UP to that time the Bishop of Geneva had shown me much esteem and kindness, and therefore this man cleverly took him off his guard. He urged upon the Prelate that, in order to make certain of me for that House, he ought to compel me to give up to it the little money I had reserved for myself, and to bind me by making me the Superior. He knew well that I would never bind myself there, and that, my vocation being elsewhere, I would never give my capital to that House, where I had come only as a visitor; and that I would not be Superior, as I had many times already declared; and that even should I bind myself, it would be only on the condition that this should not be. I believe, indeed, that this objection to being Superior was a remnant of the selfhood, coloured with humility. The Bishop of Geneva did not in the least penetrate the intentions of that ecclesiastic, who was called in the country the little Bishop, because of the ascendency he had acquired over the mind of the Bishop of Geneva. He thought it was through affection for me, and zeal for this House, that this man desired to bind me to it; consequently he at once fell in with the proposal, resolving to carry it through at whatever price. The ecclesiastic, seeing he had so well succeeded, no longer kept any bounds as regarded me. He commenced by stopping the letters I wrote Father La Combe. Afterwards he intercepted all those I wrote to Paris, and those which were written to me, in order to influence people’s minds as he pleased, and that I might not be able either to know it, or defend myself, or tell how I was being treated. One of the maids I had brought wished to return, not being able to remain in that place, so that only one remained for me, and she was weak and too much occupied to aid me in many things I had need of. As Father La Combe was coming for the retreat, I thought he would soften the bitter spirit of this man, and would advise me. Meanwhile the proposal of binding myself, and becoming Superior, was made to me. I answered, that as for binding myself, it was impossible, my vocation being elsewhere, and for the Superiorship, I could not be a Superior before being a novice; that all of them had completed two years of novitiate before binding themselves, and when I had done as much, I would see what God inspired me. The Superior answered me sharply enough, that if I contemplated quitting them some day, I might do it at once. However, I did not withdraw for this; I behaved still in my usual way, but I saw the heavens grow dark gradually, and storms come from every side. The Superior meanwhile affected a more gentle air; she declared she also wished to go to Geneva, that I should not bind myself, but should promise to take her with me if I went there. She asked me whether I was not bound in some particular matter for Geneva. She wished to sound me, to see if I had not some plan, or perhaps some engagement under vow; but as I had not the advice of Father La Combe, I did not say anything to her. She professed even much confidence in me, and seemed united to me. As I am very frank, and our Lord has given me much uprightness, I believed she was acting in good faith: I even declared to her I was not attracted by the manner of life of the New Catholics, owing to their outside intrigues. I further let her know that certain abjurations and certain shufflings did not please me, because I desired people to be straightforward in everything; so that my refusal to sign things which were not true shocked them a little. She let nothing of it appear. She was a worthy person, and did these things only because that ecclesiastic told her it was necessary to act so, to bring the House into credit, and to attract the charity of Paris. I told her that if we acted uprightly God would not fail us; that he would sooner work miracles. I remarked one thing, which was that as soon as one took to this mode of action, so alien from uprightness and sincerity, and even justice, that what one did in the expectation of attracting charity, had the effect, without anyone knowing anything of it, that people grew cold, and the charity was checked. O God, is it not you who inspire charity, and is it not sister of truth? How, then, attract it by deception? It must be attracted by confidence in God, and then it becomes extremely liberal; any other mode of behaviour ties it up.
One day after the Superior had communicated, she came to me and told me that our Lord had let her know how dear Father La Combe was to him, and that he was a saint, that she felt herself disposed to make a vow of obedience to him. She appeared to say all this in perfect good faith, and I believe she was then speaking sincerely for she had ups and downs of weakness, which are common enough to our sex, and ought to make us very humble. I told her she should not do this: she said she wished it, and she was about to pronounce the vow. I opposed it strongly, saying that these things should not be done lightly, nor without consulting the person whom one wished to obey, to ascertain if he would accept it. She was satisfied with my reasons, and wrote to Father La Combe all which she said had taken place in her, and how she desired to vow obedience to him, that it was God who urged her to it. Father La Combe answered her, and she showed me the letter. He told her she should never make a vow to obey any man; that he would never be her adviser; that the person who is suitable at one time is not so at another; that one should remain free, obeying, nevertheless, with love and charity, all the same as if bound by a vow; that as for himself, he had never received such a vow from anyone and never would, that it was even forbidden him by their rules: that none the less he would serve her to the best of his ability, and that in a short time he would go to conduct the retreats. She had also told him in that letter that she prayed he would ask our Lord to let her know if he destined her for Geneva, whether she should go with me; that she was content whatever the will of God, only that he should tell her exactly what he knew in these things. He wrote her that on this article he would simply tell her what he thought of it.
