Chapter 1-29

I WAS obliged to go to Paris for some business, and having entered a church, which was very gloomy, to make my confession, I went to the first confessor I found, whom I did not know, and whom I have never since seen. I simply made my confession—a very short one—and did not say a word to this confessor. I was greatly surprised when he said to me, “I know not who you are, whether you are maid, wife, or widow; but I feel a strong interior movement to tell you, that you should do what our Lord has made you know he desired of you. I have only that to say to you.” I answered him, “My Father, I am a widow, who have little children four and six years of age. What else could God desire of me but to rear them?” He said to me, “I know nothing of it. You know whether God has made you recognize that he wished something of you. If it is so, there is nothing which should hinder you from doing his will. One must leave one’s children to do it.”

This greatly surprised me. I, however, said nothing to him of what I felt for Geneva. I, nevertheless, quietly prepared myself to leave everything if you wished it of me, O my God, and if you brought about the opportunities through your divine providence. I did not look upon it as a good to which I aspired, nor as a virtue I hoped to acquire, nor as an extraordinary thing, nor as an act which deserved some return on God’s part. I did not embrace it as through zeal—this appeared dead in me; but I let myself gently go to what I was told was the will of God, to which mine could make no resistance—not through acquiescence as formerly, but as no longer existing, and no longer distinguishing or paying attention. While I was in this disposition, living in my family with extreme tranquillity, without troubling myself with all that, a monk of the Order of St. Dominic, one of my friends, had a great desire to go as a missionary to Siam. He dwelt at twenty leagues from us. When he was ready to make the vow that he had written out to repeat, it was not possible for him to do so. He was given to understand he ought to come and speak to me about it. He came immediately, and, as he had some repugnance to telling me, he went to say the Mass in my chapel, believing God would be satisfied if he should make his vow while celebrating the Mass in my hearing. But he was hindered; so that he left the chapel after he had put on the amice, which he took off to come and speak to me. He then told me his project. Although I had no feeling or thought of doing anything positive, I felt myself impelled to tell him what had happened to me, and the notion which I had a long time for Geneva. I related to him even a dream that appeared supernatural, which had occurred to me on the night of the Transfiguration, the 6th August, exactly one year before I made the vows, of which I will speak hereafter. I seemed to see the ecclesiastic of our house with my youngest son looking with much admiration at the heaven. They cried out that the heaven was open. They begged me to come, that they saw Tabor and the heaven opened. I told them I did not wish to go there; that Tabor was not for me; that I needed only Calvary. They pressed me so strongly to go out that, unable to resist their importunity, I went. I saw only a remnant of light; and at the same time I saw descending from heaven a cross of immense size. I saw a number of people of all  kinds—priests, monks—endeavouring to hinder it coming. I did nothing but remain quietly in my place, without trying to take it; but I was content. I perceived it approached me. With it there was a standard of the same colour as the cross. It came and cast itself of its own accord into my arms. I received it with extreme joy. The Benedictines having wished to take it from me, it withdrew from their hands to cast itself into mine.

As I was conversing with the Father about this, I had a strong movement to say to him, “My Father, you will not go to Siam. You will serve me in this business, and it is for this God has sent you here. I beg you to give me your opinion.” (He is very learned.) He told me he would remain three days with me in the country, and that, after having recommended the business to God for these three days, and said three Masses, he would let me know his sentiment. After this time, then, he told me that he believed it was the will of God I should go to that country, but in order to be more sure, it was necessary to see the Bishop of Geneva; that if he approved my design, it was a mark that it was of God; that if he condemned it, I should think no more of it. I adopted his view, and he offered to go to Annecy, to see the Bishop of Geneva and speak to him, and to give me a faithful report of what they should have determined together. As he was advanced in years, we were discussing in what way he should make such a long journey without being inconvenienced, when there arrived two monks, passers-by, who told us the Bishop of Geneva was at Paris. This appeared to me, O my God, a miracle of your providence. The worthy monk resolved to go there. He counselled me to write to Father La Combe to know his sentiment, and to recommend the business to his prayers, for he knew he was of that country. He then spoke at Paris to the Bishop of Geneva, and as there occurred an affair, which Divine Providence arranged for me, to oblige me to go to Paris, I spoke myself to the Bishop of Geneva.

