Various
Excellent Women
VI.
IN PRISON
On January 29, 1688—the first month of a year specially dear to English lovers of civil and religious liberty—Madame Guyon was taken to her cell in Sainte Marie. It was a room in an upper story of the convent, with a barred door, and an opening for light and air on one side. Here she was shut up from her friends; her gaoler, a crabbed, hard-hearted nun, who treated her with the greatest rigour, regarding her not only as a heretic, but as a hypocrite and out of her senses as well. Feeble in body and in bad health, her mind was much troubled about her beloved daughter, whom interested persons were trying to force into a marriage of which Madame Guyon strongly disapproved. But though, under harsh treatment, she became very ill, and was nigh unto death, her peace and joy proved their heavenly origin by unbroken continuance in this trying season. As she recovered, she found occupation in writing her autobiography, and in composing hymns and sacred poems. Amongst the latter is the charming cantique given at the end of her Life, and beginning—
"Grand Dieu! pour Ton plaisir
Je suis dans une cage,"
which has been happily Englished as follows:—
"A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, my God, it pleases Thee.
Nought have I else to do,
I sing the whole day long,
And He whom well I love to please
Doth listen to my song.
He caught and bound my wandering wing,
But still He bends to hear me sing.
Thou hast an ear to hear,
A heart to love and bless,
And though my notes were e'er so rude.
Thou would'st not hear the less,
Because Thou knowest, as they fall,
That love, sweet love, inspires them all.
My cage confines me round,
Abroad I cannot fly;
But though my wing is closely bound,
My heart's at liberty.
My prison walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom of the soul.
Oh, it is good to soar
These bolts and bars above,
To Him whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love,
And in Thy mighty will to find
The joy, the freedom of the mind."
Her liberation from this imprisonment came from a remarkable quarter. Madame de Miramion, a pious lady, often visited the convent with charitable intent. Having heard much about Madame Guyon, she asked to see her; and having seen her and conversed with her, she soon became her warm friend, and pleaded her cause with Madame de Maintenon, who was now at the height of her power and possessed supreme influence with the king, whose wife she had become, by a private marriage, in 1685. Madame de Miramion, having in this way procured Madame Guyon's release from her convent prison, took her to her own house. It was a happy change for this much-tried woman. She was once again among friends, and had the society of her daughter. She went to St. Cyr—a royal institution for the education of the daughters of the poorer aristocracy, in which Madame de Maintenon took interest—to thank the great lady for her kindness. The latter was charmed with the bright, saintly ex-prisoner, whose devout spirit shone out in her countenance and breathed in her fascinating speech. She had many conversations with her, and begged her to give instruction to the girls of St. Cyr.
It was at this time that Madame Guyon first met the great Fénelon, who was a director of St. Cyr, as well as one of the most noted characters of the age. She won his lasting regard. He was cheered by the warmth of her piety and her unwavering faith, while his more logical and better disciplined mind would no doubt moderate and tone down her excess of introspection and rapt emotion. She spent three happy years in Paris, consulted by many persons on religious matters, admired and honoured by several distinguished people, and sheltered from storm in the house of her daughter, now married to the Count de Vaux. But the sunshine was not to last long. Godet, Madame de Maintenon's confessor and one of the directors of St. Cyr, was possessed with a jealous hatred of his co-director, Fénelon, and also disliked Madame Guyon. Breathing into the mind of the great lady—who, though of Huguenot descent, was nothing if not "orthodox"—doubts as to Madame Guyon's correctness of belief, he caused Madame de Maintenon to withdraw her countenance from her protégée, and to discontinue her own visits to St. Cyr. Now was the time for Madame Guyon's enemies to attack her, when they saw the court favourite's countenance withdrawn. An attempt was made to poison her, and so far succeeded that her health was impaired for many years.
