“Ah! my child, your passions

have been only wounded, they

must be immolated.”

( Words of her Confessor.)

Our little Perrine had just completed her seventeenth year: her retreat “entirely converted her,” as she herself said. She always attributed this great grace to the most Blessed Virgin, the mother of Jesus, and from that moment united to her past sentiments of filial affection for this tender Mother, a lifelong debt of gratitude.

“I became devoted to the Blessed Virgin,” said she, “in a most particular manner; I  admired with what mercy this divine Mother withdrew me from the verge of the abyss whither my infidelities were leading me; my confidence in her daily increased and I felt inspired to beg her to obtain for me the grace of becoming a religious. My good Mother heard my prayer, for I soon felt the desire of abandoning the world grow stronger in my soul. But what was I to do? I was afraid to mention the subject to my confessor. One day, when my sufferings were extreme, and the grace of God was strongly agitating me on the subject of my vocation, I hastened to the altar of my cherished Mother, our Blessed Lady, and deposited in her maternal heart all my fears and anxieties. The Blessed Virgin soon soothed my troubled heart and delivered me from my disquietude. There was in this chapel, opposite her beautiful silver statue, the confessional of one of her zealous servants, the vicar, of whom I have already spoken, who had given me the part of a religious in the catechism conference at which I was asked if I would like to be a Carmelite. I was kneeling before the statue of our Blessed Mother, supplicating her to assist me in my interior combat, when I suddenly perceived that this good priest was about to enter his confessional, and it seemed that he made me a sign to enter. I cannot account for how it happened, as I had never spoken to him of the concerns of my soul, and behold, much to my astonishment, he told me all that was passing in my interior, saying: ‘You want to be a religious, my child, but to obtain the object of your desire, you imagine there is a mountain in your way. Am I not right?’ Delighted with having so unexpectedly found a consoler who understood me perfectly, I spoke to him very frankly of my spiritual affairs. He examined me minutely and declared that I had a good vocation. Much encouraged by his counsels, I went to find my confessor to whom I had not dared broach the subject of my vocation.”

“When I made known to him my desire of entering the religious state, he replied: ‘Your sentiments accord perfectly with mine, for I have always thought that you would be a religious.’ This assurance from my confessor filled me with joy. Some days after this, he advised me to defer my departure until spring; but, alas! in the meantime, I had to pass through the hands of another spiritual father who was not so quick to decide religious vocations. For five years he labored incessantly at the destruction of the inward wall of my pride and self-love, with the hammer of mortification, before he considered me worthy of inhabiting the solitude of Carmel.”

The new director, of whom she now speaks, never sent aspirants to religion until they had given ample proof to hope that once entered the convent, they would never return to the world again. From accidental causes, Perrine was led to place herself under the direction of this wise and prudent confessor.

The parish priest, her former director, threatened with loss of sight, was obliged to go to Paris for medical treatment, and knowing that his spiritual child required the direction of a skillful and experienced guide, he recommended her to this holy and venerable ecclesiastic, who at the time rendered valuable services to the various religious communities of the diocese. He was a man of great enlightenment in the ways of grace, and was gifted with peculiar tact in the discernment of religious vocations; he was so widely known that mothers dreaded to see their daughters going to consult him. This skillful director was l’abbé Panager who, at the time of his death, was pastor of Saint Etienne at Rennes. We have his opinion of our young Perrine, too significant in its brevity to be passed unnoticed:

“I have only known her from the time she chose me as her director, and this simply because she wished to become a religious. Her motive prompted me to receive her kindly, and I immediately undertook to aid her. I always found her very exact, and very docile under my direction. I lent her books, and from time to time gave her some particular advice. She edified me very much, and I decided proposing her as a candidate to the Carmelites.”

Perrine, accordingly, presented herself to this man of God, informing him of her desire to become a Carmelite. He received her with great charity and encouraged her to persevere in her holy purpose, but was not willing to accept the responsibility of becoming her director without mature reflection. His counsel produced such an effect on our little aspirant that after the return of her previous confessor she entreated l’abbé Panager to continue her direction, but he still insisted on having more time for consideration. Finally, he said to her: “My child, I will undertake your direction for the honor and glory of God, and for the salvation of your soul.”

