The small teenager was exceptionally lovely, both in facial and spiritual characteristics. In fact, it was this mystical radiance of holiness and humility that converted the hearts of her townsmen. But more accurately, the many miracles - which were attributed to her prayerful petitions - softened those who, at first, so blatantly and even cruelly, doubted.
They watched her every move. Often when she made the Sign of the Cross at Mass, tears would run down the cheeks of the devout women. So convincing was her conduct, that her simple theology literally turned hardened hearts, which had long ceased Sacramental participation, back to the fold.
Stories of the village's "little saint" were whispered from mouth-to-mouth, and far too soon appeared in newspapers all across France. After irreverent journalists investigated, they eagerly reported that this French peasant was not only illiterate, uncultivated, and impertinent, but that she was having hallucinations! These unkind words did not offend the child. She probably couldn't understand them. But they outraged her followers, including the stern pastor, Abbe Peyramale. So disturbed was he over the negative reverberations, that he often found himself asking Our Lady and Lord to give him a sign that his little "puppet" was truly a saint, and not, as the media claimed, a fraud. He believed in the girl. But a sign from heaven would make life so much easier to live!
During Mass one Sunday, he saw an unusual light around the head of a young woman, a halo. It was so bright that he couldn't make out the features. Curiously and patiently, he stopped distributing communion, and watched as the woman returned to her pew. It was his "pet", his "angel". So moved was he that Our Lady and Lord would actually send him a miraculous sign, that He never again questioned the sanctity of this young parishioner.
To the accusations that the young woman was stupid, the priest would humbly explain that she was unable to attend school because of ill health which plagued her since childhood. At the age of eleven, she'd contracted cholera and never quite regained her strength. He added that she was the main support of her dear mother, helping to raise her family.
With all the publicity, growing numbers of pilgrims arrived daily to meet the holy one. The stalking became too much for the family. Sadly for all, it was decided, then, that the eldest daughter should move to the parish convent and live with the Sisters. She did not speak true French; it was more Spanish than French. Nor could she read or write. It was here that she acquired private instructions, learning to read and speak proper French, and to write. With practice her penmanship became exquisitely graceful and calligraphic.
When she realized that the pilgrims would not leave her alone, even hidden behind the cloister of the Sisters' hospice, she heeded the advice of Abbe Peyramale and decided that she should hide herself in a convent. This news spread far and wide, and Orders throughout France sent invitations.
Which Order was she to choose? She was very much attracted to the cloistered Carmelites. But her pastor persuaded her against this vocation; the rules were far too severe, and her health far too frail. She considered the Daughters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul, but their head-gear, their coronette was too burdensome. Even Bishop Forcade, of Nevers, personally travelled to encourage the aspirant. During the interview, the shy sister-to-be confided that she had nothing to offer any congregation. He proudly assured her that she could grate carrots and help in the kitchen. It was decided, then, that she would enter the congregation of sisters, founded in 1680, with whom she was living.
When the Sisters of Charity and Christian Instruction learned that the small-town peasant girl had chosen their Order, they considered this a glory! Their community would become more and more renowned, and vocations would blossom because of the congregation's "Shining Jewel".
By this time the "little saint" was twenty-two years old, and had never seen a big city. You can imagine how frightened she was when the Sisters advised her that she had been accepted into their Congregation. The year was 1866.
The day she was to depart from her family and home, she went to the prayer grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes, who was always her consolation. Knowing that she would never return to it - nor her small village - she literally had to be torn away. And the agonizing thoughts of saying goodbye to her beloved parents worried her beyond words. It was her parents who always comforted her, always accepted her. This heart-wrenching departure was a trial from which she would never recover.
She bid adieu to Abbe Peyramale. Then to the Sisters with whom she had lived for five years. Then to the townspeople who loved her dearly. Finally, the painful goodbyes to her family. As the carriage drove off, the saintly child wept bitterly, and keenly felt this affliction being chiseled into her sorrowing heart, which somehow foresaw that she would never see her parents again.
