One day I was told that the ecclesiastic had won over the good girl

whom I dearly loved. So strong a desire I had for her perfection that

it had cost me much. I should not have felt the death of a child so

much as her loss; at the same time I was told how to hinder it, but

that human way of acting was repugnant to my inward sense; these words

arose in my heart, "Except the Lord build the house."

And indeed He provided herein Himself, hindering her from yielding to

this deceitful man, after a manner to be admired, and very thwarting to

the designs of him and his associates. As long as I was with her she

still seemed wavering and fearful; but oh, the infinite goodness of

God, to preserve without our aid what without His we should inevitably

lose! I was no sooner separated from her, but she became immovable.

As for me, there scarcely passed a day but they treated me with new

insults; their assaults came on me at unawares. The New Catholics, by

the instigation of the Bishop of Geneva, the ecclesiastic, and the

sisters at Gex, stirred up all the persons of piety against me. I had

but little uneasiness on my own account. If I could have had it at all,

it would have been on account of Father La Combe, whom they vilely

aspersed, though he was absent. They even made use of his absence, to

overset all the good he had done in the country, by his missions and

pious labors, which were inconceivably great. At first I was too ready

to vindicate him, thinking it justice to do it. I did not do it at all

for myself; and our Lord showed me that I must cease doing it for him,

in order to leave him to be more thoroughly annihilated; because from

thence he would draw a greater glory, than ever he had done from his

own reputation.

Every day then invented some new slander. No kind of stratagem, or

malicious device in their power, did they omit. They came to surprise

and ensnare me in my words; but God guarded me so well, that therein

they only discovered their own malevolence. I had no consolation from

the creatures. She who had the care of my daughter behaved roughly to

me. Such are the persons who regulate themselves only by their gifts

and emotions. When they do not see things succeed, and as they regard

them only by their success, and are not willing to have the affront of

their pretensions being though uncertain, and liable to mistake, they

seek without for supports. As for me who pretended to nothing, I

thought all succeeded well, inasmuch as all tended to self-annihilation.

On another side, the maid I had brought, and who stayed with me, grew

tired out. Wanting to go back again, she stunned me with her complaints,

thwarting and chiding me from morning till night, upbraiding me with

what I had left, and coming to a place where I was good for nothing.

I was obliged to bear all her ill-humor and the clamor of her tongue.

My own brother, Father La Mothe, wrote to me that I was rebel to my

bishop, staying in his diocese only to give him pain. Indeed, I saw

there was nothing for me to do here, so long as the bishop should be

against me. I did what I could to gain his goodwill, but this was

impossible on any other terms than the engagement he demanded, and that

I knew to be my duty not to do. This, joined to the poor education of

my daughter, affected my heart. When any glimmering of hope appeared,

it soon vanished; and I gained strength from a sort of despair.

During this time Father La Combe was at Rome, where he was received

with so much honor, and his doctrine was so highly esteemed, that the

Sacred Congregation was pleased to take his sentiments on some points

of doctrine, which were found to be so just, and so clear, that it

followed them. Meanwhile the sister would take no care of my daughter;

when I took care of her she was displeased. I was not able, by any

means, to prevail on her to promise me that she would try to prevent

her contracting bad habits. However, I hoped that Father La Combe, at

his return, would bring everything into order, and renew my

consolation. Yet I left it all to God.

About July, 1682, my sister, who was an Ursuline, got permission to

come. She brought a maid with her, which was very seasonable. My sister

assisted in the education of my daughter, but she had frequent jarring

with her tutoress--I labored but in vain for peace. By some instances

which I met with in this place, I saw clearly that it is not great

gifts which sanctify, unless they be accompanied with a profound

humility; that death to everything is infinitely more beneficial; for

there was one who thought herself at the summit of perfection, but has

discovered since, by the trials which have befallen her, that she was

yet very far from it. O, my God, how true it is that we may have of Thy

gifts, and yet be very imperfect, and full of ourselves!

How very straight is the gate which leads to a life in God! How little

one must be to pass through it, it being nothing else but death to

self! But when we have passed through it, what enlargement do we find!

David said, (Psalm 18:19) "He brought me forth into a large place." And

it was through humiliation and abasement that he was brought thither.

Father La Combe, on his arrival, came to see me. The first thing he

said was about his own weakness, and that I must return. He added,

"that all seemed dark, and there was no likelihood that God would make

use of me in this country." The Bishop of Geneva wrote to Father La

Mothe to get me to return; he wrote to me accordingly to do it. The

first Lent which I passed with the Ursulines, I had a very great pain

in my eyes; for that same imposthume which I formerly had between the

eye and the nose, returned upon me three times. The bad air, and the

noisome room which I was in, contributed hereto. My head was

frightfully swelled, but great was my inward joy. It was strange to see

so many good creatures, who did not know me, love and pity me; all the

rest enraged against me, and most of them on reports entirely false,

neither knowing me, nor why they so hated me. To swell the stream of

affliction yet more, my daughter fell sick and was likely to die; there

was but little hope of her recovery, when her mistress also fell ill.

My soul, leaving all to God, continued to rest in a quiet and peaceable

habitation. Oh, Principal and sole object of my love! Were there never

any other reward of what little services we do, or of the marks of

homage we render Thee, than this fixed state above the vicissitudes in

the world, is it not enough? The senses indeed are sometimes ready to

start aside, and to run off like truants; but every trouble flies

before the soul which is entirely subjected to God. By speaking of a

fixed state, I do not mean one which can never decline or fall, that

being only in Heaven. I call it fixed and permanent, compared with the

states which have preceded it, which were full of vicissitudes and

variations. I do not exclude a state of suffering in the senses, or

arising from superficial impurity, which remains to be done away, and

which one may compare to refined but tarnished gold. It has no more

need to be purified in the fire, having undergone that operation; but

needs only to be burnished. So it seemed to be with me at that time.

CHAPTER 10

My daughter had the smallpox. They sent for a physician from Geneva,

who gave her over. Father La Combe then came in to visit, and pray with

her. He gave her his blessing; soon after she wonderfully recovered.

The persecution of the New Catholics against me continued and

increased; yet, for all that, I did not fail to do them all the good in

my power. My daughter's mistress came often to converse with me, but

much imperfection appeared in her discourses, though they were on

religious subjects. Father La Combe regulated many things in regard to

my daughter, which vexed her mistress so much, that her former

friendship was turned into coldness. She had grace, but suffered nature

too frequently to prevail. I told her my thought on her faults, as I

was inwardly directed to do; but though, at that time, God enlightened

her to see the truth of what I said, and she has been more enlightened

since, yet the return of her coldness toward me ensued upon it. The

debates between her and my sister grew more tart and violent. My

daughter, who was only six years and a half old, by her little

dexterities found a way to please them both, choosing to do her

exercises twice over, first with the one, then with the other, which

continued not long; for as her mistress generally neglected her, doing

things at one time, and leaving them at another, she was reduced to

learn only what my sister and I taught her. Indeed the changeableness

of my sister was so excessive, that, without great grace, it was hard

to suit one's self to it; yet she appeared to me to surmount herself in

many things. Formerly, I could scarce bear her manners; but I have

since loved everything in God, who has given me a very great facility

to bear the faults of my neighbor, with a readiness to please and

oblige everyone and such a compassion for their calamities or

distresses as I never had before.

I have no difficulty to use condescension with imperfect persons; I

should be secretly smitten if I failed therein; but with souls of grace

I cannot bear this human manner of acting, nor suffer long and frequent

conversations. It is a thing of which few are capable. Some religious

persons say that these conversations are of great service. I believe it

may be true for some, but not for all; for there is a period wherein it

hurts, especially when it is of our own choice; the human inclination

corrupting everything. The same things which would be profitable, when

God, by His Spirit, draws to them, become quite otherwise, when we of

ourselves enter into them. This appears to me so clear, that I prefer

being a whole day with the worst of persons, in obedience to God,

before being one hour with the best, only from my own choice and

inclination.

The order of divine providence makes the whole rule and conduct of a

soul entirely devoted to God. While it faithfully gives itself up

thereto, it will do all things right and well, and will have everything

it wants, without its own care; because God in whom it confides, makes

it every moment do what He requires, and furnishes the occasions proper

for it. God loves what is of His own order, and of His own will, not

according to the idea of the merely rational or even enlightened man;

for He hides these persons from the eyes of others, in order to

preserve them in that hidden purity for Himself.

