Excellent Women

by Various

I.

HER BIRTH AND BRINGING-UP.

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Jeanne Marie Bouvières de la Mothe, afterwards Madame Guyon, was born at Montargis, about fifty miles south of Paris, on April 13, 1648. Her father, who bore the title of Seigneur de la Mothe Vergonville, was a man of much religious feeling. Although Jeanne was a child of delicate health, her mother does not seem to have bestowed much trouble upon her, sending her, when only two years and a half old, to an Ursuline seminary a short time, and then committing her almost entirely to the care of servants, from whom, as a matter of course, her mental and moral culture at that highly-receptive age did not receive much attention. 'When four years old, she was transferred to the care of the nuns in a Benedictine convent. "Here," she says in her autobiography,[1] "I saw none but good examples; and as my natural disposition was towards the good, I followed it as long as I met with nobody to turn me in another direction. I loved to hear of God, to be at church, and to be dressed up as a nun."

[Footnote 1: La Vie de Madame J.M.B. de la Mothe-Guyon, écrite par elle-même, première partie, ch. ii., 6. The edition from which I quote was published at Paris, in three volumes, by the "Associated Booksellers," in 1791. See also Life by J.C. Upham (Sampson Low & Co., 1872).]

Now, as her opening mind drank in such instruction as came to her, she deeply felt the claims of God upon her love and service. Under the influence of a remarkable dream, she openly expressed her determination to lead a religious life; and one day, with unguarded frankness, she avowed her readiness to become a martyr for God. Her fellow-pupils at the convent, like Joseph's brethren, did not appreciate either her dream or her avowal. With girlish jealousy they laid her devout aspirations at the door of pride, and proceeded to test her professions in a cruel manner. They persuaded her that God had taken her at her word and called her suddenly to undergo the martyrdom for which she had declared her readiness. Her courage did not give way at their summons. So, after allowing her a short time for preparatory prayer, they led her into a room made ready for the purpose, where a cloth was spread on the floor, and an older girl stood behind her, lifting a large cutlass, and seemingly prepared to chop off the child's head. Who can wonder that at this too realistic sight the little girl's valour gave way? She cried out that she must not die without her father's leave. The girls triumphantly asserted that this was a paltry excuse, and let her go, with the scornful assurance that God would not accept as a martyr one who had so little of a martyr's courage.

Poor little Jeanne Marie! This unjust ordeal had a painful effect on her joyous spirit. Child though she was, she saw clearly that, like Simon Peter, she had been too ready and bold in her avowals of devotedness to her Lord. She thought that by her cowardice she had offended God, and that now there was little likelihood of winning His favour and enjoying His support. Her health, always delicate, could not but be injured by this unpleasant episode, and after a while she was taken home and again left to the care of the servants. Placed a second time at the Ursuline convent, she was happy in being under the care of her half-sister,—a good creature, who devoted her excellent abilities to the loving training of Jeanne in learning and piety. While here, the little girl was often sent for by her father; and at his house, on one occasion, she found Henrietta Maria, the widowed queen of England, who was so much pleased with her pretty ways and sprightly answers that she tried to induce M. de la Mothe to place his daughter in her care, intimating that she would make her maid of honour to the princess. The father, much to the queen's annoyance, declined the honour, and Madame Guyon, in after years, considered that perhaps she owed her salvation to his judicious refusal.

At this Ursuline seminary she remained, under her sister's care, until she was ten years old, when she was taken home again, and then placed in a Dominican convent, where she stayed eight months. Here she was left much to herself, but was so happy as to find an abiding companion, a heaven-sent gift, in a copy of the Bible, which had been "providentially" left in the apartment assigned to her. "I read it," she says, "from morning to night; and having a very good memory, I learnt by heart all the historical parts." Whatever were the immediate results of this close acquaintance with the Book of books, it is certain that in after years, when the true light had shined into her soul, her early intimacy with the Bible was of great service to her progress, and helped to qualify her in some measure for writing her Explanations and Reflections on the sacred volume. On her return home once more her religious state seems to have fluctuated considerably. Family jealousies and jars deadened the fervour of her devotion. Preparations for her first Sacrament under her sister's guidance, and the actual participation in that ordinance, had for a time a beneficial effect. But the solemnity of the Supper passed away without permanent influence on her heart.

She was now growing up a fine tall girl, of remarkable beauty and of equal fascination of speech and manner. Her mother became proud of her loveliness, and took great interest in her dress and appearance. Accomplished and attractive, she was welcome in every circle, and her wit and gaiety made her company much sought after. Her serious impressions passed away, and her heart was hot in the chase after pleasure. That it was still tender and susceptible we learn from a little incident at this period. She had gone for a walk with her youthful companions, and during her absence a young cousin, De Toissi, who was going as a missionary to Cochin China, called for a short time at her father's house. On her return home she found that he had already departed, and she heard such an account of his sanctity and of his pious utterances that she was deeply affected and was overcome with sorrow, crying all the rest of the day and night. Once more she sought earnestly "the peace of God, which passeth all understanding," but sought it by deeds of charity and by bodily austerities, instead of by the simple way of faith. At this time, in the fervour of her devotion, she resolved to enter a convent and become a nun. Her father, however, believed that his daughter, whom he tenderly loved, might be truly religious without taking such an irrevocable step. But soon—whether through some juvenile attachment or not we cannot tell—her good desires and resolves grew faint, she left off prayer, and lost such comfort and blessing as had been granted her from above. "I began," she says, "to seek in the creature what I had found in God. And Thou, O my God, didst leave me to myself, because I had first left Thee, and Thou wast pleased, in permitting me to sink into the abyss, to make me feel the necessity I was under of maintaining communion with Thyself in prayer."

In 1663 her father removed his household to Paris, and Jeanne Marie was transferred to a larger and more brilliant arena for the display of her beauty and accomplishments. Louis XIV. was on the throne, and Paris was at the very height of its gaiety and celebrity. The influence of its dissipation and distraction on the spirit of Mademoiselle de la Mothe was of course unfavourable to religion. Her parents found themselves not merely in a fashionable circle, but in a highly-intellectual centre. The grand monarque posed as the great patron of literature and the arts; and society presented splendid opportunities for the exercise of the young lady's conversational powers. She tells us that she began to entertain extravagant notions of herself, and that her vanity increased. In such surroundings it could hardly be otherwise. Her faith and love, such as they were, had died away, and her devotion had dwindled down to nothing. The dazzling world before her was in her eyes something worth conquering; and she set herself to gain its acclamation, and was to a great extent successful. From this high state of worldly gratification, and low state of religious principle and enjoyment, she was aroused and rescued in a very rough and painful manner.