Gabrielle Lefebvre: A Catholic Mother

Part 2

IN 1914 THE WAR broke out. By this time the family consisted of mother, father and six children, the youngest of whom was six months old.

The invasion spread rapidly in the provinces of northern France, and Lille, Roubaix and Tourcoing found themselves under the Germans. Monsieur Lefebvre was not mobilized; he and his wife devoted themselves to the service of the wounded for whom hospitals had had to be improvised.

Being a true patriot, Monsieur Lefebvre was anxious to play his part in the war effort, and having learned that his age group had been mobilized in the free zone, he no longer held back.

His stock of wool was bricked up in the cellar, he got a false identity card and in February, 1915, he ventured into occupied Belgium, from where, by way of England, he reached France, after having worked some time in the Intelligence Service.

What a sacrifice this separation was! He left his wife the responsibility of the mill, the maintenance of which had to be supervised. The trials were multiplied as time went on; the children suffered from the food restrictions, there were daily difficulties with the invaders, and there was no news from her husband. Madame Lefebvre put herself in the hands of Providence. Not for an instant did she consider fleeing from the north where she judged her presence useful; she carried out her duty nobly.

Some German women were billeted with her, and in spite of strong complaints, she closed the rooms on the ground floor to them because they were used by the family. The authorities tried to force her to provide bedrooms for the passing troops; she provided them with empty rooms. The Germans felt that she had gone too far. She was arrested and locked in the prison at the town hall.

The commanding officer offered her liberty on condition that she would ask for pardon, and promise to make amends. She wanted desperately to return to her children. The dirtiness of the prison was repulsive, the cold terrible, but she refused. Finally, feeling dangerously ill, she wrote a note, not to ask pardon, but to admit that she had not obeyed the German authorities.

Her eldest son was almost fourteen years old and was soon to be included in the list for enforced labor. His mother preferred to let him go from her rather than comply with this requirement. The medical certificate completed, he went to Switzerland.

While carrying out her duties as mother of a family, her duties of the Third Order, looking after the stock of the mill, and the work at the dispensary, she still found time for prayer and for other work outside the home. At the beginning of the war, she spared herself no trouble to be near the wounded in the ambulance station in the college of Tourcoing: she did not hesitate to walk to Lille to get the necessary medicines. One of the Sisters at the dispensary recalled that Madame Lefebvre dressed each wound with extreme gentleness, her face reflecting an inner life. "Like her model, Our Lady, she was full of goodness and compassion. She spoke little, smiled often ... she forgot herself completely to give to God the glory in the accomplishment of her duty." Another Sister noted that she was always doing the work which the others did not want to do.

In addition to these duties, she gave hospitality to several members of her husband's family. Her mother-in-law suffered from cancer of the stomach; Madame Lefebvre took turns with a nursing Sister to look after her. Deeply touched by this devotion, her father-in-law kept an affectionate attitude towards her. He himself, many years later, was the recipient of her tender care.

During the First World War, the spiritual exercises and retreats of the Third Order were increased and Madame Lefebvre, its president, derived great advantages for her spiritual life from them. She had a desire for a more and more intimate union with God, and opened her soul to Divine inspirations. She did not keep the gifts of God to herself; by her support, her meetings, she made them known to those around her. One who kept a memory of this time wrote, "The days of retreat were days from heaven. Listening to Father Hure and Madame Lefebvre, we had the impression of being consumed in the fire of their love of God, of being raised above terrestrial regions and the miseries of war, to attain unsuspected summits." This contact with souls took on a semblance of real spiritual direction. The war posed many problems, and Madame Lefebvre tried to resolve them. One day a tertiary, torn between her duties to her family and the urgency of charitable work, asked if it were not her duty to stay at home. Madame Lefebvre replied, "I also have asked myself this question and recall the catechism: Why did God make us? To know Him, love Him and serve Him."

It was at the end of the war that Madame Lefebvre made a third vow—a vow of perfect purity, in these words, "O Jesus, I Your Spouse, wishing to belong to You even more closely, keep my soul free from all servitude according to the inspirations of the Holy Spirit to which I have been obedient in the past, confiding in my Mother, and by obedience I make to You a perpetual vow of perfect purity by the renunciation of my rights and my will to all natural satisfaction ... only obedience can revoke or modify this vow of pure love. O Jesus, I no longer live for myself but for You. You are my life."