Preparations were being made at the Motherhouse in Nevers. The Mistress of Novices, Mother Marie Therese Vauzou, had planned her first meeting with the aspirant - but it wasn't at all as she'd dreamed. She offered warmth, but the aspirant didn't respond. The forty-one year old nun even supposed that she'd be the "young one's" mentor. Her confidante. But this, also, did not transpire. The superior was crushed. Insulted! And from that day on, Mother Marie Therese was openly distrustful of the new member. She lacked the valuable qualities of social distinction which Mother Marie Therese felt that she, herself, had. Thus, the "higher" of the two constantly reminded the "lower" nun of her insignificance, insubordination, and wickedness of pride.
On July 29, 1866, three weeks after her arrival at the Motherhouse, the postulant received the habit of the Sisters of Charity of Nevers, and was given the name Sister Marie-Bernard.
As all novices were instructed, "It is a sign of a good vocation to be homesick." Each time a letter from her parents arrived, their daughter would weep bitterly, always running into the garden to her secret place of prayer. Only there would she read the missives. Only in front of the statue of her Lady could she be feel free to cry a river.
Was it completely homesickness? Or could it possibly have been that the unversed novice knew that she didn't fit into this highly educated congregation of nuns? She wasn't stupid, even though there were those who'd argue the point; but she knew her place in life. Her thoughts kept roaming back to the bishop's adieu: "You can help in the kitchen - cutting carrots." This would have been fine with the humble newcomer.
Sister Marie-Bernard was ordered from the very start of her religious training that she was not to draw attention to herself. Often the poor thing, not quite knowing what this command meant, would lower her veil over her face; hiding from the world. But word quickly got around that it was she who walked around with her veil lowered. So fusses were always being made over her. Dwelling on this command - day in and day out - she became rather perplexed when the same superiors would often order her to the parlor to receive important visitors. She always obeyed. But very much disliked being questioned about her past life.
Five months after her entrance at Nevers, she received word, on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, that her mother, worn out from childbearing, hard work, and hunger, died. For a child to be away from her family during such a happening is traumatic. And Sister Marie-Bernard was no exception. She suffered great sorrow over the loss of her mother, and worried herself sick over the plight of her father having to raise her brothers and sister.
To help raise her spirits, Sister Emilienne asked her to walk in the garden with her. During the visit, Sister Marie-Bernard, ever a child, asked: "Do you have skipping rope?" Smilingly, her companion told her that they quite often had skipping rope, and hide-and- seek, too! The weary young nun was glad. "I love holding the rope for others to skip!"
Her health continued to grow worse, and many of the Sisters wondered if it perhaps had something to do with the oral abuses and humiliations which Mother Marie Therese continuously forced upon her. Sister Marie-Bernard, on more than a few occasions, overheard her fellow novices remark, "Am I ever glad that I'm not her!"
Once, upon returning from Rome, Mother Imbert met all the novices and greeted each one with a hug and a kind, personal assurance. The young nuns were joyous at the attention given them. But when the superior met Sister Marie-Bernard, she embraced her, then, walked away without a single word. The bright atmosphere diminished quickly, as the sisters witnessed this unkind act. As always, Sister Marie-Bernard did not let on that she was hurt by the experience.
October 30, 1867, was chosen for the Day of Profession of Vows. Joy was overflowing within the cloister. During the recitation of the vow formula of each Sister being professed, the whole congregation wondered if they would be able to hear Sister Marie- Bernard recite her vows. She was so weak. So frail. But even the Sisters in the choir-loft, who, in order to hear, were holding their breath, were delighted when the sickly Marie- Bernard powerfully, dramatically, joyfully recited her marriage commitment: "I, Sister Marie-Bernard, pledge myself and promise to my God that as long as I have happiness to be in the Congregation of Sisters of Charity and Christian Instruction established at Nevers under the authority of His Excellency the Bishop, I will fulfill the promises of the vows of poverty, chastity, obedience, and charity, in the way whereby they are defined in the Rule of the Sisters. I pray our Savior Jesus Christ through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin, our Holy Mother, to give me grace to perfect them and to fulfill them. Amen."
