Letter XXXIII. To a Lady on the Point of Entering Into Religion

Consolation in the difficulty which she finds in separating herself from the world: she is to give up worldly deli cacies and vanities: his own practice in this respect. On a superstitious practice of curing by words.

WHAT joy, my very dear daughter, did my heart receive to see the frankness and simplicity of your heart at this beginning time. Do not be troubled about these tears; for although they are not good, still they come from a good place. If our resolutions were trifling and liable to be revoked, we should not have these strong feelings in these abnegations or in these high determinations which we have made. David wept those abundant tears over the dead Saul, though he was his greatest enemy; we may weep a little over this world, which is dying, yea, which is dead for us, and to which we mean for ever to die.

0 my daughter, my good daughter, how glad I am to see you suffering a little these pains of spiritual child-birth! No, never did any soul bring forth Jesus Christ without pain, save the Blessed Virgin, to whom he gave in exchange great pains as he died. But, my daughter, you will see that after these pangs you will

LKT. xxxv.] Further Letters Outside Visitation. 351 have a thousand sorts of consolations. And as for me, do you not think that my heart grows tender with yours? Indeed yes, I assure you, but with a gentle and sweet tenderness, to see that your pains are a presage of future favours which God will do you if constantly and faithfully you persevere in this enterprise, the worthiest, the most generous, the most useful that you could ever undertake.

Continue then, my dear daughter; keep your heart quite open to me; doubt not of my fidelity; trust in me, without fear, without reserve, without exception: for God who has willed it will keep me with his holy hand, that I may serve you properly.

This same God knows that on your departure he put it into my mind to tell you that you must cut off your musk and your perfumes; but I waited, after his method which is sweet, to leave place for the move ments which little by little spiritual exercises are wont to make in souls which consecrate themselves entirely to the divine goodness. For truly my soul extremely loves simplicity; but the knife by which to cut off these useless shoots I generally leave in the hands of God, and here now he is going to use it on you as to these powders, this gilded paper. May his mercy be ever blessed! — for merciful it is, I clearly see.

Yes, give these powders and this gilded paper to some lady of the world, who should however be of such confidence that you can tell her the subject of this little renunciation; and do not be afraid that this may scan dalise her. On the contrary, it will edify her soul, since I am presupposing that it is a lady who has a good one. You are right, my dear daughter, in re nouncing all this; believe me, these little renunciations are very agreeable to God. And truly, I must tell you this, since I have begun to communicate my soul with simplicity. I have never so much as worn knitted socks,* nor coloured or scented gloves, since I gave myself to God, nor used gilded paper, or powders: these are daintinesses too trifling and vain. Oh! what a heart do you give me towards you, walking so bravely.

Yes indeed, my dear daughter, it is certainly true; these eternal and irrevocable renunciations, these immortal adieux which we have said to the world and to its friendships, cause some grief to our heart; and who would not shrink under the action of this keen-edged knife cutting between, and separating, the soul and the spirit and the flesh's heart from God's heart, and ourselves from ourselves? But thanks be to God the knife has been applied, and it is over: no, never shall there be a rejoining of one with the other, by his grace whom to join ourselves with inseparably we have sepa rated ourselves for ever from all else.

Give up entirely these cures by words: such things are nonsense, which I might permit to a heart less resigned than yours; but to yours, my daughter, I say at once: put away these childish trifles, which if not sins are useless amusements, tending to superstition.

My daughter, as to all these worldly visitors who come to you, receive them with a sweet and cheerful countenance. But in order that you may mutually give news, entertain them as if you came from the other world; for if you talk to them in the language of the parts where they live, it will be no great news to them.

For a month after my consecration to the episcopal office, coming from my general confession and from

• At this time still a luxury in Savoy. [Tr.l

LET. xxxv.] Further Letters Outside Visitation. 353 amid the Angels and the Saints, amongst whom I had made my new resolutions, I only talked as a man strange to the world, and it seems to me that this was graceful in me: and although affairs have a little quieted these ebullitions of the heart, yet the resolutions, by God's grace, have remained with me.

Be brief when you cannot do good. May this great God ever strengthen more and more in us the reign of his love! I am in him, but with a quite special affection, yours. If I had the advantage of leisure I would write more, for I do not weary of this sweet conversation on God, on his love of our souls. Earnestly demand of the little new-born Jesus his holy simplicity for your heart, that nakedly and purely it may be his. Your very affectionate father and servant, &c.