It is true that the characteristic of Father La Combe is simplicity and straightforwardness. When he came for the retreats, which was the third and last time he came to Gex, on the first day she spoke to him with much eagerness. She asked him if one day she would be united with me at Geneva. He answered her with his usual candour: “My mother, our Lord has let me know that you will never be established at Geneva; as for the others, I have no light.” (She is dead, so that was well verified.) As soon as he made this declaration, she appeared enraged against him and me in a surprising way. She went to find the ecclesiastic, who was in a room with the housekeeper, and they together took measures to compel me either to bind myself or to withdraw. They thought I would rather bind myself than withdraw. And they watched my letters more closely.
The Father preached at her request, which was only to lay a trap for him. He had in the parish made a sermon on charity, which had carried away everyone. She asked him for a sermon touching the inner life. He preached one which he had preached at the Visitation at Tonon: “The beauty of the King’s daughter comes from within.” He explained what the inner life is, and what it is to act from it as a principle. That ecclesiastic, who was present with one of his confidants, said that it was preached against him, and that it was full of errors. He extracted eight propositions, which the Father had not preached, and after dressing them out as maliciously as he could, he sent them to a friend at Rome, in order, as he said, that they might be examined by the Sacred College and the Inquisition. Although they were very badly drawn up, they, nevertheless, passed as quite sound. His friend told him there was nothing whatever wrong in them. This vexed him, for he is not, as I hear, theologian enough to judge anything for himself. Moreover, he came the next day with surprising anger to Father La Combe, and attacked him, saying he had made the sermon to offend him. The Father drew it from his pocket, and showed him that he had thereon written the dates and the places where he had preached it; so that he was confounded, but not appeased. He became still more angry in the presence of many persons who were assembled there. The Father went on his knees, and in that position listened for half an hour to all the abuse which the ecclesiastic chose to utter. They came to tell me, but I did not choose to have anything to do with all that. The Father, after being treated in this way, said to the ecclesiastic with much sweetness and humility, that he was obliged to go to Annecy for some business of their convent, and that if he desired to send anything to the Bishop, he would take charge of his letters. The other answered for him to wait, that he would write. This good Father had the patience to wait for more than three full hours without hearing anything from him. They came and told me, “Do you know that Father La Combe has not started, but is in the church, where he awaits letters from M—?” —mentioning the priest who had so illtreated him that he even tore from his hands a letter, which I had just given him for the good hermit I have mentioned. I went to the church to ask him to send the servant who was to accompany him to Annecy to see if the packet of that gentleman was ready; for the day was so far gone that he would have to sleep on the road. This man found mounted a servant of the ecclesiastic, who told him, It is I who am going there. And as he was going in, this same M— said to another servant, to go as fast as he could so as to reach Annecy before the Father. He had kept him waiting merely to send off a man before him to prejudice the mind of the Bishop; and he sent back word to the Father that he had no letters to give him.
