Letter VII. To the Same (The Abbey of Puits D'orbe)

How to sanctify corporal suffering: Instructions on peace and humility.

1605, about April*

MY VERY DEAR SISTER — The great word which makes me so absolutely yours is this: God it is who wills it, and I have no doubt thereof. There is no better title than this in all the world. You will already have known all the news about my cure, which is so complete that I have preached the Lent right through. Indeed my illness was nothing much, as I think; but the doctors, who thought I had been poisoned, caused so much fear to those who love me that it seemed to them I was going to slip out of their hands. As soon as ever I was up I wrote to you, and I feel sure you had the letter. Again since then I have written to you, but amid the press of a world of affairs which prevented me from giving you much time, as I should much have wished to do; subject never failing me, on account of the extreme satisfaction which I find in it.

Not only your messenger, but also our good and dear father, has informed me how many evils you suffer, and the compassion which they cause him for you. May Our Lord be blessed for it! Here is the safest and most royal way of heaven for you; and, from what I understand, you have to stay in it some time, since, according to what our good father writes to me, you are still in the hands of the doctors and surgeons. I

• The French says, " After i8th April 1604." [Tr.j have certainly an extreme compassion for your suffer ings, and recommend them often to Our Lord, that he may make them useful to you, and that when you come out of them it may be able to be said of you as of the holy man Job: In all these things Job sinned not* but hoped in God.

Courage, my good sister, my good daughter! Look at your Beloved, your King, how he is crowned with thorns, and all torn to pieces on the cross, so that they could number all his honest

Consider how the crown of the bride ought not to be better than that of the Bridegroom; and if they so tore away his flesh that all his bones might be counted, it is reasonable indeed that one of yours may be seen. As the rose among thorns so is my love among the daughters.^ It is the natural place of that flower, and it is also the most suitable to your Bridegroom. Accept this cross a thousand times a day, and kiss it willingly for love of him who sends it to you. There is no doubt that he sends it to you from love, and as a rich present. Often represent to yourself your Saviour crucified just before you, and think which of the two suffers the more, and you will find your trouble much less. Oh! how happy will you be eternally if you suffer for God this trifling evil which he sends you!

You will not err in fancying that I am near you in these tribulations. I am so in heart and affection, and often / declare before your Beloved your suffer ings and trouble^ and feel in this a great consolation. But, my dear daughter, have confidence, be strong: If you believe, you shall see the glory of God.\ What do

• Job i. 22. t Ps. xxi. 18.

t Cant. ii. 2. § Ps. cxli. 3. || John xi. 40.

you think the bed of tribulation is? It is simply the school of humility: thereon we learn our miseries and weaknesses, and how vain, delicate, and infirm we are. And truly, my dear daughter, on that bed have you discovered the imperfections of your soul. And why, I pray you, rather there than elsewhere, save because elsewhere they stay within the soul, and there they come outside? The agitation of the sea so upsets the humours, that those who enter upon it thinking they have none, after sailing a little find by the convulsions and retchings which this irregular tossing excites that they are full of them. It is one of the great benefits of affliction to see the depths of our nothingness, and to make the scum of our bad inclina tions float to the top. But still, are we for this to be troubled, my dear daughter? Certainly not; it is then that we must yet more cleanse and purify our spirit, and make more earnest acknowledgment of them than ever.

This important trouble, and the other troubles with which you have been beset, do not alarm me, so long as there is nothing worse. Do you, then, not disquiet yourself, my well-beloved daughter. Are we to let ourselves be swept away by current and by whirl wind? Let the enemy rage at the gate, let him knock, let him push, let him cry, let, him howl, let him do his worst; we know for certain that he cannot enter save by the door of our consent. Let us keep this shut up, often looking to see that it is quite close; and about all the rest let us not trouble ourselves, for there is nothing to fear.

You ask me to send you something touching peace of soul and humility; I would do so willingly, my

LET. vni.] Previous to Founding of Visitation. 59 dearest daughter, but I do not know whether I shall be able to do it in the little space of leisure which I have for writing to you; but here are four or five words about it, iny well-beloved daughter. It is by divine inspiration that you ask me about peace of soul and humility both together; for it is indeed the truth that the one cannot be without the other.

Nothing troubles us except self-love, and the esteem in which we hold ourselves. If we have not feelings of tenderness in our heart, relish and sensible feeling in prayer, interior sweetnesses in meditation, we fall into sadness; if we find some difficulties in doing well, if some obstacle crosses our good designs, at once we anxiously hasten to overcome it all, and with disquieted minds to free ourselves from it. Why is all this? There is no doubt it is because we love our own consolation, our own pleasure, our own comfort. We want our prayer to be steeped in orange-flower water, and we would be virtuous in eating sugar; and we do not regard our sweet Jesus, who, prostrate on the earth, sweats blood and water in agony over the deadly conflict which he feels within him, between the affec tions of the inferior part of his soul and the resolutions of the superior.

