“What gives me the greatest consolation now, at the hour of my death, is that I have always been obedient.”

(Words of the Sister.)

It may not be uninteresting to our readers to retrace our steps succinctly, in order to cast a rapid glance at the virtues of Sister Mary St. Peter, and at the same time to sketch the outline of her religious life, before undertaking the account of her last illness and death. We shall thus cull whatever flowers may have escaped our notice hitherto, besides those which her good sisters, the Carmelites, have treasured up in their religious esteem and affection.

Let us not expect to behold those of rare or brilliant hue, such as may be found among the precious few of earth’s immortal sons and daughters. As we have already remarked, nothing could have been more simple than the life of this servant of God. We have been assured by her superiors that it would have taken an acute and attentive observer to detect the least sign of the marvels of grace with which she was favored by the Holy Ghost. The details we are about to narrate, may seem trifling and common-place, yet they are not without their due importance, for they will disclose the hidden beauty of the saintly life that we have been admiring. Pious souls of the cloister, even seculars, will here find a subject of edification, well worthy of imitation. Would that we could cause the rich treasure bequeathed us in Mary of St. Peter to be more appreciated!

We must first say a word about her physiognomy, that mirror of the soul, the mystery of which she has so eloquently developed in the passage on the Holy Face of Our Lord.

She calls herself a “little Breton,” although she was about medium height. Her appearance at first glance, was far from prepossessing because of the irregularity of her features; her forehead was narrow, her eyes and nose small, and her mouth projecting, but these defects were amply compensated by a clear, fresh complexion, but more especially by a sweet and calm expression which bespoke the hidden beauty of her soul. Her glance was modest and cautious; her grave deportment announced a mind absorbed and concentrated on the one theme, God and his glory. Her beautiful, clear voice was of great assistance in the choir. Skillful and adept, she was remarkable for her taste in needle-work, and for her assiduity in the performance of all her duties.

Her literary education, as we have already remarked, was very incomplete; but unknown to herself she possessed, besides harmony of style and an almost poetic instinct, a great perspicuity in her conception of the sublime and supernatural operations of which she was at times obliged to treat. Figures abounded under her pen, and although many might have been revealed to her, yet we find them so plentiful, that we must conclude the greater number evidently resulted from her own natural ability.

The same happened when she explained these marvels by word of mouth, yet she knew how to make use of them with as much simplicity as modesty. The only desire of her heart was to advance in the science of the saints, the knowledge of God, desiring only to know, to love and to serve him.

She was endowed with good judgment, and a candid mind easily open to conviction; her imagination was fully under her control: her natural inclinations, moderated and guided by divine grace; her passions were subdued and almost extinct, giving her slight cause of resistance. Her disposition, particularly adapted for community life, was naturally sweet, gentle, amiable and gay. She was quick at repartee, but was never betrayed beyond the bounds of justice and charity; firm in her opinion, especially where there was question of duty, yet she never maintained it with contention or obstinacy.

She possessed so much self-control that it required a penetrating eye to detect the first sallies of nature, for she knew how to restrain her emotions before they were betrayed exteriorly. She was naturally of a loving and sensitive disposition, although not demonstrative, possessed of much tact and perfect discretion.. She usually spoke little, and that little on God, never on self. She practiced the most heroic virtues without affectation, avoiding all singularity.

Sometimes she seemed concentrated in self, and this from various causes; first, the influence of God who frequently held her captive; then, perhaps through respect or deference for those with whom she was in conversation. She was at times a little absent-minded but this might be attributed to her application to the things of God. The virtue of simplicity animated all her actions, and the rectitude of her judgment gave her uncommon liberty of mind, although to behold her, one would have judged otherwise.

She took so much pains to conceal her virtue that a just appreciation of her merit could only be acquired after a long and attentive observation. Possessing none of those brilliant qualities which naturally inspire esteem and preferment, her beauty was not exterior: Omnis gloria filia regis ab intus. It would be difficult to state the particular virtue in which Sister Mary St. Peter excelled. Without enumerating all, we shall mention in preference those which have contributed to make her a perfect religions and a saintly Carmelite.

