Letter LI. To A Lady

We must support with patience our own imperfections. — Advice on meditation. — The judgments of the world.

Madam, my dearest Sister, — I see you ever languishing with the desire of a greater perfection. I praise this longing, for it delays you not, I well know; on the contrary, it excites and goads you on to acquire what you want.

You live, you tell me, with a thousand imperfections. It is true, my good sister, but do you not try from hour to hour to make them die in you? It is a certain truth that so long as we are here encomc c passed with this heavy and corruptible body, there is always in us a something wanting, I know not what.

I am not sure whether I have said to you that it is necessary to have patience with all the world, and firstly with ourselves. We are more troublesome to ourselves than any one else is to us, as soon as we are able to distinguish between the old and the new Adam, the interior and the exterior man.

Well; you say you always have your book in your hand for meditation; otherwise you do nothing. What does that matter? Whether book in hand, and reading a little at a time, or without book, what difference? When I said you were only to take half an hour, it was in the beginning, when I was afraid of hurting your imagination; but now, there is no danger in employing an hour.

On the day of communion, there is no danger in doing all sorts of good things or in working; there would be more in doing nothing. In the primitive Church, where all communicated every day, think you that therefore they kept their arms folded? And St. Paul, who said Holy Mass habitually, nevertheless gained his sustenance by the work of his hands.

From two things only must we keep ourselves on the day of ccmmunion: from sin, and from delights and pleasures eagerly sought out (recherches). As to those which are of duty, or required, or necessary, or taken in an honest spirit of condescension to others, these are not at all forbidden on that day; on the contrary, they are counselled, under the condition of observing a gentle and holy modesty. No, I would not abstain from going to an innocent feast or party (assemblee) on that day, if I was invited, though I would not seek it out.

You ask me if those who wish to live with some perfection can see so much of the world. Perfection, my dear lady, does not lie in not seeing the world, but in not tasting or relishing it. All that the sight brings us is danger; for he who sees it is in some peril of loving it: but he who is fully resolved and determined, is not harmed by the sight. In a word, my sister, the perfection of charity is the perfection of life; for the life of our soul is charity. Our first Christians were of the world in body and not in heart, and failed not to be very perfect. My dear sister, 1 would wish no pretence in us, no pretence in the proper sense of the word. Sincerity (rondeur) and simplicity are our great virtues.

But I am vexed, you say, about the incorrect judgments made of me; I do no good, and am thought to do some: and you ask me a remedy. This is it, my dear child, as the saints have taught it me: if the world despises us, let us be glad; for it is right — we know that we are fit to be despised: if it esteems us, let us despise its esteem and its judgment, for it is blind. Trouble yourself little about what the world thinks, put yourself in no anxiety about it, despise its esteem and its disesteem (son prix et son mepris), and let it say what it likes, good or ill.

So I do not approve that we should commit a fault, to give a bad opinion of ourselves; this would be to err, and to make our neighbour err. On the contrary, I wish that keeping our eyes on our Lord, we should do our works without regarding what the world thinks about them nor what view it takes of them. We may avoid giving a good opinion of self, but not seek to give a bad one, especially by faults, committed on purpose. In a word, despise almost equally whichever opinion the world will have of you, and put yourself in no trouble about it. To say that we are not what the world thinks, when it thinks well of you is good; for the world is an impostor, it always says too much, either in good or evil.

But what, again, do you say? That you envy others whom I prefer to you? And the worst is that you say you know well I prefer them. How do you know it well, my dear sister? In what do I prefer others? No, believe me, you are dear and very dear to me; and I well know that you do not prefer others to me, though you ought to do so; but I am speaking to you in confidence.

Our two sisters, who are in the country, have more need of assistance than you who are in the town, where you abound in exercises, in counsel, and in all that is needful, while they have no one to help them. And as to our sister Du N. Do you not see that she is alone, not having the inclination to accept those whom our father proposes to her? And our father does not like those whom we propose; for according to what she writes to me, our father cannot approve the choice of M. Vardot. Do I not owe more compassion to this poor crucified one than to you, who, thanks to God, have so many advantages?