Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.

✦

After having been here about eight months, my
father took me home again. My mother kept me more
with her, beginning to have a higher regard for me
than before; yet she still preferred my brother, which
was so visible, that every one spoke of it with dislike.
Even when I was sick and met with anything I liked,
he demanded it. It was then taken from me, and
given to him, though he was in perfectly good health.
He was continually giving me new vexations. One
day he made me mount upon the top of the coach;
when he had done that, he threw me down on the
ground, and by the fall I was very much bruised. At
other times he beat me. But whatever he did, how¬
ever wrong, it was winked at, or had the most favor¬
able construction put upon it. This conduct soured
my temper. I had little disposition to do good, say¬
ing, “I was never the better for it.” It was not then
for thee alone, O God, that I did good; since I ceased
to do it, when it met not with such a reception from
others as I wanted. Had I known how to make a right
use of this thy crucifying conduct toward me, I should
have made a good progress. Ear from turning me out
of the way, it would have made me turn more wholly
to thee.

I looked with jealous eyes on my brother, seeing
the difference made betwixt him and me. Whatever
he did was considered well; but if there was blame, it

THE LIFE OF MADAME GTTYON.

fell on me. My step-sisters by the mother, gained her
good mil by caressing him and persecuting me. It is
true, I was bad. I relapsed into my former faults of
lying and peevishness. With all these faults I was very
tender and charitable to the poor, prayed to God assid¬
uously, loved to hear any one speak of him, and to
read good books.

I doubt not that you will be amazed at such a
series of inconsistencies; but what succeeds will sur¬
prise you yet more, when you see this manner of
acting gain ground with my years, and that as my
reason ripened, it was so far from correcting such
irrational conduct, that sin grew more powerful in
me. O my God, thy grace seemed to be redoubled
in proportion to the increase of my ingratitude. It
was with me as with a city besieged, — thou didst sur¬
round my heart, and I only studied how to defend
myself against thy attacks; I raised fortifications about
the wretched place, adding every day to the number of
my iniquities, to prevent thee taking it. And when
there was an appearance of thy becoming victorious
over this ungrateful heart, I raised a counter-battery,
and threw up ramparts to keep off thy goodness, and
to hinder the course of thy grace: none other could
have conquered than thyself. Oh, my Divine Love,
whose sacred fire was stronger than that state of death,
into which sin had so often reduced me.

I cannot bear to hear it said, “ We are not free to
resist grace.” I have had too long and fatal an experi¬
ence of my liberty. I closed up the avenues of my
heart, that I might not so much as hear that secret
voice of God, which was calling me to himself. I have
indeed, from my tenderest youth, passed through a

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

series of grievances, either by maladies or by persecu¬
tions. The girl to whose care my mother left me, in
dressing my head used to beat me, and did not make
me turn it but with rage and blows. Everything
seemed in concert to punish me, but this instead of
making me turn unto thee, O my God, only served to
afflict and embitter my mind. My father knew noth¬
ing of all this; for his love to me was such that he
would not have suffered it. I loved him very much,
but at the same time I feared him, so that I told him
nothing of it. My mother was often teasing him with
complaints of me, to which he made no other reply
than, “There are twelve hours in the day; she’ll grow
wiser.” This rigorous proceeding was not the worst
for my soul, though it soured my temper, which was
otherwise mild and easy. But what caused my great¬
est hurt was, that not being able to endure those who
treated me ill, I chose to be among those who caressed
me, in order to corrupt and spoil me.

My father, seeing I was now grown pretty tall,
placed me in Lent among the Ursulines, to receive my
first communion at Easter, at which time I was to
complete my eleventh year. And here my most dear
sister, under whose inspection my father placed me,
redoubled her cares, to cause me to make the best
preparation possible for this act of devotion. I thought
now of giving myself to God in good earnest. I often
felt a combat between my good inclinations and my
bad habits. I even did some penances. As I was
almost alwiys with my sister, and as the boarders in
her class, which was the first, were very reasonable
and civil, I became such also, while among them. It
had been cruel to educate me badly; for my very

THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON.

nature was strongly disposed to goodness, and I loved
everything that tended thereto. Easily won with
mijdness, I did with pleasure whatever my good sister
desired. At length Easter arrived, and I received the
communion with much joy and devotion. And in this
house I staid till Whitsuntide. But as my other sister
was mistress of the second class, she demanded that in
her week I should be with her in that class. Her man¬
ners, so opposite to the other’s, made me relax my
former piety. I felt no more that new and delightful
ardor which had seized my heart at my first commu¬
nion. Alas! it held but a short time; for my faults
and failings were soon reiterated, and drew me off
from the care and duties of religion.