In making three vows, Madame Lefebvre was not a woman infatuated with mysticism, confusing illusion and reality. She had a lightness of conscience founded on a balanced temperament; she was full of common sense, and instead of finding the vows a complication for her interior life, she drew from them a new impetus toward sanctity.

One of her daughters wrote of her, "The gifts of grace that God wished to share with her were marvelously supported by natural gifts, sure judgment, an upright spirit allied to unusual energy, a self-possession rarely known; a joyous soul of exquisite delicacy, who knew how to unite liberty to sweetness, and possessed this measure of the correct middle course."

For a simple conversation with her the impression was gained that a great supernatural spirit animated her. Without effort or affectation she linked everything to God, admiring the working of Divine Providence in everyday occurrences as well as in the occasional crisis. "God does what He does well." This habitual state gave her perfect serenity.

After the War

At last the Armistice was signed, and France was full of delirious enthusiasm. Monsieur Lefebvre returned; though it was the middle of the night the children leapt from their beds to greet him. He also had suffered and gained merit during his four years of absence.

This profound joy was soon overshadowed by a trial.

Work, restrictions, anxieties and the imprisonment, had greatly affected the health of Madame Lefebvre. In 1919, on doctor's orders, she went to take a holiday by the seaside. Parting from her children caused her great distress. "On leaving you," she wrote, "I was very sad. Has anyone heard of a mother who went away to breathe the fresh air and to enjoy the sea and the sunshine leaving her children behind? You well know why, and I do not think for one moment that the thought has crossed your minds that I was going just for the pleasure of it."

At the birth of her seventh child in 1920, her backbone gave way and Potts disease was diagnosed. For thirteen months she was encased in a corset of plaster. Sleep was impossible, the skin rubbed off; she was incapable of looking after her family. She lived as Jesus on the Cross, her face radiant with a heavenly smile, her soul completely united to God. During this illness, her husband carried her from room to room so that she could be with her family during the day. He took her twice to on pilgrimages to Lourdes. An unexpected improvement, which could be attributed to Our Lady, showed itself. She was on the way to recovery.

Madame Lefebvre did her best to thank her husband for his care for her by being particularly thoughtful towards him. With the approach of feasts and anniversaries, she encouraged the children to make woollen garments for their father who was particularly sensitive to the cold. As far as the home was concerned, she never omitted to tell him of her plans and was always ready to submit to his decision.

During this time, this holy woman reached the heights of her interior life. She had written during a retreat: "My Good Master ... I have but one desire; it is to see You reigning in this being which You have given me and always more and more; that this breath of my soul, which is part of God, remain pure with a divine purity, and that my body might be animated by Him to a completely spiritual life."

In 1925, the eighth child was born, to join the others whose souls were filled by their mother with sentiments of piety.

When the time came for the older ones to decide what they were going to do in the future, Madame Lefebvre made herself more available to them and redoubled her prayers. Without thought of worldly considerations she sought to do the Divine Will. "Whatever God wants," she used to say, "whatever He does with you, will be good. I would not wish to ask for anything else for you. He knows much better than I do the vocation which suits you best."

To one of her daughters who was a boarder with the Bernardines de Bon Secours, she wrote: "The religious vocation is a very high one and is the object of particular graces from God: that of marriage is less perfect, of itself, less holy. Whilst the soul of a religious only meets nourishment for its piety, the good soul in the world often only meets contradictory circumstances more or less discouraging. However, God does not call everyone to the religious life and it is possible to be a saint in every state of life. If a person is attracted to the religious life and God calls them, it is simple: after the painful sacrifice of separation the soul has its direct way mapped out. If the soul is called to the vocation of marriage, she must find in the greatness of her duty and in a great desire to please God, food for her piety; the trials, joys, and pain, all will nourish it. But how many souls, it is a large number, do not raise themselves above the mediocre, completely taken up with ordinary things, to the many necessities of life, to not very spiritual affections.

"They no longer know how to reach God Who waits for them. My little one, if later on, you are to have one of these unrefined and trite souls, I would ask God with all my heart to lead you to a religious life, but what I want most of all and only is that you do His Holy Will. I do not cease to pray that He will make it known to you in His own time: do not decide on anything prematurely; we all belong to God and we have not the right to dispose of ourselves before He has spoken. He has a thousand ways of doing it. Until such time as your vocation is made known to you, do not say, 'I think I shall marry,' but simply, for the time being, think of yourself as not being called to the religious life. God remains the Master of decision in one way or another: I love to imagine, when thinking of you, a child who finds herself completely in His Hands and well disposed to give herself up as Providence demands, it is like this that I will receive you happily, having no other desire than those that God will have for you."

