Françoise de Bermond

After Madame de Bermond had gathered about twenty companions, she wrote a petition t o Pope Cleme Clément VIII Pope who approved the reform of the Trinitarians. nt VIII to obtain for them permission to publicly teach Christian doctrine to young girls. The Pope, approving of such a good design, granted them his apostolic blessing, with the permission they desired, and furthermore an indulgence. It was around the year 1594 that, having supported her enterprise with the authority of the Holy See, she began to instruct girls in Avignon for free, and occasionally women herself.

In 1596, she gathered her sisters into a community. Father Romillon sought a house for them on the Isle of Venice. He established Sister Françoise de Bermond as superior of the first community; and she held the same title and the same role in all the others she established. But she conducted herself so humbly that, during the journeys she undertook, even for the most prominent foundations, she always traveled mounted on a donkey, and everything else was in keeping with that.

She went to found a similar community in Aix and Marseille. While she was in the latter city, she was called to Paris to govern an assembly of girls and to communicate to them the rules she had already established in Provence. She governed for two years, as superior in Paris, the first Ursulines who established themselves there; and when, through the care of Madame de Sainte-Beuve, they embraced the religious life properly so-called, with the three vows and enclosure, she would have very much liked to remain with them; but her superiors in Provence not wishing to consent to it, she returned out of obedience, regretting very much not being able to follow her inclination, but leaving behind her girls formed by her lessons and her examples, and animated by her spirit.

As she was passing through Lyon, she was stopped there to establish a new community of Ursulines. This was the last one she began without enclosure. The Archbishop of Lyon, M. de Marguenon, having subsequently obtained a bull from the Pope to erect this house into a monastery, gave the veil and received the profession of religious vows from Sister de Bermond and three others as well, despite the opposition of the Ursulines of Provence, who made every effort to recall their dear mother to them. Thus, she had in Lyon the happiness she had not been able to obtain in Paris, that of being completely a religious, as she had always desired; and the foundations she undertook thereafter were established with the three vows and enclosure. She changed her secular name to those of Jesus-Mary, the unique objects of her love. Before her profession, the sisters had received a girl to serve them who showed happy dispositions; but Mother de Bermond, who knew how to discern spirits, returned her to her parents, recommending that they watch over her well: and the care they took did not prevent her from soon justifying the suspicions and fears of our pious Ursuline.

Some months after Mother Jesus-Mary had made her vows, the Bishop of Mâcon requested her to institute as a monastery a Congregation of Ursulines that existed in that city. Before she arrived, there appeared above, inside, and around the house of these girls, fires casting a sparkling brightness; and, although it was evening, the brightness was such that one could easily read by its light. She did not bring anything whole back with her from Mâcon to Lyon, the people having cut even her veil. It had not been more than a year since she had returned to Lyon when she was called to establish a new foundation at Saint-Bonnet-le-Chastel in Forez. The Archbishop of Lyon had much difficulty lettin Saint-Bonnet-le-Chastel Site of the final foundation and death of Françoise de Bermond. g her leave, and only gave her obedience for four months. She entered it with the applause of the people, and enclosed herself in the small Congregation of Saint Ursula, which she changed into a monastery. It is there that she gave her final examples of virtue.

Notwithstanding the works of charity, the travels, and the foundations of this great Ursuline, she could say with Saint Paul: "Our conversation is in heaven," because her spirit was always raised toward God; and it would perhaps be difficult to find a person who had more contemplation amidst so much action, and so much action in such assiduous contemplation.

She knew how to find twelve hours to pray to God on ordinary days, and fourteen on feast days. Toward the end of her life, she took up to seventeen or eighteen, having been relieved of all other occupations because of her infirmities.

In the height of winter, and in the night, she was so inflamed in her prayers that she was compelled to place her hands on the floor to moderate the ardor of her flame. At other times, she let them freeze rather than separate them, saying that it was a temptation of the Affronter (as she called the devil) who wanted to make her leave her prayer. Toward the end of her life, the demon sometimes took the form of the sister who was in charge of waking the others; and by saying the same words, and in the same tone as her, he often made her get up at midnight, so that afterward she would fall asleep during prayer. When she heard the *Lives of the Saints* read in the refectory, or only the martyrology, she wept abundantly; and as it was represented to her that instead of weeping over the death of the saints one should rejoice in their glory: "It is true," she replied; "but when I reflect on my exile, I have no more strength than the blessed Father Ignatius, who wept on a similar occasion." She composed spiritual canticles to charm in some way the troubles of her exile and the violence of her desires toward the heavenly homeland.

Mother Jesus-Mary, upon rising in the morning, would turn, like the sunflower, toward the altar, where the true Sun of justice and mercy was; and, prostrating herself on the ground, she prayed to the eternal Father to honor his Son in the most holy Sacrament, and to let fall upon her all the contempt that he foresaw would happen to this divine Jesus, annihilated by love. As soon as she entered the church, her heart flew toward the holy ciborium, just as a little bird returns to its nest. During the day, while coming and going, she always took the path to the church to have the means to adore her Jesus, at least at the door. Ordinarily, she said that she would not have wanted to exchange the sweetness of a quarter-hour of prayer for the enjoyment of all the pleasures of the world for a thousand years. When she left the church, she offered her heart to Our Lord, so that he might keep it with him in the ciborium.

She had a tender devotion to the most holy Virgin all her life: she recited the rosary every day in the company of some sisters to avoid ecstasy; but, despite this precaution, she did not fail to fall into it sometimes. One day, among others, she said with transport to her companion: "Ah! my sister, what a great pleasure it is to see the holy Virgin nursing her little Jesus! One cannot see that without an outpouring of joy." — "My mother," this daughter replied, "what you tell me also fills me with joy, but if I saw what you see, I would have even more." Mother Jesus-Mary, then returning from her ecstasy, turned toward her oratory, saying: "O good Jesus! look at what this girl thinks of me; forgive her, and me as well."