I told him my design was to go into that country, and there to employ my wealth in founding an establishment for all those who would truly turn to God and give themselves to him without reserve; that many servants of God, both male and female, assured me God demanded this of me; and although I did not feel any marked inclination for it, I yet thought myself bound to obey the voice of God, which was indicated to me, since so many different persons, mutually unacquainted, and far separated the one from the other, told me the same thing. The Bishop of Geneva approved of my design, and informed me that there were some New Catholics who wished to go and establish themselves at Gex, and that it was a providence. I answered him I had no vocation for Gex, but for Geneva. He told me I should be able to go thence to Geneva. I believed it was an opportunity which Divine Providence sent me, to make the journey with less difficulty, and as I knew nothing positive of what God wished of me, I would not offer any opposition. “Perhaps,” I said, “he desires that I should merely contribute to this establishment.”

I went to see the Superior of the New Catholics at Paris, to know how things were going on. She testified great joy, and assured me she would be one of the party. As she is a great servant of God, this confirmed me, for when I could reflect a moment, which was rare, I thought God would, take her for her virtue and me for my money; for as soon as through unfaithfulness I regarded myself, I could not believe God wished to make use of me; but when I saw things in God, it seemed to me that the more insignificant I was, the more suited was I to his designs. As I did not see anything in me extraordinary, and believed myself in the lowest stage of perfection, and it appeared to me for want of light—for my soul was not perfectly established in the eternal light, which is you, O my God—as, I say, it appeared to me that extraordinary lights were needed for extraordinary designs, this made me hesitate and fear deception. I did not sufficiently understand that to follow step by step your divine providence was the greatest and purest light; and besides this, you gave me continual lights, and so much the more admirable as I the less sought them. It is not that I feared anything for my salvation and perfection, which I had made over to God; but I feared not doing his will from being too desirous to do it. I went to consult Father Claude Martin, son of the Mother of the Incarnation, of Canada. He did not then decide anything for me, asking time to pray, and that he would write to me what was God’s will for me.

I had some hesitation in speaking to M. Bertot, as well owing to the difficulty of speaking to him, as because I knew how much he condemned anything extraordinary; and besides he gave me no assistance for my spiritual life, which, he said, was the prayer of affection, although I did not know what it meant. I submitted against my own lights to what he told me, though he had previously declared it the prayer of faith; but I gave up all my own experience when it was a question of believing and obeying. How should he have known my spiritual state when I could tell him nothing of it? I thought, however, though he did not aid me, I ought to address him on a matter of this importance, and to prefer his lights to all others, persuaded as I was he would infallibly tell me the will of God. I went to him then, and he told me my design was from God, and that some time previously God had made known to him he wished something of me. I believed him without hesitation, and I returned to arrange everything. The more confirmed I saw myself, the more apprehensive I was without apprehension, because I much loved my children, and no one could be more contented than I then was. When I returned home, I abandoned, or rather, left myself in the hands of God, resolved not to take a step either to further or hinder the matter. I left myself a prey to providence, making a sacrifice in the will, while waiting to make a real one.

I had mysterious dreams which presaged only crosses, persecutions and griefs. My heart submitted itself to all that its God could will for it. I had one very significant. While engaged in some necessary work, I saw near me a very small animal which looked as if dead. This animal appeared to me to be the envy of some persons which seemed lately to be deadened. I caught this animal, and as I saw he exerted himself to sting me and grew bigger under my eyes, I threw him away. I found he had filled my fingers, as it were, with needles. I went up to a person I knew very well in order that he should remove them for me; but he stuck them deeper into me, and I continued full of these stings until a charitable priest of extraordinary merit (whose face is still before me, although I have never seen him; but I believe I shall see him before dying) caught that animal with pincers. As soon as he held it tight, my stings fell out of themselves, and I found an easy entrance into a place which had previously appeared to me inaccessible; and although there was mud as deep as the waist in going to a deserted church, I passed over it without soiling myself. It will be easy from the sequel of my life to see what this signifies.

