faults intentionally, they are of great service to me when I am faithful in improving the opportunity. Now since the Reverend Father gives me in his letters several reasons to prove to me that they had to do what they have done, and that therefore there has been no fault in it, he has by this certainly made me see that this affair has gone much further than I thought, that the mischief was grave enough, and that it is very necessary to undeceive the minds of our sisters. This, it seems to me, should be done quietly but judiciously. You havea wise counsellor in Pére Maillan; he will, I fancy, show you my letter. I think this matter should be kept quite secret and the other monasteries be told nothing about it. Your Archbishop has no occasion to be dissatisfied with the employment that has been given to Sister Favre. It is pure calumny to call her a gossip, she who has done nothing to bring this on her, and who obeys all commands. Answer as you ought those who speak thus of her to you. My very dear daughter, you conclude your letter by a protestation that you love the Institute more than your own life. This, I assure you, I have always thought, and could not believe otherwise. I attributed no share to you in the fault our sisters have committed, which, the more I consider, the graver it appears to me, and their excuse but adds to my sorrow. However, I hope this error will give them a mortal aversion from every kind of interpretation that is contrary to the simplicity of observance, which we ought to maintain unchanged, above all at a time like the present, when the human spirit is turning everything upside down. It is a worry having to write without leisure, for am kept as busy about Nevers as about this house. Ah! my true daughter, keep your heart in peace.