As I now grew very tall for my age, and more to
my mother’s liking than before, she took care to deck
and dress me out, to make me see company, and to
take me abroad with her. She took an inordinate
pride in that beauty with which God had formed me,
only to bless and praise him, which, however, was per¬
verted by me into a source of pride and vanity. Sev¬
eral suitors offered to me; but as I was not yet twelve
years of age, my father would not listen to any pro¬
posals. I loved reading much, and shut myself up
alone every day to read without interruption.

What proved effectual to gain me over entirely to
God, at least for a time, was that a nephew of my
father’s passed by our house, going on a mission to
Cochin China. I happened at that time to be taking
a walk with my companions, which I seldom did. At
my return he was gone. They gave me an account of his
sanctity, and the things he had said. I was so touched
therewith, that I was overcome with sorrow. I cried

THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON.

all tlie rest of the day and of the night. Early in the
morning, I went in great distress to seek my confessor.
I said to him, “What! my father, am I the only person
in our family to be lost? Alas! help me in my salva¬
tion.” He was greatly surprised to see me so much
afflicted, and comforted me in the best manner he
could, not thinking me so bad as I was; for in the
midst of my backslidings I was docile, punctual in
obedience, careful to confess often; and since I went
to him my life was more regular. Oh, thou God of
love, how often hast thou knocked at the door of my
heart! how often terrified me with appearances of
sudden death! Yet all these only made a transient
impression. I presently returned again to my infideli-
ities; but this time thou didst take, and I may say
quite carried off my heart. Alas, what grief I now sus¬
tained for having displeased thee ! what regrets, what
exclamations, what sobbings ! Who would have
thought, to see me, but that my conversion would
have lasted as long as my life ? Why didst thou not,
O my God, utterly take this heart to thyself, when I
gave it to thee so fully; or, if thou didst take it then,
oh, why didst thou let it revolt again afterward?
Thou wast surely strong enough to hold it, but thou
wouldst perhaps, in leaving me to myself display thy
mercy, that the depth of my iniquity might serve as a
trophy to thy goodness.

I immediately applied myself to every part of my
duty. I made a general confession with great com¬
punction of heart. I frankly confessed all that I knew
with many tears. I became so changed that I was
scarce to be known. I would not for ever so much
have made the least voluntary slip; and they found

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

not any matter for absolution when I confessed. I
discovered the very smallest faults; and God did me
the favor to enable me to conquer myself in many
things. There were left only some remains of passion,
which gave me some trouble to conquer. But as soon
as I had by means thereof, given any displeasure, even
to the domestics, I begged their pardon, in order to
subdue at the same time, my wrath and pride; for
wrath is the daughter of pride. A person truly hum¬
bled suffers not anything to put him in a rage. As it
is pride which dies the last in the soul, so it is passion
which is last destroyed in the outward conduct. A
soul thoroughly annihilated, or dead to itself, finds
nothing of rage left.

There are persons who, being very much filled with
the unction of grace, and with a tranquil peace, at their
entrance of the resigned path of light and love, think
they are come thus far. But they are greatly mis¬
taken, in this view of their state. This they will
readily discover, if they are heartily willing to examine
two things: first, if their nature is lively, warm and
violent, (for I speak not of stupid tempers,) they will
find, from time to time, that they make slips, in which
trouble and emotion have some share; and which even
then are useful to humble and annihilate them. (But
when annihilation is perfected all passion is gone, for
it is incompatible with this state.) Moreover, they will
find that there often arises in them certain motions of
anger, but the sweetness of grace holds them back by a
secret violence. They would easily transgress, if in any
wise they gave way to these motions. There are per¬
sons who think themselves very mild, because nothing
thwarts them. It is not of such that I am speaking:

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

for the mildness which has never been put to the proof,
is often only counterfeit. Those persons who, when
unmolested, appear to be saints, are no sooner exer¬
cised by vexing occurrences, than there starts up in
them a strange number of faults, which they had
thought to be dead; and which only lay dormant
because nothing awakened them.