“These words,” said the sister, “inspired me with great confidence in this holy man’s direction. His first wish was to fathom the depths of my soul, and for this purpose he directed me to give him a written account of the manner in which our Lord had conducted me in the past, and also desired to be informed of my present disposition. I wrote a small notice of these matters and remitted it to him; then he bade me make a rule of life. After some time I requested him to interest himself in reference to my admission to the convent. ‘Ah! my child,’ said he, ‘your passions have been only wounded, they must be immolated.’ I had such an ardent desire of becoming a Carmelite that I would have passed through fire and water, were it necessary, to accomplish my object; bearing this end in view, I commenced with renewed fervor to labor at my perfection.”

The counsels and exhortations of her confessor made a great impression on her mind, and she “took great care not to forget them”. We shall quote from the sister’s own artless narrative.

“His first care was to caution me against the foolish weaknesses but too common to devotees. ‘My child,’ said he, ‘do not go about consulting different directors. If you wish me to be really your spiritual father, you must be really my child: be simple then, as a child; it is here you must avow your failings, your doubts and temptations, but make no such disclosures elsewhere for it would avail you nothing. Never speak of your confessor, nor of the penances imposed on you; go straight to God in the spirit of faith; make no uneasy researches in your soul for these are but fuel for Purgatory. Study to know yourself and to know God; the more you will know him, the more you will love him; be always cheerful and gay; be not like those sad and pensive beings who seem to bear the yoke of the Lord as if it were a heavy burden. Oh! my child, what a beautiful path the Lord has chosen for you! Consider the reward that awaits you if you prove faithful! Prepare yourself for the great designs God has in view over you.”

“Such is a glimpse of the wise counsels which I received from this good father. By the grace of God they became fruitful in my soul. He lent me books which treated of prayer, interior life, and also the Lives of the Saints. All these spiritual aids fortified me, and strengthened my desire of embracing the religious life. But when I expressed my earnest wish to leave the world, he would calmly reply: ‘My child, the habit does not make the nun I saw by this answer that I had still to labor at my perfection. I prayed continually to the Blessed Virgin, my dear protectress, to conduct me as a Carmelite into the house where she was most loved. I also prayed fervently to the glorious St. Joseph, begging him to obtain for me the precious gift of prayer. To obtain this grace, and all the others of which I stood in need, especially that of becoming a religious, I performed a little pilgrimage in his honor. On Wednesdays, I ate nothing but dry bread for my breakfast, and on Saturdays, I did the same in honor of our Blessed Lady. I had a great devotion to the Holy Family: Jesus, Mary and Joseph were constantly in my mind.

‘Most Holy Family!’ I would say to them, ‘if I had the happiness of living when you were on this earth I would most surely have gone in quest of you, in whatsoever place you were to be found, that I might have had the honor of serving you as your little domestic.’”

“My director lent me the life of St. Theresa. When I read the promise which our Lord made her at the foundation of her first convent, St. Joseph of Avila, that He would dwell therein, the Holy Virgin and St. Joseph guarding the doors, one on either side, oh! how excessive was my joy! I no longer doubted that I would solicit an entrance to Carmel, the abode of the Holy Family. I tormented my confessor from that moment, begging him to interest himself in my behalf: but to try me still longer he gave me evasive answers, such as these: ‘I shall see:—God’s time has not yet come.’ Once he said to me: ‘Do you suppose, my child, that I would suffer you to enter a convent hastily, before your vocation has been well tried, and leave it directly as do so many young persons? No, my child, when I send you, you will be well prepared.’”

This was a sore trial for our young aspirant. In the meantime, Divine Providence furnished her with an occasion of gratifying’, at least in part, her ardent desire. An indigent family came to dwell in the neighborhood of her father’s house. This poor family consisted of three members: the father, a laboring man, the mother who was blind, and a little son aged about four or five years. They were so very unfortunate, especially during the winter when the husband had no work, that their miserable little hut really bore the appearance of the stable of Bethlehem. They were found without fire or a morsel of bread. “I could not permit to pass such a precious opportunity of honoring the Holy Family in the persons of these poor people, and I did not rest one moment until I had rendered their situation more comfortable. By the grace of God I entertained a great veneration and affection for them, and lavished on them all the care which their indigence demanded. At that time, just previous to my admission as a Carmelite, my limited means did not, permit me to supply all their necessities: but the Holy Family, whom I served in their persons, rendered me so eloquent in pleading their cause among my acquaintances that nothing was ever refused me.”

“All my happiness consisted in visiting and instructing them in their religious duties, from which they had been estranged, no doubt, by their extreme poverty. I persuaded them to go to confession; and I engaged the husband to make a retreat of eight days in a house destined for that purpose. If I loved this family they reciprocated my affection, and I soon perceived the influence I had acquired over them. When dissentions arose between them, from time to time, I would be called on to settle the difficulty and restore peace.”