Of her eight children—four boys and four girls—the five eldest consecrated themselves to God in the religious life. The two eldest joined the Holy Ghost Fathers. One was Vicar Apostolic of Dakar, consecrated by His Eminence Cardinal Lienart, in the Church of Notre Dame des Anges at Tourcoing on 18 September 1947, then nominated by Pope Pius XII as Apostolic Delegate of French Africa. (We know him as Archbishop Lefebvre!)

The eldest daughter joined the Congregation of Marie Reparatrice, the second became a Sister of the Holy Ghost and the third entered Carmel.

As in turn her children were consecrated to God, Madame Lefebvre felt her maternal responsibilities grow. In order to support her eldest son who had just become a priest, she wanted, like him, to break from the fashion of the world, and from then on, in contempt of what would be said, she dressed in black of a rigorous modesty. Later, she tried to recite the Roman Breviary; but she was forced to abandon it. She contented herself by saying a part of the Office of the Holy Virgin. When her son left for the missions, she wrote to him, "I spent the day with you yesterday. I was with you in spirit from the moment you left. I adore Our Lord in you, asking Him for strength, grace and consolations."

When she was able to reach her children in their monasteries, she never missed the visits authorized by the Rule. She wrote to those who were too far away to visit. Her letters carried the missionaries along towards an ever-increasing generous apostolate since, more than family events, she wrote of prayer, of the supernatural life, the love of Jesus and Mary, of the extension of the kingdom of God. She remarked during a retreat: "I am an exceptionally happy mother; could there be anything better than to see those whom Providence has put in your charge, reach par excellence the object of living?" This courageous mother also wrote, "There is nothing which tears you apart like the separations, however temporary, from the children you love. It seems that the more one's affections are rooted in God, the more it costs to detach oneself from them."

At such admissions, one can grasp how much her many sufferings saddened her heart, but carried along as she was, by a supernatural impetus, she did not draw back from any sacrifice where the good pleasure of God was concerned.

In union with her children in Religion, she said this prayer every day: "It would only be right, O my God, that each minute, each second I should say to You without ceasing O my Jesus I love You, and that thus I may fill, day and night, the emptiness and the fulness of my heart. But, alas, O my Jesus, my poor human nature hinders me from carrying out this incessant act of love. So condescend to consider, I beseech You, each word, each movement, each breath, as so many acts of love, which, beating in unison with Your Heart, extending Your reign, sanctifying Your Name, they may be steps which lead me to You and make me taste the joys of the children of God ... that this love may be so strong that never will anything stop it and that I may be able to cry, 'I have no longer anything, anything which has not been given'."

* * *

In the years following the war, the spinning mill was in difficulty; the spectre of bankruptcy rose before Monsieur Lefebvre. Times were hard but his courage carried him along. His wife supported him bravely, forcing herself to reduce the household expenses and, most reluctantly, to reduce the amount she gave to charities. After having accepted the painful prospect of leaving Tourcoing for Falaise, she offered, in spite of her weariness, to become the bookkeeper at the mill, to ward off, as far as possible, a difficult situation. In these reduced circumstances, as in the hours of her personal trials, her discretion remained sacred, nothing was known outside the family.

At this reverse of fortune, she thanked Divine Providence with all her heart that no longer had she to ask the question, "How should I practice poverty?" but she regretted that she was only able to respond niggardly to the appeals for charity. "I would have no merit," she said, "if I could give a lot; on the other hand it is really hard to give little ... I believe that I will be able to give a lot to heaven." One of the blessings for which she asked was that she should die without money or debts. "Like Saint Francis I would like to die with nothing." She was truly conquered by the Franciscan spirituality; the poverty, charity, simplicity which characterized it, charmed her.

During the ten years that she was bookkeeper at the mill, Madame Lefebvre gained the confidence of the workers. Her position and natural dignity could have withdrawn them from her, but the simplicity of her greeting, her willingness accompanied by a friendly smile, removed all hesitation. In difficulty they would consult "Madame René" as they called her with respectful familiarity. There were times when Monsieur Lefebvre would say smilingly, "Is there only Madame Lefebvre in this mill?"

She took a special interest in her little group in the office. When it was necessary to fill a vacancy, she prayed and encouraged them to pray that a suitable replacement may be found. Each day began with a short prayer. Thanks to her charity and to her activity she created such an atmosphere of peace that an employee of uncertain belief said, "To see how Madame René lives, one cannot but believe that there is a God."

