CHAPTER XVE

A poor girl of very great simplicity, who earned her
livelihood by her labor, and was inwardly favored of
the Lord, came all sorrowful to me, and said, “ Oh my
mother, what strange things have I seen ! ” I asked
what they were, “ Alas said she, I have seen you like a
lamb in the midst of a vast troop of furious wolves. I
have seen a frightful multitude of people of all ranks
and robes, of all ages, sexes and conditions, priests,
friars, married men, maids and wives, with pikes, hal¬
berts and drawn swords, all eager for your instant
destruction. You let them alone without stirring, or
being surprised and without offering any way to defend
yourself. I looked on all sides to see whether anyone
would come to assist and defend you; but I saw not
one.” Some days after, those, who through envy were
raising private batteries against me, broke forth.
Libels began to spread. Envious people wrote against
me, without knowing me. They said, “I was a sorcer¬
ess, that it was by a magic power I attracted souls>
that everything in me was diabolical; that if I did some
charities, it was because I coined, and put off false
money,” with many other gross accusations, equally
false, groundless and absurd.

As the tempest increased every day, some of my
friends advised me to withdraw, but before I mention
my leaving Grenoble, I must say something farther of
my state while here.

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It seemed to me that all our Lord made me do for
souls, would he in union with Jesus Christ. In this
divine union my words had wonderful effect, even the
formation of Jesus Christ in the souls of others. I was
in no wise able of myself to say the things I said. He
who conducted me made me say what he pleased, and
as long as he pleased. To some I was not permitted to
speak a word; and to others there flowed forth as it
were a deluge of grace, and yet this pure love admitted
not of any superfluity, or a means of empty amuse¬
ment. When questions were asked, to which an answer
were useless, it was not given me. It was the same in
regard to such as our Lord was pleased to conduct
through death to themselves, and who came to seek for
human consolation. I had nothing for them but what
was purely necessary, and could proceed no farther. I
could at least only speak of indifferent things, in such
liberty as God allows, in order to suit everyone, and
not to be unsociable or disagreeable to any; but for
his own word, he himself is the dispenser of it. Oh, if
preachers were duly careful to speak only in that spirit,
what fruits would they bring forth in the lives of their
hearers. With my true children I could communicate
best in silence, in the spiritual language of the divine
Word. I had the* consolation some time before to hear
one read in St. Augustine a conversation he had with
his mother. He complains of the necessity of return¬
ing from that heavenly language to words, by reason of
our weakness. I sometimes said, “ Oh, my Love, give
me hearts large enough to receive and contain the full¬
ness bestowed on me.”

After this manner, when the Holy Virgin approached
Elizabeth, a wonderful commerce was maintained

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between Jesus Christ and St. John the Baptist, who
after this manifested no eagerness to come to see
Christ, but was drawn to retire into the desert, to
receive the like communications with the greatest
plenitude. When he came forth to preach repentance*
he said, not that he was the Word, but only a Voice
which was sent to make way, or open a passage into
the hearts of the people for Christ the Word. He bap¬
tised only with water, for that was his function; for, as
the water in running off leaves nothing, so does the
Voice when it is past But the Word baptised with the
Holy Ghost, because he imprinted himself on souls,
and communicated with them by that Holy Spirit. It
is not observed that Jesus Christ said anything during
the whole obscure part of his life, though it is true that
not any of his words shall be lost. Oh Love, if all thou
hast said and operated in silence were to be written, I
think the whole world could not contain the books that
should be written. John xxi. 25.

All that I experienced was shown me in the Holy
Scripture; and I saw with admiration that there passed
nothing within my soul which was not in Jesus Christ
and in the Holy Scriptures. I must pass over very
many things in silence, because they cannot be
expressed; and if they were expressed could not be
understood or comprehended.

