Letters 4–12

Letter 4. Simplicity in Action

I AM well, thank you, Madame, doing credit to quinine, and fit to silence its enemies. Your kindness gives me real pleasure, and I am grateful to my fever for inducing it. You go too far, Madame, in your discretion; if you want to see me, you have but to say so. A simple, straightforward line of action is too much after God's Own Heart ever to disturb those who wish to serve Him, and who are bound to speak in His Name, and teach simplicity. I hope you may be able to arrange the troublesome business which brings you to Paris. I fancy you will find a very drunken man in. . . ; the journey will have excited him. There are very various kinds of drunkenness. Holy Scripture speaks of those that " are drunken, but not with wine." ' There is the drunkenness of pride, of anger, and of vengeance; and there is another kind altogether, of zeal and fervour. It was with this latter that the Apostles were filled when they received the Holy Ghost.2 I shall hope to see you in this latter condition, Madame, when you return. And I shall still pray for you heartily.

Letter 5. The Need of Devotion in a Worldly Life

IT seems to me, Madame, that you have two points to consider — one with respect to your engagements, the other with respect to yourself. The first consists in the care you should take to redeem some brief time from the world for reading and prayer. I can almost fancy I see all your difficulties, so thoroughly do I understand them, But after all, engagements must each have their own due weight, and what concerns salvation must certainly rank foremost. What would you think of a person who could not make time to eat and sleep? Surely you would tell him that the time given to that which is necessary to life is well spent, even as regards business itself. If health breaks down, what are you to do? and of what avail is 1 Isa. xxix. 9. 2 Acts ii. 13.

in a SHorlblg Xtfc 21 all your work if you do not live to reap its fruits? It is just that I would say to you, Madame; — if you let your soul grow faint and exhausted for want of nourishment, of what avail is all the religious talk, or even the fulfilment of urgent and indispensable duties? Martha, Martha, you are eager and troubled about many things; but Mary, who sits by calm and recollected, has chosen the better part, which will never be taken from her. All the same, Madame, I do not speak thus in order to rouse scruples concerning your necessary occupations; but rest assured that necessary occupations will never extend so far as to deprive you of time to take your daily bread. God is too good, and He has made you too keenly alive to His Mercies, ever to deprive you of opportunities for prayer and for maintaining the pious feelings He has kindled in you. Try, then, to rescue half an hour morning and evening. If you claim half an hour's more rest in the one season, and retire half an hour earlier at night, as you might do to write some necessary letter, you would accomplish this, and none the less fulfil your real duties. You must learn, too, to make good use of chance moments: when waiting for some one, when going from place to place, or when in society where to be a good listener is all that is required; — at such times it is easy to lift the heart to God, and thereby gain fresh strength for further duties. The less time one

Spiritual has, the more carefully it should be husbanded. If you wait for free, convenient seasons in which to fulfil real duties, you run the risk of waiting for ever; especially in such a life as yours. No, make use of all chance moments. The claims of piety differ from those of temporal concerns. These latter require stated clear seasons which allow of a connected, continued application; but religion is not dependent upon such consecutive pursuit. One moment will suffice to place yourself in God's Presence, to love, and worship Him, to offer all you are doing or bearing, and to still all your heart's emotions at His Feet. So I intreat you, Madame, seize some half-hour at night and morning in which to repair the world's inroads, and during the day avail yourself of whatever considerations move you most, with a view to placing yourself in the Presence of God.

The other special point you have to heed is not to be disheartened, either by your conscious weakness, or by disgust at the life of excitement which you lead. It is God's Mercy which makes you grieve at this excitement, and that grief is the antidote which saves you from being corrupted by the dissipation of your Court life. So I should be very sorry if you ceased to feel that life irksome; I downright rejoice in your vexation and grief. God will teach you how to root out self through your disgust for worldly things, if it be sincere, amid the pcuotiort in a SforlMi} life 23 world itself; just as He teaches the same lesson to others in solitude, and by deprivation of all the world's attractions. The one thing is to be faithful, patient, and quiet under your actual crosses, which you have not chosen for yourself, but which God has allotted to you of His Own Good Pleasure. As to faults, they are harder to bear with; but they will turn to good, provided we use them to our own humiliation, without slackening in the effort to correct ourselves. Discouragement serves no possible purpose; it is simply the despair of wounded self-love. The real way of profiting by the humiliation of one's own faults is to face them in their true hideousness, without ceasing to hope in God, while hoping nothing from self. No one ever more urgently needed to be humbled by their faults than yourself; thus only will God crush your pride and confound your presumption. When He has stripped you of all self-resource, He will begin to build for Himself; till then He will overthrow every attempt by means of your own faults. Let Him work His Will; do you toil on humbly, without counting for anything.