The Holy Family did not allow their little servant to go unrewarded. Perrine daily progressed in virtue. She was permitted by her director to make the vow of chastity which she renewed on all the feasts of the Blessed Virgin. With the view of preparing herself for the religious life, she endeavored to practice the higher virtues of mortification, humility, obedience and the love of prayer. She also exercised a charitable zeal towards her young companions, assisting them in their spiritual advancement.

Let us listen to her own account of her pious practices of devotion. “I have always had a special attraction for prayer, and believing that I could not be a child of prayer without at the same time having a great love for mortification, I labored courageously to acquire this latter virtue, and also to destroy all my evil propensities. The better to succeed in my purpose, I took note of my daily failures and of the number of my acts of mortification. I kept by my side two little ribbons, on which were strung small beads such as are used for chaplets; one end served to note my failures, the other, the number of my little sacrifices, or virtuous actions performed during the day. This cord of mortification was composed of fifteen beads in honor of the fifteen mysteries of the Holy Rosary; and I believe that, at night, I often had the blessing of offering the entire chaplet completed to our Blessed Lady. I practiced the mortification of the eyes; whenever anything pleasant or agreeable was presented to my view, I would turn my head away and would not look at it. “When I would be just on the point of saying something agreeable or witty, I would remain silent. I made my general and particular examination with the view of overcoming my predominant passion,— pride. But our Blessed Lord himself soon sent me the necessary assistance to vanquish my enemy.”

Almighty God, who never permits himself to be outdone in generosity, beholding this candid and faithful soul thus placing herself unreservedly at his disposal, was pleased to instruct and enlighten her himself.

“Many times,” said she, “in the course of my life, I have experienced the extraordinary operations of grace in my soul, during which, if I may thus express it, our Lord showed me a glimpse of the celestial favors with which he would one day enrich my soul. I had the happiness of receiving holy communion three times a week besides Sundays, it was at this divine banquet that our Blessed Lord united himself intimately to my soul. My director had commanded me to inform him of all that passed in my soul, and I, therefore, rendered him a strict account of these supernatural operations with the simplicity of a child, at which he did not seem to be astonished. ‘My child,’ said he, ‘does not your soul belong to God? Then, permit this Divine Master, to do as he will in his own house.’ These interior communications of our Lord, of which I was so unworthy, continued. Then I began to commit them to writing for the purpose of submitting them to the guide of my soul. I was sure by this means not to fall into illusion. He never made any reference to these communications in my presence: this pleased me very much, for such divine favors covered me with confusion. On one occasion when I had presented to him one of these writing’s, it occurred to me that if I had read to him, myself, the account of these testimonies of affection which our divine Lord had given me, that it would be a great mortification, I admitted this to my confessor; and I was, indeed, obliged to do excessive violence to myself to read my letters to him. But our Divine Lord in his mercy made use of this as a means of counterbalancing his extraordinary favors, lest they might produce in my soul the germs of vanity and self-love. One day, after having received holy communion, I perceived in my soul something like a wall which shook violently, threatening me with destruction. At the same time I heard a voice telling me not to fear, that it would serve to crush out my self-love. I comprehended afterwards that this was a kind warning of a long series of humiliations and mortifications, a path so painful to nature, and through which our Divine Lord caused me to walk shortly after.”

“As we can do nothing of ourselves, it was necessary that the Divine Master himself should produce in my soul a great love for suffering and humiliation, in order to destroy my pride completely, for it was a great obstacle to my perfect union with Him. This would also cause the violet of humility to spring forth in my soul, hereby inviting Jesus to dwell in my heart. I prayed most fervently to obtain the love of humiliations, and informed my director of my ardent desire of suffering, entreating him not to spare me. ‘Reverend father,’ said I, ‘do not heed the cries of nature, but immolate my pride.’ He was slow to act and waited also on this occasion to see, no doubt, if my desire were only the offspring of a passing fervor so common among young persons. At length, he said to me one day: ‘My child, I am convinced that our Lord wills you to attain perfection by some other than the ordinary way. Go, then, before the Most Adorable Sacrament, and consider before God what you can do to humble yourself; choose what you judge to be the most perfect in the way of humiliations, and then return and inform me of your decision.’”