I often felt much for Father La Combe, who was
not yet fixed in his state of interior death, but often
rose and fell into alternatives. I was made sensible
that he was a vessel of election, whom God had chosen
to carry his name among the Gentiles, and that he
would show him how much he must suffer for that
name. O God ! who can ever be able to comprehend

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the pure and holy union which thou formest between
thy children ? A carnal world judges carnally of them,
and imputes to human attachment what is from the
purest grace. If this union by any deviation be broken,
the more pure and perfect it is, the more painfully will
it be felt; the separation of the soul from God by sin
being worse than that from the body by death. For
myself I may say I had a continual dependence on
God, in every state; my soul was ever willing to obey
every motion of his Spirit. I thought there could not
be anything in the world which he could require from
me, to which I would not give myself up readily and
with pleasure. I had no interest at all for myself.
When God requires anything from this wretched noth¬
ing, I find no resistance left in me to do his will, how
rigorous soever it may appear. O my Love, if there is
a heart in the world of which thou art the sole and
absolute master, mine seems to be one of that sort.
Thy will, however rigorous, is its life and its pleasure;
for it no more subsists but in thee alone.

To resume the thread of my story, the Bishop of
Grenoble’s Almoner persuaded me to go for some time
to Marseilles, to let the storm pass over; telling me that
I would be well received there, it being his native soil,
and that many people of merit were there. I wrote to
Father La Combe for his consent hereto. He readily
gave it. I might have gone to Yerceil; for the Bishop
of Yerceil had written me very obliging letters,
earnestly pressing me to come thither. But a human
respect, and fear of affording a handle to my enemies,
gave me an extreme aversion thereto.

Beside the above, the Marchioness of Prunai, who,
since my departure from her, had been more enlight-

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ened by her own experience, having met with a part of
the things which I thought would befall her, had con¬
ceived for me a very strong friendship and intimate
union of spirit, in such a manner that no two sisters
could be more united than we were. She was extreme¬
ly desirous that I would return to her, as I had form¬
erly promised her. But I could not resolve upon this,
lest it should be thought that I was gone after Father
La Combe. But, O my God, how was this relic of self-
love overturned by the secret ways of thy adorable
Providence ! I had yet that exterior support of having
it in my power to say, that I had never gone after him.
There had been no room given to anybody to accuse
me of any indirect attachment to him; for when it
depended on myself not to continue with him, I did
not do it The Bishop of Geneva had not failed to
write against me to Grenoble, as he had done to other
places. His nephew had gone from house to house to
cry me down. All this was indifferent to me; and I
did not cease to do to his diocese all the good in my
power. I even wrote to him in a respectful manner;
but his heart was too much closed to yield to any¬
thing.

Before I left Grenoble, that good girl I have spoken
of came to me weeping, and told me, “ I was going, and
that I hid it from her, because I would have nobody
know it; but that the devil would be before me in all
the places I should go to; that I was going to a town,
where I would scarce be arrived, before he would stir
up the whole town against me, and would do me all
the harm he possibly could.” What had obliged me
to conceal my departure, was my fear of being loaded
with visits, and testimonies of friendship from a num-

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ber of good persons, who had a very great affection for
me.

I embarked then upon the Rhone, with my cham¬
ber-maid and a young woman of Grenoble, whom the
Lord had highly favored through my means. The
Bishop of Grenoble’s Almoner also accompanied me,
with another very worthy ecclesiastic. We met with
many alarming accidents and wonderful preservations;
but those instant dangers, which affrighted others, far
from alarming me, augmented my peace. The Bishop
of Grenoble’s Almoner was much astonished. He was
in a desperate fright, when the boat struck against a
rock, and opened at the stroke; and in his emotion
looking attentively at me, he observed that I did not
change my countenance, or move my eye-brows,
retaining all my tranquillity. I did not so much as
feel the first emotions of surprise, which are natural to
everybody on those occasions, as they depend not on
ourselves. What caused my peace in such dangers as
terrify others, was my resignation to God, and because
death is much more agreeable to me than life, if such
were his will, to which I desire to be ever patiently
submissive.