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Letter 6. Conduct in the World

I AM very glad, Madame, to hear that at last you have contrived to secure some solitary hours. Postponing the hour for seeing people as late as may be, and sometimes seeking shelter elsewhere — these are both good ways of defending yourself from importunate visitors. And at other times you may well cut short your intercourse with people whose only aim is amusement or unnecessary business. As to daily matters which appertain to your duties, or to providential arrangements, you can but put up with them patiently, however inconvenient or disturbing. It is a great consolation to remember that God is often hidden behind such disturbing conditions, as well as behind the most edifying friendships. Behind each importunate intruder learn to see God governing all, and training you in self-denial alike through a troublesome acquaintance as through the edifying examples of real friends. The former thwarts our will, upsets our plans, makes us crave more earnestly for silence and recollection, teaches us to sit loose to our own arrangements, our ease, our taste, our rest: he trains us to bend our will to that of others, to humble ourselves when impatience

Conduct in the oHorli) 25 gets the better of us under such annoyance, and kindles a greater longing after God, even while He seems to be forsaking us because we are so disturbed.

I do not mean that we ought voluntarily to put ourselves in the way of dissipating influences: God forbid! That would be tempting God and seeking danger; but such disturbances as come in any way providentially, if met with due precaution and carefully guarded hours of prayer and reading, will turn to good. Whatever comes from God's Hand bears good fruit. Often those things which make you sigh after solitude are more profitable to your humiliation and self-denial than the most utter solitude itself would be. Let us be content to live day by day as God leads us, making good use of every moment, without looking beyond it. Sometimes an exciting book, a fervent meditation, or a striking conversation, may flatter your tastes and make you feel self-satisfied and complacent, fancying yourself far advanced towards perfection, and, by filling you with unreal notions, be all the while only swelling your pride, and making you come forth from your religious exercises less tolerant towards whatever crosses your will. I would have you hold fast to this simple rule: seek nothing dissipating, but bear quietly with whatever God sends without your seeking it, whether of dissipation or interruption. It is a great delusion to seek God afar off, in matters perhaps altogether unattainable, ignoring that He is beside us amid our daily annoyances so long as we bear humbly and bravely all those which arise from the manifold imperfections of our neighbours and ourselves.

I have but one word to say to you concerning love for your neighbour, namely, that nothing save humility can mould you to it; nothing but the consciousness of your own weakness can make you indulgent and pitiful to that of others. You will answer, " I quite understand that humility should produce forbearance towards others, but how am I first to acquire humility?" Two things combined will bring that about; you must never separate them. The first is contemplation of the deep gulf whence God's All-powerful Hand has drawn you out, and over which He ever holds you, so to say, suspended. The second is the Presence of that All-penetrating God. It is only in beholding and loving God that we can learn forgetfulness of self, measure duly the nothingness of that which has dazzled us, and accustom ourselves thankfully to "decrease"1 beneath that Great Majesty which absorbs all things. Love God, and you will be humble; love God, and you will throw off the love of self; love God, and you will love all that He gives you to love for love of Him.