From that hour commenced what she playfully termed, her “journey through the path of humiliations” which were never wanting; for each time that she went to see her director, he purposely tried to mortify her as much as possible. One day, for example, he brusquely showed her the door. Another time, Sunday, she was seen walking through the streets carrying an old tattered umbrella notwithstanding that the sun was shining very brilliantly; and this for no other purpose than to attract public attention and ridicule. On another occasion, she took to the dressmaker a parcel containing material for a dress. She had scarcely unfolded the wrapping paper, when a general burst of laughter and merriment at her expense, ensued; for nothing more absurd or ridiculous could have been selected for a dress. All these things had been permitted by her director as practices of humility.

“When I went to my director,” said she, “to return the books he lent me, or to ask for others, he had always the charity to offer me a good dish of humiliations; yet, he never anticipated grace. I was obliged to implore him to continue the kind service he was rendering me; ‘Well,’ he would say, ‘what does our Lord desire of you to-day? Have you nothing to ask me?’ As I was naturally very simple and childlike, and that our Lord gave me the grace to walk in this way, a multitude of things came to my mind, the greater part being utterly impracticable; but merely mentioning them to him, and asking his permission to perform them, was a most humiliating mortification. When he noticed that it gave me pain to speak undisguisedly he would reprehend me quietly but sweetly. ‘Be simple as a little child,’ he would say, ‘See with what simplicity a little child repeats all that passes in its mind without thinking of examining what it has to say!’ He would then permit all that was reasonable; and as for that which was unnecessary he appeared equally willing, until he perceived that I had so far conquered my pride as to consent to perform even the most difficult things, when he would interdict them.’

One of the great secrets of this manner of direction arose from the confessor’s knowledge of the sincerity of his penitent, who artlessly related to him that which she believed would mortify her the most, yet choosing nothing of herself. She would say to him at times: “Ah! father, how much it costs me to act thus.” “My child,” he would reply, “if it costs you to be humiliated, believe me, it costs me as much to be obliged to humiliate you, but have courage.”

“When I had crushed my pride under my feet, our Lord inundated my soul with heavenly consolations: these were necessary to me, for without the most powerful assistance of God I never could have acted in this way. When I was inspired to practice some act of mortification, I felt such a powerful impulse of grace urging me on, that it would have been impossible for me not to have performed this mortification, I had such a fear of becoming unfaithful to grace. ‘Come,’ said I, to encourage myself, ‘one act of heroism and the victory will be mine. I can accomplish all things in Him who strengthens me!’ I felt convinced that grace demanded this fidelity from me; and notwithstanding all the bitterness and repugnance I experienced, I continued to implore my director to nourish my soul with the wholesome bread of mortification, so distasteful to nature. He sent me several times to visit two very discreet and pious young ladies with whom he had previously made his arrangements, and there I found the means of triumphing over my pride and practicing humility. On one occasion, when I was on a visit to these young ladies, one of the sisters complained that a person had addressed some very humiliating remarks to her. ‘Oh!’ said I, ‘you are very fortunate to be able to find humiliations already prepared; others are obliged to seek for them.’”

During this time of trial our little Terrine drew all her fortitude from Jesus in the most Blessed Sacrament. “Ah!” said she, ‘‘what consolation I found in visiting this good Savior, particularly during the middle of the day, when he is most forgotten; I then poured forth my soul in his divine presence.” Once, as she was praying in the chapel of the Visitation, prostrate before the altar, one of her friends perceiving her, was very careful not to disturb her or make her aware of her presence. She found Perrine kneeling with clasped hands, her head turned upward and her eyes fixed as if on some invisible being with whom she seemed to be in communion.

Perrine often addressed herself to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. “I often made acts of reparation to the Sacred Heart, to whom I have a great devotion. I conjured the most Sacred Heart of Jesus to break the chains which still bound me to the world that I might take my flight toward Carmel. I went afterwards and cast myself at the feet of the most Holy Virgin, in the same chapel where I had already received so many graces for my vocation; and animated with ardent love, I poured forth my heart in her maternal bosom as would a little child. I importuned her unceasingly, saying, ‘Behold, my good Mother, my companions are all married. When wilt thou give me Him for whom my heart sighs? I wish for none other than thy beloved Son for my heavenly spouse.’” At the conclusion of this petition we find the following note:

“This good mother obtained my relief from a malady: for nine days I besought her to cure me, promising to have some masses said in her honor; and in thanksgiving for having granted my request, I had fifteen masses said in honor of the mysteries of the most holy rosary.”