The Life of Venerable Sister Margaret Bourgeois

by Anonymous

THE PRIVATE AND SOCIAL VIRTUES OF SISTER BOURGEOIS.

After what has been already related, it might appear that the labors of Sister Bourgeois were happily ended by the establishment of her Congregation. She had a flourishing institute at Montreal, and a fervent and numerous community, that was well prepared to meet the future exigencies of the diocese, and to supply new missions (when such were needed) with holy and capable subjects. It is true there was still no properly authorized or approved rule, but she had the necessary formulas, which were strictly observed, while expecting the time appointed by Divine Providence for ecclesiastical approbation, and she felt interiorly assured that this would come. She had given her daughters an example of the most heroic virtues, most of her actions being really of the heroic order, and such as might have been expected from a daughter of predestination. In every sense of the word, she had a truly great soul. In the routine of daily life, she was to her Sisters a perfect model. She gave them frequently instructions suitable to their strength, and proper to excite their zeal and fervor in the duty of a community life to which they aspired. We will now see, or rather admire, her extraordinary love of suffering, which very few could imitate.

The Lord gives a cross to every one of us. He spares none of His servants, and she had crosses of all sorts to endure, interiorly and exteriorly suffering the most intense pain of body and mind. The former she often inflicted on herself, the latter was appointed by Divine Providence, and of each she had a larger share than falls to the common lot. Without referring again to the long and painful voyages she undertook for the glory of God, or to the penitential and mortified life of which she made profession, it is well known that, like the Apostle, she constantly endured in soul and body the sufferings of Jesus Christ. Her food was always of the coarsest kind, and she selected invariably for herself whatever was disagreeable to the taste. In the matter of eating she absolutely destroyed sensuality, either by using her food too hot or too cold, or spoiling its flavor by pouring water on it, or mixing it with ashes, or a certain bitter powder, with which she always kept herself supplied. She ate little, and drank less, using water but once a day, and never in sufficient quantity to allay her thirst, even in the hottest weather. She even managed to sit at her meals in a painful and mortified position, being careful to pass every moment of her life in the practice of mortification. She usually prayed prostrate on the ground. Her ordinary bed was the floor, with a block of wood for her pillow. She regarded it as a criminal indulgence, if sickness obliged her to use a mattrass or straw pillow. Her sleep was short and broken, as she rose usually about midnight to pray for at least two hours, and during the intense cold of the most severe Canadian winters she never omitted this practice. She seemed to be insensible to the biting frost, as she never approached the fire in the cold season, and endured the inconveniences of the other seasons with the same indifference to bodily comfort. She scourged her body with rude disciplines, and one cannot describe without a sensation of horror, the cap, bristling with sharp points, that she wore secretly on, her head night and day. The Sisters once accidentally saw this instrument of torture, and begged her to discontinue its use, but she smilingly told them, it caused her no more pain than a feather pillow should.

On another occasion, having been implored by the Sisters to moderate the rigor of her austerities, in order to prolong her life for the sake of the community, she answered them by an instruction on the Christian's obligation of leading an austere and penitential life, and so pathetic were her words that the Sisters burned with a desire to imitate her example.

At last her confessor was obliged to forbid such excessive austerities, and she submitted, so far as exterior mortification went, but she practised interior mortification more ardently than before. That is, she kept a stricter guard over her senses, thwarted more frequently her natural inclinations, and endeavored by every means in her power to keep herself always in the presence of God. But as if her divine Master made light of these penitential exercises, He sent her a more terrible trial than any she had yet endured.

In the year 1689, the devil, jealous of the tranquillity with which she submitted to the decrees of Divine Providence, in the midst of crosses that seemed to multiply daily around her, gave her to understand by the pretended visions of another, that she was in a state of damnation, and at emnity with God. These awful words, or rather this frightful idea, made such an impression on her, that during four years she was not able to banish it from her imagination, being, however, less troubled at the apprehension of the pains of hell, than at the idea of being hated by God, whom she loved with her whole heart. During the long continuance of the temptation she multiplied her prayers, though prayer no longer consoled her, and her penances, though she felt a secret horror for them. Yet she blindly submitted to the guidance of her director, for whom, however, she felt more aversion than confidence. Nothing consoled her. She had to be compelled to receive Holy Communion, of which she believed herself unworthy, and from which she abstained for a considerable time. Only those who have passed through a similar ordeal can judge of her state of mind at that time, or form any idea of what she suffered. But in order to be more explanatory, it will again be necessary to refer to the Memoirs.

As has been already stated, on her second return from France she found herself surrounded by more than forty aspirants to the religious state, who led most humble and penitential lives yet though all were very fervent, all were not equally strong, either in body or mind, and the health of many among them visibly declined, so that it became necessary to set bounds to their austerities, especially as they were not yet under the guidance of an approved rule, which of its own nature would have prevented indiscreet excesses. A mitigation of penitential practices was therefore openly and undisguisedly advocated but Sister Bourgeois, all charitable and submissive as she was, did not relish these suggestions—fearing that a door would be opened to relaxation. She had already reproached herself bitterly for the consent reluctantly given to the building of the first large house for the community, and, notwithstanding the lapse of years, she still regarded its erection as contrary to the spirit of poverty, humility, and mortification they would have preserved in the stable which had been the cradle of the Congregation.

"The grand building brought in its train," she said, "drapery and mattresses—delicate food and fine furniture—and so many other fine things that there was no room left for holy poverty."

Her apprehensions for the future were a species of martyrdom to her, and a difference of opinion was the commencement of all her mental anguish, as after that period we find her Memoirs filled with painful reflections. In 1677 a young person presented herself for admission, who was unfit for any duties except out-door employment, and Sister Bourgeois refused to receive her. The refusal, however, was contrary to the desire of any of the Sisters, although it was approved of by ecclesiastical superiors. The Foundress, writing of the circumstance, says: "From that time I think the Sisters lost confidence in me, and I lost the liberty of speaking of such matters to them."

This was a sad position for a superior who believed God's work would suffer by a real or supposed lack of confidence. It will be remembered she was engaged for two entire years in the task of procuring new subjects, together with the letters patent for the institute, and during that time the signal favors she received from both God and man gave her much consolation. But no sooner had she returned to Ville-Marie than she was replunged into sorrowful embarrassments, as she noticed that what seemed to her to be relaxations had crept in. She attributed the fire of 1683, and the deaths of her two best subjects on that occasion, to her own sins, and overwhelmed with these ideas, her life became a sad and pensive one.