But how comes it that such souls commit any faults; because they are

not faithful, in giving themselves up to the present moment. Often too

eagerly bent on something, or wanting to be over-faithful, they slide

into many faults, which they can neither foresee nor avoid. Does God

then leave souls which confide in Him? Surely not. Sooner would He work

a miracle to hinder them from falling, if they were resigned enough to

Him. They may be resigned as to the general will, and yet fail as to

the present moment. Being out of the order of God, they fall. They

renew such falls as long as they continue out of that divine order.

When they return into it, all goes right and well.

Most assuredly if such souls were faithful enough, not to let any of

the moments of the order of God slip over, they would not thus fall.

This appears to me as clear as the day. As a dislocated bone out of the

place in which the economy of divine wisdom had fixed it, gives

continual pain till restored to its proper order, so the many troubles

in life come from the soul not abiding in its place, and not being

content with the order of God, and what is afforded therein from moment

to moment. If men rightly knew this secret, they would all be fully

content and satisfied. But alas! instead of being content with what

they have, they are ever wishing for what they have not; while the

soul, which enters into divine light begins to be in paradise. What is

it that makes paradise? It is the order of God, which renders all the

saints infinitely content, though very unequal in glory! From whence

comes it that so many poor indigent persons are so contented, and that

princes and potentates, who abound to profusion, are so wretched and

unhappy? It is because the man who is not content with what he has,

will never be without craving desires; and he who is the prey of an

unsatisfied desire, can never be content.

All souls have more or less of strong and ardent desires, except those

whose will is lost in the will of God. Some have good desires, so as to

suffer martyrdom for God; others thirst for the salvation of their

neighbor, and some pant to see God in glory. All this is excellent. But

he who rests in the divine will, although he may be exempt from all

these desires, is infinitely more content, and glorifies God more. It

is written concerning Jesus Christ, when he drove out of the temple

those who profaned it. "The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up." John

2:17. It was in that moment of the order of God, that these words had

their effect. How many times had Jesus Christ been in the temple

without such a conduct? Does not He occasionally say of Himself, that

His hour was not yet come?

CHAPTER 11

After Father La Combe returned from Rome, well approved, and furnished

with testimonials of life and doctrine, he performed his functions of

preaching and confessing as usual. I gave him an account of what I had

done and suffered in his absence, and what care God had taken of all my

concerns. I saw his providence incessantly extended to the very

smallest things. After having been several months without any news of

my papers, when some pressed me to write, and blamed my neglect, an

invisible hand held me back; my peace and confidence were great. I

received a letter from the ecclesiastic at home, which informed me that

he had orders to come and see me, and bring my papers. I had sent to

Paris for a pretty considerable bundle of things for my daughter. I

heard they were lost on the lake, and could learn no further tidings

about them.

I gave myself no trouble; I always thought they would be found. The man

who had taken charge of them made a search after them a whole month, in

all the environs, without hearing any news. At the end of three months

they were brought to me, having been found in the house of a poor man,

who had not opened them, nor knew who brought them there. Once I had

sent for all the money which was to serve me a whole year; the person

who had been to receive cash for the bill of exchange, having put that

money in two bags on horseback, forgot that it was there, and gave the

horse to a little boy to lead. The money fell from the horse in the

middle of the market at Geneva. That instant I arrived, coming on the

other side, and having alighted from my litter, the first thing I found

was my money. What was surprising, a great throng was in this place and

not one had perceived it. Many such things have attended me. These

accounts may suffice to show the continual protection of God.

The Bishop of Geneva continued to persecute me. When he wrote, it was

with politeness and thanks for my charities at Gex; while at the same

time he said to others that I "gave nothing to that house." He wrote

against me to the Ursulines with whom I lived, charging them to hinder

me from having any conferences with Father La Combe. The superior of

the house, a man of merit, and the prioress, as well as the community,

were so irritated at this, that they could not forbear testifying it to

him. He then excused himself with a pretended respect, saying, he did

not mean it that way. They wrote to him that "I did not see the Father

but at the confessional, and not in conference; that they were so much

edified by me, as to think themselves happy in having me, and to esteem

it a greater favor from God." What they said out of pure charity was

not pleasing to the Bishop, who, seeing they loved me in this house,

said, that I won over everybody to myself and that he wished I were out

of the diocese. Though I knew all this, and these good sisters were

troubled at it, I could have no trouble by reason of the calm

establishment which I was in. The will of God rendering everything

equal to me. The creatures, however unreasonable or passionate they

appear, not being regarded in themselves but in God; an habitual faith

causes everything to be seen in God without distinction. Thus, when I

see poor souls so ruffled for discourses in the air, so uneasy for

explanations, I pity them. They have reasons, I know, which self-love

causes to appear very just.

To relieve myself a little from the fatigue of continual conversation,

I desired Father La Combe to allow me a retreat. It was then that I let

myself be consumed by love all the day long. Also I perceived the

quality of a spiritual mother; for the Lord gave me what I cannot

express for the perfection of souls. This I could not hide from Father

La Combe. It seemed to me as if I entered into the inmost recesses of

his heart. Our Lord showed me he was His servant, chosen among a

thousand, singularly to honor Him; but that He would lead him through

total death, and the entire destruction of the old man. He would have

me contribute thereto and be instrumental to cause him to walk in the

way in which He had led me first; in order that I might be in a

condition to direct others, to tell them the way through which I have

passed. The Lord would have us to be conformed, and to become both one

in Him; though my soul was more advanced now, yet he should one day

pass beyond it, with a bold and rapid flight. God knows with what joy I

would see my spiritual children surpass their mother.

In this retreat I felt a strong propensity to write, but resisted it

till I fell sick. I had nothing to write about, not one idea to begin

with. It was a divine impulse, with such a fulness of grace as was hard

to contain. I opened this disposition of mine to Father La Combe. He

answered that he had a strong impulse to command me to write, but had

not dared to do it yet, on account of my weakness. I told him, that

"weakness was the effect of my resistance," and I believed it would,

through my writing, go off again. He asked, "But what is it you will

write?"

I replied, "I know nothing of it, nor desire to know, leaving it

entirely to God to direct me."

He ordered me to do so. At my taking the pen I knew not the first word

I should write; when I began, suitable matter flowed copiously, nay,

impetuously. As I was writing I was relieved and grew better. I wrote

an entire treatise on the interior path of faith, under the comparison

of torrents, or of streams and rivers.

As the way, wherein God now conducted Father La Combe, was very

different from that in which he had formerly walked (all light,

knowledge, ardor, assurance, sentiment) now the poor, low, despised

path of faith, and of nakedness; he found it very hard to submit

thereto. Who could express what it has cost my heart before he was

formed according to the will of God?

Meanwhile, the possession which the Lord had of my soul became every

day stronger, insomuch that I passed whole days without being able to

pronounce one word. The Lord was pleased to make me pass wholly into

Him by an entire internal transformation. He became more and more the

absolute master of my heart, to such a degree as not to leave me a

movement of my own. This state did not hinder me from condescending to

my sister, and the others in the house. Nevertheless, the useless

things with which they were taken up could not interest me. That was

what induced me to ask leave to make a retreat, to let myself be

possessed of Him who holds me so closely to Himself after an ineffable

manner.

CHAPTER 12

I had at that time so ardent a desire for the perfection of Father La

Combe, and to see him thoroughly die to himself, that I could have

wished him all the crosses and afflictions imaginable, that might

conduce to this great and blessed end. Whenever he was unfaithful, or

looked at things in any other light than the true one--to tend to this

death of self--I felt myself on the rack, which, as I had till then

been so indifferent, very much surprised me. To the Lord I made my

complaint; He graciously encouraged me, both on this subject and on

that entire dependence on Himself which He gave me, which was such that

I was like a new born infant.

My sister had brought me a maid, whom God was willing to give me to

fashion according to His will, not without some crucifixion to myself.

I believe it never is to fall out, that our Lord will give me any

persons without giving them wherewith to make me suffer, whether it be

for the purpose of drawing them into a spiritual life, or never to

leave me without the cross. She was one on whom the Lord had conferred

very singular graces. She was in high reputation in the country, where

she passed for a saint. Our Lord brought her to me, to let her see the

difference between the sanctity conceived and comprised in those gifts,

with which she was endowed, and that which is obtained by our entire

destruction, even by the loss of those very gifts, and of all that

raised us in the esteem of men. Our Lord had given her the same

dependence on me, as I had in regard to Father La Combe.

