Our Little Breton

It is to Catholic Brittany, that ground so fruitful in virtuous and heroic characters, that we are indebted for Sister Marie de St. Pierre. She was born at Rennes, in 1816, of worthy and honest parents of whom but little is known. Her father, whose name was Pierre (Peter) Eluere, was a locksmith by trade, and married Frances Portier, a lady worthy by her piety of such a husband, who, as we shall see, was a Christian of the old school. Some years after their marriage this virtuous woman was carried off by death. Being thus left a widower with twelve children, Peter Eluere had to endure many privations and sufferings, and to labour assiduously to be able to bring up his children, and provide for them in their sickness which, for the most part, was long and fatal; for he beheld them all, one after the other consigned to the tomb, with the exception of one son and one daughter, who survived him. His glory before God and man was to have given to Carmel and to the Church the child of benediction, whose life we have undertaken to narrate.

When Sister Mary St Peter had become a religious, she was obliged by obedience to write her own life, even the most minute details of the early years of her childhood. We shall make an extensive use of her letters and other writings during the course of our narrative, preserving as much as possible the simple and unassuming style so natural to her. She thus enters upon the task set before her.

“Notwithstanding the great repugnance I experience in writing of matters concerning myself, I will not hesitate to submit to the orders of obedience. I shall perform what I have been commanded with the assistance of the child Jesus, into whose revered little hand I have placed my pen, entreating him to write an account of the precious graces which he has accorded me, and my malice in so often offending him, that thereby God the Father may be glorified for having by His Almighty power produced such abundant fruit for the glory of His Holy Name, from such sterile ground covered with the brambles and thorns of sin and imperfection. At the feet of the child Jesus in the manger, I now commence my narrative, in obedience to you, Reverend Mother.”

“Notwithstanding the great repugnance I experience in writing of matters concerning myself, I will not hesitate to submit to the orders of obedience. I shall perform what I have been commanded with the assistance of the child Jesus, into whose revered little hand I have placed my pen, entreating him to write an account of the precious graces which he has accorded me, and my malice in so often offending him, that thereby God the Father may be glorified for having by His Almighty power produced such abundant fruit for the glory of His Holy Name,1 from such sterile ground covered with the brambles and thorns of sin and imperfection. At the feet of the child Jesus in the manger, I now commence my narrative, in obedience to you, Reverend Mother.” dismissed this woman from her service.I will now give an account of one of the first acts of malice which I can remember. When I had grown a little older, someone told me of the accident, which had happened to me. To my surprise, my good old nurse came one day to see me. I received her coldly, remarking with much asperity: “You have already burned one of my cheeks, have you come to-day to disfigure the other?” At four years of age I was attacked with scarlet fever, which brought me to death’s door. My parents have often told me that I had been in great danger for nineteen days, having been unable to take nourishment of any kind, save a small glass of cider. The very recollection of this often made my father laugh, when speaking of my illness, during which, a beverage so contrary to my condition, should have been the means of preserving my life.”

“From the moment my reason commenced to develop itself, my virtuous parents gave me the advantage of a pious education; but I was naturally very disagreeable and obstinate. My pious Mother took me often to church with her, but here I was thoughtless and giddy, and kept turning my head in every direction to see what was going on around me. After manifesting such a want of reverence and decorum in the House of God, and failing in fidelity to my Mother’s counsels, I was severely punished on my return home. When I was a little over six years of age, I was taken to confession to accuse myself of all my faults. I was so jealous of my little sister that my parents were obliged to separate us and send her away for some time. Besides these exterior defects, which rendered me so disagreeable to others, my heart was filled with pride and self-love. On one occasion my Mother said to me in the presence of my father, for the purpose of mortifying me: ‘Surely, this is not our little girl, if so, she must have been transformed by her nurse; it is impossible that our child could be as perverse as this little one.’ Such reflections coming from the lips of my Mother, were not very flattering. But I soon gained quite a victory over my pride.”

Excerpt taken from: The Holy Face and the Work of Reparation, by Sr Marie de St Pierre, & Abbè P. Janvier (ed.), (1884), reprinted in 2026 by A.D. Press.