As I was going off from Grenoble, a man of quality,
a servant of God, and one of my intimate friends, had
given me a letter for a knight of Malta, who was very
devout, and whom I have esteemed since I have known
him, as a man whom our Lord designed to serve the
order of Malta greatly, and to be its ornament and
support by his holy life. I had told him that I thought
he should go thither, and that God would assuredly
make use of him to diffuse a spirit of piety into many
of the knights. He has actually gone to Malta, where

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299

the first places were soon given him. This man of
quality sent him the little book of prayer written by
me, and printed at Grenoble. He had a chaplain very
averse to the spiritual path. He took this book, and
condemning it at once, went to stir up a part of the
town, and among the rest a set of men who call them¬
selves the seventy-two disciples of St. Cyran. I
arrived at Marseilles at ten o’clock in the morning, and
that very afternoon all was in a noise against me.
Some went to speak to the bishop, telling him that, on
account of that little book, it was necessary to banish
me from that city. They gave him the book, which he
examined with one of his prebends. He liked it well.
He sent for Monsieur Malaval and a father Recollect,
who he knew had come to see me a little after my arri¬
val, to enquire of them from whence that great tumult
had its rise, which indeed had no other effect on me
than to make me smile, seeing so soon accomplished
what that young woman had foretold me. Monsieur
Malaval and that good father told the bishop what they
thought of me; after which he testified much uneasi¬
ness at the insult given me. I was obliged to go to see
him. He received me with extraordinary respect, and
begged my excuse for what had happened; desired me
to stay at Marseilles, and assured me that he would
protect me. He even asked where I lodged, that he
might come to see me.

Next day the Bishop of Grenoble’s Almoner went
to see him, with that other priest who had come with
us. The Bishop of Marseilles again testified to them
his sorrow for the insults given me without any cause;
and told them, that it was usual with those persons to
insult all such as were not of their cabal, that they had

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even insulted himself. They were not content with
that. They wrote to me the most offensive letters pos¬
sible, though at the same time they did not know me.
I apprehended that our Lord was beginning in earnest
to take from me everyplace of abode; and those words
were renewed in my mind, “ The foxes have holes, and
the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man hath
not where to lay his head.”

In the short time of my stay at Marseilles, I was
instrumental in supporting some good souls, and among
others an ecclesiastic, who till then was unacquainted
with me. After having finished his thanksgiving in the
Church, seeing me go out, he followed me into the
house in which I lodged. Then he told me, “ the Lord
had inspired him to address me, and to open his inward
state to me.” He did it with as much simplicity as
humility, and the Lord gave him through me all that
was necessary for him, from whence he was filled with
joy, and thankful acknowledgments to God. Although
there were many spiritual persons there, and even of
his intimate friends, he never had been moved to open
his mind to any of them. He was a servant of God,
and favored by him with a singular gift of prayer.
During the eight days I was at Marseilles, I saw many
good souls there; for, through all my persecutions, our
Lord always struck some good stroke of his own right
hand, and that good ecclesiastic was delivered from an
anxiety of mind, which had much afflicted him for some
years past.

After I had left Grenoble, those who hated me,
without knowing me, spread libels against me. A
woman for whom I had a great love, and whom I had
even extricated from an engagement which she had