This girl fell grievously sick. I was willing to give her all the

assistance in my power, but I found I had nothing to do but to command

her bodily sickness, or the disposition of her mind; all that I said

was done. It was then that I learned what it was to command by the

Word, and to obey by the Word. It was Jesus Christ in me equally

commanding and obeying.

She, however, continued sick for sometime. One day, after dinner, I was

moved to say to her, "Rise and be no longer sick." She arose and was

cured. The nuns were very much astonished. They knew nothing of what

had passed, but saw her walking, who in the morning had appeared to be

in the last extremity. They attributed her disorder to a vivid

imagination.

I have at sundry times experienced, and felt in myself, how much God

respects the freedom of man, even demands his free concurrence; for

when I said, "Be healed," or, "Be free from your troubles," if such

persons acquiesced, the Word was efficacious, and they were healed. If

they doubted, or resisted, though under fair pretexts, saying, "I shall

be healed when it pleases God, I will not be healed till He wills it;"

or, in the way of despair, "I cannot be healed; I will not quit my

condition," then the Word had no effect. I felt in myself that the

divine virtue retired in me. I experienced what our Lord said, when the

woman afflicted with the issue of blood touched him. He instantly

asked, "Who touched me?" The apostles said, "Master, the multitude

throng thee, and press thee; and sayest thou, Who touched me?" He

replied, "It is because virtue hath gone out of me" (Luke 8:45, 46).

Jesus Christ had caused that healing virtue to flow, through me, by

means of His Word. When that virtue met not with a correspondence in

the subject, I felt it suspended in its source. That gave me some pain.

I should be, as it were, displeased with those persons; but when there

was no resistance, but a full acquiescence, this divine virtue had its

full effect. Healing virtue has so much power over things inanimate,

yet the least thing in man either restrains it, or stops it entirely.

There was a good nun much afflicted and under a violent temptation. She

went to declare her case to a sister whom she thought very spiritual,

and in a condition capable of assisting her. But far from finding

succor, she was very much discouraged and cast down. The other despised

and repulsed her, and treating her with contempt and rigor, she said,

"Don't come near me, since you are that way." This poor girl, in a

frightful distress, came to me thinking herself undone on account of

what the sister had said to her. I consoled her and our Lord relieved

her immediately. But I could not forbear telling her that assuredly the

other would be punished, and would fall into a state worse than hers.

The sister who had used her in such a manner came also to me, highly

pleased with herself in what she had done, saying, she abhorred such

tempted creatures. As for herself, she was proof against such sorts of

temptations, and that she never had a bad thought. I said to her, "My

sister, from the friendship I have for you I wish you the pain of her

who spoke to you, and even one still more violent."

She answered haughtily, "If you were to ask it from God for me, and I

ask of Him the contrary, I believe I shall be heard at least as soon as

you."

I answered with great firmness, "If it be only my own interests which I

ask, I shall not be heard; but if it be those of God only, and yours

too, I shall be heard sooner than you are aware." That very night she

fell into so violent a temptation that one equal to it has seldom been

known. It was then she had ample occasion to acknowledge her own

weakness, and what she would be without grace. She conceived at first a

violent hatred for me, saying that I was the cause of her pain. But it

served her, as the clay did to enlighten him who had been born blind.

She soon saw very well what had brought on her so terrible a state.

I fell sick even to extremity. This sickness proved a means to cover

the great mysteries which it pleased God to operate in me. Scarce ever

was a disorder more extraordinary, or of longer continuance in its

excess. Several times I saw in dreams Father La Mothe raising

persecutions against me. Our Lord let me know that this would be and

that Father La Combe would forsake me in the time of persecution. I

wrote to him, and it disquieted him greatly. He thought his heart was

united to the will of God and too desirous of serving me, to admit such

desertion; yet it has since been found quite true. He was now to preach

during Lent, and was so much followed, that people came five leagues,

to pass several days for the benefit of his ministry. I heard he was so

sick that he was thought to die. I prayed to the Lord to restore his

health, and enable him to preach to the people, who were longing to

hear him. My prayer was heard, and he soon recovered, and resumed his

pious labors.

During this extraordinary sickness, which continued more than six

months, the Lord gradually taught me that there was another manner of

conversing among souls wholly His, than by speech. Thou madest me

conceive, O divine Word, that as Thou art ever speaking and operating

in a soul, though therein thou appearest in profound silence; so there

was also a way of communication in thy creatures, in an ineffable

silence. I heard then a language which before had been unknown to me. I

gradually perceived, when Father La Combe entered, that I could speak

no more. There was formed in my soul the same kind of silence toward

him, as was formed in it in regard to God. I comprehended that God was

willing to show me that men might in this life learn the language of

angels. I was gradually reduced to speak to him only in silence. It was

then that we understood each other in God, after a manner unutterable

and divine. Our hearts spoke to each other, communicating a grace which

no words can express. It was like a new country, both for him and for

me; but so divine, that I cannot describe it. At first this was done in

a manner so perceptible, that is to say, God penetrated us with Himself

in a manner so pure and so sweet, that we passed hours in this profound

silence, always communicative, without being able to utter one word. It

was in this that we learned, by our own experience, the operations of

the heavenly Word to reduce souls into unity with itself, and what

purity one may arrive at in this life. It was given me to communicate

this way to other good souls, but with this difference: I did nothing

but communicate to them the grace with which they were filled, while

near me, in this sacred silence, which infused into them an

extraordinary strength and grace; but I received nothing from them;

whereas with Father La Combe there was a flow and return of

communication of grace, which he received from me, and I from him, in

the greatest purity.

In this long malady the love of God, and of Him alone, made up my whole

occupation, I seemed so entirely lost to Him, as to have no sight of

myself at all. It seemed as if my heart never came out of that divine

ocean, having been drawn into it through deep humiliations. Oh, happy

loss, which is the consummation of bliss, though operated through

crosses and through deaths!

Jesus was then living in me and I lived no more. These words were

imprinted in me, as a real state into which I must enter, (Matt. 8:20)

"The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son

of Man hath not where to lay his head." This I have since experienced

in all its extent, having no sure abode, no refuge among friends, who

were ashamed of me, and openly renounced me, when universally decried;

nor among my relations, most of whom declared themselves my

adversaries, and were my greatest persecutors; while others looked on

me with contempt and indignation. I might as David say, "For thy sake I

have borne reproach; shame hath covered my face; I am become a stranger

to my brethren, and an alien unto my mother's children; a reproach to

men, and despised of the people."

He showed me all the world in a rage against me, without anyone daring

to appear for me and assured me in the ineffable silence of His eternal

Word, that He would give me vast numbers of children, which I should

bring forth by the cross. I left it to Him to do with me whatever He

pleased, esteeming my whole and sole interest to be placed entirely in

His divine will. He gave me to see how the Devil was going to stir up

an outrageous persecution against prayer, yet it should prove the

source of the same prayer, or rather the means which God would make use

of to establish it. He gave me to see farther how He would guide me

into the wilderness, where He would cause me to be nourished for a

time. The wings, which were to bear me thither, were the resignation of

my whole self to His holy will. I think I am at present in that

wilderness, separated from the whole world in my imprisonment. I see

already accomplished in part what was then shown me. Can I ever express

the mercies which my God has bestowed on me? No; they must ever remain

in Himself, being of a nature not to be described, by reason of their

purity and immensity.

I was often to all appearance at the point of death. I fell into

convulsions from violent pains which lasted a long time with violence.

Father La Combe administered the sacrament to me, the Prioress of the

Ursulines having desired him to do it. I was well satisfied to die, as

was he also in the expectation of my departure. For, being united in

God after a manner so pure, and so spiritual, death could not separate

us. On the contrary it would have more closely united us. Father La

Combe, who was on his knees at my bedside, remarking the change of my

countenance, and how my eyes faded, seemed ready to give me up, when

God inspired him to lift up his hands, and with a strong voice, which

was heard by all who were in my room, at that time almost full, to

command death to relinquish its hold. Instantly it seemed to be

stopped. Thus God was pleased wonderfully to raise me up again; yet for

a long time I continued extremely weak, during all of which our Lord

gave me new testimonies of His love. How many times was He pleased to

make use of His servant to restore me to life, when I was almost on the

very point of expiring! As they saw that my sickness and pain did not

entirely end, they judged that the air of the lake on which the convent

was situated, was very prejudicial to my constitution. They concluded

that it would be necessary for me to remove.

