CHAPTER XXIX.

Whilst providence, on the one hand, appointed my
forsaking all things, it seemed on the other to make my
chains the stronger, and my separation the more blame-
able; for none could receive stronger marks of affecion
from an own mother than those which I received at
this time from my mother-in-law; even the least sick¬
ness which befell me made her very uneasy. She said,
“she had veneration for my virtue.” I believe what
contributed not a little to this change was, that she had
heard that three persons had offered suit to me, and
that I had refused them, although their fortune and
quality were quite superior to mine. She remembered
how she had upbraided me on this head, and I
answered her not a word, whereby she might under¬
stand that it depended on myself to marry to advan¬
tage. She began to fear lest such rigorous treatment,
as hers had been towards me, might excite me to
deliver myself by such means, with honor, from her
tyranny, and was sensible what damage that might be
to my children. So she was now very tender to me on
every occasion.

I fell extremely ill. I thought that God had accept¬
ed of my willingness to sacrifice all to him, and required
that of my life. During this illness, my mother-in-law
went not from my bedside; her many tears proved the
sincerity of her affection. I was very much affected at
it, and thought I loved her as my true mother. How,

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then, should I leave her now, being so far advanced in
age? The maid, who till then had been my plague,
took an inconceivable friendship for me. She praised
me everywhere, extolling my virtue to the highest; and
served me with extraordinary respect. She begged
pardon for all that she had made me suffer, and died
of grief after my departure.

There was a priest of merit, a spiritual man, who
had fallen in with a temptation of taking upon him
employment which I was sensible God did not call
him to; and therefore, fearing it might be a snare to
him, I advised him against it. He promised me he
would not do it, and yet accepted it. He then avoided
me, joined secretly in calumniating me, gradually fell
away from grace, and died soon after.

There was a nun in a monastery I often went to,
who was entered into a state of purification, which
everyone in the house looked on as distraction; and
therefore they locked her up, which had like to have
destroyed her. All that went to see her called it
phrenzy or melancholly. I knew her to be devout
I requested to see her. As soon as I approached, ]
felt an impression that she sought purity. I desired
of the Superior that she should not be locked up, noi
should people be admitted to see her, but that she
would confide her to my care; for I hoped things
would change. I discovered that her greatest pain
was at being counted a fool I advised her to bear the
state of foolishness, since Jesus Christ had been willing
to bear it before Herod. This sacrifice gave her a
calmness at once. But as God was willing to purify
her soul, he separated her from all those things for
which she had before the greatest attachment. At last,

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185

after she had patiently undergone her sufferings, her
Superior wrote to me “that I was in the right, and
that she had now come out of that state of dejection,
in greater purity than ever.” The Lord gave to me
alone at that time to know her state. This was the
commencement of the gift of discerning spirits, which
I afterwards received more fully.

The winter before I left home was one of the long¬
est and hardest that had been for several years, viz.,
that of 1680. It was followed with extreme scarcity,
which proved to me an occasion of exercising charity.
My mother-in-law joined me heartily herein, and
appeared to me so much changed, that I could not but
be both surprised, and overjoyed at it. We distributed
at the house ninety-six dozen loaves of bread every
week, but the private charities to the bashful poor
were much greater. I kept poor boys and girls
employed at work. And the Lord gave such blessings
to my alms, that I did not find that my family lost
anything by it. Before the death of my husband, my
mother-in-law told him, that I would min him with my
charities, though he himself was so charitable, that in
a very dear year, while he was young, he distributed a
considerable sum; but now she repeated this to him so
often, that he commanded me to set down in writing
all the money I laid out, both what I gave for the
expense of the house, and all that I caused to be
bought, that from thence he might better judge of
what I gave to the poor. This new obligation, which I
was brought under, appeared to me so much the
harder, as for above eleven years we had been married
I never before had this required of me. What troubled
me most was the fear of having nothing to give to such

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as wanted. However, I submitted to it, without
retrenching any part of my charities. I did not indeed
set down any of my alms, and yet my account of
expenses was found to answer exactly. I was much
surprised and astonished at it, and esteemed it one of
the wonders of Providence, for I saw plainly it was
simply given out of thy treasury, 0 my Lord, that
made me more liberal of what I thought was the
Lord’s, and not mine. Oh, if we but knew how far
charity, instead of wasting or lessening the substance
of the donor, blessed, increased and multiplied it pro¬
fusely; how much is there in the world of useless dissi¬
pation, which, if properly applied, might amply serve
for the subsistence of the poor, and would abundantly
be restored, and amply rewarded to the families of
those who gave it.

