Letter XIV. To the President Fre'miot

The Saint engages him to prepare for death.

Sales, yth October, 1604. Sir, — Charity is equally easy in giving and in receiving good impressions of our neighbour; but if to its * Ps. xli. J Ps. lxx. J Ecclus. ii. 11.

general inclination we add that of some particular friendship, it becomes excessive in this facility. Monseigneur de Bourges, and Madame de Chantal, your worthy and dear children, have doubtless been too favourable in the desire with which they have inspired you to wish me well: for I see clearly, sir, by the letter you have written me, that they have employed colours in it, with which my wretched soul was never painted. And you, sir, have not been less ready, nor, I believe, less pleased, to give them an ample and liberal belief. Charity, says the Apostle, believeth all things, and rejoiceth with the truth *

In this only were they unable to exceed in saying, or you in believing, that I have devoted to them all my affections. Thus these affections are yours, since these children are yours, with all they have.

Allow me, sir, to let my pen follow my thoughts in answering your letter. I have truly recognized in M. de Bourges such an ingenuous goodness of mind and of heart, that I have let myself confer with him about the duties of our common vocation with so much liberty, that, returning to myself, I did not know which had used more simplicity, he in listening to me, or I in speaking to him. And, sir, friendships founded on Jesus Christ do not cease to be respectful for being extremely simple and in good faith. We are well cut out for the profit of one another; our desires to serve God and his Church (for I confess that I have some, and he cannot conceal that he is * 1 Cor. xiii.

full of them) have been, it seems to me,, sharpened and animated by contact.

But, sir, you wish me to continue the conversation on this subject by letters. I assure you that if I would I could not hinder myself from doing so; and, in fact, I am sending him a letter of four sheets, and all of that material. No, sir, I pay no attention to what I am less than he, nor to what he is more than I, and in so many ways: amor cequat amantes (love equalizes lovers). I speak to him faithfully, and with all the confidence my soul can have in his soul, which I consider most frank, true, and vigorous in friendship.

And as for Madame de Chantal, I would rather say nothing of the desire I have of her eternal good than too little.

But has not the President of Finance, your good brother, told you that he loves me also very much? I will tell you, at least, that I consider myself quite certain of it.

There are no persons in your house, down to the little Celse-Benigne and your Aimee,# who do not know me, and love me.

See, sir, if I am not yours, and by how many links; I abuse your goodness in displaying to you my affections so extravagantly. But, sir, whoever provokes me to contention about love must be very firm, for I spare him not.

So must I then obey you again in your command to write down for you the principal points of your duty. * Children of Madame de Chantal.

I prefer to obey at peril of discretion, rather than to be discreet at peril of obedience. It is in truth an obedience a little bitter to me, but you will rightly judge that it is the more worth. You exceed indeed in humility when you make me this request; why may I not exceed in simplicity when I obey you?

Sir, I know that you have passed a long and very honourable life, and have always been very constant in the Holy Catholic Church; but, after all, it has been in the world, and in the management of affairs. It is a strange thing, but experience and authors witness it: a horse, however fine and strong he may be, travelling on the paths and trail of the wolf, becomes giddy and stumbles. It is not possible that living in the world, though we only touch it with our feet, we be not soiled with its dust. Thus says St. Leo.

Our ancient fathers, Abraham and the others, usually offered to their guests the washing of their feet; I think, sir, that the first thing to be done is to wash the affections of our souls in order to receive the hospitality of our good God in his paradise.

It seems to me that it is always a great matter of reproach to mortals to die without having thought of this; but doubly so to those whom God has favoured with the blessing of old age.

Those who get ready before the alarm is given, always put on their armour better than those who, on the fright, run hither and thither for the cuirass, the cuisses, and the helmet.

We must leisurely say good-by to the world, and p % little by little withdraw our affections from creatures. Trees which the wind tears up are not proper to transplant, because they leave their roots in the earth; but he who would carry trees into another soil must skilfully disengage little by little all the roots one after the other. And since from this miserable land we are to be transplanted into that of the living, we must withdraw and disengage our affections one after the other from this world. I do not say that we must roughly break all the ties we have formed (it would, perhaps, require immense efforts for that), but we must unsew and untie them.

Those who depart suddenly are excusable for not saying good-by to their friends, and for starting with a poor set out; but not so those who have known the probable time of their journey; they must keep ready, not, indeed, as if to start before the time, but to await it with more tranquillity.

For this end, I think, sir, that you will have an incredible consolation if you choose from each day an hour, to think before God and your good angel, on what is necessary to make a happy departure. What order would your affairs be in if you knew it would be soon? I know these thoughts will not be new to you; but the way of making them must be new in the presence of God, with a tranquil attention, and rather to move the affections, than to enlighten the intellect.

St. Jerome has more than once applied to the wisdom of the old the history of Abisag, the Sunamitess. Wisdom and the consideration of philosophy often

'engage young people; it is more to recreate their spirit than to excite good movements in their affections; but they should not be with the old except to give them the true warmth of devotion.

I have seen and enjoyed your fine library; I present you, for your spiritual lesson on this matter, St. Ambrose, Be bono mortis (of the advantage of death), St. Bernard, De interiore domo (of the interior house), and several scattered homilies of St. Chrysostom.

Your St. Bernard says that the soul should first go and kiss the feet of the crucifix, to rectify its affections, and to resolve, with firm resolution, to withdraw itself little by little from the world and its vanities; then kiss the hands, by that newness of actions which follows the change of affections; and finally kiss the mouth, uniting self by an ardent love to the supreme goodness. This is the true progress of a becoming departure.

It is said that Alexander the Great, sailing on the wide ocean, discovered, alone and first, Arabia Felix, by the scent of its aromatic trees. He was at first the only one to perceive it, because he alone was seeking it. Those who are seeking after the eternal eountry, though sailing on the high sea of the affairs of this world, have a certain presentiment of heaven, which animates and encourages them marvellously. But they must keep themselves before the wind, and their prow turned in the proper direction.

We owe ourselves to God, 10 our country, to parents, to friends. To God, firstly; then to our country, but first to our heavenly country; secondly, to our earthly. Then we owe ourselves to our near ones, but no one is so near as our self, says our Christian Seneca;* in fine, to friends; but are you not the first of your friends? He remarks that St. Paul says to Timothy: Attend to yourself and to your flock;f first to yourself, then to your flock.

This is quite enough, sir, if not too much, for this year, which flies and melts away before us, and in these two next months will make us see the vanity of its existence like all the preceding, which exist no more. You commanded me to write you every year something of this sort. I am now straight for this year, in which I beseech you to withdraw your affections from the world as much as possible, and in proportion as you withdraw them to transport them to heaven.

And pardon me, I beseech you, by your own humility, if my simplicity has been so extravagant in its obedience as to write to you, at such length and freedom on a simple demand, and with the full sense that I have of your abundant wisdom, which should keep me either in silence or in an exact moderation. Here are waters, sir; if they come from the jawbone of an ass, Samson will not refuse to drink of them. I pray God to heap up your years with his benedictions^ and I am, with an entirely filial affection, sir, &c.

• Boethius. f Acts xx. 28.