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Letter 7. Not to Be Troubled About Unintentional Omissions in Confession

I DO not think, Madame, that you need be anxious as to your past confessions and communions. If your beginnings were imperfect, at all events they were sincere, and your mistakes arose from a thing which is very contrary to your natural character — I mean simple obedience. Besides, it is well to remember that the validity of past confessions consists, not in having omitted no fault, but in having accused yourself honestly of all faults of which you were at that time conscious. At that time you had not the light which has been developing since to show you thoroughly many mainsprings of an evil, corrupt nature within you. As that light increases, we see ourselves to be worse than we thought We are amazed at our former blindness as we see issuing forth from the depths of our heart a whole swarm of shameful feelings, like filthy reptiles crawling from a hidden cave. We never could have believed that we had harboured such things, and we stand aghast as we watch them gradually appear. But we must neither be amazed nor disheartened. We are not worse than we were; on the contrary,

28 £pirttttal Betters we are better. But while our faults diminish, the light by which we see them waxes brighter, and we are filled with horror. Bear in mind, for your comfort, that we only perceive our malady when the cure begins. So long as there is no sign of cure, we are unconscious of the depth of our disease; we are in a state of blind presumption and hardness, the prey of self-delusion. While we go with the stream, we are unconscious of its rapid course; but when we begin to stem it ever so little, it makes itself felt. If you find that you have omitted definite matters of importance in former confessions, tell them plainly the next time you go to confession. Your Confessor is an upright, discreet, God-fearing man; as to all else, be at peace. Be sure that humility, frequent silence and recollection, will do you more good than any amount of anxiety and self-chosen austerities. Silence is, above all, important for you. Even when you cannot retire from the world, you might often practise silence, and let others take the lead in conversation. There is no way by which you can so effectually subdue your haughty, disdainful, contemptuous spirit, as by bridling it with silence. Keep a strict watch upon your tongue. The Presence of God, which restrains your words, will likewise keep all your thoughts and wishes in check. But this work must be accomplished gradually. Be patient with yourself, as well as with others.

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Letter 8. On Silence and Recollection

I THINK, Madame, that you should try hard to learn to practise silence, so far as general courtesy will admit of. Silence promotes the Presence of God, avoids many harsh or proud words, and suppresses many dangers in the way of ridiculing or rashly judging our neighbours. Silence humbles the mind, and detaches it from the world; it would create a kind of solitude in the heart like that you court; it would supply much that you need under present difficulties. If you retrenched all useless talk, you would have many available moments even amid the inevitable claims of society. You wish for freedom for prayer; while God, Who knows what you need better than you do, surrounds you with restraints and hampering claims. The hindrances which beset you in the order of God's Providence will profit you more than any possible self-delectation in devotion. You know very well that retirement is not essential to the love of God. When He gives you time, you must take it and use it; but meanwhile abide patiently, satisfied that whatever He allots you is best. Lift up your heart to Him continually, without making any outward sign; only talk when it is necessary, and bear quietly with what crosses you. As you grow in the faith, God will treat you accordingly. You stand more in need of mortification than of light. The only thing I dread for you is dissipation; but you may remedy even that by silence. If you are stedfast in keeping silence when it is not necessary to speak, God will preserve you from evil when it is right for you to talk.

If you are unable to secure much time to yourself, be all the more careful about stray moments. Even a few minutes gleaned faithfully amid engagements will be more profitable in God's Sight than whole hours given up to Him at freer seasons. Moreover, many brief spaces of time through the day will amount to something considerable at last. Possibly you yourself may find the advantage of such frequent recollection in God's Presence more than in a regular definite period allotted to devotion.

Your lot, Madame, is to love, to be silent, and to sacrifice your inclinations, in order to fulfil the Will of God by moulding yourself to that of others. Happy indeed you are thus to bear a cross laid on you by God's Own Hands in the order of His Providence. The penitential work we choose, or even accept at the hands of others, does not so stifle self-love as that which God assigns us from day to day. In it we find nothing to foster self, and, coming as it does directly from His

Merciful Providence, it brings with it grace sufficient for all our needs. All we have to do is to give ourselves up to God day by day, without looking further; He will carry us in His Arms as a loving mother carries her child. Let us believe, hope, love, with a child's simplicity, in every need looking with affection and trust to our Heavenly Father. He has said in His Own Word. " Can a woman forget her sucking child? . . . Yea, she may forget, yet will I not forget thee."'