In the time of my greatest trials, some years after
my husband’s death (for they begun three years before
my widowhood, and lasted four years after) my foot¬
man came one day to tell me, for I was then in the
country, that there was in the road a poor soldier
dying. I had him brought in, and ordering a separate
place to be made ready for him, I kept him above a
fortnight His malady was a flux, which he had taken
in the army. It was so nauseous, that though the
domestics were charitably inclined, nobody could bear
to come near him. I went myself to take away his
vessels. But I never did anything of the kind which
was so hard to me. When I emptied them, there was
such an intolerable stench, that I was ready to faint.
I frequently made efforts for a full quarter of an hour
at a time. It seemed as if my very heart was going to
come up; yet I never desisted from doing it. I some-

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187

times kept poor people at my house to dress their most
putrid sores; but never met with anything so terrible
as this. So the poor man, after I had made him
receive the sacrament, died.

What gave me now no small concern was the tender¬
ness I had for my children, especially my younger son,
whom I had strong reasons for loving. I saw him
inclined to be good; and everything seemed to favor
the hopes I had conceived of him. I thought it run¬
ning a great risk to leave him to another’s education.
My daughter I designed to take with me, though she
was at this time ill of a very tedious fever. Providence
was pleased, however, so to order it that she speedily
recovered. The ties, with which the Lord held me
closely united to himself, were infinitely stronger than
those of flesh and blood. The laws of my sacred mar¬
riage obliged me to give up all, to follow my spouse
whithersoever it was his pleasure to call me after him.
Though I often hesitated, and doubted much before I
went, I never doubted after my going off, of its being
his will; and though men, who judge of things only
according to the success they seem to have, have taken
occasion from my disgraces and sufferings, to judge of
my calling, and to run it down as error, illusion and
imagination; it is that very persecution, and the multi¬
tude of strange crosses it has drawn upon me, (of
which this imprisonment I now suffer is one,) which
have confirmed me in the certainty of its truth and
validity; nay, I am more than ever convinced that the
resignation which I have made of everything is in pure
obedience to the divine will. The gospel effectually in
this point shows itself to be true, which has promised
to those that shall leave all for the love of the Lord,
6

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THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

“ an hundred fold in this life, and persecutions also.’*
And have not I infinitely more than an hundred fold,
in so entire a possession as thou, my Lord, hast taken
of me; in that unshaken firmness which thou givest me
in my sufferings, in a perfect tranquillity in the midst
of a furious tempest, which assaults me on every side;
in an unspeakable joy, enlargedness and liberty which
I enjoy in a most straight and rigorous captivity. J
have no desire that my imprisonment should end
before the right time. I love my chains. Everything
is equal to me, as I have no will of my own, but purely
the love and will of him who possesses me. My senses
indeed have not any relish for such things, but my
heart is separated from them, and borne over them;
and my perseverance is not of myself, but of him who
is my life; so that I can say with the apostle, “It is no
more I that live, but Jesus Christ that liveth in me. It
is he in whom I five, move, and have my being.”

To return to the subject, from which I often wander
without reflection. I say then that I was not so reluc¬
tant to go with the New Catholics, as I was to engage
with them, not finding a sufficient attraction, though I
sought for it. I longed indeed to contribute to the
conversion of wandering souls, and God made use of
me to convert several families before my departure,
one of which was composed of eleven or twelve per¬
sons. Besides, Father La Combe had written to me,
to make use of this opportunity for setting off, but did
not tell me whether I ought to engage with them or
not. Thus it was the Providence of my God alone,
which ordered everything, to which I was resigned
without any reserve; and that hindered me from
engaging with them.

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189

One day, through infidelity, reflecting humanly on
this undertaking of mine, I found my faith staggering,
weakened with a fear lest I were under a mistake,
which slavish fear was increased by an ecclesiastic at
our house, who told me it was a rash and ill-advised
design. Being a little discouraged, I opened the Bible,
and at first met with this passage in Isaiah, “ Fear not
thou worm Jacob, and ye men of Israel. I will help
thee saith the Lord, and thy Redeemer, the holy one of
Israel.” Chap. lxi. 14, and near it, “Fear not; for I
have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name;
thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters,
I will be with thee,” &c.

