Letter 1626. To Mother Marie Aimée de Rabutin

My very dear Daughter,—Indeed, with all my heart I long for the consolation of being near you for three weeks orafullmonth. But to speak confidentially, I do not think I can in conscience leave this monastery during the rest of this year, although, if the time does come when there will be no difficulty, you know that, in what regards myself, my desire is to undertake nothing, neither to go nor to stay, except as I am commanded by superiors. The most convenient time will, I think, be in the early part of the spring of next year, if his Lordship so commands. Certainly, our sisters, your daughters, will not draw much profit from what I shall say or write to them if they do not mind what you tell them. For this reason I beg of you not to give them permission to write to me, for I should be obliged to answer them whatever they might ask, and, perchance, in doing so I should annoy them and give them fresh cause for complaint. Work gently at their amendment, and do not let yourself be carried away with too great zeal for their perfection. As I have already so often told you, having done our best we must remain in peace, patiently awaiting the time that God has destined for their conversion. All these dear souls belong to Him, and His goodness knows the time. J remember hearing in a sermon that St. Paul was extremely desirous to convert a certain people who themselves wished to hear him, but God made known to him that the hour of their conversion had not yet come. Ina word, dear daughter, we must help the good to advance in perfection and wait patiently for the others, assisting and encouraging them all we can.

As to the food of those sisters who are so difficult to please: do what is necessary as charity dictates and according to your means; but do not worry if they somewhat disapprove of what you order. Some minds will always be a little troublesome; such things cannot be helped. God grant that you may carry out what I have tried to impress on you: that for every species of sorrow and inward temptation there is only one sovereign remedy—not to be astonished at them, not to cast your eyes upon them, / nay, not even to seem to see them, but gently to bear the pain that comes therefrom as you would bear a headache. You know well enough that God has never forsaken you, and that hell is not for souls to whom His goodness manifests itself so often—yet not as often as we could wish—for, by divine grace, it is spiritual and not temporal joys that we love. I must conclude. God be praised!

P.S.—There is something else I want to say: Madame de Chalay has written to tell me through Sister J. Thérése [Picoteau] that you look very pale. I have so strongly recommended you to take care of your health that I am indeed exceedingly sorry to hear this, and I can see very well it comes of all the worries you let take hold of you. In the name of God pacify your mind and keep it tranquil, for, as our Blessed Father once said to me, ‘ Your troubles are not so great that God does not from time to time help you to uphold and patiently support the burden of them.’

The Bishop of Geneva [Juste Guérin] ought to arrive at Chambéry to-day. Sister M. Isabelle says she has no answer to send her sister, not being able to give her any assurance that she does wish to be a religious, and your Charity knows no one likes to send bad news. Good-bye, my Mother of Thonon.