Later, when the Sisters met in the Great Hall of the Novitiate, the bishop called each one of the newly professed and handed them their letter of obedience; the long awaited disclosure of where, and to which convent they would be assigned. There was no envelope with the name Sister Marie-Bernard. The bishop, who knew her personally, questioned: "Why has Sister Marie-Bernard not been presented to me? Where is her obedience?"
Mother Josephine cruelly responded: "Monsignor, it was not possible to give her an assignment. She is a stupid little creature. She does not do anything well."
The bishop made a gesture to the embarrassed nun to come before him. "So you cannot do anything well, Sister?" The humiliated nun responded prudently: "The Reverend Mother does not make mistakes, Monsignor, so it must be true." The bishop, knowing this was hurting the young girl immensely, continued: "But my poor child, what are we to do with you then? What will your purpose be in this congregation?"
Sister Marie-Bernard sadly replied, "I asked you this very question, Monsignor, before leaving home. I told you that I was good for nothing. You told me that this wasn't exactly true. You said that I could grate carrots very nicely."
The superior, stunned with Sister Marie-Bernard's response, which she felt was impertinent, quickly retorted: "Monsignor, if you approve, we could keep her here at the Motherhouse out of charity, and find some sort of work for her at the infirmary. We could put her here to clean. Afterward, if we can find a way to teach her, she might be able to make bandages."
This unmerciful attack, rendered in public, was very bitter to the young nun. But she did not allow her emotions to be seen; rather, she went to each of her classmates and congratulated them, warmly, and spread good cheer. This humble, sincere reaction, from one who was just publicly mortified, was the cause of many tears from the witnesses who truly loved the poor prisoner.
Why the community as a whole didn't reject the ill-treatment of Sister Marie- Bernard, is unknown. When asked, one superior simply stated that it was not her position to question the policy of the Mother General. She hurriedly added, however, that most of the sisters who witnessed the abuses, hastened to console and comfort the victim in her painful existence.
Certain sisters in the community depended on the prayers of Sister Marie-Bernard. They actually believed her to be a saint. One sister, Mother Alexandrine, suffered a sprain. The convent doctor prescribed rest for two days. The superior did not like this medicine. She went to Sister Marie-Bernard and explained that she was too busy to stay in bed for two days. "Will you ask your Friend, the Blessed Mother, to cure me? Hurry now, go ask her!"
In obedience, Sister Marie-Bernard hastened to the chapel and asked for the cure of Mother Alexandrine. The convent doctor later saw the superior carrying on her work as if nothing had happened. Whether she was offering up the pain for the poor souls, or if Our Lady had cured her, is unknown. But she never did retire to her bed.
In 1871, her father, at age 61, died, six years after the death of her mother. Marie- Bernard was seen teary-eyed, more accurately, sobbing in the infirmary, where she had been stationed, leaning against the fireplace. She realized that his death left her the nominal head of the family. A sister met her and tried to console her. Sister Marie-Bernard responded: "My Sister, Saturday evening I prayed to Jesus in agony for all those who were to die at that moment. Yes, it was precisely at the same moment that my father entered eternity. What consolation for me to perhaps have helped." The mourning daughter came to learn that her father died in the faith, and wept when she heard that he was often seen venerating a revered portrait of his "saint" - his little cloistered daughter. Sister Marie- Bernard was ill for a long time after her father's death. The nuns assured her that through her suffering - her father's purgatory would be paid.
Humiliations continued to be piled heavily upon her. Her response was that the more she was lowered, the more she grew in the heart of Jesus. Oh, the few sisters who followed-the-leader in order to keep Marie-Bernard humble, were all part of the Novice Mistress' clique. Thank God the majority of the sisters loved her dearly. A postulant, being told by an elderly nun, that Marie-Bernard held to a strict schedule, would daily wait at the stairwell for her "saint" to pass by. The postulant would quickly give Sister Marie- Bernard a hug, and then scurry off.