Self-love, then, is one of the sources of our troubles; the other is the esteem in which we hold ourselves. What is the meaning of our being disappointed, troubled, and impatient when we fall into some imperfection or sin? Without doubt it is because we were thinking ourselves to be good- for something, resolute, steady; and therefore, when we see that in reality it is all a mistake, and that we have fallen flat down, we find ourselves deceived, and consequently are troubled, vexed, and disquieted. If we only knew what we were, instead of being astonished at finding ourselves on the ground, we should marvel how we can remain standing up. And there is this other source of our disquiet; we want consolations only, and we are taken aback when we lay our finger on our misery, our nothingness, and our weakness.

Let us do three things, my dear daughter, and we shall have peace. Let us have a thoroughly pure in tention of willing, in all things, the honour of God and his glory; let us do the little we can for that end, according to the advice of our spiritual father; and let us leave to God the care of all the rest. He who has God for the object of his intentions, and who does what he can — why does he torment himself? Why does he trouble himself? What has he to fear? No, no; God is not so terrible to those whom he loves; he is content with little, for he well knows we have not much.

And know, my dear daughter, that our Lord is called Prince, of Peace in the Scriptures,* and that, therefore, wherever he is absolute master he holds all in peace. Though it is true that before placing peace anywhere he causes war there, separating the heart and the soul from its most cherished, familiar, and ordinary affections, such as an inordinate love of.self, confidence in self, complacency in self, and the like affections. Now when Our Lord separates us from affections so fondly and passionately cherished, he seems to be flaying the heart alive, and the acutest pains are felt; we can scarcely help resisting with the whole soul, because this separation is most sensibly felt. But yet

• I^a. ix. 6.

all this resistance of the spirit is not without peace, even if we are at last overwhelmed with this distress, so long as we fail not on this account to hold our will resigned to that of Our Lord, and keep it there nailed to his divine good pleasure, and in no wise let go our obligations or the fulfilment of them, but execute them courageously. Of this Our Lord gave us an example in the Garden; for, all overcome with interior and exterior anguish, his whole heart was calmly resigned to his Father and the divine will, saying: Yet not my will "but thine le done; — and, for all his agony, he did not omit going three times to see and admonish his disciples. It is to be " Prince of Peace " indeed, to be in peace amid wars, and to live in sweetness amid bitternesses.

From this I want you to draw these conclusions. The first, that very often we think we have lost peace because we are in bitterness, and yet we have not lost it all; as we know if on account of bitterness we cease not to renounce ourselves, and to keep our will dependent on the good pleasure of God, and fail not to fulfil the duties of the charge in which we are.

The second, that of necessity we must suffer interior pain, when God tears away the last skin from the old man to renew him in the new man who is created according to God* Wherefore we must not be disquieted about this, nor think that we are in disfavour with God.

The third, that no thoughts which cause us disquiet and agitation of spirit are from God, who is Prince of Peace, but are temptations of the enemy, and there- * Ephes. iv. 24.

fore we are to reject them, and take no notice of them.

We must in all things and everywhere live peace fully. If trouble, exterior or interior, come upon us, we must receive it peacefully. If joy come, we must receive it peacefully and without throbbings of heart. Have we to avoid evil? — we must do so peacefully, without disquieting ourselves; for otherwise we may fall as we run away, and give time to our enemy to kill us. Is there some good to be done? — we must do it peacefully; otherwise we should commit many faults in our hurry. Even our repentance itself must be made peacefully: Behold in peace is my bitterness most bitter,* said the penitent.

Read, my good daughter, chapters 15, 16, and 17 of the Spiritual Combat, and add them to what I have said, and for the present this will suffice. If I had my papers here I would send you a treatise on this subject which I made at Paris for a spiritual daughter, a religious of a good monastery, who needed it both for herself and for others. If I find it I will send it you on the first opportunity.

As to humility, I can say little more than that your dear sister De N. must show you what I have written to her about it. Read carefully what Mother [St.] Teresa says of it in the Way of Perfection. Humility causes us to avoid troubling ourselves about our own imperfections by remembering those of others: for why should we be more perfect than others? — and in the same way to avoid troubling ourselves over those of others when we remember our own: for why should we think it extraordinary for others to have impert Isa. xxxviii. 17.

fections since we have plenty? Humility makes our hearts gentle towards the perfect and the imperfect; towards those from reverence, towards these from compassion. Humility makes us receive painful things sweetly, knowing that we deserve them, and good things with lowliness, knowing that we do not deserve them. As to the exterior, I should recommend you to make every day some act of humility, either in words or in deed — I speak of words that come from the heart; in word, as by humbling yourself to an inferior; in deed, as by doing some lower work or service, either for the house or for some particular person.

