It was in prison that Fenelon first met Madame Guyon.  Fenelon was thirty-seven, she was forty.  He occasionally preached at Montargis, and while there had heard of her goodness, her piety, her fervor, her resignation.  He had small sympathy for many of her peculiar views, but now she was sick and in prison and he went to her and admonished her to hold fast and to be of good-cheer.

Twelve years before this Madame Guyon had been left a widow.  She was the mother of five children—­two were dead.  The others were placed under the care of kind kinsmen; and Madame Guyon went forth to give her days to study and to teaching.  This action of placing her children partly in the care of others has been harshly criticized.  But there is one phase of the subject that I have never seen commented upon—­and that is that a mother’s love for her offspring bears a certain ratio to the love she bore their father.  Had Madame Guyon ever carried in her arms a love-child, I can not conceive of her allowing this child to be cared for by others—­no matter how competent.

The favor that had greeted Madame Guyon wherever she went was very great.  Her animation and devout enthusiasm won her entrance into the homes of the great and noble everywhere.  She organized societies of women that met for prayer and conversation on exalted themes.  The burden of her philosophy was “Quietism”—­the absolute submission of the human soul to the will of God.  Give up all, lay aside all striving, all reaching out, all unrest, cease penance and lie low in the Lord’s hand.  He doeth all things well.  Make life one continual prayer for holiness—­wholeness—­harmony; and thus all good will come to us—­we attract the good; we attract God—­He is our friend—­His spirit dwells with us.  She taught of power through repose, and told that you can never gain peace by striving for it like fury.

This philosophy, stretching out in limitless ramifications, bearing on every phase and condition of life, touched everywhere with mysticism, afforded endless opportunity for thought.

It is the same philosophy that is being expressed by thousands of prominent men and women today.  It embraced all that is vital and best in our so-called “advanced thought”; for in good sooth none of our new “liberal sects” has anything that has not been taught before in olden time.

But Madame Guyon’s success was too great.  The guardians of a dogmatic religion are ever on the scent for heresy.  They are jealous, and fearful, and full of alarm lest their “institution” shall topple.  Quietism was making head, and throughout France the name of Madame Guyon was becoming known.  She went from town to town, and from city to city, and gave courses of lectures.  Women flocked to hear her, they organized clubs.  Preachers sometimes appeared and argued with her, but by the high fervor of her speech she quickly silenced them.  Then they took revenge by thundering sermons against her after she had gone.  As she traveled she left in her wake a pyrotechnic display of elocutionary denunciation.  They dared her to come back and fight it out.  The air was full of challenges.  One prelate was good enough to say, “This woman may teach primitive Christianity—­but if people find God everywhere, what’s to become of us!”