She once asked Our Lady in what way she could be most pleasing to her, and an interior voice answered her: "Thank God for the grace and glory that he has given to me and to my spouse Saint Joseph." This was also, thereafter, the principal occupation of her mind. She esteemed virginity above all else, which placed her in the following of this Virgin of virgins. "Even if I had," she said, "to be given eternally, and I had in the meantime the choice of a paradise on earth, I would seek no other way of life than that which I have embraced." However, twenty-five years after her vows, the devil did not fail to excite her to repent for having left the world and the pleasures she could have tasted there. As she was troubled by various thoughts of this kind, the holy Virgin presented to her in a dream a cup full of a delicious beverage from which she drank; she awoke disgusted with all earthly pleasures, and delivered from her temptation. She had recourse to the holy Virgin in her doubts and difficulties, and she had barely opened her mouth to pray to her when she was answered.

She lived in very intimate commerce with her guardian angel. If she feared the loss of some important letter, she recommended it to him, and she received the answer shortly after. Her weakness, joined to her continual contemplation, made her stumble at almost every step. She invoked her angel; "and without him," she said, "I would have died in a thousand accidents." At whatever hour of the night she wished to get up, her angel woke her punctually by knocking on her table. When she wished to speak to some absent person whom she could not have notified, she prayed to her good angel to give her the thought of coming to see her, and he never failed. This happened several times to her director, who, feeling inwardly pressed, would go to the monastery without any set plan. And as soon as the mother perceived him: "God be praised," she said, "I had sent you an angel to make you come." She also greeted her angel at every door through which she passed, and would withdraw a little, as if to give him precedence over her.

The zeal for the salvation of the infidels, which had been ignited so early in the heart of this dear mother, almost consumed it later on. As one speaks willingly of what one loves and desires, she had no more pleasant conversation with the sisters, while she was in Paris, than to make plans for travel to barbarian countries to catechize the women and girls there. These were perhaps the first sparks of that zeal which, later, brought several nuns from this same house to Canada. It was she who converted Mlle de Rochebgave, who had a very argumentative mind, but was strongly attached to heresy.

LIVES OF THE SAINTS. — VOLUME VI. 22

What was most admirable in this holy woman was the humility with which she hid the gifts of God, and what she did for him. She had so much skill for this that nothing distinguished her outwardly from the other nuns. Sometimes, when she returned from an ecstasy and saw a sister near her, she would say to her: "My God! my sister, you are too patient; you should have gone away during my sleep, or else awakened me." She was insensitive to praise, and contempt made her joyful. A mature woman of high standing came to the convent to make a great noise and say a thousand insults against the superior, because her daughter could not be received among the externs. On these occasions and others like them, she embraced her sisters with tenderness, saying: "Courage! it is a blessing that we are treated this way; let us know by this that we are consecrated to Jesus Christ." She had suffered many other insults in Lyon: for, when she went out with her companions to go to church, the people mocked them. Some took them for widows, others for repentant girls, some even for women of ill repute. A woman said to her one day with vehemence that she had done well to come to Lyon to get back on the right path: "For we know," she added, "what kind of life you led in Avignon, where your husband was hanged." — "It is true," the mother replied, laughing, "that my Spouse was hanged on the cross." She received this woman with so much kindness that she left her confused. In all things, great and small, she had regard for humility. Thus, a sister who knew how to write better than she did, offering to write in her name to a person of quality, she would not consent to it, saying that she would thereby attract praises that were not due to her, and that it was just that this person should see that she did not know how to do anything well. She treated her nuns more as an equal than as a superior; but she knew, when necessary, how to take a grave or severe demeanor that made them tremble. As she excelled in humility, she desired it in her daughters, and especially in the superiors. One of the latter excused herself to her for accepting this charge, saying that she was not capable of commanding others. Mother Jesus-Mary answered her in a severe tone: "Neither do I intend for you to command them; but you will ask them, and they will be so obedient that your requests will take the place of commands."

After this worthy mother had stayed four months with the Ursulines of Saint-Bonnet, she was requested in Grenoble. The Archbishop of Lyon having written to her on this subject, she begged him to leave her at Saint-Bonnet, because the monastery was poor, she was despised there, and she had time there to devote herself to prayer. The prelate did not wish to constrain her; she continued to spread in this humble convent the spirit with which she was imbued, and the perfume of her virtues. Thus she found herself so happy there that she usually said that Paris was a hell to her, Lyon a purgatory, and Saint-Bonnet a paradise. In truth, if the Saints make their paradise here below through sufferings, she had more of them in this town than elsewhere, and that is why she liked it so much. The dismissal of a girl of quality caused her many; for all the inhabitants were irritated by it, and for a year it seemed that the convent might perish because of it. One day when everything was lacking at once, a mule loaded with flour appeared at the door without a driver. The nuns took its load, then it went away. The superior ordered prayers for her persecutors and those of her daughters, and she was the first to mortify herself for them. It was in this place that she led for six years a life more angelic than human, hidden in the secret of the face of God, and overwhelmed by persecutions, which made her holiness shine even more.

Six months before her death, God tested her with great interior aridities. She was finally attacked by an apoplexy that lasted only two days, and left her the freedom to receive the Sacraments: after which she died, on February 19, 1628, aged fifty-six. Her director was absent at the time; so it was difficult for a nun to die with less fanfare. She obtained in this way what she had asked of God a long time ago, namely, to die in the smallest monastery of the Order, and in abandonment, to honor the abandonment of Jesus at his death.

Mother Jesus-Mary was, like all the Saints, terrible to the demons, and an object of horror and hatred for them. Finding herself once in a place where there was a possessed woman, the demon wanted to throw himself upon her, and cried out to her in a dreadful voice: "Get away from me, you burn me." But she, armed with the strength of God, and fearing not the threats of the demon, approached closer to the possessed woman, and spat in her face, out of contempt for the one in whose power she was. The demon, furious, said to her: "I will direct all my efforts and all my ruses against you, and against your daughters, more than against all the other religious Orders." — "Why, miserable one?" asked Mother Jesus-Mary. — "Ah!" replied the demon, "because the instructions that you give to these little girls are the reason that I can do almost nothing against them; that is why I will employ everything that hatred and rage can provide me, to prevent young girls from entering your Order." The demon did not fail to carry out his threats, as those who have dealt with the possessed of Loudun know.