During my indisposition, our Lord put it into the heart of Father La

Combe to establish a hospital in this place for the poor people seized

with maladies, to institute also a committee or congregation of ladies

to furnish such as could not leave their families to go to the hospital

with the means of subsistence during their illness, after the manner of

France, there having been yet no institution of this kind in that

country. Willingly did I enter into it; and without any other fund than

Providence and some useless rooms which a gentleman of the town gave

us, we began it. We dedicated it to the holy Child Jesus, and He was

pleased to give the first beds to it from my pension. He gave such a

blessing that several other persons joined us in this charity. In a

short time there were nearly twelve beds in it and three persons of

great piety gave themselves to this hospital to serve it, who, without

any salary, consecrated themselves to the service of the poor patients.

I supplied them with ointments and medicines, which were freely given

to such of the poor people of the town as had need of them. These good

ladies were so hearty in the cause, that, through their charity, and

the care of the young women, this hospital was very well maintained and

served. These ladies joined together also in providing for the sick who

could not go to the hospital. I gave them some little regulations such

as I had observed when in France, which they continued to keep up with

tenderness and love.

All these little things, which cost but little, and which owed all

their success to the blessing which God gave them, drew upon us new

persecutions. The Bishop of Geneva was offended with me more than ever,

especially in seeing that these small matters rendered me beloved. He

said that I won over everybody. He openly declared, "he could not bear

me in his diocese," though I had done nothing but good, or rather God

by me. He extended the persecution to those good religious women who

had been my assistants. The prioress in particular had her own share to

bear, though it did not last long. As I was obliged, on account of the

air, to remove, after having been there about two years and a half,

they were then more in peace and quietness. On another side, my sister

was very weary of this house; and as the season for the waters

approached, they took occasion from thence to send her away with the

maid which I brought with me, who had molested me exceedingly in my

late illness. I only kept her whom Providence had sent me by means of

my sister. I have ever thought that God had ordered my sister's journey

only to bring her to me, as one chosen of Him and proper for the state

which it was His pleasure to cause me to bear.

While I was yet indisposed, the Ursulines, with the Bishop of Verceil,

earnestly requested the Father-general of the Barnabites, to seek among

the religious, a man of merit, piety and learning, in whom he might

place confidence, and who might serve him for a prebend and a

counselor. At first he cast his eyes on Father La Combe; yet before he

absolutely engaged him with the said bishop, he wrote to him, to know

whether he had any objection thereto. Father La Combe replied that he

had no other will but that of obeying him, and that he might command

him herein as he should think best in the case. He gave me an account

of this, and that we were going to be entirely separated. I was glad to

find that our Lord would employ him, under a bishop who knew him, and

would be likely to do him justice. Yet it was some time before he went,

matters not being all arranged.

CHAPTER 13

I then went off from the Ursulines and they sought for a house for me

at a distance from the lake. There was but one to be found empty which

had the look of the greatest poverty. It had no chimney but in the

kitchen, through which one was obliged to pass. I took my daughter with

me and gave up the largest room for her and the maid who was to take

care of her. I was lodged in a little hole on straw, to which I went up

by ladder. As we had no other furniture but our beds, quite plain and

homely, I brought some straw chairs and some Dutch earthen and wooden

ware. Never did I enjoy a greater content than in this little hole,

which appeared so very conformable to the state of Jesus Christ. I

fancied everything better on wood than on plate. I laid in all my

provisions, hoping to stay there a long time; but the Devil did not

leave me long in such sweet peace. It would be difficult for me to tell

the persecutions which were stirred up against me. They threw stones in

at my windows which fell at my feet. I had put my little garden in

order. They came in the night, tore it all up, broke down the arbor,

and overturned everything in it, as if it had been ravaged by soldiers.

They came to abuse me at the door all night long, making such a racket

as if they were going to break it open. These persons have since told

who the person was that put them on such work.

Though from time to time I continued my charities at Gex, I was not the

less persecuted for it. They offered one person a warrant to compel

Father La Combe to stay at Tonon, thinking he would otherwise be a

support to me in the persecution, but we prevented it. I knew not then

the designs of God, and that He would soon draw me from that poor

solitary place, in which I enjoyed a sweet and solid satisfaction,

notwithstanding the abuse. I thought myself happier here than any

sovereign on earth. It was for me like a nest and a place of repose and

Christ was willing that I should be like Him. The Devil, as I have

said, irritated my persecutors. They sent to desire me to go out of the

diocese. All the good which the Lord had caused me to do in it was

condemned, more than the greatest crimes. Crimes they tolerated, but me

they could not endure. All this while I never had any uneasiness or

repentance for my having left at all; not that I was assured of having

done the will of God therein. Such an assurance would have been too

much for me. But I could neither see nor regard anything, receiving

everything alike from the hand of God, who directed and disposed of

these crosses for me either in justice or in mercy.

The Marchioness of Prunai, sister of the chief Secretary of State to

his Royal Highness (the Duke of Savoy) and his prime minister, had sent

an express from Turin, in the time of my illness, to invite me to come

to reside with her; and to let me know that, "being so persecuted as I

was in this diocese, I should find an asylum with her; that during that

time things might grow better; that when they should be well disposed

she would return with me and join me with a friend of mine from Paris,

who was willing also to come to labor there, according to the will of

God." I was not at that time in a condition to execute what she desired

and expected to continue with the Ursulines till things should change.

She then wrote to me about it no more. This lady is one of

extraordinary piety, who had quitted the splendor and noise of the

Court, for the more silent satisfaction of a retired life, and to give

herself up to God. With an eminent share of natural advantages, she has

continued a widow twenty-two years; has refused every offer of marriage

to consecrate herself to our Lord entirely and without any reserve.

When she knew that I had been obliged to leave the Ursulines, yet

without knowing anything of the manner in which I had been treated, she

procured a letter to oblige Father La Combe to go to pass some weeks at

Turin, for her own benefit, and to bring me with him thither, where I

should find a refuge. All this she did unknown to us. As she has told

us since, a superior force moved her to do it, without knowing the

cause. If she had deliberately reflected on it, being such a prudent

lady, she probably would not have done it; because the persecutions,

which the Bishop of Geneva procured us in that place, cost her more

than a little of humiliations. Our Lord permitted him to pursue me,

after a surprising manner, into all the places I have been in, without

giving me any relaxation. I never did him any harm, but on the

contrary, would have laid down my life for the good of his diocese.

As this fell out without any design on our part, we, without

hesitation, believed it was the will of God; and thought it might be

the means of His appointment to draw us out of the reproach and

persecution we labored under, seeing myself chased on the one side,

desired on the other. It was concluded that Father La Combe should

conduct me to Turin, and that he should go from thence to Verceil.

Beside him, I took with me a religious man of merit, who had taught

theology for fourteen years past, to take away from our enemies all

cause for slander. I also took with me a boy whom I had brought out of

France. They took horses, and I hired a carriage for my daughter, my

chambermaid and myself. But all precautions are useless, when it

pleases God to permit them to be frustrated. Our adversaries

immediately wrote to Paris. A hundred ridiculous stories were

circulated about this journey; comedies were acted on it, things

invented at pleasure, and as false as anything in the world could be.

It was my brother, Father de la Mothe, who was so active in uttering

all this stuff. Had he believed it to be true, he ought out of charity

to have concealed it; much more, being so very false. They said that I

was gone all alone with Father La Combe, strolling about the country,

from province to province, with many such fables, as weak and wicked as

they were incoherent and badly put together. We suffered all with

patience, without vindicating ourselves, or making any complaint.

Scarcely were we arrived at Turin, but the Bishop of Geneva wrote

against us. As he could pursue us no other way, he did it by letters.

Father La Combe repaired to Verceil, and I staid at Turin, with the

Marchioness of Prunai. But what crosses was I assaulted with in my own

family, from the Bishop of Geneva, from the Barnabites, and from a vast

number of persons besides! My eldest son came to find me on the death

of my mother-in-law, which was an augmentation of my troubles. After we

had heard all his accounts of things and how they had made sales of all

the moveables, chosen guardians, and settled every article, without

consulting me. I seemed to be there entirely useless. It was judged not

proper for me to return, considering the rigor of the season.

