I BEGAN to perceive that others were aimed at in the persecution stirred up against me. The object was far too insignificant for so much movement, so much agitation; but, as those they had in view were beyond reach in themselves, they thought to injure them through the esteem they had for a person so decried, and whom they were endeavouring still to render more odious. I had warned the Abbe F[enelon] long before of the change of Madame de Maintenon towards him, and of that of persons who manifested the greatest confidence in him; but he would not believe me. I had known the artifices that were employed for this purpose, and I had endeavoured to put him on his guard against persons who had all his confidence; in order that he should not unnecessarily put himself in their power, and to make him perceive they were acting with less uprightness than he was willing to believe. He persisted still in the idea he entertained, that I was mistaken, and I waited in peace till God should disabuse him by other ways. The event has since justified my conjectures, and we have seen those same persons attack him without disguise, and enjoy exclusively a confidence and a favour he might have preserved had he been less devoted to God and more influenced by those kinds of advantages of which the ordinary run of men are so covetous.
I knew Madame de Maintenon would use my letter as an opportunity for speaking against me; that she did it even from a good motive, in the false persuasion she possibly was under, that, as she had some years previously assisted to save me from oppression, she was bound to exert herself to crush me. What caused me the most trouble was that she judged others by the impression she had against me. All this knowledge and some dreams I had (for God often by this way has made me know things that were done against me) made me resolve to remain concealed while awaiting the developments of providence. If I could have been sensible to anything, it would have been to the troubles of the others, and to the ills I might cause them, if I could have regarded them otherwise than in the will of God, in which the greatest ills become blessings. But I am too insignificant to attribute to myself either ill or blessing. There is only one ill which can be justly attributed to me, it is the ill of sin; for although through the mercies of God I have not committed the evil they attribute to me, I have sufficiently offended God in other ways by my infidelity. He is so pure that, after so many fires of tribulation, I still find myself very impure before him, when he shows me to myself. It is not that I do not clearly see that his infinite goodness every day takes away those impurities. We are impure only through our affections. The affection even to procure the glory of God renders us unworthy that he should make use of us for that purpose. I believe both parties have too much faith to impute to anything else than providence what they have since suffered, and what they may yet suffer; yet I am willing to take the burden of it before God. I pray him with all my heart that I alone may bear the pain of all. O my Lord, exercise upon me in this life and in the other, if you will it, a justice without mercy, but show mercy to those persons in this life and in the other. Let me be the scapegoat, loaded with the iniquity of your people; let all fall upon me alone; O my God, spare them all, but do not spare me, I adjure you by your blood. You know, Lord, I have not sought my glory nor my justification in what I have done and demanded; I have sought your glory alone. I have wished to justify myself for them. That could not be; be you, yourself, their justification and their sanctification.
Although I took the resolution to withdraw from all intercourse, I nevertheless made it known that, whenever there should be any question of answering for my faith, I would be ready to betake myself wherever it should be desired. A few days after, I learned that Madame de Maintenon, in concert with some persons of the Court, who were already embarked in this business, who had a kindness for me, and who were interesting themselves in good faith, had adopted the course of causing a fresh examination of my writings, and to employ for this purpose persons of knowledge and recognized probity. The Duke de Ch— undertook to inform me. He wrote me that he, as well as the others in whom I had most confidence, believed it was the surest way to alter public opinion, and to put an end to the prejudice. It would have been so, in fact, if each one had proceeded therein with the same views and the same intention: but it was a condemnation they wished to make sure of, and to render it so authentic that those, who hitherto had remained persuaded of my good faith and the uprightness of my intentions, should be unable to stand out against a testimony, the less open to suspicion, as they seemed to have sought it themselves, and that everything, so to say, had passed through their hands. I did what they wished, and I sent word I was always ready to render reason for my faith; and that I asked nothing better than to be put right, if contrary to my intention, there had escaped from me anything that was not conformable with sound doctrine.