She possessed the virtue of charity in an eminent degree, her tender and solid piety inspiring her with most ardent and effective love for God. The glory of the Lord and the salvation of souls were the only objects of her desires, the sole end of her prayers and of all her actions. This zeal for the glory of God animated her during her entire life; we may even say that she was consumed by it from the moment, when in 1848, she perceived by a supernatural vision, that divine wrath was about to descend on mankind because of the heinous crimes committed against the three first commandments. Inspired by grace, she offered herself to God as a victim in order to  satisfy his justice.

The eternal loss of immortal souls made such a lively impression on her sensitive heart, that she could not contain her sorrow but often gave vent to it in torrents of tears. Her heart became dilated in the love of Jesus; she honored his sacred humanity in all its mysteries, but those of his birth and of his hidden life possessed inconceivable charms for her. Her devotion to the Holy Infancy and to the Holy Family, manifested itself on all occasions. When she was portress, it was a pleasure for her to open the doors for the carpenters, who recalled to her mind the labors of Jesus and of St. Joseph. One day, a wagon, driven by an ass, entered the yard; approaching this animal, the good sister commenced to caress it in remembrance of the services rendered to Jesus and Mary by the humble beast which transported them to Egypt.

At Christmas time, she manifested her lively piety in every conceivable manner; with a radiant countenance she contemplated the Infant Jesus in the manger, taking him in her arms, making illuminations round the crib and singing pious hymns in her “best voice.” Sometimes, like David before the ark, she would commence to dance and rejoice, inviting her companions of the novitiate to join with her; at which the Mother Prioress expressed her surprise, telling her to beware of levity. “Oh! no, mother,” replied she, “I do so as an honorable amend to the Infant Jesus for all forbidden dances of lukewarm Christians.”

Jesus in the Holy Eucharist was the object of all her affections. In the choir, in presence of the Blessed Sacrament, her countenance, her entire deportment would lead one to believe that, piercing the Eucharistic veils, she really beheld Jesus on the altar. Did she quit the sanctuary, she left her heart at his feet; in whatever part of the house she was employed, she would turn in this direction, transported with joy when she could perceive the chapel windows. The holy place was her repose; she would willingly have passed there her entire days and nights; if she had a few spare moments, her steps were immediately directed to the chapel; on Sundays and feasts, she made it her dwelling. There, absorbed in God, she seemed a stranger to all that passed around her.

When she spoke of the Holy Eucharist she laid aside her habitual reserve and yielded to the vehemence of her love. A hundred times a day, and perhaps more frequently, she went in spirit to offer him her homage. She assisted at the most holy sacrifice of the mass with the utmost reverence and was more than once observed to shed torrents of tears; it was especially at communion that her faith became manifest. She prepared herself on the eve with extraordinary fervor, inviting the Blessed Virgin and the holy angels to prepare a dwelling place for the celestial Spouse whom she expected to entertain, but when she possessed him, lost and absorbed, she forgot all else, to enjoy his divine presence.

Her ordinary dwelling-place was in the Sacred Heart of Jesus; it was from this furnace of love that she drew forth so many graces for herself and for others. It was her place of refuge in all her troubles, and to the Sacred Heart in the most Blessed Sacrament she had recourse in all her necessities. We are aware of her devotion to the most Blessed Virgin before her admission to the religious life; her love for this divine Mother was ever on the increase, especially since she beheld herself consecrated to her forever as a child of Carmel. In her fervor, she conceived many pious practices in her honor and spoke of her frequently, endeavoring to enkindle in every heart the devotion to our Blessed Lady, through whose intervention, she had received so many innumerable favors. Abundant light was given her on the prerogatives of the Holy Mother of God. She called St. Joseph her good father.

The seraphic St. Theresa was also tenderly loved by this fervent child of Carmel. We might say as much for her love of her Angel Guardian. One day, during her novitiate, she was in the garret sorting clothes for the wash. It suddenly recurred to her mind, that at the death of her grandfather, whom she venerated as a saint, she had preserved a lock of his hair, and not remembering what she had done with it, she became uneasy and begged her good angel to take care of this precious souvenir which she believed to have left at home. On turning round, she beheld at her side a lock of white hair which she immediately recognized as being the missing treasure… For fear of making a mistake, she inquired of the sisters if any one could give her any information about the lock of hair she had found, but no one knew anything about it.