The Marchioness of Prunai, who had been so warmly desirous of my

company, seeing my great crosses and reproaches, looked coldly upon me.

My childlike simplicity, which was the state wherein God at that time

kept me, passed with her for stupidity. For when the question was to

help anyone, or about anything which God required of me, He gave me,

with the weakness of a child, the evident tokens of divine strength.

Her heart was quite shut up to me all the time I was there. Our Lord,

however, made me foretell events which should happen, which since that

time have actually been fulfilled, as well to herself as to her

daughter, and to the virtuous ecclesiastic who lived at her house. She

did not fail, at last, to conceive more friendship for me, seeing then

that Christ was in me. It was the force of self-love, and fear of

reproach, which had closed up her heart. Moreover, she thought her

state more advanced than in reality it was, by reason of her being

without tests; but she soon saw by experience that I had told her the

truth. She was obliged for family reasons to leave Turin, and go to

live on her own estate. She solicited me to go with her; but the

education of my daughter did not permit. To stay at Turin without her

seemed improper, because, having lived very retired in this place, I

made no acquaintance in it. I knew not which way to turn. The Bishop of

Verceil, where Father La Combe was, most obligingly wrote to me,

earnestly entreating me to come, promising me his protection, and

assuring me of his esteem, adding, "that he should look upon me as his

own sister; that he wished extremely to have me there." It was his own

sister, one of my particular friends, who had written to him about me,

as had also a French gentleman, an acquaintance of his. But a point of

honor kept me from it. I would not have it said that I had gone after

Father La Combe, and that I had come to Turin only for the purpose of

going to Verceil. He had also his reputation to preserve, which was the

cause that he could not agree to my going thither, however importunate

the Bishop was for it. Had we believed it to be the will of God, we

would both of us have passed over these considerations. God kept us

both in so great a dependence on His orders, that He did not let us

foreknow them; but the divine moment of His providence determined

everything. This proved of very great service to Father La Combe, who

had long walked in assurances, to die to them and to Himself. God by an

effect of His goodness, that he might thus die without any reserve,

took them all from him.

During the whole time of my residence at Turin, our Lord conferred on

me very great favors. I found myself every day more transformed into

Him, and had continually more knowledge of the state of souls, without

ever being mistaken or deceived therein, though some were willing to

persuade me to think the contrary. I had used my utmost endeavors to

give myself other thoughts, which had caused me not a little pain. When

I told, or wrote to Father La Combe about the state of some souls,

which appeared to him more perfect and advanced than the knowledge

given to me of them, he attributed it to pride. He was angry with me,

and prejudiced against my state. I had no uneasiness on account of his

esteeming me the less, for I was not in a condition to reflect whether

he esteemed me or not. He could not reconcile my willing obedience in

most things, with so extraordinary a firmness, which in certain cases

he looked upon as criminal. He admitted a distrust of my grace; he was

not yet sufficiently confirmed in his way, nor did he duly comprehend,

that it did not in any wise depend on me to be one way or another. If I

had any such power I should have suited myself to what he said, to

spare myself the crosses which my firmness caused me. Or, at least, I

would have artfully dissembled my real sentiments. I could do neither.

Were all to perish by it, I was in such a manner constrained, that I

could not forbear telling him the things, just as our Lord directed me

to tell them to him. In this he had given me an inviolable fidelity to

the very last. No crosses or pains have ever made me fail a moment

therein. These things then, which appeared to him to be the strong

prejudice of a conceited opinion, set him at variance against me.

Though he did not openly show it, on the contrary tried to conceal it

from me; yet how far distant soever he were from me, I could not be

ignorant of it. My spirit felt it, and that more or less, as the

opposition was stronger or weaker; as soon as it abated or ended, my

pain, occasioned thereby, ceased. He also, on his side, experienced the

same. He has told me and written to me many times over, "When I stand

well with God, I find I am well with you. When I am otherwise with Him,

I then find myself to be so with you also." Thus he saw clearly that

when God received him, it was always in uniting him to me, as if He

would accept of nothing from him but in this union.

While he was at Turin, a widow who was a good servant of God, all in

the brightness of sensibility, came to him to confess. She uttered

wonderful things of her state. I was then at the other side of the

confessional. He told me, "He had met with a soul given up to God; that

it was she who was present; that he was very much edified by her; that

he was far from finding the like in me; that I operated nothing but

death upon his soul." At first I rejoiced at his having met with such a

holy soul. It ever gives me the highest joy to see my God glorified. As

I was returning, the Lord showed me clearly the state of that soul, as

only a beginning of devotion mixed with affection and a little silence,

filled with a new sensation. This and more, as it was set before me, I

was obliged to write to him. On his first reading of my letter he

discovered the stamp of truth in it; but soon after, letting in again

his old reflections, he viewed all I wrote in the light of pride. He

still had in his mind the ordinary rules of humility conceived and

comprised after our manner. As to me, I let myself be led as a child,

who says and does, without distinction, whatever it is made to say and

do. I left myself to be led wheresoever my heavenly Father pleased,

high or low; all was alike good to me.

He wrote to me, that, at his first reading of my letter there appeared

in it something of truth; but that on reading it over again, he found

it to be full of pride, and of preference of my own discernments to

that of others. Some time after he was more enlightened in regard to

the state I was in. He then said, "continue to believe as you have

done; I encourage and exhort you to do it." Some time after he

sufficiently discovered, by that person's manner of acting, that she

was very far from what he had thought. I give this as only one

instance. I might give many others, but this may suffice.

CHAPTER 14

One night in a dream our Lord showed me, that He would also purify the

maid whom He had given me, make her truly enter into death to herself.

I freely resolved to suffer for her, as I did for Father La Combe. As

she resisted God much more than he, and was much more under the power

of self-love, she had more to be purified from. What I could not

tolerate in her was her regard for herself. I saw clearly that the

devil cannot hurt us only so far as we retain some fondness for this

corrupt self. This sight was from God. He gave me the discerning of

spirits, which would ever accept what was from Him, or reject what was

not; that not from any common methods of judging, not from any outward

information, but by an inward principle which is His gift alone.

It is needful to mention here that souls which are yet in themselves,

whatever degree of light and ardor they have attained, are unqualified

for it. They often think they have this discernment, when it is nothing

else but sympathy or antipathy of nature. Our Lord destroyed in me

every sort of natural antipathy. The soul must be very pure, and

depending on God alone, that all these things may be experienced in

Him. In proportion as this maid became inwardly purified, my pain

abated, till the Lord let me know her state was going to be changed,

which soon happily ensued. In comparison of inward pain for souls,

outward persecutions, though ever so violent, scarce gave me any.

The Bishop of Geneva wrote to different persons. He wrote in my favor

to such as he thought would show me his letters, and quite the contrary

in the letters which he thought I would never see. It was so ordered

that these persons, having showed each other their letters received

from him, were struck with indignation to see in him so shameful a

duplicity. They sent me those letters that I might take proper

precautions. I kept them two years, and then burned them, not to hurt

the prelate. The strongest battery he raised against me was what he did

with the Secretary of State, who held that post in conjunction with the

Marchioness of Prunai's brother. He used all imaginable endeavors to

render me odious. He employed certain abbots for that purpose, insomuch

that, though I appeared very little abroad, I was well known by the

description this bishop had given of me. This did not make so much

impression as it would have done, if he had appeared in a better light

at Court. Some letters of his, which her royal highness found after the

prince's death, written to him against her, had effect on the princess,

that, instead of taking any notice of what he now wrote against me, she

showed me great respect. She sent her request to me to come to see her.

Accordingly I waited on her. She assured me of her protection, and that

she was glad of my being in her dominions.

It pleased God here to make use of me to the conversion of two or three

ecclesiastics. But I had much to suffer from their repugnances and many

infidelities--one of whom had vilified me greatly--and even after his

conversion turned aside into his old ways. God at length graciously

restored him.

As I was undetermined whether I should place my daughter at the

Visitation of Turin, or take some other course; I was exceedingly

surprised, at a time I least expected it, to see Father La Combe arrive

from Verceil. He told me that I must return to Paris without any delay.