Lovingly, Sister Marie-Bernard sometimes enjoyed admonishing younger sisters. Once, during a Liturgical procession, Sister Vincent, who, along with all the sisters, lowered her veil while in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament, poked a large whole in it, as to see what was happening. When she told Sister Marie-Bernard about it, the latter was shocked. Shocked! "I'm horrified, Sister Vincent! You not only showed disrespect to the Blessed Sacrament, you also disedified your fellow nuns, and you've sinned against poverty."
As if this wasn't enough - on another occasion - Sister Vincent was told to clean the Mother Mistress' room. When Sister Marie-Bernard asked if she remembered to fill the holy water font --- the young nun ran out of the room. So swiftly she returned, that Sister Marie-Bernard questioned how she accomplished the task so quickly. "I spat in it," replied Sister Vincent. One can imagine the horror on Sister Marie-Bernard's face! She reprimanded her, and insisted that she go and confess her sin to Mother Marie Therese.
Sister Marie-Bernard enjoyed seeing children on the convent grounds. One day she heard the happy sounds of young laughter. Oh, she was excited. She went out to the group of children and handed them each a candied almond. Their smiles were vibrant. But as soon as she turned to leave, the sister-in-charge, thinking that these pieces of candy would one day become relics, ordered the children to give them to her. They begrudgedly obeyed.
If Sister Marie-Bernard found out about such incidents, it was more than she could stand. She couldn't understand why anyone would want a remembrance, a relic; why anyone would want to be near her, to touch her, or possess something that belonged to her. Yet, this was a yearning; a spiritual need of a large part of the world. She just wished to be left alone. But even the sisters participated in getting relics for her admirers.
Sister Bernard Dalias once picked up some snippings from the floor, as Sister Marie- Bernard was mending her flannel underwear. Later that evening, Sister Dalias happened to pull out her handkerchief during recreation, and the small flannel pieces fell onto the floor. When questioned - the nun fessed up. And the superior threw them into the fire. She was exasperated.
A bishop once called on the ill nun, who was resting in the infirmary. She was never overly gracious to the clergy, always suspecting that they expected special favors; which they always did. This time, the bishop intentionally bowed his head, lower and lower, trying to get his skullcap to fall. Finally it fell on Sister Marie-Bernard's bed, and he asked her to hand it to him. Ill-humored at the request, she replied, "Monsignor, I did not ask for it. Couldn't you pick it up yourself?" The superior, mortified at the ill nun's response, intervened: "Come, now, Sister. Hand Monsignor his skull-cap." She obeyed.
Mother Marie Therese was instructing new novices, and in her dissertation, included some dogmatic statements about Sister Marie-Bernard. Not knowing that she was being talked about, Sister Marie-Bernard entered the room to ask the Mistress of Novices a question. The Mistress barked: "This is not the time for you to show yourself here. Your place is at the infirmary. Kiss the floor and go!" Marie-Bernard obeyed. The blushing novices gawked, with dropped jaws.
Sister Marie-Bernard assisted a young sister to the infirmary, and on the way they met the Mother Superior. She questioned them, and addressed them as "useless members of the community". The young sister was so horrified that she broke into tears. Sister Marie-Bernard chuckled - and soothed her weak emotions: "Hush! You cry for so little? Prepare yourself! It'll happen many more times."
No matter how many times the sickly nun was embarrassed, disgraced, mortified - she never lost her sense of humor. She was once told by some of the sisters at the Motherhouse, that the women in the park across the street from them, were not very innocent. "I pity them, then, and keep them in prayer." Later, one of the sisters had dressed a doll for the doorkeeper's daughter. As Marie-Bernard inspected it, she remarked, "Oh my poor little thing, you look almost like those poor, unfortunate girls in the park."