Then Bossuet appeared on the scene. In September, 1693, he came to see her in Paris, feeling, doubtless, that he was the man to settle all these Pietistic commotions. At Madame Guyon's request he consented to examine her numerous writings; and when, in the course of some months, he had performed this task, and had also perused her MS. autobiography, he had another long conversation with her, which brought out fully the peculiarities of her doctrine. In this interesting discussion he seems to have adopted a bullying tone somewhat incompatible with his remarkably mild Christian name, Jacques Bénigne, and to have forgotten the courtesy due to a lady who, whatever her errors might be in his eyes, was one of the brightest lights and purest saints in the Roman Catholic Church of that day. Finally, the matter became an affair of State, and the king appointed a commission to sit, at Issy, upon her orthodoxy—Bossuet, De Noailles, and Tronson. The two latter were charmed with her mild and teachable spirit. But the fierce Bossuet was not yet satisfied; and as she put herself under his special direction for a time, he consigned her to a convent at Meaux, and at length required her to sign certain doctrinal articles, and a decree condemning her books. To this last, however, a qualifying clause was appended, to the effect that she had never intended to say anything contrary to the spirit of the Church, not knowing that any other meaning could be given to her words. In fact, while conceding to her Church the right to condemn whatever it did not approve in her tenets, she held much the same position as Galileo when his theory as to the movements of our planet was condemned as heretical, and he capped his enforced retractation with the quiet protest, "E pur si muove." In her letter to her three ecclesiastical judges, dated "in August, 1694," she courageously tells them, "I pray you, my lords, to remember that I am an ignorant woman; that I have written my experiences in all good faith, and that if I have explained myself badly, it is the result of my ignorance. As regards the experiences, they are real."24
Bossuet at length appeared to be satisfied, and gave her a certificate of her filial submissiveness to the Roman Catholic faith, and she thought herself free to return to Paris. It was not perhaps the wisest step to take; the bishop was displeased at it, as was also the bigoted Madame de Maintenon. Madame Guyon went to live in privacy in a small house in the Faubourg St. Antoine, where she hoped to be left in peace. But her enemies got scent of her hiding-place, arrested her, and shut her up in the Castle of Vincennes, whence, after a few weeks at Vaugirard, she was transferred to the Bastille.
Of her life in this famous prison we have little or no detail. Like all its unfortunate inmates, she was forbidden to reveal its secrets; but we gather from her own words that, amid sickness and the many hardships of her prison life, one of her severest trials was found in the rumours which reached her of "the horrible outcry," outside the walls, against herself and her sympathisers. But in this dark season she held fast her confidence in God, and her spirit found utterance and relief in some of those songs, full of love and trust, which are included in the four volumes of her poetical works.
VII.
LAST YEARS
She was confined in the Bastille for four years, and when at last, in 1702, she was released, her health was completely ruined by the privations she had suffered, the bitter cold of winter, and in the warmer weather the poisonous exhalations from the stagnant waters of the moat. When once more she issued into the sweet air of liberty, "My afflicted spirit," she says, "began to breathe and recover itself; but my body was from that time sick and borne down with all sorts of infirmities." Even now, however, she was not free to go where she liked. After a brief visit to her daughter in Paris, she was required to take up her residence at Blois, a hundred miles south-west, and there, in complete retirement, she spent her remaining days, still writing cheery words of counsel to her disciples in France and other lands, and enjoying spells of happy converse with the steadfast friends who sought her out in her exile.
She lived on in peace and quiet, though often in pain and weakness, for fifteen years after her release from the Bastille. Her final release from all earthly trials and sorrows took place on June 9, 1717, when she had entered about three months into her seventieth year. That her beautiful spirit of resignation was maintained to the last, and that her faith was pure and steadfast, we have proof in these expressions in her will, written a short time before her death: "Thou knowest that there is nothing in heaven or in earth that I desire but Thee alone. In Thy hands, O God, I leave my soul, not relying for my salvation on any good that is in me, but solely on Thy mercies and the merits and sufferings of my Lord Jesus Christ."
We find here no trace of that reliance on the Virgin Mary, or that frequent clamouring for her interest and intercession, which then formed and still forms so integral a portion of the daily routine of Romish worship. It is a remarkable feature of Madame Guyon's religious life that, in an idolatrous age, her faith constantly soared straight up to God, ignoring the mediation of the Virgin and the saints, and regarding the priests themselves, not as intermediaries between Christ and her soul, but simply as her appointed counsellors and guides on the road to heaven. We need not wonder that such bitterness was shown towards her, and that no effort was spared to suppress teaching so dangerous to the very foundations of the ancient edifice of error.