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301

continued in for several years, and contributed to her
discarding the person to whom she had been attached,
suffered her mind to resume its fondness for that per¬
nicious engagement, and became violently enraged
against me for having broken it off. Although I had
freely been at some expense to procure her freedom
from it, still she went to the Bishop of Grenoble, to
tell him that I had counselled her to do an act of
injustice. She then went from confessor to confessor >
repeating the same story, to animate them against me.
As they were too susceptible of the prejudices infused,
the fire was soon kindled in all quarters. There were
none but those who knew me, and who loved God, that
took my part. They became more closely united to
me in sympathy through my persecution. It would
have been very easy for me to destroy the calumny, as
well with the Bishop of Grenoble as in town. I needed
only to tell who the person was, and show the fruits of
her disorder; but as I could not declare the guilty per¬
son, without making known at the same time the other
who had been her accomplice, who now, being touched
of God, was very penitent, I thought it best for me to
suffer and be silent. There was a very pious man who
knew all her history, from the beginning to the end of
it, who wrote to her, that if she did not retract her lies,
he would publish the account of her wicked life, to
make known both her gross iniquity and my innocence.
She continued some time in her malice, writing that I
was a sorceress, with many other falsehoods. Never¬
theless, some time after she had such a cruel remorse
of conscience on this account, that she wrote both to
the bishop and others to retract what she had said.
She induced one to write to me, to inform me that she

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was in despair for what she had done; that God had
punished her in such a manner, that she had never felt
anything like it. After these recantations the outcry
abated, the bishop was disabused, and since that time
he has testified a great regal’d for me. This creature
had, among other things, said that I caused myself to
be worshipped; and other unparalleled follies. As she
had formerly been insane, I think in what she did to
me there was more of weakness than of malice.

From Marseilles I knew not how or whither I should
turn next I saw no likelihood either of staying or of
returning to Grenoble, where I had left my daughter
in a convent. On the other side, Father La Combe had
written to me that he did not think I ought to go to
Paris. I even felt a strong repugnance to the idea of
going thither, which made me think it was not yet the
time for it One morning I felt myself inwardly pressed
to go somewhere. I took a fitter to go to see the Mar¬
chioness of Prunai, which was, I thought, the most
honorable refuge for me in my present condition. I
thought I might pass through Nice on my way to her
habitation, as some had assured me I might. But
when I arrived at Nice, I was greatly surprised to learn
that the fitter could not pass the mountain to go
thither. I knew not what to do, nor which way to
turn, being here alone, forsaken of everybody, and not
knowing what God required of me. My confusion and
crosses seemed daily to increase. I saw myself, without
refuge or retreat, wandering as a vagabond. All the
tradesmen, whom I saw in their shops, appeared to me
happy, in having a dwelling-place of their own to retire
to. Nothing in the world seemed harder than this
wandering fife to me, who naturally loved propriety

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303

and decorum. As I was in this uncertainty, not know¬
ing what course to take, one came to tell me that next
day a sloop would set off, which used to go in one day
to Genoa; and that if I chose it, they would land me
at Savona, from whence I might get myself carried to
the Marchioness of Prunai’s house. To that I con¬
sented, as I could not be supplied with any other way
of getting thither.

I had some joy at embarking on the sea. I said in
myself, “ If I am the dregs of the earth, the scorn and
offscouring of nature, I am now going to embark on the
element which above all others is the most treacherous;
if it be the Lord’s pleasure to plunge me in the waves,
it shall be mine to perish in them.” There came a
tempest in a place pretty dangerous for a small boat;
and the mariners were some of the wickedest. The
irritation of the waves gave a satisfaction to my mind.
I pleased myself in thinking that those mutinous bil¬
lows might probably supply me with a grave. Perhaps
I carried the point too far in the pleasure I took, at
seeing myself beaten and bandied by the swelling
waters. Those who were with me, took notice of my
intrepidity, but knew not the cause of it. I asked of
thee, my Love, some little hole of a rock to be placed
in, there to live separate from all creatures. I figured
to myself, that some uninhabited island would have
terminated all my disgraces, and put me in a condition
of infallibly doing thy will. But, O my divine Love,
thou designedst me a prison far different from that of
the rock, and quite another banishment than that of
the uninhabited island. Thou reserves! me to be bat¬
tered by billows, more irritated than those of the sea.
Calumnies proved to be the unrelenting waves, to

