CHAPTER XIH

I had a secret desire given me from that time to be
wholly devoted to the disposal of my God, let that be
what it would. I said, “ What couldst thou demand of
me, that I would not willingly offer thee ? Oh, spare
me not.” The cross and humiliations were represented
to my mind in the most frightful colors, — but this
deterred me not. I yielded myself up as a willing
victim, and indeed our Lord seemed to accept of my
sacrifice, for his divine providence furnished me inces¬
santly with occasions and opportunities for putting it
to the test.

I could scarce hear God or our Lord Jesus Christ
spoken of, without being almost transported out of
myself. What surprised me the most was, the great
difficulty I had to say the vocal prayers I had been used
to repeat. As soon as I opened my lips to pronounce
them, the love of God seized me so strongly, that I was
swallowed up in a profound silence, and an inexpressi¬
ble peace. I made fresh attempts, but still in vain.
I began again and again, but could not go on. And as
I had never before heard of such a state, I knew not
what to do. My inability still increased, because my
love to the Lord was still growing more strong, more
violent and more overpowering. There was made in
me, without the sound of words, a continual prayer,
which seemed to me to be the prayer of our Lord
Jesus Christ himself; a prayer of the Word, which is

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

85

made by the Spirit, that according to St. Paul, “ asketh
for us that which is good, perfect, and conformable to
the will of God.” Rom. viii. 26-27.

My domestic crosses continued. I was prevented
from seeing or even writing to Mrs. Granger. My very
going to divine service or the blessed sacrament, were
a source of woeful offences; and the only amusement I
had left me, was the visiting and attending the sick
poor, and performing the lowest offices for them.

But now my prayer-time began to be exceedingly
distressing. I compelled myself to continue at it,
though deprived of all comfort and consolation; and
yet when I was not employed therein, I felt an ardent
desire and longing for it. I suffered inexpressible
anguish in my mind, and endeavored with the severest
inflictions of corporeal austerities to mitigate and divert
it — but in vain; the dryness and barrenness still
increased; I found no more that enlivening vigor
which had hitherto carried me on with great swiftness.
My passions (which were not thoroughly mortified)
revived, and caused me new conflicts. I seemed to
myself to be like those young brides, who find a great
deal of difficulty to lay aside their self-love, and to
follow their husbands to the war. I relapsed into a
vain complacency and fondness for myself. My pro¬
pensity to pride and vanity, which seemed quite dead,
while I was so filled with the love of God, now showed
itself again, and gave me severe exercise; which made
me lament the exterior beauty of my person, and pray
to God incessantly, that he would remove from me that
obstacle, and make me ugly. I could even have wished
to be deaf, blind and dumb, that nothing might divert
me from my love of God.

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON.

I set out on a journey, which we had then to make,
and here I appeared more than ever like those lamps
which emit a new glimmering flash, when they are just
on the point of extinguishing. Alas ! how many snares
were laid in my way! I met them at every step. I
even committed infidelities through unwatcnfulness.
But, O my Lord, with what rigor didst thou punish
them ! A useless glance was checked as a sin. How
many tears did those inadvertent faults cost me which
I fell into, through a weak compliance, and even against
my will ! Thou knowest, O my Love, that thy rigor,
exercised after my slips, was not the motive of those
tears which I shed. With what pleasure would I have
suffered the most rigorous severity to have been cured
of my infidelity; and to what severe chastisement did I
not condemn myself ! Sometimes thou didst treat me
like a father who pities the child, and caresses it after
its involuntary faults. How often didst thou make
me sensible of thy love towards me, notwithstanding
my blemishes. It was the sweetness of this love after
my falls which caused my greatest pain; for the more
the amiableness of thy love was extended to me, the
more inconsolable I was for having departed ever so
little from thee. When I had let some inadvertence
escape me, I found thee ready to receive me. And I
have often cried out, “ O my Lord! is it possible thou
canst be so gracious to such an offender, and so indul¬
gent to my faults; so propitious to one who has wan¬
dered astray from thee, by vain compliances, and an
unworthy fondness for frivolous objects? And yet no
sooner do I return, than I find thee waiting, with open
arms ready to receive me.

O sinner, sinner ! hast thou any reason to complain

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

87

of God? Ah, if there yet remains in thee any justice,
confess the truth, and admit that it is owing to thyself
if thou goest wrong; that in departing from him thou
disobey est hi3 call; and that, after all this, when thou
returnest, he is ready to receive thee; and if thou
returnest not, he makes use of the most engaging
motives to win thee. Yet thou tumest a deaf ear to
his voice; thou wilt not hear him. Thou say est he
speaks not to thee, though he calls loudly. It is there¬
fore only because thou daily rebellest, and art growing
daily more and more deaf to the voice of the charmer*
O my Love, I am sure thou didst never cease to speak
to my heart, and wast always ready to succor me in
the time of need.

