to him; and even then, after baptising Christ, S. John did not follow Him, but remained at his appointed work. Surely this was a truly mortified spirit! To be so near the Saviour and not to see Him! to know Him close at hand, and not to rejoice in His Presence! What is that, but to have a spirit wholly detached from self, and even from God, when He demands it for His better service? To leave God for God; not to love Him, in order to love Him better, and with greater purity. I am overwhelmed. with the magnitude of such an example!

I had well nigh forgotten to say that God's Will is known, not only by necessity and charity, but also by obedience; so that he who receives a command from a rightful Superior ought to hold it as God's Will.

171.]

XII.

TO MADAME DE CHANTAL.

ON TEMPTATIONS OF THE WILL.

As to your present cross. . . . It is a certain incapacity, you say, of your understanding, which hinders it from deriving satisfaction in the consideration of that which is good; and what grieves you most is that, when you want to make firm resolutions, you do not feel your wonted decision, but you stumble

F

I

against a barrier which stops you short, and then temptations concerning the faith arise. ... You add that meanwhile your will, by God's Grace, desires simply and firmly to cleave to the Church, and that you would willingly die for the faith she has taught you. Thank God, my dear daughter, "this sickness is not unto death, but for the Glory of God." You are like Rebecca, when two peoples struggled within her womb, but the younger was destined to prevail. Self-love only dies with our natural death; it has a thousand wiles whereby to keep a hold within the soul, and we cannot drive it forth. It is the first-born of the soul; it is upheld by a legion of auxiliaries— emotions, actions, passions; it is adroit, and knows how to employ endless subtleties. On the other hand, the love of God, which is the later born, has also its emotions, actions, inclinations, and passions. These two struggle within us, and their convulsive movements cause us infinite trouble. You do not feel firm, constant, or resolute. You say that there is somewhat unsatisfied in you, though you know not what. I wish I knew what it is, my dear daughter, so that I might tell you. Perhaps some day, when we can talk at leisure, I shall be able to discover. But meanwhile, may it not be that your mind is obstructed by a multitude of desires? İ John, xi. 4.

The

That is a malady from which I have suffered. bird which is chained to its perch is not conscious of its captivity until it wants to fly, and it is much the same with an unfledged nestling.

One remedy, then, is not to struggle, or be over-eager to fly; be patient till your wings are grown. I fear very much that you are too vehement in pursuit, too headlong in your wishes and attempts to fly. You see the beauty of spiritual light and good resolutions; you fancy that you have almost attained, and your ardour is redoubled; you rush forward, but in vain, for your Master has chained you to your perch, or else it is that your wings are not grown; and this constant excitement exhausts your strength. You must indeed strive to fly, but gently, without growing eager or restless.

Now examine yourself in this matter. Perhaps you will find that you limit your aim too much to the delight which your soul experiences in firmness, constancy, and resolution. You are firm-what is it but having the will to die rather than to sin against the Faith? But you have not the feeling or sentiment of firmness which would impart great delight. Now pause; do not be in a hurry; you will be all the better for it, and your wings will grow the faster. Your over-eagerness is a defect, and this je ne sais quoi unsatisfied, arises from a lack of resignation.

You do resign yourself, but it is always with a BUT: you want this and that, and you struggle to get it. A simple wish is no hindrance to resignation; but a palpitating heart, a flapping of wings, an agitated will, and endless, quick, restless movements are unquestionably caused by deficient resignation. But be

of good cheer, my dear sister; if our will is given to God, we are surely His. You have all that is necessary, although you have not the consciousness thereof; but that is no great loss.

Do you know what you must do? You must be willing not to fly, since your wings are not yet grown. You remind me of Moses, who, when on Mount Pisgah, saw the promised land before his eyes,—the land after which he had longed for forty years, amid all the murmurs of his people, and the trials of the desert. Now he beheld the land, but he might not enter in-he died looking upon it. The cup was raised to his lips, but he might not drink. What must have been his longing! Yet Moses died a more blessed death than many of those who were permitted to enter the promised land, since God vouchsafed Himself to bury him. . . . . Well, and if you were called upon to die without tasting of the well of Sychar, what would it signify so long as your soul is admitted to drink for ever at the fountain and source of eternal life? Do not be so eager with your vain desires, do

not even be eager in avoiding eagerness; go on quietly in your path-it is a good path.

I am writing amid many interruptions, and if what I say is confused, no wonder. But would you ascertain whether what I say is true, namely, that what is wanted in you is entire resignation? You wish to take up the Cross, but you want to choose your Cross; you would have it a bodily one, or some other according to your fancy. But what is this? No, my dear daughter; I desire that your Cross and mine may be solely the Cross of Christ; and as to its kind, or the way it is laid upon us, God knows what He does, and why: it is all for our good. He gave David his choice as to the rod with which he should be smitten, but it seems to me that I would rather not have chosen, leaving it all to His Divine Will. The more wholly a Cross comes from God, the more we ought to prize it. . . . . . Let us bear all dryness, all barrenness possible, so long as we love God.

But with all this you are not yet in the land of total darkness at times you see light, and God visits you. Is He not very Good? Does not the very trial make you taste His sweetness better? I am quite willing that you should pour out your trouble to your Dear Lord, only lovingly and without over-eagerness. He likes us to tell Him how He is grieving us, so long as “Ne vous empressez pas à ne vous empresser point."