He had of displeasing him. She set all her wits to work, to follow, as far as her natural mediocrity permitted her, the tastes and ideas of this great man. a genius for government; and she had it also in miniature. She took upon herself the business of the community with which she lived, and at the same time transacted that of her own family. She waited in this manner fifteen years before she was allowed to become a nun. She at last obtained this favour, and had herself called the Sister of Saint-Bénigne, thus assuming, rather boldly perhaps, Bossuet's own name. These real cares, in which the prudent director kept her a long time, had an excellent effect upon her, in diverting and pruning her imagination. She was of an impassioned, honest, but rather ordinary disposition; and, unfortunately for her, she had enough good sense to confess to herself what she was. She knows, and she tells herself, that she is only a commoner of the lower order; that she has neither birth, wit, grace, nor connexion; that she has not even seen Versailles! What chance would she have of gaining his favour in a struggle against the other spiritual daughters, those fine ladies, ever brilliant even in their penitence and voluntary abasement? It seems that she had hoped at first to have her in some other way, and to rise above these worldly ladies by the path of mysticism. She took it into her head one day to have visions: she wrote one, of a very paltry imagination, which Bossuet did not revenge encourage. What could she do? Nature had de nied her wings; she saw plainly that most certainly she would not be able to fly. At any rate, she had no pride; she did not try to conceal the sad condition of her heart; and this humiliating confession escapes her: "I am bursting with jealousy." What affects us the most is, that after having made the confession, this poor creature, so very gentle, and so very good, sacrificed her own feelings, and became nurse to her who was the object of her jealousy, and then attacked by a dreadful malady. She accompanied her to Paris, shut herself up with her, took care of her, and at last loved her; for the very reason, perhaps, which just before had produced quite the contrary effect-because she was loved by Bossuet. Sister Cornuau is evidently mistaken in her jealousy; she herself is the person preferred; we see it now by comparing the different correspondence. For her are reserved all his paternal indulgence; for her alone he seems at times to be affected, as much as his ordinary gravity permits. This man, so occupied, finds time to write her nearly two hundred letters; and he is certainly much more firm and austere with the fine lady of whom she is jealous. He becomes short and almost harsh towards. the latter, when the business is to answer the rather difficult confidential questions which she perseveres in putting to him. He postpones his answer to an indefinite. period ("to my entire leisure"); and till that time, he forbids her to write upon such subjects, otherwise "he will burn her letters without even reading them (24th November, 1691)." He says, somewhere else, very nobly concerning these delicate things which may trouble the imagination, "that it was necessary, when one was obliged to speak of, and listen to sufferings of this sort, to be standing with only the point of the foot upon the earth.” This perfect honesty, which would never understand any thing in a bad sense, makes him sometimes forget the existence of evil more than he ought, and renders him rather incautious. Confident also in his age, then very mature, he occasionally allows himself outbursts of mystic love, that were indiscreet before so impassioned a witness as Sister Cornuau. presence of this simple, submissive, and in every respect inferior person, he considers himself to be alone; and giving free course to the vivacious instinct of poetry that animated him even in his old days, he does not hesitate to make use of the mysterious language of the Song of Solomon. Sometimes it is in order to calm his penitent, and strengthen her chastity, that he employs this ardent language. I dare not copy the letter (innocent*, certainly, but so very imprudent) In * Others have given themselves the cheap pleasure to refute all that I have not said, and to prove that Bossuet is an honest man, &c.—Well! who said the contrary? - at the same time, as they do not well know what Quietism is (any more than which he writes from his country house at Germigny (July 10. 1692), and in which he explains the meaning of the Bride's words, "Support me with flowers, Grace and Free-will), in order to justify Bossuet for his Quietism, they quote an eminently Quietist text, " Make no effort, either of head, or even of heart, to unite yourself to your Bridegroom" (October 26. 1694). What I have said, and what I repeat, is, that the most loyal director in the world is still very dangerous, that his language, dictated doubtless by a pure intention, is not less likely to trouble the flesh. Even when he blames and forbids, he does so precisely in the very terms that are the most likely to awaken what he forbids; at such times, I do not like to look upon a great man, an old man, one who has a claim to our respect for other reasons. If, however, they absolutely want proofs, let them read (January 17. 1692), "When the tender wound of love," &c.- (June 4. 1695), "Dare every thing with the celestial Bridegroomseize hold of him-I permit you the most violent transports."(July 3. 1695) "Jesus wishes you to be with him; he wishes to enjoy, and that you may enjoy with him : his holy flesh is the means of this union and this chaste enjoyment," &c.—(May 14. 1695) "It is in the holy sacrament that we enjoy virginally the body of the Bridegroom, and that he appropriates ours," &c. (June 1. 1696), "Embrace, at liberty, this dear little brother, who, every day, longs to be united to you," &c. If you want any thing more personal, see the really weak manner in which he repels the tender advances of that noble nun whose sensual confidences he had declined: “Indeed I would not excite these tendernesses of the heart in a direct manner; but when they come of themselves, or in consequence of other reasons, &c., I am not insensible, thank God, to a certain correspondence of sentiments, or of tastes. But, though I feel strongly these correspondences," &c. "All you feel concerning me is, in truth, nothing to me in that matter, and you must not fear to reveal it to me," &c. It seems that the illustrious penitent was frightened at his sentiments, and wished to take a less because I languish for love." This potion, which is to cure passion by a stronger one, is marvellously calculated to double the evil. What surprises us much more than this imprudence is, that we find frequently in the intimate correspondence of this great adversary of Quietism, the greater part of the sentiments and practical maxims for which the Quietists were reproached. He takes pleasure in developing their favourite text, Expectans, expectavi. "The Bride ought not to hurry; she must wait in expectation of what the Bridegroom will do; if, during the expectation, he caresses the soul, and inclines it to caress him, she must yield her heart. The means of the union is the union itself. All the correspondence of the Bride consists in letting the Bridegroom act.” "Jesus is admirable in the chaste embraces with which he honours his Bride and makes her fruitful; all the virtues are the fruits of his chaste embraces " (February 28. 1693)." A change of life must follow; but without the soul even thinking of changing itself." This thoroughly Quietist letter is dated May 30. (1696); and eight days after *- sad inconsistency beloved director: "I forbid you to adhere to the temptation of quitting, or to believe that I am either fatigued or wearied by your conduct."-(Dec. 1691). * Bossuet's Works, vol. xi. p. 380., and vol. xii. p. 53. (ed. 1836.) |