Mme de Sainte-Beuve had as her father Jean Lhuillier, lord of Boulencourt, etc., president of the Paris Chamber of Accounts, and as her mother Renée de Nicolai, both allied to several illustrious families of the kingdom. She had nine brothers and eight sisters, her father and mother having each been married several times. This multitude of children did not prevent them all from being provided for in the world according to their birth. She was born in 1562 and learned from her mother, a woman of high virtue, to flee the ordinary vices of youth, and especially lying.

Her beauty, her gentleness, and her good nature attracted many suitors. Her parents chose Claude Leroux, sieur de Sainte-Beuve, councilor at the Parliament of Paris. She was nineteen years old when she married him; and they lived so perfectly united together that it seemed nothing was lacking to their happiness. But there are souls who have the glorious privilege of exciting, in a way, the jealousy of God, and whom He never leaves at rest until they have entirely given themselves to Him. Mme de Sainte-Beuve was one of these souls: God wanted her entirely, without any sharing; and it is for this reason that He took her husband from her by death, after only three years of marriage. This blow was very painful for her; but her faith soon made her grasp its purpose. She had enough courage and fidelity to persevere in the generous resolution she had taken never to remarry, and to have no more love than for Him whom one runs no risk of losing.

Mme de Sainte-Beuve was no more than twenty-two years old when she became a widow, without having had any children by her husband. It was an admirable thing to see a widow of her age, of her quality, rich and beautiful as she was, conducting herself in her widowhood, in which she persevered for forty-six years, with an integrity, a wisdom, and a life so irreproachable that slander never found anything in it that it could criticize. Her reputation was such that it was commonly said in Paris that one only had to change a single letter of her name for her to be, in name as well as in fact, the Holy Widow (Sainte Veuve).

At that time, King Henry IV entered Paris aft er havin Henri IV King of France mentioned for the dating of the chapel. g triumphed over the League. This prince presented himself one day without ceremony at an assembly of ladies of which Mme de Sainte-Beuve was a part; she advanced toward him, moved by the zeal of the Catholic religion, and respectfully made it known to him that she recognized him as her king. Then she added, speaking of the governor of Paris, who had opened the city gates to him: "Sire, I had always believed that the Count of Brissac was a man of honor, and I would never have taken him for a traitor." This freedom pleased the king: "I know well," he said to Mme de Sainte-Beuve, "that you have always been against me, but I do not love you any the less for it." Skillfully managing the king's benevolence, she asked him for mercy for some people of the opposing party whom she was hiding in her home, which he granted her very graciously. He did not want to allow her to kiss the hem of his cloak, and paid her compliments on her beauty. It is from this moment that it is claimed he had some inclination for her; and he gave more than one clear sign of it, to the point that he presented himself at her home one morning to pay her a visit without being announced. Warned by one of the girls who served her, she locked herself in her study; and the king could never persuade her to open it. She excused herself on the grounds that she was not in a state to appear before His Majesty, so that he withdrew, full of admiration for her virtue.

The king, who always had the same inclination for her, and even more esteem, loved to converse with her. When he saw her carriage in a street, he would have his own stopped to greet her. But he had such veneration for her, because of her virtue, that he never addressed any indiscreet or improper word to her. She feared greatly being subjected to this kind of test, and she admitted herself that this fear was for her a counterweight that prevented her from becoming proud of the very particular interest the king took in her. She knew how to skillfully elevate the mind of this prince in ordinary conversations, and take occasion from the most common things to lead him to God and to Christian piety. "It is easy for you others," he said to her one day, "to feel the tenderness of devotion; for you have been nourished from the cradle in the Catholic religion. But I, who am a warrior raised in the license of the camps and of Calvinism, and instructed only recently, how do you want me to have such great sentiments of piety?" — "Sire," she replied judiciously, "if Your Majesty does not have the tenderness of devotion, he can have its strength; it is in that that true devotion consists, and you will have all the more merit for it."

She passed at court and in the city for a Saint, and everyone, with regard to her, followed the precept of Saint Paul, which orders honoring widows who are truly widows.

Perfectly understanding the duties of her position, and well convinced that everyone in this world has received from God a kind of apostolate, she sought to procure the glory of God, and to make His kingdom come not only in herself, but also in others. Her piety was in this very different from that narrow, selfish, and false devotion, so common in our days, which, shutting itself up within itself, cares little for the progress and salvation of one's neighbor. She knew that every Christian must spread, in a certain measure, the good odor of Jesus Christ, according to the expression of Saint Paul, and that God will ask us for an account not only of the evil we have done, but also of the good we have neglected to do. Thus, her charity extended to others; she embraced with joy all opportunities to do them good.

It is a sad sign for the state of a soul when it is indifferent to the good of one's neighbor and to the glory of God. There are so many circumstances in life where a good word placed at the right time can become the germ of a better and new life. How many poor women in the world, ashamed of the bonds in which they are engaged, ask only for a friendly look, a benevolent hand to support them in order to rise again. But this look, this hand, they do not find, even among those who make a profession of piety. And this comes very often from a foundation of human respect and pusillanimity, or, what is worse still, from a culpable indifference regarding the things of God.

It was not so with Mme de Sainte-Beuve. A young girl, pressed by her conscience to withdraw from vice, begged her to protect and assist her in her necessity. Our virtuous widow reached out her hand charitably; and, in order to provide for her, and to give her the means to live, she took from her purse eight hundred crowns which she gave her. Another girl, who had failed and repented of it, was placed by her in religion; and Mme de Sainte-Beuve used such precautions to prevent her fault from being known in the convent that the matter remained secret, and she was admitted there as a nun.

Mme de Sainte-Beuve was perfectly submissive to her director, Father Gohleri, of the Society of Jesus; she did nothing that he had not approved, and had for him an extreme respect and deference. She valued his direction so much and had found it so beneficial that, during the fourteen years she survived him, she did not attach herself to other directors, but always followed the maxims of this holy religious, and the practices he had advised her. This is, in fact, a very important point for spiritual progress; and it is very difficult, especially for people who live in the world, to advance in virtue without an entire confidence in their director, and a great submission toward him.