Do not distress yourself about staying in bed with out meditation; for to endure the scourges of Our Lord is not a less good than meditating. No, un doubtedly; for it is better to be on the cross with Our Lord than to look at him only. But I know well that there, on your bed, you cast your heart a thousand times a day into the hands of God, and it is enough. Obey the doctors exactly; and when they forbid you some exercise, whether fasting, or mental or vocal prayer, or even Office, or any prayer beyond ejaculatory, I beseech you as earnestly as I can, both by the respect and by the love you are good enough to bear me, to be very obedient; for God has so ordained it. When you are cured and have got back your strength, resume your journey quietly, and you will see that we shall advance far, with God's help; for we shall go where the world cannot reach, beyond its limits and confines.

My dear daughter, you write me that you are in every respect the last, but you are mistaken; the fruits I expect from you are greater than from any of the others. Believe, I beg you, that I have nothing more at heart than your advancement before God, and if my blood would further this you would soon see in what rank I hold you. I leave on one side the extreme confidence you have in me, which obliges me to an extreme zeal for your welfare. You say you would like to send me your heart. Be sure that I should see it with satisfaction, for I love it tenderly, and it seems to me that it must be good because it is vowed to Our Lord. But you know the spot where our hearts meet; there they can see one another in spite of the distance of places.

Speak to this good father whom I mentioned about your interior: he will have enough in common with me, and I with him, not to distract your soul by a diversity of paths, which indeed would be very hurtful to it. In a word, receive him as another myself. But at the same time I ask you so to manage that, that other good father who wanted to help you, may not recognise that you do not wish his direction, because in the future he will be of service in the work that you and I desire, by obtaining something from the Holy Father.

But let not this last word excite you, for above all things it is necessary to go quietly and step by step; the edifice will be all the firmer for it. And you must give no alarm whatever about anything which takes place, so that the blessings of heaven may come upon earth like the dew upon the grass, which one sees on the ground without seeing it fall; and thus imperceptibly must you conduct your whole design up to the very height of its perfection. And courage, my dear and well-beloved daughter; God will give us this grace. As to that other good father, I approve of your listening to him and hearing him, and also of your making use of his advice by putting it in practice, but not when it is contrary to the design we have formed of following in everything and everywhere the spirit of sweetness and of mildness, and of thinking more about the interior of souls than the exterior. But in everything you ought to communicate with me, as I am your poor father.

No, my dear daughter, I have never thought it fitting for religious to have anything of their own if it could be helped; though I may have said that, in so far as superiors permit, individuals may use this liberty, so long as they are ready to leave all and put it in common should superiors order it. It is expedient, then, to take away private possession, and to make necessaries and conveniences common and equal among the sisters, and so to let the corn of Egypt fail before the manna which falls in your desert.

My mother, who offers you her own service and that of all who belong to her, continues in her desire of the honour of seeing my sister with you. It is one of our ardent desires: God grant that it may be with as willing consent on your part!

There was, indeed, no necessity for making excuses to me about the open letter; for my very heart would like to be open before your eyes, if its imperfections and weaknesses would not give you too much distress. Be ever quite safe, I beseech you, as far as I am concerned; and be certain that I desire nothing so greatly as to see you with a soul quite full of charity, which is totally frank and holily free. And why do I say this? Because I seem to see that you have some fear of iv. E offending me. I am by no means tender or sensitive in that direction, and particularly in cases where my friendship is rooted on the Mount of Calvary, by the cross of our Lord.

I am writing to that daughter of yours whom you ask me to write to, in a way as suitable to her trouble as I can. Oh how divinely does our St. Bernard say, that the exercise of the charge of souls has not to do with strong souls! — for those go by their own feet; but it is concerned with feeble and fainting souls, who have to be borne and supported on the shoulders of charity which is all-strong. This poor little one is of the latter sort, languishing under the depression and diffi culties of various weaknesses, which seem to overwhelm her virtue. We must help her as much as we can, and leave the rest to God. I should never finish writing to you if I followed my inclination; it is full of affection. But enough; Mass calls me, in which I am going to present Our Lord to his Father for you, my dear daughter, and for all your house, in order to obtain from his divine goodness his Holy Spirit, to direct all your actions and affections to his glory and for your own salvation. I beseech him to preserve you from vain sadness and disquietude, and to repose in your heart that your heart may repose in him. Amen.

•. ix.] Previous to Founding of Visitation. 67