During this time Father Hure, unsettled in his health by the trials of war, had to give up some of his work: the influence of Madame Lefebvre, far from diminishing, grew. She was approached with complete confidence. Illuminated by the light of faith, her judgment was true. In a total forgetfulness of self, she listened, encouraged, advised. Later, she was distressed by the death of Father Hure but, equipped as she was, she was able to carry on without his support. Under the blows of terrible money and health problems she kept her heart open to others; she never approached anyone with a spirit preoccupied with itself.

Regular at prayer, at spiritual reading and attendance at Mass and Holy Communion, she added, a long time before her death, an hour of adoration at night. She got up quietly and prayed on her knees, an act of love which imposed painful sacrifices on her when she became ill. She was faithful to it as long as her strength would allow.

The Last Illness

Madame Lefebvre's health had suffered since the trials of war, and no one was unduly alarmed when she felt some pain on Tuesday, the 5th of July. In spite of the advice to take care, she left on Wednesday for Tournai, to see her eldest daughter, a Sister in the Congregation of Marie Reparatrice. On her return, she complained of the pain caused, she said, by the shakiness of the train, but before going to bed she looked round the mill to see what should be done the next day.

On Thursday morning she was unable to get up; she was much worse. At midday she was given ice, to no avail. Her husband began to feel uneasy and alerted the family. Dr. Delegrange came to see her and spoke of an operation but the invalid said firmly: "If it is to become less of a person and to have to be a burden on the family, it is no use. I do not want it." A reaction which was a direct echo of the old directives of Fr. Hure.

On the night of Thursday/Friday she became much worse. Without sleep and in great pain she offered her cross to God for the conversion of dear souls. During the day, Dr. Delegrange gave her radiotherapy. After a little respite, the attacks came at short intervals. She could take neither food nor drink except a little Lourdes water.

On Saturday, exhausted, she murmured: "Anything, an operation, anything, but it cannot go on like this." She twisted herself in agony trying to find a more comfortable position; she begged not to be left alone. "I cannot pray, but suffering is a prayer," she whispered.

Dr. Aubert, brought in for consultation, had been against all surgical intervention until then, but now confirmed that " there is not a moment to lose, an operation is necessary immediately. This operation will no doubt have to be followed by a more serious one in about a month." The clinic run by the Daughters of La Sagresse was suggested. So, by a providential chance, the Sisters who had watched over the infancy of Madame Lefebvre looked after her in her last days.

On Saturday, July 9th, after having blessed her two youngest children, and accompanied by Monsieur Lefebvre, she left the family home. On the same day, the operation carried out by the surgeon at the clinic was completed normally; optimism reigned, but as the night passed, the pains did not cease.

Dr. Aubert, who paid a visit on Sunday, seemed worried. On Monday, after another visit, he let it be known that there was no hope. As agreed with Monsieur, the doctor told Madame Lefebvre herself. She said nothing but looked straight at her husband.

She wanted the last Sacraments and was happy to see Fr. Quemere arrive. After receiving Extreme Unction with great devotion she said, "Now I can go, my members are purified."

During the night the pains became unbearable, and Monsieur Lefebvre who had not left his wife since she came into the clinic, helped her to find a more comfortable position. Between spasms she reflected: "I had told you to have inscribed on my coffin, when it is in the drawing room 'Magnificat,' but do not do that. It might seem strange to some people; but do not forget to recite the Magnificat after my death and, with a smile. How short is the time here below for an eternity of happiness."

During the night a lull in the pain allowed her to relax. She then had an extraordinary dream which she recounted: "I was in a stable, on a mattress, when suddenly a splendid carriage followed by a brilliant escort came to carry me. What was marvellous was that I did not have to pay anything."

So as to save the Sisters some trouble, she had asked to return home before her death, but on the insistence of Mother Superior and of her family, she agreed to stay in the clinic.

The more intense suffering eased. Father Quemere returned, celebrated Mass for the sick, Monsieur Lefebvre made the responses, the family gathered round and received Holy Communion, and with great joy, Madame Lefebvre said, "How happy I am receive Communion here."

The morning was quiet. The three youngest children were round the bed. Thinking of their future, their mother said, "My children, whether you marry or not, whatever state of life you are in, do everything to please God. Above, I shall be with you even more than here on earth, and I will help you ... I am not St. Theresa of the Child Jesus, but whatever you ask me in prayer, I will obtain it for you." Turning towards her husband, she added, "And for you too, René."