People, doubtless, will be astonished that, attaching so little importance to things extraordinary, I relate these dreams. I do it for two reasons: the first, through fidelity, having promised to omit nothing that should occur to my mind; the second, because it is the mode God makes use of to communicate with souls of faith, to give them intimations of the future in things that concern them; although there is a manner of knowing of extreme purity with which he endows them, and which I shall explain elsewhere. These extraordinary dreams are found in numerous places in Holy Scripture. They have especial characteristics, such as, to leave a certainty they are mysterious, and that they will be realized in their time; of almost never escaping from the memory, though one forgets all others; of redoubling the certainty of their truth as often as one thinks of them or speaks of them; moreover, they produce for the most part on waking up a certain unction.

A Benedictine nun, who is a most holy woman, in their refectory saw our Lord on the cross and the Holy Virgin near him, and they appeared in great pain. They made movements which seemed to mark their sufferings and the desire they had to find some one who would be willing to share them. She ran to inform the prioress. She said she was busy and could not go. In fact, she was amusing herself with flowers and trees. Not finding anyone who was willing to go, in great trouble she met and told me. I at once ran there, and our Lord appeared very pleased. He received and embraced me as if to associate me in his sufferings, after which he no longer had pain. When she told me this, I said nothing to her of my designs. At the moment I understood they were designs of crosses, disgrace and ignominy, to make me bear Jesus crucified.

I received a letter from Father La Combe, who told me that he had caused some very holy women in that neighbourhood to pray, and that all said God wanted me at Geneva. A nun of the Visitation, who is a very holy woman, told me that God had made the same thing known to her, and that it had been said to her, “She will be daughter of the Cross of Geneva.” An Ursuline also informed me that our Lord had said to her, that he destined me to be the eye of the blind, the foot of the lame, etc. The ecclesiastic who was at our house greatly feared I might be deceived; but what finished in confirming him for that time was, that Father Claude Martin, of whom I have spoken, wrote me that God had made known to him after many prayers that he wanted me at Geneva, that he wanted me to make a generous sacrifice of everything. I answered him that perhaps God wanted only a sum of money from me to assist a foundation that was about to be established there; that I would furnish it without leaving my children. He answered me, that God had made known to him that he did not want my wealth, that he wanted my person. I received this letter and at the same time another from Father La Combe, who told me the certainty God had given him and numerous worthy servants of God, that God wanted me at Geneva. Although these two monks were more than a hundred and fifty leagues distant the one from the other, they wrote me almost the same thing. I was surprised, receiving at the same time these two almost identical letters from people so remote.

As soon as I believed it was your will, O my God, I did not see anything on earth capable of stopping me. My senses were nevertheless given over to the pain that such a determination must naturally cause a mother who loves her children, and as soon as I reflected, doubt seized my mind. I had no interior witness. I felt neither inclination nor desire, but rather repugnance; yet I surrendered myself against all hope, resting on faith in God, who does not permit those that trust him to be confounded. O my Love, if I had rested on myself or in the creature, I should have been apprehensive. It would have seemed to me that I should experience what is said in Scripture, that I should have rested on a reed, which, breaking, would have pierced my hand; but resting upon you alone, O Infinite Goodness, what can I fear? What! you who deliver those who hardly call upon you, could you deceive or abandon those who leave everything to do your will? I resolved to go like a mad woman, without being able to give motive or reason for my enterprise. They assured me you wished it, O my God, and it was enough to make me undertake things the most impossible. I felt no confidence in all those who signified to me your will. I thought that as they did not know me, they were deceived, and the sight of my paltriness made me fear everything. Yet a confidence above all confidence made me see that it was better to be deceived doing what I believed to be your will than to walk with more assurance, according to ordinary rules, in failing to do it. Then I said, “I am not worth the trouble of fearing to be deceived. O my God, you cannot deceive.” I firmly believed that you would by your providence furnish all that was necessary for the education of my children, and this in pure faith; for the senses were without support. I made arrangements gradually, without eagerness, not wishing to do the least thing either to put off the business or to advance it, or to make it succeed. Providence was my sole guidance. I had the infidelity to reflect, and immediately I hesitated; but my thoughts were only, as it were, distractions, which were dissipated by faith. I, however, caused many Masses to be said. I caused devotions to be performed on all sides. I even gave gifts to a church dedicated to the Holy Virgin in order to obtain the grace of doing your will, and large alms for that of knowing it.