It only remained, then, to choose the persons who should make the examination. It was necessary they should be equally acceptable to both parties; men who had learning, piety, and some acquaintance with mystic authors, because that was the matter principally under consideration—to judge my writings in relation to theirs, both as to the root of the sentiments, and as to the conformity of the terms and expressions. It seemed difficult to have this discussion at Paris, owing to the Archbishop, from whom all parties agreed that the cognizance of it must be withheld. He would not have suffered it, because naturally it concerned him alone, as it took place in his diocese; and if he had been willing to undertake it himself, none of those who engaged in this affair had sufficient confidence in him to accept his decision. I will, however, say here, that during the course of that examination, the Archbishop having received a quantity of false memoirs that had been given to him against me, sent word to a lady, one of my friends, by a relative of his own and of that lady, that I should come and see him, and that he would extricate me from all my troubles. He wished to have the glory of it, and that no one else should meddle. He would have fully justified me, according to what I have since learned on good authority. I owe this justice to the fidelity of my God, that he did not fail me on this occasion, and that he put it into my heart to go to him. I even believed myself obliged to obey the voice of my Shepherd; but my friends, who feared the Archbishop should discover my secret regarding the Bishop of Meaux, ignoring that he had not kept it himself, did not allow me to go, nor to follow the inclination I had. I did not go then, acting on this occasion against my own heart, and seeing in the general all the misfortunes this refusal entailed. The Archbishop of Paris, indignant with reason at my refusal to go and see him, censured my books, which, up to that, he had not done, having been satisfied with the explanations I had given him six or seven years before. After this censure there were no bounds to the calumny; and the Bishop of Meaux found himself still more authorized in the condemnation he had promised to Madame de Maintenon. I return to the proposed examination.
The first person on whom they cast their eyes was the Bishop of Meaux. He had already, to the knowledge of Madame de Maintenon, made a private one, some months before. She wished to see him, to ascertain his sentiments, and the point to which she could count upon him in the design she had. It was not difficult for that Prelate to penetrate her intention and to observe the interest she took in the business, or rather her uneasiness for her friends. There is reason to believe he promised her all she wished, and it may be said the event has only too well justified this. On the other hand, those who were interested for me in this business, and I myself, were very well pleased to see him enter upon it. I had had an opportunity of explaining to him an infinity of things on which he had appeared to me satisfied, although on some others he had persisted in a contrary opinion. I did not doubt that, in a quiet discussion in presence of people of consideration and knowledge, who would be all equally conversant with the subject, I should make him at least change his opinion so far as not to condemn in me what he would not dare to condemn in so many saints canonized by the Church, together with their works. He had, moreover, administered the Sacraments to me during his first rigorous examination, and had offered to give me a certificate of it for my consolation. The things on which we did not agree, not having been decided by the Church, did not offend against the faith. All these considerations led me to ask for him. I also asked for the Bishop of Chalons, who had mildness and piety. I thought he would have more knowledge of the things of the spiritual life and of the interior ways than the Bishop of Meaux, and that my language would be to him less barbarous; for, in fact, it was this was in question rather than the dogma of the Church. Two of my most intimate friends wished that M. Tronson should also enter upon it. He had been for a long time Superior of the House of St. Sulpice. They had both a very special confidence in him.
When these three persons had accepted the proposal that was made them, I took the liberty of writing to them, to make them acquainted with what concerned me, and had given occasion to this discussion; at least, the two last. I will here insert that letter in its natural sequence.
Letter to Bishops of Meaux and Chalons, and to M. Tronson.
