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80 pages

English

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"It's almost upon us!" yelled a frantic voice as the ship neared the iceberg. "God's Will be done," prayed Mother Marie. If God wanted her to drown in the icy Atlantic Ocean before ever reaching Canada, His Holy Will be done. Yet perhaps . . . This book tells what happened next, plus the many other adventures that met the Sisters who brought the Holy Catholic Faith to Canada. 152 Pp. . Impr. 17 Illus.

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Philosophie et théologie

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Publié par	TAN Books
Date de parution	01 janvier 1949
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9781618903716
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0350€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Blessed Marie of New France
The Story of the First Missionary Sisters in Canada
Mary Fabyan Windeatt
Nihil Obstat: Gerald A. Green, S.T.B.
Censor Librorum Imprimatur: ✠ Francis Cardinal Spellman Archbishop of New York New York July 8, 1958
The Nihil Obstat and Imprimatur are official declarations that a book or pamphlet is free of doctrinal or moral error. No implication is contained therein that those who have granted the Nihil Obstat and Imprimatur agree with the contents, opinions or statements expressed.
Copyright © 1958 by P. J. Kenedy & Sons, New York.
First published in 1958 by P. J. Kenedy & Sons, New York, under the title Mère Marie of New France , as part of the “American Background Books” series.
Retypeset by TAN Books, an Imprint of Saint Benedict Press, LLC. The type in this book is the property of TAN Books, and may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without written permission from the Publisher. (This restriction applies only to this type , not to quotations from the book.)
ISBN: 978-0-89555-432-1
Library of Congress Catalog Card No.: 93-61383
TAN Books Charlotte, North Carolina www.TANBooks.com 2012
For Reverend Paschal Boland, O.S.B., Monk of Saint Meinrad Archabbey, Saint Meinrad, Indiana, in appreciation of much kindness.
BOOKS BY MARY FABIAN WINDEATT
A Series of Twenty Books
Stories of the Saints for Young People ages 10 to 100
THE CHILDREN OF FATIMA
And Our Lady’s Message to the World
THE CURÉ OF ARS
The Story of St. John Vianney, Patron Saint of Parish Priests
THE LITTLE FLOWER
The Story of St. Therese of the Child Jesus
PATRON SAINT OF FIRST COMMUNICANTS
The Story of Blessed Imelda Lambertini
THE MIRACULOUS MEDAL
The Story of Our Lady’s Appearances to St. Catherine Laboure
ST. LOUIS DE MONTFORT
The Story of Our Lady’s Slave, St. Louis Mary Grignion De Montfort
SAINT THOMAS AQUINAS
The Story of “The Dumb Ox”
SAINT CATHERINE OF SIENA
The Story of the Girl Who Saw Saints in the Sky
SAINT HYACINTH OF POLAND
The Story of the Apostle of the North
SAINT MARTIN DE PORRES
The Story of the Little Doctor of Lima, Peru
SAINT ROSE OF LIMA
The Story of the First Canonized Saint of the Americas
PAULINE JARICOT
Foundress of the Living Rosary & The Society for the Propagation of the Faith
SAINT DOMINIC
Preacher of the Hail Mary and Founder of the Dominican Order
SAINT PAUL THE APOSTLE
The Story of the Apostle to the Gentiles
SAINT BENEDICT
The Story of the Father of the Western Monks
KING DAVID AND HIS SONGS
A Story of the Psalms
SAINT MARGARET MARY
And the Promises of the Sacred Heart of Jesus
SAINT JOHN MASIAS
Marvelous Dominican Gatekeeper of Lima, Peru
SAINT FRANCIS SOLANO
Wonder-Worker of the New World and Apostle of Argentina and Peru
BLESSED MARIE OF NEW FRANCE
The Story of the First Missionary Sisters in Canada
CONTENTS
1.  The Mother
2.  The Dream
3.  The Time of Waiting
4.  In Orléans
5.  The Journey
6.  Arrival at Quebec
7.  New France
8.  The House for Jesus and Mary
9.  Two Crosses
10.  The Iroquois
11.  The Passing Years
Historical Note
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
T HE AUTHOR is deeply grateful to Mother Mary of Jesus, O.S.U., Mother Saint George, O.S.U., and Mother Saint Joseph, O.S.U., of the Ursuline Monastery, Quebec, Canada, for their generous help and encouragement in preparing this story of Mère Marie de l’Incarnation. Appreciation is also due to the following for the loan of much valuable source material: Reverend Paul-Emile Racicot, S.J., Propagandiste des Fondateurs de l’Eglise Canadienne , Montreal, Canada; Reverend Placidus Kempf, O.S.B., and Reverend Adrian Fuerst, O.S.B., monks of Saint Meinrad Archabbey, Saint Meinrad, Indiana; Mother M. Celeste Hanlon, O.S.U., Provincial of the Ursulines of the Roman Union, Kirk wood, Missouri; and Mother M. Claire, O.S.U., Louisville, Kentucky.