God, who wanted to use Mme de Sainte-Beuve to establish a new Order in His Church, inspired in her a great zeal for His glory and an ardent desire to contribute to it and to employ all the wealth she had in it. Her desires were at first general and confused, and she remained several years in this state, before she knew in particular the will of God.

As she was speaking one day with Father Lancelot Marin, master of novices of the Jesuits of Paris, she communicated to him the great and continual desires of her heart to procure the glory of God, adding that she found herself so incapable and so little that these desires only served to give her confusion and pain. She asked him further if he did not see some means to renew the worship of God, which was diminishing every day, and in what she could contribute to it. The Father replied: "Mademoiselle, I am going to tell you one that God puts into my mind, by a simple comparison. Imagine a strong apple that has become rotten. What would need to be done to restore it to its first state, if not to remove the seeds, to plant them in good soil, then to water and cultivate them well; so that they can produce trees, which would in their turn bear as beautiful apples as those from which they are produced? Likewise, it seems to me that, to renew the corrupted world, one would have to go about it through the little youth. Our Father Saint Ignatius aimed at this goal, destining our Society to the good education of young people. It would be a similarly very praiseworthy and very useful enterprise to establish in Paris a congregation where one would withdraw little girls from the world, as from bad soil, to transplant them into fertile ground; so that having received good instructions there, they would emerge from it as from a nursery, to carry virtue into families. Families once well regulated would reform the cities, the provinces; and by this means, the world would become quite different. The poor Catholics, at least, would not live in ignorance, which is the cause of so many vices."

This discourse was a ray of light that enlightened her mind, and gave her the first thoughts of the foundation that she established later. We see here how important it is to communicate our good thoughts to those whom God enlightens and animates with His spirit.

Mme Acurie was then working to establish the Carmelites in Paris. After having chosen, among the girls she had assembled around her, those who were the most suitable for the Rule of the Carmelites, she employed the others to instruct young girls for free, foreseeing by celestial light the goods that an institute animated by this spirit would produce in the world. She had no rest until she saw the execution of the idea she had conceived of it, which made her resolve to speak of it to her cousin, Mme de Sainte-Beuve. She easily persuaded her to undertake this work, provided that the girls who would instruct were nuns. Mme de Sainte-Beuve courageously embraced this work and devoted all her care to it with such zeal that she sold the house she had in the city to go and lodge in the Faubourg Saint-Jacques, near the place destined for the monastery. There was already there a fairly large building and some others smaller, which she paid for almost entirely, and which she united by a large main building that she had constructed at her own expense. (September 29, 1616.) She had large buildings added later to the monastery, where she had the consolation of seeing nearly sixty nuns lodged and an even greater number of boarders.

It was impossible that the beginnings of such a beautiful work, which was to produce so many fruits of blessing and salvation, would not be troubled by the demon. History mentions several attempts he made to ruin the monastery that Mme de Sainte-Beuve had just founded in Paris. For this purpose, he stirred up several novices, whom he made his instruments, and who had committed themselves to him by a formal pact. It was especially Mme de Sainte-Beuve whom he targeted, and he sought in a thousand ways to destroy her. But God was with her, and His blessing rested upon the work she had founded. One of these unfortunate women, who had yielded to the suggestions of the demon, later confessed that it was above all the humility of Mme de Sainte-Beuve that had preserved her from his attacks.

Among the religious Orders, Mme de Sainte-Beuve was especially fond of the Jesuit Fathers, because they devoted themselves to the salvation of souls and, like the Ursulines, dedicated themselves to the education of youth. Thus, having reduced herself to poverty, she made every effort to obtain from her friends the sums necessary for the establishment of a novitiate separate from the professed house of the Fathers (1609).

She also founded another Ursuline house on Rue Saint-Avoye in Paris; and out of humility, she gave her title and rights as foundress to one of her nieces, married to M. Feldeau, Lord of Brou. She led four professed sisters to begin this new establishment. It was also she who led the nuns who went to found the monasteries of Pontoise and Saint-Denis, contributing to them with her care and charity as much as she possibly could.

Although Mme de Sainte-Beuve had always been considered a most virtuous person, it was mainly after she had founded the first Ursuline monastery that her virtues shone forth more brightly.

She had such a pleasant manner and demeanor when praying to God that one felt moved to pray just by seeing her. She also used to say that to pray improperly, and by making grimaces, was in some way like trying to frighten Our Lord. One All Saints' evening, while she was praying in her room for the faithful departed, having several times corrected her lady-in-waiting for praying in a very negligent posture, she heard the sound of a slap delivered by an invisible hand; and her attendant felt it so well that she did not wait for a second one to adopt a more appropriate posture. The next day, Mme de Sainte-Beuve recounted the matter to the Ursulines, while still quite moved.

She had prayed to God in every part of her monastery while it was being built, so that He might never be offended there, at least mortally. The respect she had for all holy things cannot be expressed. The slightest ceremonies of the Church, all the words of the Holy Scripture, all places of devotion, and everything concerning the worship of God and the Saints were held in particular veneration by her; she could not see them neglected in the slightest without showing the pain she felt. She knew that nothing that touches the worship of God is small, and that the least ceremonies have been inspired by the Holy Spirit and attest to the high wisdom of the Church: very different in this from those light and superficial spirits who imagine that external things in religion have no importance, and that the holy practices commanded and authorized by the Church are purely arbitrary. Having learned one day that the convent gardener had stored seeds in a hermitage she had built on the model of the Holy Sepulchre, she was distressed to the point of tears and obtained from the superior that a procession be held to make reparation for this irreverence.

Mme de Sainte-Beuve, considering the nuns as the spouses of Jesus Christ, had a profound respect for them. When she had to speak in the community, she was seized by a fear that was easily noticed. She was surprised by it herself and often said to the sisters of the monastery: "I am free with each of you in particular, and I look upon you all as my daughters. But when I see you assembled, it seems to me that I am in the presence of angels; and I tremble more to say a word to you than I have ever done before the great ones of the world. Yes, I would bet with more confidence to the body of the Parliament than to yours." She had great deference for the superiors and never consented to walk in front of them. She never interfered in the private affairs of the convent, despite all the solicitations that could be made to her on this subject; knowing very well that the privileges of a foundress are granted to maintain a monastery, and not to disturb it by the usurpation of an authority that is not due to her.

