THAT maid of whom I spoke became every day more arrogant, and as the Devil stirred her up to torment me, when she saw that her outcries did not annoy me, she thought ifshe could hinder me from communicating, she would cause me the greatest of all annoyance. She was quite right, O Divine Spouse of pure souls, since the only satisfaction of my life was to receive you and to honour you. I suffered a species of languor when I was some days without receiving you. When I was unable, I contented myself with keeping some tours near you, and, in order to have liberty for it, I applied myself to perpetual adoration. I procured, as far as I was able, that the churches should be well adorned. I gave the most beautiful things I had to make the ornaments. I contributed the most I could to provide silver ciboires and chalices. I founded a perpetual lamp, in order that its immortal flame should be a sign that I did not wish the fire of my love ever to become extinct. I said to you, O my Love, “Let me be your victim, consume me utterly, reduce me to ashes, and spare nothing to annihilate me.” I felt an inclination that I cannot express, to be nothing. This maid then knew my affection for the Holy Sacrament, before which, when I could freely, I passed many hours on my knees. She took care to watch every day she thought I communicated. She came to tell my mother-in-law and my husband, who wanted nothing more to get into a rage against me. There were reprimands which continued the whole day. If any word of justification escaped me, or any vexation at what they said to me, it was ground enough for their saying that I committed sacrilege, and crying out against devotion. If I answered nothing, that increased their bitterness. They said the most stinging things possible to me. If I fell ill, which happened often enough, they took the opportunity to come and wrangle with me in my bed, saying it was my communions and my prayers made me ill; as if to receive you, O true Source of all good, could cause any ill!
This maid told me one day, in her passion, that she was going to write to the person she thought to be my director, in order that he should hinder me from communicating, and that he did not know me. When she saw I did not answer her, she cried with all her might that I ill-treated her, and that I despised her. When I went out to go to the Mass, although I had previously given orders about household things, she went and told my husband I had gone out, and that I had not arranged anything. When I returned, I had to put up with much. They would not listen to any of my reasons, and declared them to be lies. On the other hand, my mother-in-law persuaded my sick husband that I let everything be destroyed, and that, if she did not take care of them, he would be ruined. He believed her, and I patiently bore everything, endeavouring to do my duty to my best. What was most painful to me was, not to know what measure to adopt; for when I ordered anything without her, she complained I had no consideration for her, that I did everything in my own way, and that things were very bad; then she ordered them differently. If I asked her what should be done, she said that she had to bear the burden of all.
I had hardly any rest but that I found, O my God, in love of your will, and in submission to its orders, although they were full of rigour for me. My words and my actions were ceaselessly watched, in order to find ground for chiding me. As soon as there was the least ambiguity in them, they were converted into crimes. I was ridiculed the whole day, the same things being incessantly repeated, and that, in the presence of servants. What made me greatly suffer was, that for some time I had a weakness that I could not conquer, which God left me for my humiliation; this was weeping, so that it made me the talk of the house. With all my heart I willed all that was done to me, and yet I could not keep back my tears, which overwhelmed me with confusion, and doubled my crosses; for it increased their anger. How many times have I made my meal of my tears, which appeared the most criminal in the world! They said I should be damned; as if tears had dug hell! they would be more suited to extinguish it. If I repeated anything I had heard, they tried to make me responsible for the truth of those things. If I kept silence; it was through scorn and ill-temper. If I knew anything and did not tell; it was a crime. If I told it; I had invented it. Sometimes I was tormented several days in succession without being given any respite. The maids said I ought to play the invalid in order to be left in quiet. I answered nothing; for Love pressed me so closely that he would not I should relieve myself by a single word, nor even by a look.
Sometimes, in the extremity to which nature was reduced, I said, “Oh, if I had only some one I could look at, and who would listen to me, I should be relieved!” but this was not given me. If at times I happened to find relief in anything, God, for some days, removed the external cross, and it was for me the greatest of all troubles; its want was for me a chastisement more difficult to bear than the greatest crosses. The absence of the cross was for me so terrible a cross, that the desire for its return made me languish, and led me to say, like St. Theresa, “Either to suffer or to die!” It was not slow in returning, this charming cross, and the strange thing was that, though I desired it so vehemently, when it returned, it appeared to me so heavy and burdensome, it was almost insupportable.
Although I extremely loved my father, and he also loved me very tenderly, I never spoke of my crosses to him. A relative, who loved me much, perceived the want of kindness with which I was treated. Even in his presence very hurtful things were said to me. He went, very indignant, to tell my father, adding that I made them no answer, and I would pass for a stupid. I afterwards went to see my father, and he reproved me, contrary to his usual practice, rather sharply, because I allowed them to treat me as they did, without saying anything—that every one ridiculed me for it; that it seemed I had not the spirit to answer. I replied to my father, that if people observed what my husband said to me, it was confusion enough for me, without bringing more upon myself by my answers; that if it was not remarked, I ought not to bring it into prominence, nor make everybody see the weak point of my husband; that by not saying a word, I stopped all dispute, whereas I should keep it up by my replies. My father, who was very good, told me I did well; that I should continue to act as God would inspire me. He never afterwards spoke to me of it.