The near relatives arrived including her mother, Madame Watine. Each one was greeted with a calm, sweet smile. To her brother whom she greatly loved, she said, "I think I am going to heaven." As he made no reply, she said again, "I am called to heaven."—a scene which upset all those present.

Later, an injection caused a reaction which seemed disastrous: her breathing became difficult, her cheeks hollow; they waited for the end but a Sister reassured them. They said the Rosary and their mother joined in. When the prayers were finished, her color returned, her breathing became regular, all was quiet. She slept for some time and when she woke said, "I have had a good sleep. It is another blessing that God has given me. I feel better. We do well to be here with the holy Virgin. I am quite happy to stay here." Half an hour later, her limbs became cold, her face lost its color, her heart became faint. The Sister decided to call the family.

This was the last reunion. "Above," she repeated," I shall be all powerful, all that you ask of me in prayer I will obtain it for you. I will not forget anyone ... my dear children, always behave well, love each other. Always put God before everything else. Do everything with the intention of pleasing God. To my five eldest, thank you for having given me so many consolations. I ask you to continue praying for me. Above, I shall be nearer to you than on earth. I will help you."

Then very slowly, with a glance towards heaven, she traced a large sign of the Cross, calling each name, "I bless R., J., M., B., C., " She then looked at the three youngest ones, blessed each one of them separately and embraced them. "Thank you all for being so concerned." Her voice was no more than a whisper. Monsieur Lefebvre leaned towards his wife to hear and note her last words. "I ask patience and courage for mother and Marguerite-Marie. I am happy to go and find Jesus. I pray God that I shall meet you all again in heaven. Thank you, O good Jesus. St. Francis, pray for us. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I give You my heart, my soul and my life. Assist me in my last agony. May I die in peace with You. Our Lady of Lourdes, pray for us. St. John of the Cross, pray for us. Please say the prayers for the dying." Slowly the nuns began the prayers in which the dying mother joined and kissed the crucifix several times.

She lifted her eyes upwards, her look was the reflection of her soul, her features were imprinted with a heavenly radiance, her smile became ecstatic. "My dear," said the Sister, "the Holy Virgin calls you." Little by little her eyelids dropped, a feeble sigh, and it was the end. Monsieur Lefebvre closed her eyes. Spontaneously, without having been asked, the nurse intoned the Magnificat, to which all responded. In this, the wishes of Madame Lefebvre had been realized: to die in the peace of Christ, during the Magnificat, her face radiant with heavenly bliss! What an ideal death to crown her beautiful and saintly life. Like St. Francis, she died without money or debts, her heart detached from all material wealth, glowing with the love of Jesus.

She died after only a few days of illness, and it can be said that she had within herself the three fundamental virtues: Faith, Hope and Charity. Madame Lefebvre had carried out her hard life of sacrifices with calm, real simplicity, and a supernatural energy which had edified those around her. She had lived in intimate union with Our Lord, and left this life full of confidence in Jesus and in entire submission to His Will in spite of her great suffering and her sadness at leaving her family. God knows she loved them!

In the intimacy of his heart, Monsieur Lefebvre knew that his wife has been his strength and clear adviser, discreet in all trials; her death greatly distressed him. Their love, however, was not extinguished by the grave; the dear one continued to be his guardian angel. His industrial affairs looked up and improved in an unhoped for manner; many graces gave evidence of the affectionate solicitude of his wife; "You will be surrounded," she had said to him on her deathbed, "then you will be alone. Again, in a short time we will find each other in a happiness without clouds." This had puzzled Monsieur Lefebvre; he did not understand the sense of it. In 1941, he was arrested by the Gestapo and taken to the prison in Brussels. After Brussels it was the prison of Sonnenburg. There were no more letters to or from his family; he was alone. Now he understood. A fellow prisoner said he never ceased to evoke the memory of his wife.

The thought of the total gift of oneself to God in the priesthood or the religious life had always interested Monsieur Lefebvre. On the death of his wife this thought became more clear. He nourished it by prayer and reflection. In full agreement with his spiritual director, he was about to enter the Benedictine Abbey when war broke out. God did not give him the joy of going up to the Altar of God, but he climbed his calvary with the feelings of a victim who offers himself for his fellowmen and his family. "With all my heart, I bless my children whom I confide in Our Lady. The Holy Virgin has been so good to me. I wish to remain her loving child and particularly blessed. She will love and bless my family which must remain consecrated to her, to be devoted to her, and to seek through her, the extension of the reign of her Divine Son."