She lived for some time inside the convent, going out when she pleased for her business or to receive visits from her relatives, who were not happy to see her only at the grille. But as she noticed that by going out so often she could inconvenience the monastery, she left it entirely after a year and lived in an adjoining house, having a parlor from where she could talk with the nuns and a door through which she could enter the convent. She usually said her prayers on feast days and Sundays in the refectory and then spent the recreation with her dear daughters; then, at the sound of the bell, she would withdraw until Vespers, where she would attend and chant in the choir. When they reached this verse of Psalm 112: *Qui habitat sterilem in domo, matrem filiorum laetantem*, she experienced such great jubilation that she could not hide it. She truly saw these words being fulfilled in herself, and she thrilled with joy to see before her eyes this numerous family that God had given her, and which was multiplying every day.

She had a great inclination for children, enjoyed reasoning with them, and gave very beautiful maxims to the Ursulines for their education. She recommended above all to inspire in them the love of modesty and the horror of lying, to never tell them things otherwise than they were, and not to discourage them in their childish discourse. "How," she would say, "will their minds be formed if you take away their freedom to learn and to declare their thoughts?"

She often repeated that money and sadness were incompatible with her.

She married many poor girls after having withdrawn them from vice or the occasion of falling into it, giving to each according to her need and according to the money she had; for often she had nothing left; and after emptying her purse, she would look for something else rather than dismiss a poor person without giving them anything. Touched by compassion for a craftsman reduced to begging, she gave up for him to one of her relatives and obtained an alms of one hundred crowns. She joyfully brought this poor man in and asked him if he was careful to render his duties to God. He replied that yes, and that he would never want to fail in them: "Well! my friend," she said to him, opening her apron where the hundred crowns were, "since you have the fear of God, here, this is what He sends you: see how He provides for those who serve Him." This man, surprised at this sight, could not believe in so much happiness and thought that perhaps they wanted to deceive him. But his benefactress assured him that all this money was for him and put it into his hands. It would be difficult to say who was happier, the one who received the money or the one who gave it.

Nothing shows her ardent charity for the poor better than this saying, well worthy of being meditated upon by all Christians: "The greatest contentment I have," she said, "when I wake up in the morning, is to know that I will be able to give something that day." She knew that charity is the summary of the whole law, and the distinctive character by which Our Lord said His disciples would be recognized. She knew that, according to the testimony of Saint John, no one can flatter himself that he loves God, whom he does not see, if he leaves in need his brother who lives next to him and before his eyes. But she knew at the same time that hardness toward the poor almost always comes from the disposition to refuse nothing to oneself; and that it is almost always our useless expenses that make it impossible for us to provide for the needs of others. For Christianity alone has highlighted the link that exists between charity toward the poor and the spirit of humility and self-denial. It alone has made charity possible and easy by attacking, even in the most intimate depths of the human heart, the very root of selfishness. Only He could tell man to love his neighbor as himself, who commanded him to hate and despise himself. These two precepts are so closely linked that it is almost impossible to fulfill the first if one does not accomplish the second. Thus, Mme de Sainte-Beuve, to provide for her charities and to conform to Him who, being very rich, became poor for the love of us, cut back on everything she could. She sold her silver tableware, her tapestries, and all her other valuable furniture; she had nothing left but a bed of simple drugget; she wore only wool, sewing herself and sometimes spinning her clothes. She got rid of her carriage shortly after and dismissed most of her servants, after having rewarded them very well. Like the strong woman of Scripture, she did not eat her bread in idleness but was always occupied with some useful work.

She spoke of herself with great reserve, did not swell with the praises given to her; and while everyone admired her, she alone seemed to be unaware of herself. A nun asked her one day with simplicity if she had never felt some movements of complacency because of her beauty. She replied frankly that she did not remember ever dwelling on it, except one evening, when, after having been all afternoon in the company of an extremely ugly lady, she found herself in her mirror more beautiful than her, and felt a little joy.

She had a profound horror of lying. Queen Anne of Austria, still very young, had entered the Ursuline convent one day; a princess presented herself and asked to enter as well. The Queen, wishing that she not be allowed, told the superior that they must answer that the key to the door was lost. But Mme de Sainte-Beuve, who was present, spoke up; and addressing the Queen, with a simple and generous freedom: "No, Madame," she said to her, "we will not carry this message: let Your Majesty remember that, for anything at all, it is not permitted to tell a lie." This little reprimand edified the Queen and all her suite.

She was regulated in her food as in everything else. She said very little at others' homes, even at her closest relatives', especially since she had retired near the Ursuline monastery; and, as much as she could, she ate alone in her small dwelling. She said one day by chance to the Ursulines that she did not remember ever having ordered what should be prepared for her meals, nor having found fault with what was presented to her. This admirable restraint, in a person who had been raised delicately like Mme de Sainte-Beuve, shows such great detachment that it would be enough alone to persuade that her virtue was not ordinary. For, in the judgment of Saint Augustine, who knew well about these matters, temperance, as the Christian law understands and prescribes it, is the most difficult virtue to observe; and it is very often, he says, the reef against which the best-affirmed will comes to fail.

To all the advantages that Mme de Sainte-Beuve enjoyed in this world, she added a perfect health; which gave her enough reason to love the present life, where nothing was painful to her. Thus she admitted simply on several occasions that she feared its loss, and that it was necessary for her to rise by faith to the desires of the future life. She did not, however, fail to prepare for death, especially as she advanced in age, and slight ailments seemed to warn her of it. These increased considerably in the last six months of her life. She was given all kinds of remedies, which seemed to have a good effect, when suddenly, on August 25, dropsy declared itself, to the great astonishment of all those who were treating her, and who had believed until then her condition was without danger. The doctor told her it was time she received the holy Viaticum. This news surprised her a little: "What then! Sir," she said, "could I not wait to receive communion tomorrow? — Madame," he replied, "I do not advise you to delay a moment." Immediately, gathering the rest of her strength, she urged that they go and fetch Our Lord.

