Letters - Direction - Chantal 4

Let us always belong to God, unreservedly and without interruption

June 8, 1606[1]

So then, my dear daughter, it will be a year from now, please God, that we shall see each other, but that without fail, either around Pentecost or Corpus Christi. Not having to wonder about any other meeting, we can prepare ourselves for that one well in advance. What shall we do in the meantime? We shall resign ourselves totally and without reserve to Our Lord’s will, surrendering into His hands all our consolations, both spiritual and temporal. Purely and simply, we shall entrust to His providence the life and death of all those who belong to us, letting Him arrange according to his good pleasures who is to outlive the others; for we are confident that, provided His sovereign goodness be with us, in us, and for us, we have all we need and more.

You want me to pray that I outlive you? Really, may God do with me as He pleases, whether sooner or later; that is certainly among the things I try to be resigned to. But now you tell me that you are not yet detached in this matter. My God, what are you saying, my very dear daughter? Could I possibly be a hindrance for you – I who have no greater desire for you than to see you living in the total and perfect liberty of heart of the children of God? (cf. Rom. 8:21) But I understand you well, my dear daughter, and know that is not what you mean; you mean that you think my longevity is for God’s glory, and for that reason you feel yourself wishing it. So it is to Our Lord’s glory that you are attached, not to his creatures. I know this very well, and I thank and praise His divine majesty for it.

But do you know what I am going to promise you? To take better care of my health from now on – even though I have always taken better care of myself than I actually deserve; and thanks be to God, I am feeling quite well now, since I’ve totally cut out staying up late and the excessive writing that I used to do at that hour. And I’ve been eating more sensibly too. But believe me, these decisions owe a lot to your desire; because I care intensely about what pleases you and makes you happy, though with a certain liberty and sincerity of heart that makes this caring resemble a dew which falls on my heart softly and silently. And if you want me to tell you all, my caring for you didn’t used to act so smoothly at the beginning when God gave it to me (it is without doubt his gift) as it does now that it is very strong and seems to be growing ever stronger, though still smooth and calm. That’s too much said on a topic I wasn’t even going to mention! […]

I’ve been thinking about what you wrote me concerning the advice Father X had given you about not using your imagination or your understanding in prayer, and the similar advice regarding imagination that Mother Marie de la Trinité gave you.[2] On this latter point if your imagination is very vivid and you spend a lot of time this way, you undoubtedly needed this correction; but if you use your imagination briefly and simply, only as a means of helping your mind be attentive and bringing it back to the subject of your meditation, I don’t think that there’s as yet any need to give up all use of it. You must neither linger over your images, nor totally disregard them. Neither should you imagine in too much detail, for instance, wondering about the colour of our Lady’s hair, the shape of her face, and details of that sort; but simply and in a general way, imagine her longing for her Son, or the like, and only briefly.

I say the same about not using the understanding. If without forcing itself your will moves right along with its affections, there is no need to linger over considerations. But, because that doesn’t ordinarily happen to less than perfect people like us, we may still have to make use of considerations for a while yet.

Form all this, I would summarize that you should abstain from long periods of prayer (for I don’t consider three-quarters of half an hour long), and from very detailed and long, drawn-out imaginings; for the latter should be simple and short, serving only as transitions from distractions to recollection. The same goes for the use of the understanding, for this too should serve only to move the affections; the affections then moves us to resolutions, resolutions to action, and action to the accomplishment of God’s will, in which our soul should dissolve and be transformed. This is all I can tell you about it. If I told you anything to the contrary, or if you understood me otherwise, it should, no doubt, be revised.

I approve of your Friday abstinence, but done without vow or too much constraint. I approve even more that you busy your hands with spinning, for instance, whenever you have nothing more important to do, and that your handiwork be used for altar linens or given to the poor, but not that this be adhered to so strictly that if you happen to make something for yourself or for one of your relatives, you should feel obliged to give an equivalent sum to the poor. In all things a holy liberty and freedom must reign and we must have no other law or coercion than that of love. When love moves us to make something for our relatives, we must not reprimand it as if it had done something wrong, nor require it to make amends, as you suggest. Whether love invites us to make something for the poor or for the rich, it does all things well and is equally pleasing to Our Lord. I think that if you really understand me, you will see that I speak the truth and that I am fighting for a good cause when I defend a holy and charitable liberty of spirit, which, as you know, I hold in high esteem provided, of course, that it is true liberty and far removed from laxity and from libertarianism, which is only a parody of liberty.

After that I laughed, and laughed heartily, when I read you planned to give me some of your serge for my own use and then expected me to give whatever it was worth to the poor. I’m really not making fun of the suggestion because I can see that it springs from a good and clear intention, even if the resulting stream is a bit troubled. May God make me such that all I use is referred to His service and that my life is so totally His that what is used to maintain it may be said to serve His divine majesty.

I’m laughing, my daughter, but my laughter is mixed with a keen awareness of the difference that exists between what I am and what some people think I am. […]

These desires you have to see yourself removed from all these worldly diversions must, as you say, be good since they are not upsetting you at all. But be patient; we shall talk about this next year, if God keeps us here on earth. That will be time enough. Also, I don’t want to answer you now about your desires to leave your homeland and to enter a novitiate of women who aspire to become religious. All this, my dear daughter, is too important to discuss on paper. There will be plenty of time to do so later. Meanwhile you will wield your distaff, not with big, loaded spindles which your fingers couldn’t handle, but with small ones that you can manage: humility, patience, abjection, gentleness of heart, resignation, simplicity, charity to the sick poor, forbearance with difficult persons, and similar imitations of the Lord which can easily be wound on your little spindly. Then you will spin in the company of St. Monica, St. Paula, St. Elizabeth, St. Lydwine, and several others who are at the feet of your glorious Abbess, who herself was able to ply any kind of spindle but preferred smaller ones.[3] I think she did this in order to set us an example.

[…] I’ll be leaving here in ten days to continue my visitation and will be spending five whole months in our high mountains where kind folk are awaiting my visit with affection. I shall take care of myself as much as possible, for love of myself (whom I love only too much) and also for love of you who want me to be careful and who will have a share in anything good that takes place here, just as you share, in a general way, in all that is done in my diocese, according to the ability that I have by virtue of my position to communicate it to you.

My brother, the Canon[4], wanted to write to you, but I don’t know if he will. The poor fellow is not well and he is dragging himself around as best he can, with more good will than actual strength. He will be able to recuperate somewhat at his mother’s while I leap from rock to rock on our mountains. […]

Goodbye, my dear daughter. Let us always belong to God, unreservedly and without interruption. May he ever live and reign in our hearts. Amen. […]

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[1] Oeuvres, XIII, 181-192: Letter CCCLI. In the interval between the long letter just presented and this one Francis wrote Mme de Chantal twenty-six letters that are extant; and Jane, in addition to the correspondence, had journeyed to visit Francis at the Château of Sales in May 1605. At this writing, then, it is over a year since they have seen each other, and after several failed efforts, a date has been agreed upon.

[2] Marie (née d’Hannivel) de la Trinité was a young Carmelite then in Dijon, and the Annecy editors suggest the priest in question was likely Jacques Gallemand, who was active with Bérulle and others in bringing the Carmelites into France. Cf. Oeuvres, XIII, 183 and XII, 118.

[3] The Abbess is, of course, the Virgin Mary. Cf. supra, Introduction.

[4] Jean-François de Sales.

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