I had a very great courage given me for going, but
could not persuade myself that it would be best to set¬
tle with the New Catholics. It was, however, neces¬
sary to see Sister Gamier, their superior at Paris, in
order to take our measures together. But I could not
go to Paris, because that journey would have hindered
me from taking another, which I had to take. She
then, though much indisposed, resolved to come and
see me. In what a wonderful manner, O my God,
didst thou conduct things by thy Providence, to make
everything come to the point of thy will ! Every day
I saw new miracles, which both amazed and still more
confirmed me; for with a paternal goodness thou took-
est care of even the smallest things. As she intended
setting off, she fell sick. And thou permitted it to fall
out so, to give room thereby for a person, who would
have discovered everything, in the meantime to take a
journey to see me. As this person had given me notice
of the day she intended to set off, seeing that day was
excessively hot, and so sultry that I imagined, that

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being taken so much tender care of as she was at home,
they would not suffer her to begin her journey then,
(which really proved to be the case, as she afterwards
told me,) I prayed to the Lord to be pleased to grant a
wind to rise, to moderate the violent heat Scarce had
I prayed, but there arose suddenly so refreshing a
wind, that I was surprised at it; and the wind did not
cease during her whole journey.

I went to meet her, and brought her to my country-
house, in such a way that she was not seen or known of
anybody. What embarrassed me a little was, that two
of my domestics knew her. But as I was then endeav¬
oring the conversion of a lady, they thought that it was
on this account I had sent for her, and that it was
necessary to keep it secret, that the other lady might
not be discouraged from coming. Though I knew
nothing of controversial points, yet God so furnished
me that I did not fail to answer all her objections, and
resolve all her doubts, to such a degree, that she could
not but give herself up entirely to God. Though Sis¬
ter Gamier had a good share both of grace and natural
understanding, yet her words had not such an effect on
this soul as those with which God furnished me, as she
assured me herself. She even could not forbear speak¬
ing of it. I felt a movement to beg her of God, as a
testimony of liis holy will concerning me; but he was
pleased not to grant it then, being willing that I should
go off alone without any other assurance, than that his
divine Providence was conducting all things. Sister
Gamier did not declare her thoughts to me for four
days. Then she told me she would not go with me.
At this I was the more surprised, as I had persuaded
myself that God would grant to her virtue what he

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191

might refuse to my demerits. Besides, the reasons
she gave appeared to me to be merely human, and void
of supernatural grace. That made me hesitate a little;
then, taking new courage, through the resignation of
my whole self, I said, “ As I go not thither for your
sake, I will not fail to go even without you.” This
surprised her, as she owned to me; for she thought
that, on her refusal, I would decline my purpose of
going. ,

I regulated everything, wrote down the contract of
association with them as I thought proper. No sooner
had I done it, but I felt great perturbation and trouble
of mind for it I told her my pain, and that I had no
doubt but the Lord demanded me at Geneva, yet did
not let me see that he would have me to be of their
congregation. She desired to have some time till after
prayers and communion, and that then she would tell
me what she thought the Lord required of me.
Accordingly, he directed her contrary both to her inter¬
ests and inclination. She then told me, “I ought not
to connect myself with her, that it was not the Lord’s
design; that I only ought to go with her sisters, and
that when I should be there, Father La Combe, (whose
letter she had seen) would signify to me the divine
will.” I entered at once into these sentiments, and
my soul then regained the sweets of inward peace.

My first thought had been (before I heard of the
New Catholics going to Gex) to go directly to Geneva,
as at this time there were Catholics there in service,
and otherwise ; and to take some little room without
any noise, and without declaring myself at first; and as
I knew how to make up all sorts of ointments to heal
wounds and especially the king’s evil, of which there is

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abundance in that place, and for which I had a most
certain cure, I hoped easily to insinuate myself by this
way; and with the charities which I should have done
to have won over many of the people. I have no
doubt but, if I had followed this impulse, things would
have succeeded better. But I thought I ought to fol¬
low the sentiments of the Bishop rather than my own.
What am I saying? Has not thy eternal Word, O my
Lord, had its effect and accomplishment in me ? Man
speaks as man; but when we behold things in the Lord,
we see them in another light. Yes, my Lord, thy
design was to give Geneva not to my cares, words or
works, but to my sufferings; for the more I see things
appear hopeless, the more do I hope for the conversion
of that city by a way known to thee only.

Father La Combe has told me since, that he had a
strong impulse to write to me, not to engage with the
New Catholics; that he believed it not to be the will of
the Lord concerning me; but he omitted doing it. As
to my director, M. Bertot, he died four months before
my departure. I had some intimations of his death,
and it seemed as if he bequeathed me a portion of his
spirit to help his children.

I was seized with a fear, that the check I had felt,
at giving so largely in favor of the New Catholics, what
I had designed for Geneva, was a stratagem of nature,
which does not love to be stripped. I wrote to Sister
Gamier to get a contract drawn up according to my
first memorial. God permitted me to commit this
fault, to make me the more sensible of his protection
over me.

END OF THE FTRST PART.

MADAME GUYON.

PART TWO.