It was in the evening, and he said, "set off the next morning." I

confess this sudden news startled me. It was for me a double sacrifice

to return to a place where they had cried me down so much; also toward

a family which held me in contempt, and who had represented my journey,

caused by pure necessity, as a voluntary course, pursued through human

attachments. Behold me then disposed to go off, without offering a

single word in reply, with my daughter and my maid, without anybody to

guide and attend us. Father La Combe was resolved not to accompany me,

not so much as passing the mountains. The Bishop of Geneva had written

on all sides that I was gone to Turin to run after him. But the Father

Provincial, who was a man of quality, and well acquainted with the

virtue of Father La Combe, told him, that it was improper and unsafe to

venture on these mountains, without some person of acquaintance; the

more as I had my little daughter with me. He therefore ordered him to

accompany me. Father La Combe confessed to me that he had some

reluctance to do it, and only obedience, and the danger to which I

should have been exposed, made him surmount it. He was only to

accompany me to Grenoble, and from thence to return to Turin. I went

off then, designing for Paris, there to suffer whatever crosses and

trials it should please God to inflict.

What made me go by Grenoble was the desire I had to spend two or three

days with a lady, an eminent servant of God, and one of my friends.

When I was there Father La Combe and that lady spoke to me not to go

any farther. God would glorify Himself in me and by me in that place.

He returned to Verceil, and I left myself to be conducted as a child by

Providence. This lady took me to the house of a good widow, there not

being accommodations at the inn. As I was ordered to stop at Grenoble,

at her house I resided. I placed my daughter in a convent, and resolved

to employ all this time in resigning myself to be possessed in solitude

by Him who is the absolute Sovereign of my soul. I made not any visit

in this place; no more had I in any of the others where I had

sojourned. I was greatly surprised when, a few days after my arrival,

there came to see me several persons who made profession of a singular

devotion to God. I perceived immediately a gift which He had given me,

of administering to each that which suited their states. I felt myself

invested, all of a sudden, with the apostolic state. I discerned the

conditions of the souls of such persons as spoke to me, and that with

so much facility, that they were surprised at it, and said one to

another, that I gave every one of them "the very thing they had stood

in need of." It was thou, O my God, who didst all these things; some of

them sent others to me. It came to such excess, that, generally from

six in the morning till eight in the evening, I was taken up in

speaking of the Lord. People flocked on all sides, far and near,

friars, priests, men of the world, maids, wives, widows, all came one

after another. The Lord supplied me with what was pertinent and

satisfactory to them all, after a wonderful manner, without any share

of my study or meditation therein. Nothing was hid from me of their

interior state, and of what passed within them. Here, O my God, Thou

madest an infinite number of conquests known to Thyself only. They were

instantly furnished with a wonderful facility of prayer. God conferred

on them His grace plentifully, and wrought marvelous changes in them.

The most advanced of these souls found, when with me, in silence, a

grace communicated to them which they could neither comprehend, nor

cease to admire. The others found an unction in my words, and that they

operated in them what I said. Friars of different orders, and priests

of merit, came to see me, to whom our Lord granted very great favors,

as indeed He did to all, without exception, who came in sincerity.

One thing was surprising; I had not a syllable to say to such as came

only to watch my words, and to criticize them. Even when I thought to

try to speak to them, I felt that I could not, and that God would not

have me do it. Some of them in return said, "The people are fools to go

to see that lady. She cannot speak." Others of them treated me as if I

were only a stupid simpleton. After they left me there came one and

said, "I could not get hither soon enough to apprize you not to speak

to those persons; they come from such and such, to try what they can

catch from you to your disadvantage." I answered them, "Our Lord has

prevented your charity; for I was not able to say one word to them."

I felt that what I spoke flowed from the fountain, and that I was only

the instrument of Him who made me speak. Amid this general applause,

our Lord made me comprehend what the apostolic state was, with which He

had honored me; that to give one's self up to the help of souls, in the

purity of His Spirit, was to expose one's self to the most cruel

persecutions. These very words were imprinted on my heart: "To resign

ourselves to serve our neighbor is to sacrifice ourselves to a gibbet.

Such as now proclaim, 'Blessed is he who cometh in the name of the

Lord,' will soon cry out, 'Away with him, crucify him.'" When one of my

friends speaking of the general esteem the people had for me, I said to

her, "Observe what I now tell you, that you will hear curses cut of the

same mouths which at present pronounce blessings." Our Lord made me

comprehend that I must be conformable to Him in all His states; and

that, if He had continued in a private life with His parents, He never

had been crucified; that, when He would resign any of His servants to

crucifixion, He employed such in the ministry and service of their

neighbors. It is certain that all the souls employed herein by

apostolic destination from God, and who are truly in the apostolic

state, are to suffer extremely. I speak not of those who put themselves

into it, who, not being called of God in a singular manner, and having

nothing of the grace of the apostleship, have none of its crosses; but

of those only who surrender themselves to God without any reserve, and

who are willing with their whole hearts to be exposed, for His sake, to

sufferings without any mitigation.

CHAPTER 15

Among so great a number of good souls, on whom our Lord wrought much by

me, some were given me only as plants to cultivate. I knew their state,

but had not that near connection with, or authority over them, which I

had over others. It was then that I comprehended the true maternity

beyond what I had done before; for those of the latter kind were given

me as children, of whom some were faithful. I knew they would be so;

they were closely united to me in pure charity. Others were unfaithful;

I knew that of these some would never return from their infidelity, and

they were taken from me. Some, after slipping aside, were recovered.

Both of them cost me much distress and inward pain, when, for want of

courage to die to themselves, they gave up the point; and revolted from

the good beginning they had been favored with.

Our Lord, among such multitudes as followed Him on earth, had few true

children. Wherefore He said to His Father, "Those that thou gavest me I

have kept, and none of them is lost but the son of perdition," showing

that He lost not any beside of His apostles, or disciples, though they

sometimes made false steps.

Among the friars who came to see me, there was one order which

discovered the good effects of grace more than any other. Some of that

very order had before this, in a little town where Father La Combe was

in the exercise of his mission, been actuated with a false zeal, and

violent in persecuting all the good souls which had sincerely dedicated

themselves to God, plaguing them after such a manner as can scarce be

conceived. They burned all their books which treated of silence and

inward prayer, refusing absolution to such as were in the practice of

it, driving into consternation, and almost into despair, such as had

formerly led wicked lives, but were now reformed, and preserved in

grace by means of prayer, becoming spotless and blameless in their

conduct. These friars had proceeded to such an excess of wild zeal as

to raise a sedition in that town, in which a father of the oratory, a

person of distinction and merit, received strokes with a stick in the

open street, because he prayed extempore in the evenings, and on

Sundays made a short fervent prayer, which insensibly habituated these

good souls to the use and practice of the like.

I never had so much consolation as to see in this little town so many

pious souls who with a heavenly emulation gave up their whole hearts to

God. There were girls of twelve or thirteen years of age, who

industriously followed their work almost all the day long, in silence,

and in their employments enjoyed a communion with God, having acquired

a fixed habit. As these girls were poor, they placed themselves two and

two together, and such as could do it read to the others who could not.

One saw there the innocence of the primitive Christians revived. There

was in that town a poor laundress who had five children, and a husband

paralytic, lame in the right arm, and yet worse distempered in mind

than in body. He had little strength left for anything else than to

beat her. This poor woman bore it with all the meekness and patience of

an angel, while she by her labor supported him and his five children.

She had a wonderful gift of prayer, and amid her great suffering and

extreme poverty, preserved the presence of God, and tranquility of

mind. There was also a shopkeeper, and one who made locks, very much

affected with God. These were close friends. Sometimes the one and

sometimes the other read to this laundress; and they were surprised to

find that she was instructed by the Lord Himself in all they read to

her, and spoke divinely of it.