VIII.
HER TEACHING
On a previous page I have given extracts from her autobiography which show pretty plainly the mistakes into which Madame Guyon fell at the outset of her Christian career. They had their root in the idea that her communion with God was so close and intimate that all her thoughts were not merely devout and God-ward, but even Divine, coming direct from God. So she fell into the Quietist error of intense introspection, looking for guidance, not solely to the written Word, but chiefly to her own inward impressions, or "inspirations," as she considered them to be.
But was it at all wonderful that this good woman, brought up in the bondage of corrupt doctrine and deeply-incrusted prejudices, should entertain some theological errors? The only wonder is that she attained so much of the truth, and, in that age of mingled intolerance and licentiousness, lived a life of purity and charity, of holy aspirations and devout performance. And though her excessive introspection is not at all to be imitated, and many of her views are such as we with our greater light cannot, of course, endorse, yet her mistakes in metaphysics and in theology did not affect the beauty of her life, which was chiefly spent in acts of charity and earnest endeavours to spread the knowledge of her Lord and Saviour. If her benevolent efforts at evangelisation did not always show the successful results she desired, if disappointments crowded some of her later years, yet to her case we can rightly apply the words of the poet:
"Yet to the faithful there is no such thing
As disappointment; failures only bring
A gentle pang, as peacefully they say,
'His purpose stands, though mine has passed away.'"
Her Works, amounting in all to forty volumes, were published in Paris in several editions. Her Poems and Spiritual Songs occupy four volumes. Some of these simple utterances of a devout heart were beautifully translated by Cowper, and with one of the most characteristic of these renderings this sketch may fitly be concluded:—
"THE ENTIRE SURRENDER
Peace has unveiled her smiling face,
And woos thy soul to her embrace,
Enjoyed with ease, if thou refrain
From earthly love, else sought in vain.
She dwells with all who truth prefer,
But seeks not them who seek not her.
Yield to the Lord with simple heart
All that thou hast and all thou art;
Renounce all strength but strength Divine,
And peace shall be for ever thine.
Behold the path which I have trod,
My path till I go homo to God."
WILLIAM NICHOLS.
ANN JUDSON
CHAPTER I.
EARLY YEARS
Ann, a daughter of John and Rebecca Hasseltine, was born in Bradford, Massachusetts, on December 22, 1789. The quiet daily life of the simple New England people from whom she sprang, and amongst whom she was brought up, was as beneficial a training for her future career as could have been found for her. The feverish activity and never-ceasing struggle to be first, which have now taken possession of the American people, were then almost unknown, and the descendants of the Puritan fathers spent their days in peaceful toil. Most of the New Englanders were engaged in farming or small manufactures, and there was a deeply religious spirit throughout the whole of the Northern States.
Of the early life of Ann Hasseltine we know comparatively little. Her family was evidently in moderately easy circumstances, and the Hasseltine household was a happy and closely-united one. The parents, with wise foresight, were careful to give their children as good an education as could be obtained in the neighbourhood, and kept them at school till well advanced in their teens. Ann was distinguished among her sisters for her gay, joyous, and somewhat emotional temperament. There was no half-heartedness about her, and whatever she took up she would throw her whole soul into. As was to be expected in a community where religious matters occupied so prominent a place, the urgent need of a personal faith in Christ was placed before her at an early age. She could not suppress a vague longing after something, she knew not what; and every now and then her conscience would be aroused, and she would quicken her efforts to be good.
When she was sixteen, affairs reached a crisis. A series of religious conferences had been held in Bradford during the early months of 1806, and she regularly attended them. Each meeting deepened the impression on her mind as to the need of a higher life. Her old amusements seemed now utterly distasteful to her, and the fear of being for ever lost weighed heavily on her soul. She was invited to a party by an old friend; but her heart was too sad to care for such things, so on the morning of the party she stole off to the house of one of her aunts, who, she thought, might be able to help her in her trouble. Her aunt spoke seriously to her of the necessity of obtaining salvation while she could, and the poor girl became more downcast than ever. "I returned home with a bursting heart," she afterwards said, "fearing that I should lose my impressions with the other scholars, and convinced that if I did so my soul was lost."