Meanwhile, the monastery was strangely alarmed upon learning around midnight that its dear foundress was at the last extremity. The superior sent to ask her forgiveness on behalf of the whole community and offered her services, as well as those of all her nuns. She was already speaking only with great difficulty. But hearing this sad message, she wept again with tenderness. She wanted to say something, but her tears prevented her; so much so that she only made a sign that she was for her dear daughters at death what she had been during her life.

She passed away so gently, while they were reciting the psalm *Laetatus sum*, that it seemed she was falling asleep, closing her eyes by herself, at two o'clock in the morning, on August 29, 1630, at the age of sixty-eight, while her good daughters the Ursulines were reciting together in the choir the prayers of the agony for her intention.

Her body was buried in the choir of the Ursuline convent of Saint-Jacques.

Hardly could they finish the service, the ecclesiastics, the nuns, and all those present bursting into tears. The desolation of the poor Ursulines was so great that they decided among themselves that they would serve her in the refectory for thirty days, placing her place setting at her usual spot, as if she were alive, and giving her portion to the poor. But every time this ceremony was performed, the tears and sobs began again; so that the nuns could no longer take their meal. They were therefore forced to omit this service; they continued, however, for the whole time intended, to give her portion to the poor.

Mme de Sainte-Beuve was of a beautiful stature, of a grave bearing, of an even temper, and of a serene face, where the candor of her soul was reflected. She had ash-blonde hair, blue and very gentle eyes, a lively and extremely delicate complexion, and all the features of her face very well made. She had the consolation of seeing before her death her monastery happily established, and nearly thirty others sprung from it, and spread in various provinces of the kingdom, not to mention many others that were established in her imitation.

## MADAME MADELEINE DE LA PELTRIE, NÉE DE CHAUVIGNY.

Madeleine de Chauvigny was born at the beginning of the 17th century, in Alençon, to a prominent family of the region.

She married M. de Grival, Seigneur de la Peltrie. He was a very honorable gentleman, of the house of Touvais, by whom she had a single daughter, who only received life to go and increase the number of the blessed. She kept the holiest laws of marriage until it pleased God to take her husband from this world, and thus restore her freedom. She was torn between the desire to renounce everything to follow Jesus Christ, and that of employing the immense fortune at her disposal for the relief of the spiritual and bodily miseries of her neighbor, for whom God had given her a tender compassion. Her charity was directed by preference toward the savages of Canada, where France had just established a colony, and which the Fathers of the Society of Jesus had begun to evangelize.

The Queen, having learned of Mme de la Peltrie's plans and her imminent departure for Canada, wished to see her with her companions.

The small troop left for Dieppe; on May 4, 1639, they set sail early in the morning. The group consisted of Mme de la Peltrie, Mlle Barré, six religious, including three Ursulines and three Hospitalières, and Father Vimond, of the Society of Jesus, who had just been named superior of the Canada mission. They arrived safely in Quebec on August 1, 1639.

Our dear f oundre Québec Place of mission and foundation in Canada. ss was delighted to find herself in possession of what she had so desired, and to be able to devote herself to the service of the little savage girls. She wished to be particularly in charge of them, and this consolation had to be granted to her. It was a pleasure to see her display before these poor children the red camelot fabrics she had brought to clothe them; and the savages could not contain their joy, having never seen anything so beautiful. She subjected herself to the enclosure and the Rule of the Ursulines, like the other religious, and persevered in it constantly until her last breath, without ever relaxing.

For eighteen years she occupied the office of linen-keeper, and she knew how to elevate what is small in this office by the manner in which she performed it. Seeing with the eyes of faith Our Lord in the person of those she served, it seemed to her that it was to Him that she gave the linen she was caring for.

The spirit of humility with which she was imbued made the practice of other virtues easy for her. She had made it a habit to take the last place in the choir, in the refectory, at communion, and at other community assemblies. She could not bear to be given the title of foundress. "Alas!" she would say on this occasion, "I am but a poor wretch, who does nothing but offend God." She believed it as she said it, although in fact her conscience was very pure before God, and her life very exemplary in the eyes of men.

She concealed with admirable sweetness the small displeasures that are inevitable in a religious house, however holy it may be. She always blamed herself, and was the first to ask for forgiveness on her knees, saying: "It is I, my dear sister, who have given you cause for sorrow through my pride and my impatience: pray to God that He may convert me, and believe that I always love you."

Her soul being ripe for heaven, on November 12, 1671, she was attacked by pleurisy which carried her off on the seventh day. She was asked if she did not regret life: "Not at all," she replied; "I value the day of my death a thousand times more than all the years of my life." On November 16, which was that of her happiness, knowing that it was a Wednesday: "God be blessed," she said: "I am happy to die on a day consecrated to Saint Joseph."

## MADAME MARIE MARTIN, NÉE GUYARD, KNOWN AS MARIE DE L'INCARNA Marie de l'Incarnation Ursuline mystic and founder in Canada. TION.

Marie Guyard, so well known by the name Marie de l'Incarnation, was born in Tours on October 18, 1599, to Florent Guyard, a silk merchant, and Jeanne Michelet, of the house of La Bourdaisière.

At the age of seven, she had a dream in which she saw Our Lord approaching her, saying: "Do you wish to be mine?" And after she had given her consent, she saw Him ascend into heaven. At the age of seventeen, her parents thought of marrying her off.

The two years that her marriage lasted were a time of trials and sorrows for her. M. Martin, her husband, was the innocent cause of this. This is all that could be known of it, the industrious charity of his wife having succeeded in hiding the knowledge of a detail that could have harmed the memory of her husband.

Marie became a widow at the age of nineteen, after two years of marriage, and was left with a newborn child; without fortune, and in such a sad state that she herself admits that her sorrows were excessive. Her virtue, and the qualities of her mind and heart, attracted several very advantageous suitors. Prudence seemed to make it a duty for her to accept them; but a wisdom superior to that of men made her consider things in a completely different way.