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which I was to be exposed, in order to be lashed and
tossed by them without mercy. By the tempest swell¬
ing against us we were kept back, and instead of a
short day’s passage to Genoa, we were eleven days in
making it How peaceable was my heart in so violent
an agitation! The swelling of the sea, and the fury of
its waves were as I thought, only a figure of that swell¬
ing fury which all the creatures had against me. I
said to thee, O my Love, “Arm them all to avenge thy¬
self on me for my infidelities, and for those of all the
creatures.” I saw thy right hand armed against me;
and I loved more than my life the strokes it gave me.
We could not land at Savona. We were obliged to go
on to Genoa. We arrived there in the beginning of
the week before Easter.

While I was there I was obliged to bear the insults
of the inhabitants, caused by the resentment they had
against the French, for the havoc of a late bombard¬
ment. The Doge was newly gone out of the city, and
had earned off with him all the litters. Wherefore I
could not get one, and was obliged to stay several days
at excessive expenses; for the people there demanded
of us exorbitant sums, and as much for every single
person as they would have asked for a company at the
best eating-house in Paris. I had little money left, but
my store in Providence could not be exhausted. I
begged with the greatest earnestness for a litter at any
price, to pass the feast of Easter at the Marchioness of
Prunai’s house. It was then within three days of
Easter; and I could scarce any way get myself to be
understood. By the force of entreaty, they brought
me at length a sorry litter with lame mules, and told
me that they would take me readily to Verceil, wrhich

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305

was only two days journey, but demanded an enormous
sum for it; they would not engage to take me to the
Marchioness of Prunai’s house, as they knew not where
her estate lay. This was to me a strong mortification;
for I was very unwilling to go to Verceil; nevertheless
the proximity of Easter; and want of money, in a coun¬
try where they used every kind of extortion and
tyranny, left me no choice, I was under an absolute
necessity of submitting to be thus conveyed to Ver-
ceih

Thus Providence led me whither I would not Our
muleteer was one of the most brutal men to be met
with; and for an increase of my affliction, I had sent
away to Verceil the ecclesiastic who accompanied us,
to prevent their surprise at seeing me there, after I had
protested against going thither. That ecclesiastic was
very coarsely treated on the road, through the hatred
they bore to the French; and they made him go part
of the way on foot, so that, though he set off the day
before me, he arrived there only a few hours sooner
than I did. And as for the fellow who conducted us,
seeing he had only women under his care, he used us
in the most insolent and boorish manner.

We passed through a wood infested with robbers.
The muleteer was afraid, and told us, that, if we met
any of them on the road, we should be murdered;
for they sp sired nobody. Scarcely had he uttered these
words, when there appeared four men well armed.
They immediately stopped the litter. The man was
exceedingly frightened. I made a light bow of my head,
with a smile, for I had no fear, and was so entirely
resigned to Providenc3, that it was all one to die this
way or any other; in the sea, or by the hands of rob-

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bers. But, O my God, bow wonderful at this, as at
many other times, was thy protection over me ! How
many perils have I passed through upon mountains,
and on the very edges of tremendous steep rocks!
How often hast thou checked the foot of the mule
already slipping over the precipice ! How often have I
been like to be thrown headlong from those frightful
heights, into hideous torrents which, though rolling in
chasms far below our shrinking sight, forced us to hear
them by their horrible noise. When the dangers were
most manifest, then was my faith the strongest, as well
as my intrepidity, being unable to wish for anything
else than what should fall out, whether to be dashed
against the rocks, drowned, or lolled in any other way;
everything in the will of God being equal to me. The
people who used to convey or attend me said, “ they
had never seen a courage like mine;” for the most
alarming dangers, and the time when death appeared
the most certain, were those which seemed to please
me the most. Was it not thy pleasure, O my God,
which guarded me in every imminent danger, and held
me back from rolling down the precipice, on the instant
of sliding over its dizzy brow ? The more easy I was
about life, which I bore only because thou wast pleased
to bear it, the more care thou tookest to preserve it.
There seemed a mutual emulation between us, on my
part to resign it, and on thine to maintain it. The rob¬
bers then advanced to the litteV; but I had no sooner
saluted them, than God made them change their design.
Having pushed off one another, as it were, to hinder
each of them from doing any harm; they respectfully
saluted me, and, with an air of compassion, unusual to
such sorts of persons, retired. I was immediately