She shut herself in her bedroom, refused to touch any but the plainest food, and for some days pleaded with God for pardon. Gradually the light came in her soul. "I began to discover a beauty in the way of salvation by Christ," she said. "He appeared to be just such a Saviour as I needed. I saw how God could be just in saving sinners through Him. I committed my soul into His hands, and besought Him to do with me what seemed good in His sight. When I was thus enabled to commit myself into the hands of Christ, my mind was relieved from that distressing weight which had borne it down for so long a time. I did not think that I had obtained a new heart, which I had been seeking, but felt happy in contemplating the character of Christ, and particularly that disposition which had led Him to suffer so much for the sake of doing the will and promoting the glory of His Heavenly Father."
With so deep an experience it was only natural that the whole course of her outward life should be completely changed. She soon made an open profession of religion by becoming a member of the Congregational Church at Bradford; and her friends could see the reality of her conversion by her consistent daily walk.
She now threw herself with greater zeal into her ordinary studies, and this soon resulted in her being requested to take temporary charge of a small school at Salem. When the work there was done, a teachership was found for her in another place near at hand, and it was while thus engaged that she became acquainted, with her future husband, Adoniram Judson.
Mr. Judson, who was some sixteen months her senior, was the eldest son of a Congregational minister at Malden, near Boston, and had from his youth been noted for possessing intellectual powers far above the average. When a boy, he diligently read every book that he could get hold of, and at Brown University he graduated head of his class. For a time during his college course he became affected with the sceptical views which were then fashionable; but the death of a friend brought him back to the old faith, and as an outcome of his conversion he became a student at the Theological College at Andover.
While at college, Judson and three fellow-students had their interest deeply aroused in the conversion of heathen nations. They petitioned the General Assembly of their church on the matter, and solicited its advice as to whether "they ought to renounce the object of missions as visionary or impracticable;" and if not, what steps they should take to translate their longings into action.
The importance of this appeal was at once recognised by the churches, and as an immediate consequence the "Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions" was formed, a society which has grown until it is now one of the greatest missionary organisations in the world. Judson went on a visit to England in order to expedite matters, and to consult with the officials of the London Missionary Society. After some delay, caused by the capture of the vessel in which he was sailing by a French privateer, he reached London and saw the directors. They agreed to support him and his companions should the American Board be unable to do so, and with this assurance Judson returned to America.
He now made Miss Hasseltine a formal offer of marriage, and she knew that if she accepted she must of course accompany him abroad. For a time she not unnaturally hesitated. She was asked to do what no American woman had before attempted, and the life of a foreign missionary seemed full of unknown horrors. It meant to leave home and probably never to see friends or native land again, to be worn out in the unhealthy climate of some tropical land, to suffer "every kind of want and distress, degradation, insult, persecution, and, perhaps, a violent death." Friends, with few exceptions, advised her to decline, and public opinion was strongly opposed to such a "wild, romantic undertaking" as a woman going out to the heathen. "O Jesus," she prayed in her perplexity, "direct me, and I am safe; use me in Thy service, and I ask no more. I would not choose my position of work or place of service; only let me know Thy will, and I will readily comply!"
After some weeks of hesitation she definitely made up her mind. "I have at length come to the conclusion," she wrote, on October 28, 1810, "that if nothing in Providence appears to prevent, I must spend my days in a heathen land. God is my witness that I have not dared to decline this offer that has been made me."
Her decision surprised many of her acquaintances. "I hear," said one lady to another, "that Miss Hasseltine is going to India. Why does she go?" "Why, she thinks it her duty. Would you not go if you thought it your duty?" "But," replied the first speaker emphatically, "I would not think it my duty."
On February 6, 1812, an ordination service was held at the Tabernacle Church in Salem, when Adoniram Judson and four others were set apart for foreign missionary work. On the previous day he and Ann Hasseltine had been made man and wife at Bradford; and a few days later Mr. and Mrs. Judson, accompanied by Mr. Newell and his wife, set out in the brig Caravan for Calcutta.