Letter XXVI. To the Abbess of Montmartre, of the Order of St. Benedict

Encouragement and advice on the reformation of her Abbey.

MADAME — I received a double consolation from the letter which you wrote me some months ago; for it testifies to me your good-will, which I greatly desire, and gives me information of the graces which God does to your monastery, which form the dearest news that I can receive, inasmuch as I extremely honour and esteem that house, through a certain inclination which God has given me for it.

I hope that in our days, your sacred mountain will be found spread with flowers worthy of the blood with which it has been watered, and that their perfume will render so many testimonies to the goodness of God that it will be a true Mount of Martyrs.

The favour which the king did you in the octave of your great Apostle, in giving up the nomination, is a good presage of it, and so is the being supported by the favour of those virtuous souls who concur with you in the desire of a complete reformation. I often recommend at the altar this holy design to him who has originated it, and who has given you the affection of embracing it that he may give you the grace of making it perfect. I seem to see the gate open to it: I only beg you, madame (and pardon the simplicity and confidence which I use), that because the gate is narrow and hard to pass, you would take the trouble and the patience to lead all your sisters through it one after

LET. xxvn.] Further Letters Outside Visitation. 339 the other; for to want them to pass in a flock and a crowd, I do not think it can well be done; some go not so quick as others. You must pay regard to the old ones; they cannot so easily accommodate themselves, they are not flexible; for the nerves of their spirits, like those of their bodies, are already contracted.

The care which you ought to bring to this holy work ought to be a sweet, gracious, compassionate, simple and gentle care. Your age, methinks, and your own disposition require it; for rigour is not becoming in the young. And believe me, madame, the most perfect care is that which approaches nearest to the care which God has of us, which is a care full of tranquillity and quietness, and which in its highest activity has still no emotion, and being only one yet conde scends and makes itself all to all things.

Above all, I beseech you, make use of the help of some spiritual persons, of whom you will easily find a choice at Paris, the city being very large. For I will say to you, with the liberty of spirit which I ought to use everywhere: your sex needs to be led, and never did it succeed in any undertaking save by submission; not that it has not very often as much light as the other, but because God has so appointed. I am saying too much about it, madame, since I do not doubt your charity or humility; but I do not say enough about it for the extreme desire which I have of your happiness, to which alone you will please attribute this manner of writing; for I have not been able to restrain my spirit from artlessly presenting to you what this affection suggests to it.

For the rest, madame, doubt not that I am communicating and applying to you many sacrifices which

Our Lord permits me to present to him. I beseech you to exchange them with your prayers and most fervent devotions: you will never give them to one who is with better heart nor more than I, madame, your very humble and very affectionate servant in Jesus Christ, &c.