Those friars sent for this woman, and threatened her much if she did

not leave off prayer, telling her it was only for churchmen to pray,

and that she was very bold to practice it. She replied, that "Christ

had commanded all to pray," that He had said, "What I say unto you I

say unto all" (Mark 13:33, 37), without specifying either priests or

friars; that without prayer she could not support her crosses and

poverty; that formerly she had lived without it, and then was very

wicked; that since she had been in the exercise of it, she had loved

God with all her soul; so that to leave off prayer was to renounce her

salvation, which she could not do. She added that they might take

twenty persons who had never practiced prayer, and twenty of those who

were in the practice of it. Then, said she, "Inform yourselves of the

lives of both sorts, and ye will see if ye have any reason to cry out

against prayer." Such words as these, from such a woman, one would

think might have fully convinced them; but instead of that, it only

irritated them the more. They assured her that she should have no

absolution till she promised them to desist from prayer. She said that

depended not on her, and that Christ is master of what He communicates

to His creatures, and of doing with it what He pleases. They refused

her absolution; and after railing at a good tailor, who served God with

his whole heart, they ordered all the books without exception, which

treated on prayer to be brought to them. They burned them with their

own hands in the public square. They were very much elated with their

performance; but all the town presently arose in an uproar. The

principal men went to the Bishop of Geneva, and complained to him of

the scandals of these new missionaries, so different from the others.

Speaking of Father La Combe, who had been there before them on his

mission, they said that these seemed as if they were sent to destroy

all the good he had done. The bishop was forced to come himself to that

town, and there to mount the pulpit, protesting that he had no share in

it, and that these fathers had pushed their zeal too far. The friars,

on the other side declared, they had done all they did, pursuant to the

orders given them.

There were also at Tonon young women who had retired together, being

poor villagers, the better to earn their livelihood and to serve God.

One of them read from time to time, while the others were at work, and

not one went out without asking leave of the eldest. They wove

ribbands, or spun, the strong supporting the weak. They separated these

poor girls, and others beside them, in several villages, and drove them

out of the church.

It was the friars of the very order whom our Lord made use of to

establish prayer in (I know not how) many places. Into the places where

they went, they carried a hundred times more books of prayer than those

which their brethren had burned. The hand of God appeared to me

wonderfully in these things.

One day when I was sick, a brother who had skill in curing diseases,

came for a charitable collection, but hearing I was ill, came in to see

me, and gave me medicines proper for my disorder. We entered into a

conversation which revived in him the love he had for God, which he

acknowledged had been too much stifled by his occupations. I made him

comprehend that there was no employment which should hinder him from

loving God, and from being occupied within himself. He readily believed

me, as he already had a good share of piety, and of an interior

disposition. Our Lord conferred on him many favors, and gave him to be

one of my true children.

I saw at this time, or rather experienced the ground on which God

rejects sinners from His bosom. All the cause of God's rejection is in

the will of the sinner. If that will submits, how horrible soever he

be, God purifies him in his love, and receives him into his grace; but

while that will rebels, the rejection continues. For want of ability

seconding his inclination, he should not commit the sin he is inclined

to, yet he never can be admitted into grace till the cause ceases,

which is this wrong will, rebellious to the divine law. If that once

submits, God then totally removes the effects of sin, which stain the

soul, by washing away the defilements which he has contracted. If that

sinner dies in the time that his will is rebellious and turned toward

sin, as death fixes forever the disposition of the soul, and the cause

of its impurity is ever subsisting, such soul can never be received

into God. Its rejection must be eternal, as there is such an absolute

opposition between essential purity and essential impurity. And as this

soul, from its own nature necessarily tends to its own center, it is

continually rejected of the Lord, by reason of its impurity, subsisting

not only in the effects, but in their cause. It is the same way in this

life. This cause, so long as it subsists, absolutely hinders the grace

of God from operating in the soul. But if the sinner comes to die truly

penitent, then the cause, which is the wrong will, being taken away,

there remains only the effect or impurity caused by it. He is then in a

condition to be purified. God of his infinite mercy has provided a

laver of love and of justice, a painful laver indeed, to purify this

soul. And as the defilement is greater or less, so is the pain; but

when the cause is utterly taken away, the pain entirely ceases. Souls,

are received into grace, as soon as the cause of sin ceases; but they

do not pass into the Lord Himself, till all its effects are washed

away. If they have not courage to let Him, in His own way and will,

thoroughly cleanse and purify them, they never enter into the pure

divinity in this life.

The Lord incessantly solicits this will to cease to be rebellious, and

spares nothing on His side for this good end. The will is free, yet

grace follows it still. As soon as the will ceases to rebel, it finds

grace at the door, ready to introduce its unspeakable benefits. O, the

goodness of the Lord and baseness of the sinner, each of them amazing

when clearly seen!

Before I arrived at Grenoble, the lady, my friend, saw in a dream that

our Lord gave me an infinite number of children all uniformly clad,

bearing on their habits the marks of candor and innocence. She thought

I was coming to take care of the children of the hospital. But as soon

as she told me, I discerned that it was not that which the dream meant;

but that our Lord would give me, by a spiritual fruitfulness, a great

number of children; that they would not be my true children, but in

simplicity, candor and innocence. So great an aversion I have to

artifice and disguise.

CHAPTER 16

The physician of whom I have spoken, was disposed to lay open his heart

to me. Our Lord gave him through me all that was necessary for him; for

though disposed to the spiritual life, yet for want of courage and

fidelity he had not duly advanced in it.

He had occasion to bring to me some of his companions who were friars;

and the Lord took hold of them all. It was at the very same time, that

the others of the same order were making all the ravages I have

mentioned, and opposing with all their might the Holy Spirit of the

Lord. I could not but admire to see how the Lord was pleased to make

amends for former damages, pouring out His Spirit in abundance on these

men, while the others were laboring vehemently against it, doing all

they could to destroy its dominion and efficacy in their

fellow-mortals. But those good souls instead of being staggered by

persecutions, grew the stronger by it. The Superior, and the master of

the novices of the house in which this doctor was declared against me,

without knowing me. They were grievously chagrined that a woman, as

they said, should be so much flocked to, and so much sought after.

Looking at things as they were in themselves, and not as they were in

the Lord, who does whatever pleases Him, they had contempt for the gift

which was lodged in so mean an instrument, instead of esteeming the

Lord and His grace. Yet this good brother at length got the superior to

come to see me, and thank me for the good which he said I had done. Our

Lord so ordered, that he found something in my conversation which

reached and took hold of him. At length he was completely brought over.

He it was, who some time after, being visitor, dispersed such a number

of those books, bought at their own charge, which the others had tried

utterly to destroy. Oh, how wonderful art Thou, my God! In all Thy ways

how wise, in all Thy conduct how full of love! How well Thou canst

frustrate all the false wisdom of men, and triumph over their vain

pretensions!

There were in this noviciate many novices. The eldest of them grew so

very uneasy under his vocation, that he knew not what to do. So great

was his trouble that he could neither read, study, pray, nor do

scarcely any of his duties. His companion brought him to me. We spoke

awhile together, and the Lord discovered to me both the cause of his

disorder and its remedy. I told it to him; and he began to practice

prayer, even that of the heart. He was on a sudden wonderfully changed,

and the Lord highly favored him. As I spoke to him grace wrought in his

heart, and his soul drank it in, as the parched ground does the gentle

rain. He felt himself relieved of his pain before he left the room. He

then readily, joyfully, and perfectly performed all his exercises,

which before were done with reluctance and disgust. He now both studied

and prayed easily, and discharged all his duties, in such a manner,

that he was scarce known to himself or to others. What astonished him

most was a remarkable gift of prayer. He saw that there was readily

given him what he could never have before, whatever pains he took for

it. This enlivening gift was the principle which made him act, gave him

grace for his employments, and an inward fruition of the grace of God,

which brought all good with it. He gradually brought me all the

novices, all of whom partook of the effects of grace, though

differently, according to their different temperaments. Never was there

a more flourishing noviciate.

The master and superior could not forbear admiring so great a change in

their novices, though they did not know the cause of it. One day, as

they were speaking of it to the collector, for they esteemed him highly

on account of his virtue, he said, "My fathers, if you will permit me,

I will tell you the reason of it. It is the lady against whom you have

exclaimed so much without knowing her, whom God has made use of for all

of this." They were very surprised; and both the master, though

advanced in age, and his superior then submitted humbly to practice

prayer, after the manner taught by a little book, which the Lord

inspired me to write, and of which I shall say more hereafter. They

reaped such benefit from it, that the superior said to me, "I am become

quite a new man. I could not practice prayer before, because my

reasoning faculty was grown dull and exhausted; but now I do it as

often as I will, with ease, with much fruit, and a quite different

sensation of the presence of God." And the master said, "I have been a

friar these forty years, and can truly say that I never knew how to

pray; nor have I ever known or tasted of God, as I have done since I

read that little book."