“How should I, gentlemen, be able to appear before you, if you believe me guilty of the crimes of which I am accused? How will you be able to examine without horror books emanating from a person that they would represent as execrable? But also how should I not appear, since, having taken the liberty of asking His Majesty for you to examine my faith, and having been happy enough to obtain what I desire, it would be to deprive myself of the only resource that remains to me in this life, which is to be able to make known the purity of my faith, the uprightness of my intentions, and the sincerity of my heart before persons who, although prejudiced, are for me above all suspicion, owing to their light, their uprightness and their extreme probity? I had taken the liberty of asking His Majesty to join lay judges in order they might probe what concerns my morals, because I thought it was impossible there could be a favourable judgment of the writings of a person who passes for guilty. I offered to go to prison, as you will see, my Lords, by the letter annexed, if you will kindly read it. I offer more—it is to prove that I have neither done, nor could do the things of which I am accused. I do not mean that those who accuse me should prove what they advance, although this would be the ordinary course, but I offer myself to prove it is not so. If you will have the charity to examine what concerns the criminal before the examination of the books, I shall be infinitely obliged. It is easy to learn everything for and against my whole life. I will tell you, my Lords, with the utmost ingenuousness the things of which I am accused, and the character of the persons who accuse me. I am ready to suffer every kind of test, and I am sure it will be easy for you with the grace of God to discover an exceptional malignity. You will see the character of the persons who accuse me, and perhaps it will be a great good for the Church to examine who are the guilty; those who accuse me, or she who is accused. Three persons of uprightness are incited against me: the Bishop of Chartres, because his zeal is deceived—it will be easy for me to show by whom and how; the Cure of Versailles, who has not always been as rabid against me as he is, since, on my release from St. Mary, he wrote me, after having read the books which were in question, that he was quite of my sentiments. I have his letter. Since that time he did me the honour to number me as one among his friends, and came to see me more often than anyone else. He has testified to all my friends the esteem he had for me; even since the last time I had the honour of seeing him, he has said a thousand good things of me at St. Cyr, and, afterwards, much ill. He imagined I had withdrawn Madame de G— and Madame de M— from his direction, to put them under that of the Jesuit Father Alleaume. It is a fact Madame de G— was under the conduct of Father Alleaume before I had the honour of knowing her. It was not I, then, who placed her there. Madame de M— believed herself obliged, in giving herself to God, to leave the Court, which was for her a danger, in order to devote herself to the education of her children, and the care of her family, which up to that she had neglected: leaving Versailles and residing at Paris, she needed a director at Paris. Yet the Cure, who is said at present to have the ear of Madame de Maintenon, and who has it in fact, makes two opposite complaints: the one, that I have withdrawn these ladies from the direction of their legitimate pastor to place them under the conduct of a Jesuit Father; the other, that I directed them. How have I given them a director if I directed? For if I have given them a director, I do not direct them. God has not abandoned me to such a point, that I should meddle with directing; although I believe he sometimes gave experiences to assist others with: but all the persons I have been acquainted with have had their directors.
“When those ladies were in the world, they put on patches, used rouge, and some of them ruined their families by play and extravagance in clothes; nothing was said against it, and they were let go on. Since they have abandoned all that, there has been an outcry, as if I had destroyed them. Had I made them abandon piety for self-indulgence, there would not be so much noise. I have proofs and the witness of letters, which have been written to the Cure of Versailles, which will show clearly the justification of what I advance, if I am granted the favour of being heard. The third person, of those who are incited against me, is M. Boileau, stirred up by a devotee, who assures him God has made known to her I am displeasing to him, and this accompanied by things manifestly false, which it is easy to verify.
“These are the persons who are upright and, through zeal, incite everyone against me. The rest of the accusers are all persons with whom I have had no intercourse, except to give them alms, to have forbidden them my house, or to have pointed them out for what they were. I will tell you, my Lords, when you please, the facts which have led these persons to accuse me, namely La Gentil, La Gautiere, the girls of P— V—, the girls from Dijon, Grenoble, and Fi. I do not claim, my Lords, to hide from you the smallest thing, because, thanks to God, I do not wish to deceive myself. As soon as I knew I was accused of acting as director I withdrew myself. I no longer received anyone, as you will see, my Lords, from this other letter. I have always thought it was necessary before everything to be enlightened on the criminal: therefore I implore you, by the charity of our Lord Jesus Christ, to receive the memoirs which will be given you against me. If I am guilty, I ought to be punished more than another, since God has given me the grace to know him and to love him, and I am not ignorant enough to be excused; for I am certain Jesus Christ and Belial are not in the same place.