CHAPTER 1
THE MOTHER
Y OUNG PIERRE DUPLETTE laid three fresh logs atop the small fire on his master’s hearth, then glanced hopefully at the white-haired figure bent over a desk in the far corner of the room. Bertrand d’Eschaux, the Archbishop of Tours, was not a man to demand bodily comforts for himself, even on a cold January morning like this one of the year 1631. There was good reason to believe that a special visitor was about to arrive, and a special visitor generally meant not only a bit of decent warmth in the Archbishop’s drab study, but wine and cakes as well.
“Monseigneur, is there anything else you’d like?” asked the boy respectfully.
Slowly the old Archbishop rose to his feet and approached the crackling fire. “No, Pierre—unless it is the answers to a few questions.”
“And what would they be, Monseigneur?”
“First, do you know anything of Madame Marie Martin?”
“The daughter of Florent Guyart, the baker? The poor woman who lost her husband eleven years ago?”
The same.”
Pierre nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes, Monseigneur! A very holy soul. Whenever I see her praying in church, I always feel as though I’m watching a saint. She’s wonderfully kind to the poor, too. And of course a fine mother to her boy.”
“Ah, young Claude. By the way, how old is the lad now?”
“Not quite twelve, Monseigneur. And a strange little character, if I may say so.”
“Strange?”
“Well, perhaps that’s not the word. But everyone knows he ran away to Paris last week because he said he wasn’t loved at home. Three days he was gone, too, which almost broke his mother’s heart. Can you imagine a normal child doing such a thing?”
The Archbishop smiled. Young Pierre Duplette—serious, hard-working and trustworthy—had been all but a son to him since that fateful day, eighteen years before, when the plague had carried off both the boy’s parents.
“Now, Pierre, don’t forget it takes all kinds of folk to make a world,” he observed mildly. “Claude Martin will find his place someday.” Then, suddenly, cocking his ear, he said, “But isn’t that the doorbell? Run and answer it like a good soul. I’m expecting a visitor.”
Pierre’s eyes shone. So, he’d been right after all! “Of course, Monseigneur. I’ll go at once. And perhaps you’ll be wanting wine and cakes in a little while?”
The Archbishop nodded. “Yes, Pierre. The best wine and cakes in the house.”
Alone for a moment, Bertrand d’Eschaux turned from the fire and crossed the room to stand by the window overlooking a rustic shrine to Our Lady in the garden outside. It was a desolate place now, the little shrine, with only a few barren trees and vines for a background. Yet the face of the Virgin’s statue was as gracious as in the time of blossoms. Indeed, the outstretched hands suddenly seemed to come alive in the pale January sunlight as though they would bestow upon the Archbishop all manner of priceless treasures.
“Not so much for myself as for another, Holy Virgin,” he pleaded silently.
Even as the Archbishop prayed, there came a soft rap at the door. Turning, he saw an attractive woman in her early thirties being ushered into the room by a somewhat bewildered Pierre. So there was a reason behind all those questions, the boy’s look plainly said.
Although the newcomer was very simply attired—a black hooded cloak covering a dress of common gray homespun—her smile was as radiant as that of a young girl, and the dark eyes that lifted to his own as she came forward to kiss his ring were extraordinarily beautiful.
“ Bonjour , Madame Martin! How good to see you!”
“ Bonjour , Monseigneur! How good of you to want to see me!”
When Pierre had left the room, the Archbishop motioned his guest to a chair beside his own close to the fire. “I sent word for you to come, Madame, after hearing what the Prioress of the Ursulines had to tell me yesterday. That was surely good news!”
Madame Martin’s slim fingers toyed with the rough folds of her cloak. “Mère Françoise de Saint Bernard, she . . . she told you everything, Monseigneur?”
“She told me that you plan to enter the convent very soon; that your sister and her husband have promised to look after your little boy until he comes of age; and that everything is going to work out well.”
In spite of her brave efforts to control them, sud den tears glistened in Madame Martin’s dark eyes. “It . . . it’s like my beautiful childhood dream come true,” she whispered. “And yet at times I’m so frightened, Monseigneur—almost as though the dream were coming true too late . . . .”
The Archbishop leaned forward earnestly. “If anything’s troubling you, Madame, why not begin at the beginning and tell me all about it? Maybe I can help you.”
“But it would take so long—”
“Nonsense! Today my time is all yours. Come, let’s start at the beginning. What’s this about a childhood dream coming true?”
So, haltingly at first, then with renewed courage, Madame Martin began to relate her story.
“I was a little girl of seven, Monseigneur, when I dreamed that Our Lord came down through the sky to the schoolyard where I was playing and asked me if I’d be His special friend. So great was the love that came into my heart that right away in my dream I said I would.”
“And then?”
“I was so happy afterward that I told everyone of what had happened. No one paid much attention, of course, for it was only a dream, but I didn’t mind. It was enough to know that Jesus loved me, and that I loved Him more than anyone or anything in the world.”
“So?”
“By the time I was fourteen, I felt that I was called to be a nun. I told this to my mother, who was most kind, but she said I was still very young and that I must think and pray a great deal before making any decision. She was so serious, Monseigneur, that somehow I was led to believe that convent life was not for me. Then, when I was seventeen—”
“Yes?”
“My father decided I ought to marry a silk merchant—Claude Martin. He was so set on the idea, and Claude was such a good young man, that I never dreamed of questioning anything. We were married in just a few weeks. Two years later, when I was nineteen, our little boy Claude was born.”
The Archbishop nod