A distressed mother, whose child was very ill, came to the Motherhouse, hoping that Sister Marie-Bernard would do the final work on a blanket which she had started. Thinking that if this saintly nun would say yes, perhaps God would spare the life of her little son. The Mother General, who knew that Sister Marie-Bernard was the best needleworker, took the coverlet to a group of sisters who were recreating together, and inquired if anyone would mind straightening out the pattern. No one seemed terribly interested. Finally, Sister Marie-Bernard agreed. "Give it to me, I will be glad to do what I can with it." Is it necessary to say that the blanket did not leave Sister's hands until it was completed? And in perfect shape. And the child did recover.
A Jesuit, preaching a retreat to the Motherhouse sisters, became so flustered when he saw Sister Marie-Bernard enter the chapel, that he lost track of his sermon, and decided to preach about her. Sister was so unhappy over this, that she raised herself, painful as it was, and, with the help of her cane, flurried out the door.
Sister was ill more often than not. Pain was her constant companion, and during those times when she was confined to her bed, she wrote: "What shall I tell you about myself? I am in my little white chapel all the time. (The infirmary beds were framed with white fabric curtains - which afforded the patients privacy.) Decay of the bone has set in, and I have completely lost the use of my limbs and have to submit to being carried in an armchair. But the sisters do this so cheerfully that it really does not seem like much of a humiliation. They laugh. And say that they could carry four of me!"
When Sister Marie-Bernard could no longer dress herself, Sister Alphonse went in to assist her at putting on her habit. One morning, in horror, she screeched! "What happened to your beautiful hair?" Sister Marie-Bernard had had it cut off and sold, to free a Negress. The elderly nun could only give Marie-Bernard an approving hug.
It was agreed by the congregation of sisters that the arrogant superiors of the Order did not understand the treasure which was confided to them. The superiors had difficulty, in fact, refused to see sanctity in Sister Marie-Bernard. They even went as far as questioning her vocation, her piety. Why couldn't this "saint" show a higher form of prayer? All she could do is recite her rosary. A novice stuck-up for her: "She passes hours in prayer, and is entirely lost in God!" But the superiors, overly educated, didn't realize that sainthood comes to those who quietly and modestly fulfill their duties and state in life. What these brutal superiors never comprehended was that their small, stupid, useless nun, under their constant humiliations, had become more polished and self controlled than themselves.
In her notebook, writing about Mother Marie Therese, Sister Marie-Bernard scribed: "I resolve never to see the creature, but always to consider God in her. Creatures pass. God alone remains."
Whether the years of oral abuse welled-up in her - causing more and more complexes, insecurities - was the cause of a Black Era, one can only impute. But this interval crucified her spiritually; her illnesses had already crucified her physically. She was consumed. The sisters remember hearing her wail: "Satan, be gone! Be gone!"
The last three-and-a-half years of Sister Marie-Bernard's life was spent as an invalid. The pain devoured her. But she never lost her sense of humor. On one particular day she was panting and had the death rattle. And the nuns throughout the house worried that perhaps their community was unworthy of this special child of God. Maybe He wanted her in Heaven. But no, toward four o'clock in the morning, Sister Marie-Bernard said to her guardian, "God didn't want me. I got to the door and He said, `Go away! It's too soon!'"
After years of suffering, the end was finally near. The death was to be slow, and agonizing. From her bed the sisters who lovingly protected her could hear moans - melodies of the sick one. She, for all practical purposes, had already died. She was stripped of everything human; reduced to an emaciated corpse. Each day her suffering became more intense. And on Wednesday, April 16th, she could no longer stand the suffering. She asked to be placed in an armchair. She received Extreme Unction for the fourth time, and received Holy Communion, which made her very peaceful. She saw in the distance, the Mother Superior entering the room on tip-toe. Sister Marie-Bernard, as weak as she was, sincerely uttered, (forcing each word out), "Dear Reverend Mother, please forgive me for all the sorrow I have caused you. I ask the forgiveness of all my sisters for any bad examples I may have given, especially through pride."
The devoted chaplain, emotionally moved by her humility, offered the invalid words of consolation. "My dear, dear child - very soon you will be enjoying Heaven. You will see the beauty and the glory of Our Lord. And you will finally be with Our Lady, the Mother you love." This pleased the sufferer. "Oh, that is a very helpful thought," she responded.