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struck to the heart, O my Love, with a full and clear
conviction that it was a stroke of thy right hand, who
had other designs over me than to suffer me to die by
the hand of robbers. It is thy sovereign power which
takes away their all from thy devoted lovers; and
destroys their lives with all that is of self without pity
or sparing anything.

The muleteer, seeing me attended only with two
young women, thought he might treat me as he would,
perhaps expecting to draw money from me. Instead
of taking me to the inn, he brought me to a mill, in
which there was not one woman. There was but one
single chamber with several beds in it, in which the
millers and muleteers lay together. In that chamber
they forced me to stay. I told the muleteer I was not
a person to he in such a place as he had brought me
to; and wanted to oblige him to take me to the inn;
but nothing of it would he do. I was constrained to
go out on foot, at ten o’clock at night, carrying a part
of my clothes, and to go a good way more than a quar¬
ter of a league in the dark, in a strange place, not
knowing the way, crossing one end of the wood infested
with robbers, to endeavor to get to the inn. That fel¬
low, seeing us go off from the place where he had
wanted to make me lodge, with a bad design hooted
after us in a very abusive manner. I bore my humilia¬
tion cheerfully, but not without feeling it. But the
will of God and my resignation to it rendered every¬
thing easy to me. We were well received at the inn;
and the good people there did the best in their power
for our recovery from the fatigue we had undergone.
They assured us the place we had left was very dan¬
gerous. Next morning we were obliged to return on

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foot to the litter, for that man would not bring it to us.
On the contrary, he fell on us with a shower of fresh
insults. And to consummate his base behavior, he
sold me to the post, whereby I was forced to go the
rest of the way in a post-chaise instead of a litter.

In this equipage I arrived at Alexandria, a frontier
town, subject to Spain, on the side of the Milanese.
Our driver took us, according to their custom, to the
post-house. I was exceedingly astonished when I saw
the landlady coming out not to receive him, but to
oppose his entrance. She had heard there were
women in the chaise, and taking us for a different sort
of women from what we were, she protested against
our coming in. On the other hand, the driver was
determined to force his entrance in spite of her. Their
dispute rose to such a height, that a great number of
the officers of the garrison, with a vast mob, gathered
at the noise, who were surprised at the odd humor of
the woman in refusing to lodge us. With earnestness
I entreated the post to take us to some other house,
but he would not; so obstinately was he bent on carry¬
ing his point. He assured the landlady we were per¬
sons of honor and piety too; the marks whereof he had
seen. At last, by force of pressing entreaties, he obliged
her to come to see us. As soon as she had looked at
us, she acted as the robbers had done; she relented at
once and admitted us.

No sooner had I alighted from the chaise, than she
said to us, “ Go shut yourselves up in that chamber
hnrd by, and do not stir, that my son may not know
ymi are here; for as soon as he knows it he will kill
you.” She said it with so much force, as did also the
servant maid, that, if death had not so many charms

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for me, I should have been ready to die with fear.
The two poor girls with me were under frightful appre¬
hensions. When any stirred, or came to open the door,
they thought they were coming to kill them. In short
they continued in a dreadful suspense, between life
and death, till next day, when we learned that the
young man had sworn to kill any woman who lodged
at the house; because a few days before, an event had
fallen out, which had like to have ruined him; a woman
of a bad life having there privately murdered a man in
some esteem, that had cost the house a heavy fine; and
he was afraid of any more such persons coming, and
not without reason.

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