All her affairs being finished, and nothing holding her in the world anymore, she dismissed her servants, keeping only one maid with her, and took a very simple habit, which marked a complete divorce from the world. Her father having called her to him, she lodged on the top floor, and thought only of the education of her son and the contemplation of divine things. All her happiness was in the reception of the Sacraments and in the exercises of piety. But her love for God did not make her forget her neighbor. Unable to help the poor with her goods, which she had lost, she applied herself to rendering them the most repulsive services, dressing their wounds with a respect and affection that clearly showed she saw Jesus Christ Himself in them. One of her sisters, engaged in a considerable business, begged her to please relieve her. This proposal frightened her at first: it cost her to renounce that sweet rest to which she had sacrificed her fortune.

She found herself at her sister's in a rather strange situation. Upon her arrival, she had set herself to the kitchen, and taken charge of the vilest functions. It was not for this that she had been brought there: but God, who had His designs, permitted that they no longer thought she could be good for anything else, and that for three to four years, not only the masters, but even the servants, had nothing but contempt for her. She was happy in this situation, and her love for abjection was so great that she feared being too attached to it. Nothing could satisfy the insatiable desire she had for crosses and humiliations. She obtained from her confessor permission to make a vow of perpetual chastity. She was then twenty-one years old. As soon as she had made her sacrifice, she knew, by an extraordinary redoubling of graces, that God had accepted it.

However, her confessor did not deem it appropriate to leave her any longer in the state of humiliation in which she was being held: and, at the end of four years, he opened the eyes of her brother and sister to the singularity of their conduct toward her. They therefore begged her to take charge of their affairs, and she consented out of obedience to her confessor, who expressly commanded it. Her brother-in-law was a general commissioner for the transport of goods, and he had, besides that, a considerable position in the artillery. He was obliged, because of this, to have a large number of servants of all kinds, horses, carriages, and carts at his home. Among the occupations and continual embarrassments into which she was drawn, our charitable widow lost nothing of her application to God. To see her, one would have said that she was entirely given to what she was doing and to what was being said to her: and yet, outside of the things that were her duty, she saw and heard nothing. She sometimes spent entire days in the stables or in the warehouses, and other times she was still at midnight on the port, having goods loaded and unloaded. "When I was overloaded with business," she wrote, "I addressed myself to Jesus, my ordinary refuge, and my confidence in Him made everything easy for me. Sometimes I withdrew to converse with Him in solitude; immediately I was called back, and I went joyfully saying: Let us go, my sweet Love, you wish it. I am content, since I possess you. I felt an incomparable lightness, doing everything for the Beloved."

However, her son being raised and no longer needing her as much, she thought seriously of following the way of the Lord, who was calling her to religious life. She had not yet chosen the Order she was to enter. During this time, the Ursulines came to establish themselves in Tours. She had heard of these nuns, and had felt a powerful attraction for their institute, even before knowing them. But, unable to bring a dowry, she feared not being received in a house that was not yet well established.

Mother Françoise de Saint-Bernard, with whom she was intimately linked, having been named superior of the Ursulines of Tours, she conceived some hope. The superior, in fact, whom God was leading by paths similar to her own, no sooner saw herself at the head of the community than she was strongly inspired to attract her friend there: and, from the very day of her election, she had her called to communicate her design to her.

She set a day to enter the novitiate of the Ursulines, and, on that day, she called her son and humbly asked for his consent. "I will not see you anymore, then, my dear mother?" "Why not?" she replied; "you will see me, my son, as much as you like." "In that case," the child replied, quite moved, "I am willing." Then the servant of God continued thus: "I would have had great difficulty, my son, in separating myself from you if you had opposed it; but since you consent, I withdraw and leave you in the hands of God. You have no goods; but He whom I have chosen for my inheritance will also be yours; and if you have His fear, you will possess the most precious treasure on earth..." She finished by giving her son salutary advice; then she embraced him and prepared to leave. It was one morning, January 23.

However, the joy she tasted in her dear solitude was soon troubled by an unforeseen storm. Her son, excited by his comrades, and by the way in which people generally spoke in public of the step his mother had taken, did not take long to repent of the consent he had given her. His companions, finding him one day more moved than usual, proposed that they go in a group to the door of the convent, in order to demand his mother back. He believed them and followed them; and in a moment they put the whole neighborhood in alarm. Marie de l'Incarnation, which is the name Mme Martin had taken upon entering religion, distinguished among the cries of this morning youth the voice of her son, who, in a tone capable of touching the hardest hearts, was demanding his mother back. Her soul was broken by it; and furthermore, she feared that the community, tired of so much importunity, would dismiss her. Let us let her tell these scenes, so heartbreaking for her heart, herself.

"Our mothers wept with compassion, hearing the tears and cries of this child. He came to the church when Mass was being said, and putting his head through the window of the communion grille, he said, with tears in his eyes and a voice broken by sobs: Give me back my mother. They sent me to see him in the parlor: I consoled him with some small gifts that the nuns provided me; and I noticed that as he left, he walked backward to see me through the windows, until he had lost sight of the monastery." This squall lasted a long time, and gave rise to new scenes every day. But Our Lord promised her to take care of her son, and the effect followed the promise closely. The Father Rector of the Jesuits of Rennes, having come to Tours around that same time, took this child with him to his college.

But a new trial came to trouble the rest of this holy soul again. Her father was so touched to see her enter religion that when she went to say goodbye to him, he assured her that he would die of grief. He died, in fact, at the end of six months; and the public, always so wicked and so pitiless toward the friends of God, again attributed this event to our novice, and accused her of hardness. Finally, all the storms ceased, and the world ended by doing justice to her courage.

Marie finally received the veil, and, during the ceremony, there appeared in her something celestial, which filled the whole assembly with admiration. It was at about the same time that she received in an eminent degree the understanding of the Scriptures; so that she could read all the holy books, without the help of any translation or any interpreter. Whatever attention she had to let nothing be seen of the extraordinary graces with which she was filled, she could not hide this one. As soon as the other sisters had noticed it, they sought to profit from it; so that during recreations they never failed to bring the conversation to the Holy Scripture, in order to participate in the treasures of wisdom that God poured into the soul of His servant. One day, a novice having begged her to explain the first verse of the Canticle, the mistress of novices, who was present, had a chair brought to her, and ordered her to say everything that came to her mind on this passage. She obeyed; and from the first word, no longer being herself, she spoke for a long time according to what the Spirit prompted her. At the end, she lost the power of speech, and was for some time in a kind of ecstasy.