I followed my religious exercises. I shut myself
up all the day to read and pray. I gave all I had to
to the poor taking even linen to their houses to make
them necessaries. I taught them the catechism; and,
when my parents dined abroad, I made them eat with
me, and served them with great respect. I read the
works of St. Francis de Sales and the life of Madam de
Chantal. There I first learnt what mental prayer was,
and I besought my confessor to teach me that kind of
prayer, but as he did not, I used my own endeavors to
practice it, though without success, as I then thought,
because I could not exercise the imagination; and per¬
suaded myself, that that prayer could not be made
without forming to one’s self certain ideas and reason¬
ing much. This difficulty gave me no small trouble,
for a long time. I was nevertheless very assiduous
therein, and prayed earnestly to God to give me the
gift of prayer. All that I saw in the life of M. de Chan¬
tal charmed me; and I was so much a child, that I
thought I ought to do everything I saw in it. All the
vows she had made I made also, as that of ever aiming
at the highest perfection, and of doing the will of God
in everything. One day as I was reading that she had
put the name of Jesus on her heart, to follow the coun¬
sel of the spouse — “ Set me as a seal upon thy heart,”
and that for this purpose she had taken a red-hot iron,

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

whereupon the holy name was engraven, I was very
much afflicted that I could not do the same. I took it
in my head to write that sacred and adorable name, in
large characters, on a piece of paper, then with ribbands
and a needle I fastened it to my skin in four places;
and in that position it continued a long time.

After this, I turned all my thoughts to become a
nun, very often going to the visitation; because the
love which I had for St. Francis de Sales did not per¬
mit me to think of any other community than this of
which he was the founder. I frequently went to beg
the nuns there to receive me into their convent. Often
I stole out of my father’s house to go thither, and
repeatedly solicited them to consent to my admission.
But, though it was what they eagerly desired, even as
a temporal advantage, yet they never durst let me
enter their house, as they very much feared my father,
whose fondness for me they were no strangers to.
There was then at that house a niece of my father’s, to
whom I am under great obligations. Fortune had not
been very favorable to her father, and had reduced her
in some measure to depend on mine, to whom she
made known my inclination. Although he would not
for anything in the world have hindered a right voca¬
tion, yet he could not hear of my design without shed¬
ding tears. But as he happened at this time to be
abroad, my cousin went to my confessor, to desire him
to forbid my going to the visitation. He durst not,
however, do it plainly, for fear of drawing on himself
the resentment of that community. Yet I still wanted
to be a nun, and importuned my mother excessively
to take me to that house; but she would not do it, for
fear of grieving my father, who was yet absent

THE LIFE OF MABAIOT, GUYON.

CHAPTER Y.

No sooner was my father returned home, than he
fell into a violent illness. My mother was at the
same time indisposed in another part of the house. I
was then all alone with him, ready to render him every
kind of service I was capable of, and to give him all
the dutiful marks of a most sincere affection. And I
do not doubt but my assiduity was very agreeable to
him. I performed the most menial offices unperceived
by him, taking the time for it when the servants were
not at hand; as well to mortify myself as to pay due
honor to what Jesus Christ said, that he came not to
be ministered to, but to minister. When he made me
read to him, I read with such heart-felt devotion that
he was surprised at it. I remembered the instruction
my sister had given me, and the ejaculatory prayers
and praises I had learned from her. She had taught
me to praise thee, 0 my God, in all thy works. All
that I saw called upon me to render thee homage. If
it rained, I wished every drop to be changed into love
and praises. My heart was nourished insensibly with
thy love; and my spirit was incessantly engrossed with
the remembrance of thee. I seemed to join and par¬
take in all the good that was done in the world, and
could have wished to have the united hearts of all men
to love thee. This habit rooted itself so strongly in
me, that I retained it throughout my greatest wander-
ings.

THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON.

My cousin aforementioned helped not a little,
to support me in these good sentiments; for I was
often with her, and loved her, as she took great care of
me, and treated me with much gentleness. Her for¬
tune being equal neither to her birth nor her virtue,
she did with charity and affection what her condition
obliged her to. My mother grew jealous, fearing I
should love my cousin too well and herself too little.
She who had left me in my young years to the care of
her maids, and since that to my own, only inquiring if
I was in the house and troubling herself no further,
now required me always to stay with her, and never
suffered me to be with my cousin but with very great
reluctance. My cousin fell ill; she took that occasion
to send her home, which was a very severe stroke to
my heart, as well as to that grace which began to
dawn in me.

Though my mother acted thus, she was a very vir¬
tuous woman. But God permitted it for my exercise.
She was one of the most charitable women of her age.
She not only gave away the surplus, but even the nec¬
essaries of the house. Never were the needy neglected
by her. Never any wretch came to her without succor.
She furnished poor mechanics wherewith to carry on
their work, and needy tradesmen wherewith to supply
their shops. From her, I think, I inherited my charity
and love for the poor; for God favored me with the
blessing of being her successor in that holy exercise.
There was not one in the town, or its environs, who
did not praise her for this great virtue. She has
sometimes given to the last penny in the house,
though she had so large a family to maintain, and yet
she did not fail in her faith.

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

My mother’s only care about me had been all along
to have me in the house, which indeed is one material
point for a girL And this habit of being so constantly
kept within, proved of great service to me after my
marriage, as I shall tell in its due course. It would
have been better had she kept me more in her own
apartment, with an agreeable freedom; and inquired
oftener what part of the house I was in.

After my cousin left me I continued for some time
in those sentiments of piety I have mentioned. And
God granted me the grace to forgive injuries with
such readiness, that my confessor was surprised; as he
knew that some young ladies had, out of envy, tra¬
duced me; and that I spoke well of them as occasion
offered. I was seized with an ague, which lasted four
months, in which I suffered much; yet during that
time, I was enabled to suffer with much resignation
and patience. In this frame of mind and manner of
life I persevered, so long as I continued the practice
of mental prayer.

Near a twelvemonth after, we went to pass some
days in the country. My father took along with us
one of his relations, a very accomplished young gentle¬
man. He had a great desire to marry me; but my
father, who had resolved not to give me to any near
kinHman, on account of the difficulty of obtaining dis¬
pensations, put him off, without alleging any false or
frivolous reasons for it. As this young gentleman was
very devout, and every day said the office of the Vir¬
gin, I said it with him; and to have time for it, left off
prayer, which was to me the first inlet of evils. Yet, I
kept up for a long time some share of the spirit of
piety; for I went to seek out the little shepherdesses,

TEE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

to instruct them in their religious duties. Yet this
spirit gradually decayed, not being nourished by
prayer. Hereby I became cold toward God. All my
old faults revived, to which I added an excessive van¬
ity. The love I began to have for myself, extinguished
what remained in me of the love of God.

I did not wholly leave off mental prayer, with¬
out asking my confessor’s leave. I told him I thought
it better to say the office of the Virgin every day, than
to practice prayer; as I had not time for both. I saw
not that this' was a stratagem of the enemy to draw me
from God, and to entangle me in the snares he had
laid for me. In truth I had time sufficient for both, as
I had no other occupation than what I prescribed to
myself. My confessor was easy in the matter; not
being a man of prayer, he gave his consent, to my
great hurt.