Many others were gained to God, whom I looked on to be my children. He

gave me three famous friars, of an order by which I have been, and

still am, very much persecuted. He made me also of service to a great

number of nuns, of virtuous young women, and even men of the world;

among the rest a young man of quality, who had quitted the order of the

knights of Malta, to take that of the priesthood. He was the relation

of a bishop near him, who had other designs of preferment for him. He

has been much favored of the Lord, and is constant in prayer. I could

not describe the great number of souls which were then given me, as

well maids, as wives, priests and friars. But there were three curates,

one canon, and one grand-vicar, who were more particularly given me.

There was one priest for whom I suffered much, through his not being

willing to die to himself, and loving himself too much. With a sad

regret I saw him decaying, falling away. As for the others there are

some of them who have continued stedfast and immovable, and some whom

the tempest has shaken a little, but not torn away. Though these start

aside, yet they still return. But those who are snatched quite away

return no more.

There was one true daughter given me, whom our Lord made use of to gain

many others to Him. She was in a strange state of death when I first

saw her, and by me He gave her life and peace. She afterward, fell

extremely ill. The doctors said she would die; but I had an assurance

of the contrary, and that God would make use of her to gain souls, as

he has done. There was in a monastery a young woman confined in a state

of distraction. I saw her, knew her case, and that it was not what they

thought it was. As soon as I had spoken to her she recovered. But the

prioress did not like that I should tell her my thoughts of it, because

the person who had brought her thither was her friend. They plagued her

more than before, and threw her back again into her distraction.

A sister of another monastery had been for eight years in a deep

melancholy unrelieved by anyone. Her director increased it, by

practicing remedies contrary to her disorder. I had never been in that

monastery; for I did not go into such places, unless I was sent for, as

I did not think it right to intrude, but left myself to be conducted of

Providence. I was very much surprised that at eight o'clock at night

one came for me from the prioress. It was in the long days of summer,

and being near, I went. I met with a sister who told me her case. She

had gone to such excess, that seeing no remedy for it, she had taken a

knife to kill herself. The knife fell out of her hand and a person

coming to see her had advised her to speak to me. Our Lord made me know

at first what the matter was; and that He required her to resign

herself to Him, instead of resisting Him as they had made her do for

eight years. I was instrumental to draw her into such a resignation,

that she entered at once into a peace of paradise; all her pains and

troubles were instantly banished; and never returned again. She has the

greatest capacity of any in the house. She was presently so changed as

to be the admiration of the whole community. Our Lord gave her a very

great gift of prayer and His continual presence, with a faculty and

readiness for everything. A domestic also, who had troubled her for

twenty-two years past, was delivered from her troubles. That produced a

close tie of friendship between the prioress and me, as the wonderful

change and the peace of this sister surprised her, she having so often

seen her in her terrible sorrow. I also contracted other such ties in

this monastery, where there are souls under the Lord's special regard,

whom He drew to Himself by the means He had been pleased to make

choice.

I was specially moved to read the Holy Scriptures. When I began I was

impelled to write the passage, and instantly its explication was given

me, which I also wrote, going on with inconceivable expedition, light

being poured in upon me in such a manner, that I found I had in myself

latent treasures of wisdom and knowledge which I had not yet known of.

Before I wrote I knew not what I was going to write. And after I had

written, I remembered nothing of what I had penned; nor could I make

use of any part of it for the help of souls. The Lord gave me, at the

time I spoke to them (without any study or reflection of mine) all that

was necessary for them. Thus the Lord made me go on with an explanation

of the holy internal sense of the Scriptures. I had no other book but

the Bible, nor ever made use of any but that, and without even seeking

for any. When, in writing on the Old Testament, I made use of passages

of the New, to support what I had said, it was without seeking them,

they were given me along with the explication; and in writing on the

New Testament, therein making use of passages of the Old, they were

given me in like manner without my seeking anything. I had scarce any

time for writing but in the night, allowing only one or two hours to

sleep. The Lord made me write with so much purity, that I was obliged

to leave off or begin again, as He was pleased to order. When I wrote

by day, often suddenly interrupted, I left the word unfinished, and He

afterward gave me what He pleased. If I gave way to reflection I was

punished for it, and could not proceed. Yet sometimes I was not duly

attentive to the divine Spirit, thinking I did well to continue when I

had time, even without feeling His immediate impulse or enlightning

influence, from whence it is easy to see some places clear and

consistent, and others which have neither taste nor unction; such is

the difference of the Spirit of God from the human and natural spirit.

Although they are left just as I wrote them, yet I am ready, if

ordered, to adjust them according to my present light.

Didst thou not, O my God, turn me a hundred ways, to prove whether I

was without any reserve, through every kind of trial, or whether I had

not yet some little interest for myself? My soul became hereby readily

too pliable to every discovery of the divine will, and whatever kind of

humiliations attended me to counterbalance my Lord's favors, till

everything, high or low, was rendered alike to me.

Methinks the Lord acts with His dearest friends as the sea with its

waves. Sometimes it pushes them against the rocks where they break in

pieces, sometimes it rolls them on the sand, or dashes them on the

mire, then instantly it retakes them into the depths of its own bosom,

where they are absorbed with the same rapidity that they were first

ejected. Even among the good the far greater part are souls only of

mercy; surely that is well; but to appertain to divine justice, oh, how

rare and yet how great! Mercy is all distributive in favor of the

creature, but justice destroys everything of the creature, without

sparing anything.

The lady, who was my particular friend, began to conceive some jealousy

on the applause given me, God so permitting if for the farther

purification of her soul, through this weakness, and the pain it caused

her. Also some confessors began to be uneasy, saying that it was none

of my business to invade their province, and to meddle in the helps of

souls; that there were some of the penitents which had a great

affection for me. It was easy for me to observe the difference between

those confessors who, in their conducting of souls, seek nothing but

God, and those who seek themselves therein. The first came to see me,

and rejoiced greatly at the grace of God bestowed on their penitents,

without fixing their attention on the instrument. The others, on the

contrary, tried underhand to stir up the town against me. I saw that

they would be in the right to oppose me, if I had intruded of myself;

but I could do nothing but what the Lord made me do. At times there

came some to dispute and oppose me. Two friars came, one of them a man

of profound learning and a great preacher. They came separately, after

having studied a number of difficult things to propose to me. Though

they were matters far out of my reach, the Lord made me answer as

justly as if I had studied them all my life; after which I spoke to

them as He inspired me. They went away not only convinced and

satisfied, but affected with the love of God.

I still continued writing with a prodigious swiftness; for the hand

could scarcely follow fast enough the Spirit which dictated. Through

the whole progress of so long a work I never altered my manner nor made

use of any other book than the Bible itself. The transcriber, whatever

diligence he used, could not copy in five days what I wrote in one

night. Whatever is good in it comes from God only. Whatever is

otherwise from myself; I mean from the mixture which I have made,

without duly attending to it, of my own impurity with his pure and

chaste doctrine. In the day I had scarcely time to eat, by reason of

the vast numbers of people which came thronging to me. I wrote the

canticles in a day and a half, and received several visits besides.

Here I may add to what I have said about my writings, that a

considerable part of the book of Judges happened by some means to be

lost. Being desired to render that book complete, I wrote again the

places lost. Afterward when the people were about leaving the house,

they were found. My former and latter explications, on comparison, were

found to be perfectly conformable to each other, which greatly

surprised persons of knowledge and merit, who attested the truth of it.

There came to see me a counselor of the parliament, a servant of God,

who finding on my table a tract on prayer, which I had written long

before, desired me to lend it. Having read it and liked it much, he

lent it to some friends, to whom he thought it might be of service.

Everyone wanted copies of it. He resolved therefore to have it printed.

The impression was begun, and proper approbations given to it. They

requested me to write a preface, which I did, and thus was that little

book printed. This counselor was one of my intimate friends, and a

pattern of piety. The book has already passed through five or six

editions; and our Lord has given a very great benediction to it. Those

good friars took fifteen hundred of them. The devil became so enraged

against me on account of the conquest which God made by me, that I was

assured he was going to stir up against me a violent persecution. All

that gave me no trouble. Let him stir up against me ever so strange

persecutions. I know they will all serve to the glory of my God.

CHAPTER 17