Letter 9. Avoiding Scruples

You are afraid lest you be unfaithful in your duties toward God, and you are right. Nothing is farther from grace than a cowardly soul, who, out of a spirit of independence, refuses or delays to do what God requires. But, at the same time, you must beware of scruples. Try to examine honestly what real courtesy demands. For instance, if, just at the moment you have allotted to devotional exercises, some one calls upon you who does not usually come at that hour, who has real business with you, with whom you are not sufficiently intimate to ask him or her to come at some other time, and who might 1 Isa. xlix. 15.

reasonably be offended if you did so — then, Madame, you need have no doubt as to the propriety of leaving your devotions to comply with such a demand; but in such a case you should endeavour to make up the lost time at some other part of the day, as you would take a meal which had been inevitably deferred at a later hour. As for those people who have no real business in hand, or who can be postponed without inconvenience, or who only come for amusement' sake, I should be pitiless in sending them away if they come during your reserved hours.

No one ever needed inward nourishment, silence, reflection, separation from the world, mistrust of self and inclination, more than you. You cannot practise too rigid a fast from the charms of worldly talk. You must be continually lowering yourself — only too safe, as you are, to rise again overmuch. You must be lowly, become as a little child, seeking only swaddling-clothes and pap, and even then you will be a naughty child! All the crosses God sends you in order to bend your back have not yet conquered your pride. It will only be by dint of yielding in silence before God that you will become softened by grace. Talk when you are alone; you cannot talk too much then, for it will be to God that you will tell your weakness, your wants, and your longings. But in society you can scarcely talk too little.

Not that I want you to keep a cold, disdainful silence, but rather a silence full of deference to others. I should be delighted when you spoke only to praise, approve, sympathise, and edify; only I am sure that if this is all you do, you will find conversation very tame, and say but little! Restrain yourself within few and simple words, give the precedence to all other speakers, and try to be recollected even in conversation. You need this antidote more than most people.

EVILS OF A DISDAINFUL MAXXER.

... I QUITE understand how you are both suffering yourself and causing others to suffer. You must work bravely and persistently in bearing the burden if you would relieve your neighbours. Everything like a proud or disdainful manner, all that savours of ridicule or censoriousness, indicates a self-satisfied mind, unconscious of its own foibles, a prey to fastidiousness, and finding pleasure in the troubles of others. There is nothing more humbling than this sort of pride; so easily wounded, disdainful, contemptuous, haughty, jealous of its own rights, implacable towards others. It is a proof that one is very imperfect indeed when one is so impair*. Sp L.-ll.\ C tient with the imperfections of others. I see no remedy for all this save hoping in God, Who is as Good and Powerful as you are weak and bad. Yet probably He will let you grovel on for long without uprooting your natural disposition and long-formed habits; and that because it is far better for you to be crushed by your own frailty, and by the proof of your incapacity to escape from it, than to enjoy a sudden advance towards perfection. Only strive to bear with others, and to turn your eyes away from people who cannot edify you, as you would shut them to a temptation. They really are a very dangerous temptation to you. Pray, read, humble yourself by cultivating lowly things. Soften your heart by uniting it to the Child Jesus in His Patience and Humiliation. Seek strength in silence. . .

Letter 11. Concerning Scruples About Common Things

I AM truly sorry for the distress you are in, and I think I see the cause plainly. If I could induce you to use the simple remedy I am about to suggest, you would soon be relieved; but I am afraid some scruple may hinder you.

Your spiritual progress is more him'ered by your about Common Swings 35 excessive fear of giving way to enjoyment in ordinary, innocent things, than it could ever be by that enjoyment itself. Of course, self-indulgence is always to be avoided, especially when we need self-restraint; but you are seriously injuring yourself by keeping up a perpetual effort to resist even the smallest involuntary pleasure in the details of a well-regulated life. I would have you steadily repress all excessive fastidiousness and delicacy whenever you really perceive such tendencies; but I do not approve of your constrained efforts perpetually to reject the enjoyment inevitably attending upon simple food and needful rest Since you are ordered to take milk, you ought to obey your doctor as regards fasting. After having stated your case plainly, you should submit without arguing; otherwise you will involve yourself endlessly, and fret yourself to no avail. Speak honestly to your doctor about whatever concerns your health, without seeking to be indulged; then leave him to decide, and give no heed to your own fancies. But obey quietly; that should be the aim of your courage and stedfastness. Without this you will not acquire the peace which God's children possess, nor will you deserve it. Bear all the annoyances of your present condition, which is full of inconveniences and discomfort, in a penitential spirit; these are the penances God assigns you, and far more useful than what you may choose for yourself. There is