When I was at Paris, and the clergy saw me so
young, they appeared astonished. Those to whom I
opened my state told me, “that I could never enough
thank God for the graces conferred on me; that if I
knew them I should be amazed at them; and that if I
were not faithful, I should be the most ungrateful of
all creatures/’ Some declared that they never knew any
woman whom God held so closely, and in so great a
purity of conscience. I believe what rendered it so
was the continual care thou hadst over me, O my God,
making me feel thy intimate presence, even as thou
hast promised it to us in thy Gospel, — “ If a man love
me, my Father will love him, and we will come unto
him, and make our abode with him. John xiv. 23.
The continual experience of thy presence in me was
what preserved me. I became deeply assured of what
the prophet hath said, “Except the Lord keep the
city, the watchman waketh but in vain. Psa. cxxvii. 1.
Thou, O my Love, wast my faithful keeper, who didst

88

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

defend my heart against all sorts of enemies, prevent¬
ing the least faults, or correcting them when vivacity
had occasioned their being committed. But alas ! my
dear Love, when thou didst cease to watch for me, or
left me to myself, how weak was I, and how easily did
my enemies prevail over me ! Let others ascribe their
victory to their own fidelity. As for me, I shall never
attribute them to anything else than thy paternal care
over me. I have too often experienced, to my cost,
wbat I should be without thee, to presume in the least
on any cares of my own. It is to thee, and to thee
only, that I owe everything, O my Deliverer; and my
being indebted to thee for it gives me infinite joy.

While I was at Paris, I relaxed in my usual exer¬
cises, on account of the little time I had, and the dry¬
ness and distress which had seized my heart, the hand
which sustained me being hid, and my Beloved with¬
drawn. I did many things which I should not; for I
knew the extreme fondness which some had for me,
and suffered them to express it without checking it as
I ought. I fell into other faults too, as having my neck
a little too bare, though not near so much as others
nad. I wept bitterly because I plainly saw I was too
remiss; and that was my torment. I sought all about
for him who had secretly inflamed my heart. I in¬
quired for tidings of him. But, alas ! hardly anybody
knew him. I cried, “Oh, thou best beloved of my
soul, hadst thou been near me these disasters had not
befallen me. Tell me where thou feedest, where thou
makest thy flock to rest at noon, in the bright day of
eternity, which is not, like the day of time, subject to
night and eclipses?5’ When I say that I spoke thus to
him, it is but to explain myself. In reality, it all

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

bfl

passed almost in silence, for I could not speak. My
heart had a language which was carried on without the
sound of words, understood of its well-beloved, as he
understands the language of the Word ever eloquent,
which speaks incessantly in the innermost recesses of
the soul Oh, sacred language ! which experience only
gives the comprehension of! Let not any think it a
barren language, and effect of the mere imagination.
Far different, — it is the silent expression of the Word
in the soul. As he never ceases to speak, so he never
ceases to operate. If people once came to know the
operations of the Lord, in souls wholly resigned to his
guiding, it would fill them with reverential admiration
and awe.

As I saw that the purity of my state was like to be
sullied by too great a commerce with the creatures, I
made haste to finish what detained me at Paris, in
order to return to the country. ’Tis true, O my Lord,
I felt that thou hadst given me strength enough to
avoid the occasions of evil — but when I had so far
yielded as to get into them, I found I could not resist
the vain complaisances, and a number of other foibles
wnich they ensnared me into. The pain which I felt
after my faults was inexpressible. It was not an
anguish that arose from any distinct idea or concep¬
tion, from any particular motive or affection — but a
kind of devouring fire which ceased not, till the fault
was consumed and the soul purified by it. It was a
banishment of my soul from the presence of its Be¬
loved. its Bridegroom. I could have no access to him,
neither could I have any rest out of him. I knew not
what to do. I was like the dove out of the ark, which
finding no rest for the soul of her foot, was constrained

90

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

to return to the ark; but, finding the window shut,
could only fly about and about it. In the meantime,
through an infidelity which will ever render me culpa¬
ble, I strove to find some satisfaction without, but
could not. This served to convince me of my folly,
and of the vanity of those pleasures which are called
innocent. When I was prevailed on to taste them, I felt
a strong repulse, which, joined with my remorse for
the transgression, changed the diversion into torment
“Oh, my Father,” said I, “this is not thee; and noth¬
ing else, beside thee, can give solid pleasure.”

One day, as much through unfaithfulness as
complaisance, I went to take a walk at some of the
public parks, rather from excess of vanity to show my¬
self there, than to take the pleasure of the place. Oh,
my Lord! how didst thou make me sensible of this
fault? But far from punishing me in letting me par¬
take of the amusement, thou didst it in holding me so
close to thyself, that I could give no attention to any¬
thing but my fault and thy displeasure. After this I
was invited with some other ladies to an entertainment
at St. Cloud. Through vanity and weak compliance,
I yielded and went. The affair was magnificent; they,
though wise in the eye of the world, could relish it:
but I was filled with bitterness. I could eat nothing,
I could enjoy nothing, — my disquiet appeared on my
countenance. Oh, what tears did it cost me! For
above three months my Beloved withdrew his favoring
presence, and I could see nothing but an angry God.

I was on this occasion, and in another journey
which I took with my husband into Touraine, like
those animals destined for slaughter, which on certain
days they adorn with greens and flowers, and bring in

THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON.

91

pomp into the city, before they kill them. This weak
beauty, on the eve of its decline, shone forth with new
brightness, in order to become the sooner extinct. I
was shortly after sorely afflicted with the small-pox.

One day as I walked to Church, followed by a foot¬
man — in crossing a bridge I was met by a poor man;
I went to give him alms; he thanked me but refused
them, and then spoke to me in a wonderful manner of
God and of divine things; he displayed to me my
whole heart — my love to God; my charity, my too
great fondness for my beauty, and all my faults; he
told me ’twas not enough to avoid hell, but that the
Lord required of me the utmost purity and height of
perfection. My heart assented to his reproofs — I heard
him with silence and respect — his words penetrated
my very soul. When I arrived at the Church I fainted
away; but have never seen the man since.

92

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.