“I have taken the liberty of asking for the Bishop of Meaux since last year, because I have always had such a great respect for him, and I am persuaded of his zeal for the Church, of his lights, and of his uprightness, and I have always had a disposition to condemn what he will condemn in me. I have taken the liberty of asking for the Bishop of Chalons (although the Abbe de Noailles is the most zealous of those who decry me), as well because for a long time I know his discernment and his piety, as that because, being interested through his niece, I am very happy he should know the truth for himself. I have asked for M. Tronson, although I know all the labour expended to decry me to him, because I know his uprightness, his piety, his light, and that it is necessary he should know for himself the ground the Bishop of Chartres has to excite his zeal against me. I conjure you, my Lords, by the charity that reigns in your hearts, not to hurry this business, to allow it all the time that is necessary to get to the bottom, and to allow me the favour of being heard and explaining myself on everything. I pray you to be persuaded that I speak to you sincerely. Have the kindness, if it pleases you, to inform yourselves, not from those who do not know me, but from those who know me, if my heart is not upon my lips. As to that which concerns the matter of my books and writings, I declare I submit them with all my heart, as I have already done, and as I have declared in the annexed paper. I declare, my Lords, I submit my books and my writings purely and simply, without any condition, for whatever you will please to do with them: that therein I do not claim anything for myself: that, after having submitted them to the Church in general, I submit them to your lights in particular. I protest to have written them through obedience, without other design than to give them to my director, for him to do with them what he pleased, indifferent whether he burned them or not. Although these books have caused me very severe crosses, and have served as a pretext for many things, yet, had I known that they must have brought me to suffer death, the same obedience which has made me write them, would still have made me do so. I have still the same disposition and the same indifference as to their success.
“I pray you, my Lords, to bear in mind I am an ignorant woman; that I have written my experiences in perfect good faith; that if I have explained myself ill, it is an effect of my ignorance; as for the experiences they are real. Moreover, I have written, as I have declared, without the aid of any book, without even knowing what I was writing, in such abstraction that I remembered nothing of what I had written. It is these writings, then, I submit purely and simply to your judgment, my Lords, to do with them whatever you please: therein is my interest; there is, moreover, the interest of truth. It is for that, my Lords, I conjure you to examine thoroughly whether what I write is not found in the mystic authors and saints approved this long time. I offer myself to show it to you, if you do me the favour to hear me. You will not refuse me this justice. It is even necessary as a foundation for your judgment. I further ask a favour, my Lords, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for you and for me, which is—to write the questions and answers I shall make. This is necessary because the memory of things perishes, and you will be well pleased to see on what you have condemned or approved me. This is necessary for me myself, that, recognizing my mistakes, I may withdraw myself from those sentiments. I hope you will grant me all I here ask by the blood of Jesus Christ my Saviour. It is necessary, moreover, to clear up one difficulty before undertaking another, in order it may remain for ever approved or condemned.
“August, 1694.”
I sent at the same time to those persons, besides my two little printed books, my commentaries on Holy Scripture; and I undertook by their order a work to facilitate for them the examination they undertook, and to lighten for them a labour which was nevertheless troublesome enough, or which at least would have taken up much time. This was, to collect a certain number of passages from approved mystic authors, which showed the conformity of my writings and the expressions I had used, with those of these holy authors. It was an immense work. I caused the manuscripts to be transcribed as fast as I had written them, to send to these gentlemen, and, according as opportunity offered, I explained the passages that were doubtful or obscure, or which had not been sufficiently explained in my commentaries. For these I had composed at a time when, the affairs of Molinos not having yet made a stir, I had written my thoughts without precaution and without imagining they could be twisted to the sense condemned. That work has for its title “Les Justifications.” It was composed in fifty days, and appeared very suitable for throwing light on the matter; but the Bishop of Meaux would never either read or allow the others to see those “Justifications.”
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MADAME GUYON 