Father La Combe none the less went to Annecy, where he found the Bishop much prejudiced and embittered. He said to him: “My Father, it is absolutely necessary to bind that lady to give what she has to the House at Gex, and to become the Superior.” “My lord,” answered Father La Combe, “you know what she has herself told you of her vocation both at Paris and in this country, and therefore I do not believe she will consent to bind herself. It is not likely that, having given up everything in the hope of going into Geneva, she should bind herself elsewhere, and thus render it impossible for her to accomplish God’s designs for her. She has offered to remain with these good Sisters as a lodger. If they desire to keep her in that capacity she will remain with them; if not, she is resolved to withdraw into some convent until God shall dispose of her otherwise.” The Bishop answered: “My Father, I know all that, but at the same time I know she is obedient, and if you so order her, she will surely do it.” “It is for this reason, my lord, because she is obedient, that one should be very cautious in the commands one gives her,” answered the Father. “It is not likely that I will urge a foreign lady, who has for her whole subsistence merely what she has reserved for herself, to rob herself of that in favour of a House which is not yet founded, and which, perhaps, never will be founded. If the House happens to fail, or to be no longer useful, on what shall the lady live? Shall she go to the almshouse? In fact, before long this House will be of no use, for there will be no Protestants in France.” The Bishop said: “My Father, all these reasons are good for nothing. If you do not cause the lady to do it, I will interdict you.” That mode of speaking surprised the Father, who well enough knew the rules of the interdict, as not allowing it in matters of this nature. He said to him: “My lord, I am ready to suffer not only the interdict, but even death rather than do anything against my honour or conscience,” and withdrew. He wrote me at the same time everything by an express, that I might take my measures thereon. I had nothing left but to withdraw into a convent, but before doing so I said again to these good Sisters that I was going away; for at the same time I received a letter that the nun to whom I had entrusted my daughter, and who was the one spoke French least corruptly, and was very virtuous, had fallen ill, and that she prayed me to go for a time to my daughter. I showed them the letter, and told them that I wished to withdraw into that community; that if they ceased persecuting me as they were doing, and if Father La Combe was left in quiet—who was deemed the apostle of the country because of the wonderful fruit of his missions—I would return as soon as the mistress of my daughter was recovered. It was my intention to do it. Instead of this, they persecuted me with more violence, and wrote against me to Paris, intercepted all my letters, and sent out libels, where it was said, the person would be recognized by a little cross of wood she wore; as a fact, I had on my neck a little cross from the tomb of St. Francis de Sales.
This ecclesiastic and his friend went through all the places where Father La Combe had held his mission, to decry him and speak against him so violently that a woman was afraid to say her Pater because, she said, she had learned it from him. They made a fearful scandal through the whole country. Father La Combe was not in the country, for the day after my arrival at the Ursulines of Tonon, he set out in the morning to preach the Lent sermons at the Valley of Aosta. He came to say adieu to me, and at the same time told me he would go to Rome, and probably would not return, that his superiors might keep him there, that he was sorry to leave me in a strange country without help, and persecuted by everyone. Did not that trouble me? I said to him: “My Father, I am not troubled at it. I use the creatures for God, and by his order; through his mercy I get on very well without them when he withdraws them. I am quite content never to see you again, if such be his will, and to remain under persecution.” When he said that to me he did not know it would become so violent as it did. Afterwards he said he set out well pleased to see me in this disposition, and thus went away.
But before going further, I will tell what happened to me previously. As soon as I arrived at the Ursulines, a very old priest, reputed a very holy man, and who for twenty years had not left his solitude, came to see me, and told me he had a vision about me before my arrival. He saw a woman in a boat on the lake, and the Bishop with some of his priests were doing all they could to sink the boat and drown her. This vision lasted more than two hours, troubling his spirit; that sometimes the woman seemed utterly submerged, and was not visible at all, and then, when she seemed lost, suddenly she reappeared. “In short,” he said, “for two hours I saw this woman, one moment lost, another out of danger, while all the time the Bishop continued to persecute her. The woman was always equally tranquil, but I never saw her altogether free; from which I conclude the Bishop will persecute you, and will never give it up. Such a one thinks he will desist, and I come to assure you he will not; he will die while persecuting you, and will not change.”
I had an intimate friend, the wife of the Governor, of whom I have spoken in this narrative. When she saw I had given up everything for God, she had a strong desire to follow me. She set herself to arrange everything so as to come and see me, but when she learned of the persecution, she saw there was no sense in her going to a place from which I should be obliged to withdraw, and she died soon after.
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MADAME GUYON 