Oh, my God, if the value of prayer were but known,
the great advantage which accrues to the soul from
conversing with thee, and what consequence it is of to
salvation, everyone would be assiduous in it. It is a
strong hold into which the enemy cannot enter. He
may attack it, besiege it, make a noise about its walls;
but while we are faithful and hold our station, he can¬
not hurt us. It is alike requisite to dictate to children
the necessity of prayer as of their salvation; but, alas!
unhappily, it is thought sufficient to tell them that
there is a heaven and a hell; that they must endeavor
to avoid the latter and attain the former; and yet they
are not taught the shortest and easiest way of arriving
at it. The only way to heaven is prayer; a prayer of
the heart, which every one is capable of, and not of
reasonings which are the fruits of study, or exercise of

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

the imagination, which, in filling the mind with wan¬
dering objects, rarely settle it; and instead of warming
the heart with love to God, leave it cold and languish¬
ing. Let the poor come, let the ignorant and carnal
come; let the children without reason or knowledge
come, let the dull or hard hearts which can retain
nothing come to the practice of' prayer, and they shall
become wise. O ye great, wise and rich, Have ye not
a heart capable of loving what is proper for you, and
of hating what is destructive? Love the sovereign
good, hate all evil, and ye will be truly wise. When
ye love anyone, is it because ye know the reasons of
love and its definitions? No, certainly. Ye love
because your heart is formed to love what it finds
amiable. And surely ye cannot but know that there
is nought lovely in the universe but God. Know ye
not that he has created you, that he has died for you?
But if these reasons are not sufficient, which of you has
not some necessity, some trouble, or some misfortune ?
Which of you does not know how to tell his malady,
and beg relief? Come, then, to this Fountain of all
good, without complaining to weak and impotent
creatures, who cannot help you; come to prayer; lay
before God your troubles, beg his grace — and above
all, that you may love him. None can exempt him¬
self from loving; for none can live without a heart, nor
the heart without love.

Why should any amuse themselves, in seeking
reasons for loving Love itself? Let us love without
reasoning about it, and we shall find ourselves filled
with love, before the others have learned the reasons
which induced to it. Make trial of this love, and you
will be wiser in it than the most skillful philosophers.

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

In love, as in everything else, experience instructs better
than reasoning. Oh, come then, drink at this fountain
of living waters, instead of the broken cisterns of the
creature, which far from allaying your thirst, only tends
continually to augment it. Did ye once drink at this
fountain, ye would not seek elsewhere for anything to
quench your thirst; for while ye still continue to draw
from this source, ye would thirst no longer after the
world. But if ye quit it, alas! the enemy has the
ascendant. He will give you of his poisoned draughts,
which may have an apparent sweetness, but will assur¬
edly rob you of life.

Thus, I forsook the fountain of living water when I
left off prayer. I became as a vineyard exposed to
pillage, whose hedges tom down give liberty to all the
passengers to ravage it. I began to seek in the crea¬
ture what I had found in God. He left me to myself,
because I first left him; and it was his will by permit¬
ting me to sink into the horrible pit, to make me feel
the necessity I was in of approaching him in prayer.
Thou hast said, that thou wilt destroy those adulterous
souls who depart from thee. Alas ! it is their depart¬
ure alone which causes their destruction, since, in
departing from thee, O Sun of Righteousness, they
enter into the regions of darkness and the coldness of
death, from which they would never rise, if thou didst
not revisit them; if thou didst not by thy divine fight,
illuminate their darkness, and by thy enlivening
warmth, melt their icy hearts, and restore them to fife.

I fell then into the greatest of all misfortunes; for
I wandered yet further and further from thee, O my
God, and thou didst gradually retire from a heart
which had quitted thee. Yet such is thy goodness,

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

that it seemed as if thou hadst left me with regret;
and when this heart was desirous to return again unto
thee, with what speed didst thou come to meet it
This proof of thy love and mercy, shall be to me an
everlasting testimony of thy goodness and of my own
ingratitude.

I became still more passionate than I had ever
been, as age gave more force to nature. I was fre¬
quently guilty of lying; I felt my heart corrupt and
vain; the spark of divine grace was almost extinguished
in me, and I fell into a state of indifference and inde¬
votion; though I still carefully kept up outside appear¬
ances; and the habit I had acquired of behaving at
Church, made me appear better than I was. Vanity,
which had been excluded my heart, now resumed its
seat. I began to pass a great part of my time before
a looking-glass. I found so much pleasure in viewing
myself therein, that I thought others were in the right
who practised the same. Instead of making use of
this exterior, which God had given me, that I might
love him the more, it became to me only the means of a
vain complacency. All seemed to me to look beautiful
in my person, but I saw not that it covered a polluted
soul — This rendered me so inwardly vain, that I doubt
whether any ever exceeded me therein; but there was
an affected modesty in my outward deportment that
would have deceived the world