What made me most suffer, was that they continually spoke to me against my father, for whom I had as much respect as tenderness, and against my relatives and those I thought highly of. I was much more pained by this than by all that was said against me. I could not keep myself from defending them, and in that I did ill; for what I said only served to embitter them more. If anyone complained of my father or my relatives, he was always right, and those who previously to their mind were most unreasonable persons, were approved, as soon as they spoke against my connections. When anyone declared himself my friend, he was no longer welcome. I had a relation whom I much loved, because of her piety. When she came to Bee me, she was either openly told to go back again, or she was treated in such a way she was obliged to do it. That pained me extremely. If there was anything true or false against me, or against my relatives, it was used to reproach me with. When any person out of the common came, they spoke against me, to people who had never seen me, which greatly astonished them; but when they had seen me, they did nothing but pity me.
Whatever was said against me, Love would not that I should justify myself. If I did it, which was seldom, I was reproached for it. I did not speak to my husband of what my mother-in-law did to me, nor of what that maid did to me, except the first year, when I was not sufficiently touched by God to endure such treatment. You made me do, O my Love, still more than all that, for as my mother-in-law and my husband were very hasty, they oftentimes mutually fell out. It was then I was in favour with them. They, in turns, made their complaints to me. Never did I tell the one what the other had said to me, and although, speaking humanly, it would have been to my advantage to profit by the occasion, I never used it to complain. On the contrary, Love gave me no rest until I had reconciled them. I said so many kind things of the one to the other, that I reconciled them. Although I was not ignorant, from the frequent experience I had had of it, that their reunion would cost me dear, I nevertheless did it as quickly as was possible for me. Hardly were they reconciled, when they joined together against me.
The crosses would have appeared to me a trifling matter if, drawn to it as I felt myself, I had had freedom to pray and to be alone; but I was compelled to remain in their presence, under a subjection that was not conceivable. My husband looked at his watch if I was more than half an hour at prayer, and, when I exceeded it, he was vexed. I said to him sometimes, “Give me an hour to divert myself; I will employ it as I please;” but he would not give it to me for praying, although he would have given it to me for diversion, had I wished. I confess my lack of experience has caused me much trouble, and that I have thereby often given occasion for their making me suffer; for, in short, was I not bound to see my captivity as an effect of your will, O my God, to be content with it, and to make of it my sole prayer; but I often fell back into the paltriness of wishing to take time for praying, which was not agreeable to my husband. It is true these faults were more frequent at the commencement; afterwards I prayed God at his bedside, and did not go out any more.
One of the things that has given me most trouble at the commencement of the way, is that I was so strongly occupied within that I forgot many things; this caused me many crosses, and gave ground to my husband for being vexed. For though I had an extreme love for all that was my duty, and that I preferred it even to everything else, I nevertheless, without wishing it, forgot a number of things, and as my husband did not like one to fail in anything, I gave him occasion for getting angry. I, however, forgot nothing that was of consequence; but I forgot almost all the small things. The great habit I had acquired of mortifying my eyes, together with concentration, made me pass certain things without remarking them, and my mother-in-law, who came after me, saw them, and justly got angry with me for my lack of care. However, I could not do better, for the more I wished to apply myself, the less I succeeded. I went into the garden, without remarking anything there, and when my husband, who could not go there, asked me news of it, I was unable to answer him, and he got vexed. I went there expressly to notice everything in order to tell him I had seen them, and when I was there I forgot, and did not think of looking at them. One day, I went more than ten times to the garden, to see there something to report to my husband, and I forgot it. When I succeeded in remembering to look at things, I was very pleased, and it was usually the time when I was not asked for news. As I was also accustomed at the commencement, in order to mortify my curiosity, which was very great, to withdraw under some pretext, when some agreeable news was being told, and only to return when I could no longer understand what was said, I fell into an extreme, which was that I neither comprehended nor heard news that was told in my presence; so that, when my husband spoke of it to me, I was astonished and confused at not knowing what it was, or what to answer, and I thereby became a cause for his growing vexed, without being able to avoid it. I would have been very glad to do otherwise, for, far from mortifying myself at that time in this particular, I would have been glad to make myself attentive; but my attention was lost without my understanding how it was, and the more I was persuaded I ought to apply myself to please them, the more I tried even to do it, the greater was my powerlessness. Often when I wished to say something, I stopped short, without being able to form an idea of what I had intended to say, and this served not a little to humiliate me.
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MADAME GUYON 