But this torrent of spiritual delights soon stopped. Scarcely had she taken the religious habit than she had to struggle against all the powers of hell, to which God seemed to have abandoned her. God only makes the greatest souls pass through this state, and it is one of the surest marks to distinguish them. That is not all: she learned that her son, after having been for some time the example of the college, was beginning to go astray, and that it was to be feared that he would be entirely lost. She thought at first that the demon wanted by this to put an obstacle to her profession, the time for which was approaching. She submitted to everything that heaven would order for it. God was only waiting for this sacrifice on her part to console her; He assured her that He would take care of her son. A short time later, the child returned to Tours to one of his aunts, who took charge of him; and he began to lead a more regulated life. The eve of her profession, she felt all her sorrows cease in a moment, and calm reborn in her soul. She was first sub-mistress of novices; then she was charged with the instructions that it is customary to give to these young girls. She composed for the novices she was charged with instructing a catechism which is perhaps one of the best that we have in our language, and which has been published under the name of Christian School. At her school were formed a large number of nuns who were later the glory and ornament of their Order.

Mme de la Peltrie, having taken steps to establish the Ursulines in Canada, desired to have the Mother of the Incarnation with her. She departed on February 22, 1639.

As soon as young Martin knew that his mother had left, he followed her and caught up with her in Orléans, went to find her at the hotel where she was staying, and, feigning ignorance of her plan, expressed his surprise at seeing her in a hotel and asked her where she was going. "To Paris," she told him. "But will you not go further?" "Perhaps as far as Normandy." Her son, seeing that she did not wish to explain herself, pulled from his pocket and handed her a letter that his aunt had written to him, and the formal revocation of a pension that she had assigned to him from all her property, to recognize his mother's services. She took the paper, read it, and, lifting her eyes to heaven, exclaimed: "Oh! How many artifices the demon has to thwart the design of God!" Then, looking at her son: "It has been eight years," she told him, "since I left you to give myself to God: since that time, has anything been lacking to you?" "No," replied the child. "Well then!" she resumed, "the past must answer to you for the future. When I left you for the love of Him who had given me the order, I gave you to Him, and prayed Him to serve as your father. You see that He has gone even beyond our hopes. He will continue as He has begun. Show yourself only a worthy son of the best of fathers..." These words, and the manner in which she said them, suddenly changed her son's disposition. He burned the papers that had been sent to him, and abandoned himself without reserve to divine Providence. This act was for him, in the future, an inexhaustible source of graces.

Another trial that was no less sensitive for her awaited her in Paris. Her son, having expressed to Father de la Haye the desire to enter the Society of Jesus, was brought to Paris to be examined. But it was believed that he was not suited to the goal of the Society, and he was sent away, while seeking, however, to soften in form what this refusal might have been painful for his mother. He entered the Congregation of Saint-Maur some time later, and distinguished himself there by his merit and his holiness.

The letters that the Mother of the Incarnation wrote from Canada excited such great ardor in the houses of Paris and Tours that, in a short time, there was a fairly numerous community in Quebec, of which she was elected superior. The Jansenists, seeing in her a woman of high intelligence and a great heart, endeavored to attract her to their party. But her virtue was too well established on the foundation of humility and true abnegation to let herself be caught in the trap that was being set for her. To cut short the requests made to her on this matter, she made no response to the letters written to her about it.

She soon had to suffer great crosses because of the persecution of the Iroquois. Fathers de Brébeuf and Lalemand—the latter was the nephew of her director—were burned, Fathers Garnier and Daniel massacred, and all the missionaries of the Hurons, with the rest of these poor neophytes, forced to take refuge in Quebec. The Fathers who had escaped the iron or fire of the Iroquois had suffered more than those who had died. To help and console these poor savages whom the persecution had forced to flee, the servant of God studied the Huron language; for until then she had only applied herself to those of the Algonquins and the Montagnais. Some time later, fire broke out at night at the Ursuline convent; and as it is almost impossible in those countries to stop fires, because of the nature of the wood used for the buildings, nothing could be saved. The Mother of the Incarnation came out last, accompanied only by a sister who would not leave her; and it was only by a visible protection of God that they were able to escape the flames. The fire over, a combat of charity arose among the nuns: for, as they had been surprised at night by the fire, they had been able to take nothing with them, and found themselves almost naked in a very rigorous season. It was a matter of distributing the few clothes that remained; and it was a race to see who would yield them to the others. The spectators were moved to tears, and one of them began to shout: "There are great fools or great Saints." The Jesuits and the Hospitalier nuns came to their aid. The poor themselves wanted to contribute, so sincere and deep was the gratitude for the good they had done.

In the year 1664, she had a great illness that God had announced to her in advance in a dream, where she saw Our Lord attached to the cross, and all covered with wounds. On the eighth day of the illness, she was warned that there was no more hope. From that moment, she appeared to take possession of heaven. The rest of her life was nothing more than a sweet contemplation. The superior reminded her of her son. She was moved, and said that in heaven, where she hoped to go, she would always have him in her heart. She received the holy Viaticum and Extreme Unction with a perfect presence of mind. Feeling at the end, she asked to see her little savages one more time, to bid them a final farewell, and, around noon, she entered into a sweet agony. After some time, she tenderly kissed her crucifix, opened her eyes, which she had kept closed for a long time, looked at her sisters as if to take leave of them, closed them again, gave two little sighs, and expired. The joy she had had in dying remained on her face, and was accompanied by a radiance of beauty so vivid that it seemed that the soul was communicating to the body the glory it was enjoying. Everything that had been for her use was taken in an instant, and those who could not have a part of it tried to compensate themselves by having her touch their rosaries and medals; in which it was also necessary to satisfy the devotion of the people from outside.

Vies des premières Ursulines de France, tirées des Chroniques de l'Ordre, par M. Ch. Sainte-Fuy; 2 in-12, Vve Poussiègue, 1856.