She had attained a high degree of humility; even in the world she had been well exercised in the practice of this, the mother of all virtues. Her soul, nourished with the bread of humiliations, found in it more delight than worldlings experience in praises and acclamations. We find that her superiors were ever lavish of the food for which she constantly hungered, and this not only to second the designs of God and to secure their fulfilment, but to preserve in her soul the precious virtues with which she was enriched. Sincerely believing herself the last and least in the community, the most unworthy, the most miserable sinner, she chastised herself for the smallest imperfections. She had arrived at such a degree of perfection that self-love and self-seeking found no place in her heart. She ingeniously avowed that neither the graces with which she was so wonderfully favored, nor all the praises she could possibly receive, would be able to excite in her the least sentiment of vanity. Thus, the gifts of God only served to humble her the more, and to disclose her weakness and unworthiness. Far from being vain of the favors accorded her, she trembled at the remembrance of the account which one day she would be obliged to give.

Once, when still a novice, the mother prioress told her during recreation, to sing for the amusement of a newly arrived postulant, the same hymn she had sung on her arrival: “Let us bless the Lord, &c.” She sang so sweetly and with so much feeling and piety, that her young companion was charmed. At the conclusion the mother prioress said: “Well, Sister St. Peter, how many vain thoughts have you had while singing?” “Mother,” she replied, her eyes modestly cast down, “If I have had any, I chased them all away.” In this answer she showed her true spirit of humility, avoiding to acknowledge publicly that she had been exempt from all sentiments of vanity, which would have been only too natural on such an occasion.

Her obedience was most perfect, without delay or excuse; she submitted with the simplicity of a child to all that was desired of her, imitating the example of the Infant Jesus at Nazareth. She repeated without ceasing, these words of the Gospel: He was subject to them, suggesting the same to her companions with so much gentleness, that the influence exercised on those around her, can scarcely be imagined. She made the holy virtue of obedience her food, and daily derived new strength from its practice. Her opinions, her will, her interior lights, all vanished the moment she was aware of the intentions of her superiors. She had such a lively spirit of faith that she spoke to them as to God himself, receiving as from him all their commands and counsels. She used to say: “If my superiors were to order a postulant or novice to take the direction of my conduct, I would submit to her for the love of God without any difficulty.”

She blindly obeyed, not only her superiors, but also the sisters with whom she was employed, regarding them all as her superiors, and making it a duty to acquiesce in their least wish.

She was like an infant incapable of either action or movement but by the will of those who conducted her. The obedience of this dear sister was so perfect, that she was able, during her last illness to say: “That which consoles me now at the hour of my death is the thought that I have ever been obedient.”

Her detachment was that of a true Carmelite. She loved in God all those linked to her by the ties of kindred, of religion and of gratitude, but no unregulated affection ever found any place in her heart. Her parents were very dear to her and she prayed for them always, but beholding all things in God, she left in his hands the care of all that concerned them, without allowing herself even a thought on the subject.

Her immolation to God was entire and without reserve, according to the counsel of the Psalmist: “Forget thy people and thy father’s house, and the king will recognize thy beauty.” We find that she never spoke of those whom she had left in the world, she was even observed to burn some letters before reading them, for fear lest they might pre-occupy her mind. She was wont to say that one of the greatest obstacles to religious perfection was irregular affection for parents; although it was an obligation to pray for them, yet we should commit them to the care of an all-wise Providence, without being pre-occupied with their temporal affairs.

Her spirit of recollection was so profound that it was sufficient to behold her, to feel one’s heart elevated toward God. So absorbed was she in Him that even after her profession, she was ignorant of the particular places occupied by the sisters in the choir and refectory, and often listened with surprise to the account of what had passed under her very eyes. Calm, silent and modest, one became aware of her presence only by the edification of her whole bearing, and by the manner in which she accomplished the smallest actions. To belong entirely to her heavenly Spouse, she abstained from all that could flatter the senses.