The pain. It worsened, and the moaning became more frequent. "Please forgive me," she said to the nursing sister, "for moaning like this."
Remembering a gift from Pope Pius IX, she asked for it. A crucifix. She tried to hold it in her hands, but there was not enough strength. One of the sisters pinned it to her habit, touching her breast, and while it was being affixed, Mother Eleonore purred: "My dear little sister, you are, yourself, on the cross." Sister Marie-Bernard, with forceful strokes, stretched out her arms in the form of the cross, and, looking at the wall crucifix, pronounced: "My Jesus! Oh how I love Thee!"
Her friend, Sister Nathalie, tells it best: "Toward three o'clock in the afternoon she seemed in the grip of inexpressible interior anguish. The sisters in the infirmary were alarmed and fetched holy water which they sprinkled over her while suggesting pious invocations to her. She took hold of her crucifix, contemplated it with love, then slowly kissed Christ's wounds, one by one."
Precisely at the same hour Jesus died, Sister Marie-Bernard gave up her ghost. Her final words were, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for me, poor sinner, poor sinner ..." The nurse, Sister Gabriel, closed the invalid's eyes. It was over.
The nun, beautiful, was laid in state in the convent chapel. A wreath of white roses were placed on her veiled head, a rosary in her hands, the Pope's crucifix on her breast.
A concerned visitor to the chapel asked where Sister's body would be laid to rest. "We are going to keep her here," a sister responded. The woman from Nevers clasped her hands and said, "Oh!, I am so happy!"
Tidings spread far and wide, and, even though rain was pouring, pouring, pouring, crowds of pilgrims came to see the saintly nun. Movingly, the faithful would hand articles- of-the-heart to the sisters guarding the hallowed body, and they would touch them to the corpse of Sister Marie-Bernard. Some brought religious articles. Others brought scissors, hammers, even kitchen knives. And all the while, "The Saint is Dead!" was being chanted on the streets. "The Saint is Dead!"
The truths about this beloved nun may never really be known, because Mother Marie Therese was so jealous of her and was thoroughly unfair with her reviews. Mother Marie Therese admitted after Sister Marie-Bernard's death, that there was not a single time she met the young nun where she did not say something unkind or sharp. She thrilled in using acid words. One nun angrily questioned: "Was it Mother Marie Therese's duty to keep Sister Marie-Bernard humble? Or was it simply her natural temperament?" Once, when the Mother General announced that the Church was preparing the onset of Sister Marie-Bernard's beatification process, Mother Marie Therese forcefully suggested that they wait until she, herself, was dead.
Immediately after Marie-Bernard's death, sisters sighed prayers of thanksgiving, for they truly believed that the weakened nun could not have tolerated much more of Mother Marie Therese. They felt that she was at a breaking point. Sister Marie-Bernard had, herself, spoke of the unending humiliations: "They're all building up inside, and they just don't see (pointing to her heart) what's happening in here."
Yes, the saint was finally at peace! The funeral was arranged to be held on Saturday at the motherhouse. None of her relatives came. Not one. But uncountable devotees from France came to pay their last respects. So many attended the funeral that the police had to be called to keep the atmosphere reverent.
In the oak coffin was placed, along with the body of Sister Marie-Bernard, an account of her life, hand-scribed on parchment by a nun of her congregation. The body was taken to the small chapel of St. Joseph, where it was finally placed to rest at the lowest terrace of the cloister garden.
The words on her tombstone are written in Latin and French. They say:
Here Reposes
In the Peace of the Lord
BERNADETTE SOUBIROUS:
Favored at Lourdes in 1858
With Numerous Apparitions of the
Most Blessed Virgin:
In Religion
Sister Marie-Bernard:
Deceased at Nevers
In the Motherhouse
Of the Sisters of Charity
April 16th, 1879
In the 36th Year of Her Age
And the 12th of Her Religious Profession
"This is my rest forever and ever.
Here will I dwell, for I have chosen it."
REST IN PEACE
Dan Paulos
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