The high esteem I had for myself made me find
faults in everyone else of my own sex. I had no
eyes but to see my own good qualities, and to discover
the defects of others. I hid my own faults from myself,
or if I remarked any, yet to me they appeared little in
comparison of others. I excused, and even figured them

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

to myself as perfections. Every idea I liad of others
and of myself was false. I loved reading to such
excess, particularly romances, that I spent whole days
and nights at them; sometimes the day broke whilst I
continued to read, insomuch, that for a length of time
I almost lost the habit of sleeping. I was ever eager
to get to the end of the book, in hopes of finding some¬
thing to satisfy a certain craving which I found within
me, but my thirst for reading was only increased the
more I read. These books are strange inventions to
destroy youth; for if they caused no other hurt than
the loss of our precious time, is not that too much?
I was not restrained, but rather encouraged to read
them under this fallacious pretext — that they taught
one to speak well.

Meanwhile, through thy abundant mercy, O my
God, thou earnest to seek me from time to time. Thou
didst indeed knock at the door of my heart, — I was
often penetrated with the most lively sorrow and shed
abundance of tears, — I was afflicted to find my state so
different from what it was when I enjoyed thy sacred
presence; but my tears were fruitless and my grief in
vain. I could not of myself get out of this wretched
state. I wished some hand as charitable as powerful
would extricate me, but as for myself I had no power.
If I had had any friend, who would have examined the
cause of this evil, and made me have recourse again to
prayer, which was the only means of relief, all would
have been well I was (like the prophet) in a deep
abyss of mire, which I could not get out off I met
with reprimands for being in it, but none were kind
enough to reach out a helping hand to free me. &nd
when I tried vain efforts to get out, I only sunk tne

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

deeper, and each fruitless attempt only made me see
my own impotence, and rendered me more afflicted.

Oh, how much compassion has this sad experience
given me for sinners, as it has taught me why so
few of them emerge from the miserable state into
which they have fallen; because such as see it only cry
out against their disorders, and frighten them with
threats of future punishment. These cries and threats
at first make some impression, and they use some weak
efforts after liberty; but, after having experienced their
insufficiency, they gradually abate in their design, and
lose their courage for trying any more; and all that
man can say to them afterwards is but lost labor,
though one preach to them incessantly. When any for
relief run to confess, the only true remedy for them is
prayer; to present themselves before God as criminals;
and to beg strength of him to rise out of this state.
Then would they soon be changed, and brought out of
the mire and clay. But the devil has falsely persuaded
the doctors and the wise men of the age, that, in order
to pray, it is necessary first to be perfectly converted.
Hence people are dissuaded from it, and hence there
is rarely any conversion that is durable. The devil is
outrageous only against prayer, and those that exercise
it; because he knows it is the true means of taking his
prey from him. He lets us undergo all the austerities
we will, and neither persecutes those that enjoy them
nor those that practice them. But no sooner does one
enter into a spiritual life, a life of prayer, but they
must prepare for strange crosses; as all manner of per¬
secutions and contempts in this world are reserved for
that life.

Miserable as the condition was to which I was

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

reduced by my infidelities, and the little help I had
from my confessor, I did not fail to say my vocal
prayers every day, to confess pretty often, and to par¬
take of the communion almost every fortnight. Some¬
times I went to Church to weep, and to pray to the
Blessed Virgin to obtain my conversion I loved to
hear anyone speak of God, and would never tire of the
conversation. When my father spoke of him, I was
transported with joy; and when he and my mother
went on any pilgrimage, and were to set off early in
the morning, I either did not go to bed the night
before, or hired the girls to awake me early. My fath¬
er’s conversation at such times was always of divine
matters, which afforded me the highest delight, and I
preferred that subject to any other. I also loved the
poor, and was charitable, even whilst I was so very
faulty as I have described. How strange may this
seem to some, and how hard to reconcile things so
very opposite.

THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.