If, on the one hand, she concealed from creatures the virtues she practiced, her simplicity and obedience caused her to reveal them at the first question from authority.

After each celestial communication, she was pale, trembling and covered with tears, more especially when God announced the misfortunes which threatened France. Calmly and silently the tears flowed from her eyes. She appeared at these times absorbed in profound contemplation; this lasted for entire hours at a time, without however deterring her from the performance of her obligations. Sometimes it was noticed that she bore the impress of great sufferings; she seemed to be occupied with some subject that entirely captivated her thoughts.

Her union with God was almost continual; she never lost sight of his divine presence, and according to her own expression, her soul, closely united to Jesus, was “a happy prisoner at his feet.” But this life, to all appearances so heavenly and sweet, was not exempt from great trials and sufferings, which she bore with heroic fortitude; the mother prioress was convinced that these had contributed to shorten her days. Is it then astonishing that her prayers were sometimes miraculously heard?

How admirable was her love of silence and regularity! So vigilant and exact was she at all times that she might have been regarded as the living rule of the house; at the first sound of the bell, her work fell from her hands; she would not have made one movement which could have retarded her. It was sufficient for her companions to observe her attentively to know, love and practice all their duties. This dear sister possessed, in an eminent degree, the spirit of her seraphic mother St. Theresa, being gifted with that sweet liberty of mind which distinguishes a true Carmelite; to the interior virtues she knew admirably how to unite the charms of perfect charity and even at times the sallies of wit.

One day, a friend of the house, offered some cake; Sister St. Peter, who was still portress, being extremely fatigued, received the present, and brought it immediately to the mother prioress, saying: “How fortunate!” and adding with her usual simplicity: “The Ass is hungry!” The good mother smiled, and gave a piece of the cake to the little portress who ate it gayly, rendering thanks to God. During the recreations, she spoke but little, always preferring to listen; yet she was ever lively and amiable, taking part in all that was said and done, although obliged to offer extreme violence to herself to interrupt her interior conversation with God. Her companions loved to pass the recreation with her, as they always drew some fruit from her conversation.

Her reserve, when there was question of charity, was particularly remarkable; she excused all, palliated the defects of others with as much tact as cordiality. She never refused a service to others for she figured herself as serving Jesus and Mary in the persons of her sisters. We have noticed how she fulfilled the office of first and second portress, even discharging the duties of both for a considerable length of time. She was prudent, discrete and attentive, of easy access, affable toward all and spreading round her the sweet odor of Jesus Christ. Her devotedness was of great service to the house; she acquired the esteem and affection of all who had any intercourse with her. Although this office was very repugnant, yet it did not in the least interfere with her habitual recollection, nor with the tranquility of her soul, fruit of her purity of heart. It was even amidst the most fatiguing and annoying occupations that she obtained from Our Lord the greatest graces.

Her soul, firm as rock through her union with our Lord Jesus Christ, was sheltered from all those disquietudes which agitate the heart and trouble the mind. She acted without precipitation, how numerous soever her occupations. In general, she was so pleasant and joyful in the midst of all the self-renunciation which she practiced, that no one was aware of the violence she offered herself. The following is an example. When the community removed to their new monastery, it was not completed, and the workmen being obliged to go in and out continually, gave grand occasion for patience to our virtuous portress; but her habitual serenity never deserted tier. When her rule permitted her to speak, she said laughingly, with her natural taste for poetry to those whom she accompanied:

Now since obedience

Rules our actions,

Let us go in diligence

To conduct our masons.

M. Lebroument, whom she called “the courier of the Infant Jesus,” and who in turn called her his “godmother”, desired to have a pious souvenir of our Carmelite after her death. He wrote to the prioress who replied:

“Observing, by your letter, that you wished to possess some little souvenir of your poor godmother, I thought of an object which she made under very singular circumstances; and I was surprised, when without any intimation on my part, she, herself, begged me to keep the same object for you; I confess you are her only heir, for it is the sole article she asked me to dispose of. What then is your legacy?”