36 jspirttttal |>tter<$ no spot in the world where you would not find yourself beset with your natural taste for enjoyment. Even the strictest solitude would have its thorns. The best state to be in is that in which God's Hand holds you; do not look beyond it, and be content to accept His Will from one moment to another in the spirit of mortification and self-renunciation. But this acquiescence must be full of trust in God, Who loves you all the more for not sparing you.

Take as much sleep as the doctor considers right with respect to your constitution and your present indisposition. You ought to be scrupulous about your scruples, rather than about your sleep!

Letter 12. Real Humility

THAT is false humility which believes itself unworthy of God's Goodness, and dares not look to it with trust. True humility lies in seeing one's own unworthiness, and giving one's self up to God, never doubting that He can work out the greatest results for and in us. If God's success depended on finding our foundations ready laid, we might well fear that our sins had destroyed all chance for us, and that we were unworthy to be accepted by His

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Divine Wisdom. But God needs nothing that is in us; He can never find aught there save that with which He has Himself filled us. Nay, we may go further, and say that the absolute nothingness of the creature, bound up as it is with sin in a faithless soul, is the fittest of all subjects for the reception of His Grace. He delights to pour it out on such, for these sinful souls which have never experienced anything save weakness cannot claim any of God's gifts as their own possession. It is thus that, as S. Paul says, God chooses " the foolish things of the world to confound the wise," l

Do not fear then, Madame, that your past faithlessness need make you unworthy of God's Mercy. Nothing is so worthy thereof as utter weakness. He came from Heaven to earth to seek sinners, not just men; to seek that which was lost — as indeed all were lost but for Him. The physician seeks the sick, not the healthy. Oh, how God loves those who come boldly to Him in their foul, ragged garments, and ask, as of a Father, for some garment worthy of Him! You wait to be familiar till God shows a smiling Face; but I tell you that if you will open your heart thoroughly to Him, you will cease to trouble about the aspect of His Face. Let Him turn a severe and displeased Countenance upon you as much as He will; He never loves more than when He threatens, for 1 i Cor. L 27.

He threatens only to prove, to humble, to detach souls. Do you want the consolation which God can give, or God Himself? If it is the first, then you do not love God for His Own Sake, but for yours; and in this case you deserve nothing at His Hands. But if, on the contrary, you seek Him simply, you will find Him even more truly when He tries than when He comforts you. In the latter case you have cause to fear lest you should cleave more to His sweetnesses than to Himself; but when He deals roughly with you, and you hold on fast, it is to Him alone that you cling. Alas, Madame, how we deceive ourselves! We revel in delight when a conscious sweetness upholds us — we fancy ourselves in a seventh Heaven, and are lost in unreality; but if our faith is dry and cold, we grow disheartened, and think that all is lost, whereas in truth that is the real time for progress if we do not yield to discouragement. Leave it all to God; it is not your business to judge how He should deal with you, He knows far better what is good for you. You deserve a certain amount of trial and dryness; bear it patiently. God does His part when He repulses you; try to do yours too, and that is to love Him without waiting for Him to testify His Love for you. Your love is a guarantee of His; your confidence will disarm Him, and turn all His severity into tenderness. Even if He were not to grow tender, you ought l|oto to meet £rial 39 to give yourself up to His just dealings, and accept His intention of nailing you to the Cross in union with the desolation of Jesus, His Beloved Son.

Such, Madame, is the solid food of pure faith and generous love with which you should sustain your soul. I pray that God may make you strong and vigorous under your troubles. Expect all, and all will be given you: God and His Peace will be with you.