“It is a drum,— but a drum resembling none other than in its form, it is fashioned so ingeniously. The following is its history. When the poor sister fell ill, it happened to be at the very time that the elections were taking place. I said to her somewhat in fun: Since you are no longer able to pray, you must be our spiritual drum, and when you hear the National Guard beating the call to order, you must invite the angels to our succor. She accepted her new mission and the next day presented me a little drum on which was drawn the nine choirs of angels, the Holy Name of God, etc. She kept it beside her on her bed to call to our assistance all the heavenly hosts by striking this little drum with her fingers.”

“Worldlings would laugh heartily at this trait of childish piety, but you, sir, who are not of the world, you, as I, will no doubt, behold in it the admirable simplicity of a soul transformed in the science of the manger and in the virtue of obedience. This drum is, therefore, destined for you. It will be a pleasing toy, I think, for your little Charles; we also enclose some other little souvenirs for Madame Lebroument.”

M. Lebroument, a man not of this world, far from giving this precious drum to his little boy, had it richly enshrined under a glass case, desiring that this object which he regarded as a relic, should never pass from his family.

To these details, which we have taken from the private annals of the monastery, we shall add the testimony of one of the religions.

“To speak of Sister Mary of St. Peter,” said she, “to render homage to her virtue, is both a duty and happiness. She entered religion several years after I did. At the time, although professed, I was still in the novitiate, which gave me an opportunity of observing her closely, and consequently of admiring her greatly. “We already perceived her to be a soul fully formed to all virtues; those which I particularly remarked were her humility, her recollection, and her obedience. She received the trials and the humiliations to which she was subjected with, as much joy as gratitude, so much so, that we were all edified; far from ever excusing herself, on the contrary, she was always accusing herself, ever seeking new occasion of humiliation.”

“She was so recollected that she did not behold what was passing before her very eyes. Until her profession, I had no other relationship with her than that of the novitiate; but soon after, I perceived her special devotion to the holy Infancy of Jesus, toward which I also experienced a great attraction; this bound us closely to each other, and gave me an occasion of becoming better acquainted with this beautiful soul. Her piety was so meek and loving, that I was enchanted with her.”

“Our practices of devotion were always directed to honor the mystery of the Holy Infancy. The holy child Jesus was the subject of our conversations. With what tenderness she spoke of him! How well she knew how to imitate the virtues of this Divine Child! For her rule of conduct, she had taken these words, He was subject to them, I am confident that she practiced them with the greatest perfection.’’

“The office of portress, to which she was appointed a few years after her profession, gave her a wide scope for the exercise of virtue; I was a witness of her promptitude to obedience and her perfect self-abnegation. At our removal, her occupations were redoubled, and although over-burdened, yet she never for an instant lost her habitual recollection. She was very diligent, and edified all by her remarkable zeal and charity. Being at the time treasurer, I was often in embarrassment to settle the bills, but when she perceived me depressed, or impatient, she would quietly repeat these words: ‘And he was submissive to them,’ adding, ‘Come, let us submit ourselves to the will of the Holy Infant, we are his little servants.’ She had to bear sufferings and trials from all sides; but she was ever meek, patient, and resigned, and was never heard to murmur or to repine. Our dear sister was a great edification to me in all the corporal infirmities she had to support. She was taken ill nearly a year before her death. I was then, infirmarian, I cannot describe the consolation I experienced when beside this pious invalid. She never refused any remedy how disgusting or bitter it might be, content with all that was done for her, she seemed to forget her sufferings to be occupied solely with God. To such a degree did she carry her spirit of submission, that she would not have taken one step outside the infirmary without my permission. Her recollection seemed to be continual; in a word, I seemed to behold an angel rather than a suffering mortal. I was inconsolable when I ceased to take care of her.”

This picture will be completed by one more remark: there was a conviction, almost amounting to a certainty among the Carmelites, that this pure soul had preserved intact her baptismal innocence; she lived in the world as not belonging to it, and from the moment of her arrival in religion, she was never seen commit a single voluntary fault. This is the unanimous testimony of the entire community.