Around 1620, a 26-year-old villager was tending her cows on the slopes of Mont Valerien, seven miles west of Paris. Looking in the distance, she could see the capital, while nearby, at her feet, nestled Suresnes, her village. She could make out the parish church and even her poor house, made, like all the others in the village, of adobe, reinforced with thin wooden beams to resist the rain. In spite of the abundance of vineyards and pastures, there were many poor people in the village. Marguerite Naseau was the young woman’s name. She was often moved by the sight of farmers and townspeople climbing the hillside on their knees to the summit to pray at the shrine and at a Calvary that had been a center of pilgrimages for many centuries.

As she gazed out into the clear air, she thought, and it was a regular habit, what she could do for as many poor people as she saw in the nearby villages and in Paris. Without knowing why, she felt compelled to help the girls in particular, to lead them out of poverty into a secure future. But neither the girls nor the young women of the village knew how to read and little of catechism, for there was no school for girls in the village. Only if a woman could read would she be able to run a farm or be a sales clerk or become more than just a servant in the elegant palaces of the nobles and bourgeoisie. All this she used to think about almost at all hours. One day she made up her mind to teach them to read herself without asking them for anything. She would not entrust it to others, she would do it herself. But Marguerite could not read.

As she drove the cows to the barn, she kept repeating to herself: “I can’t read, so I can’t help them.” As she dined on a bowl of cooked millet and a piece of bread, “I can’t read” echoed in her head. As she lay down to sleep on the straw-filled cot in the corner of the only room in the house, her head seemed to burst with the booming sentence “I can’t read.” Suddenly she found the solution, as familiar as it was unexpected: “I will learn to read.” It was as simple as that, although difficult and demanding.

Next morning she asked a neighbor who was going to Paris to buy her an alphabet book, and again she took the cows out to pasture. When she returned for lunch, she already had the alphabet. She paid for it with her small savings and went right to find the parish priest or the vicar. She showed him the newly purchased alphabet and asked him what the first four letters were. While the cows were grazing, she learned the letters. In the afternoon, she went back to the priest to learn another four letters. This went on day after day until she also learned to put them together and form the syllables and words. If any syllable or word was difficult for her and she saw a man who looked as if he could read, she would ask him how “to read that,” until she learned to read. At first, slowly as a cart among stones pulled by a clumsy mule, then without difficulty, unless the word was unknown.

When she could read properly, she called other girls from the village and other places and taught them what she had studied while she worked. This went on for three years. By 1623 Marguerite was entering the 30th year of her birth, which meant that she was of age and could decide her future, and she decided to go to the villages to teach other women what she knew. On the other hand, in the village there was already a group of young women who knew how to read and she encouraged them to go, as she was going to do, to the villages to teach more girls. Not all of them accepted the invitation. It was risky and even a little embarrassing.

Nevertheless, a small group of young women was formed and as if they belonged to an anarchical institution, with no money and no other provision than divine providence, they spread out through the tiny villages of the countryside. Sometimes they called people together in the town square, next to the church, and at other times they went house to house offering to teach their daughters free of charge. Some families received the news warmly, but others coldly. They were not interested. Their daughters had to work from the age of eight. School time was a waste of work; catechism was already taught by the priest on Sundays; they, their parents, taught them to live as Christians; and to know how to read, for what? To correspond with the boys, and this was dangerous. Besides, no matter how much they learned, the daughters of poor farmers would never get out of poverty.

Besides living in poverty, the peasants of that century had no illusion for struggling to get out of misery. In the countryside, every farmer without means was treading on the threshold of poverty. A frost, a drought or a bad harvest was enough to turn them into poor peasants. In addition to all these plagues, there were revolts and wars with their passing armies that prevented sowing and devastated the crops.

If there was a bad year, the peasant went into debt to be able to eat and buy seed. If the second year was also difficult, he had to sell his tools, livestock and even his fields to pay off his debts. If a good year came, the income was greatly reduced due to debts, the cost of seeds, rents and the payment of taxes. If the long-awaited good year did not come, they became tenants of the new owners or poorly dressed laborers, housed in miserable dwellings and starving. Land was concentrated in the hands of a few, unemployment increased and the price of bread rose. Debts became unpayable for these poor peasants. The “Justice” came to seize what little they still had left and locked them up in jail, if they had not fled before, abandoning wife and children or bringing them. They went to swell the crowd of vagabonds who roamed the roads or got lost in the cities looking for help or begging for alms.

Understandably, many families did not care about education for their children. Their main interest was survival.

The girls who attended Marguerite and her friends were taught to read from any religious book that was in the house, in the church or that Marguerite brought for these occasions. In addition to reading and arithmetic, they taught catechism and how to lead a good Christian life. That was the main purpose of the school: to learn how to be future mothers who would educate their children in Catholicism.

Marguerite often arrived tired and hungry at the house or in the hayloft some generous family had offered her; it was common for her not to find anything to eat at her home either. On one occasion, after several days without a bite to eat, she went to mass hungry and wondering if she could resist such weakness. When she returned, she found that someone had left bread on the table enough to feed her for several days. In the village, everyone was talking about the testimony and the example that young woman gave them, sacrificing herself for her girls, without asking anything for her own. She did everything for God, she said. She felt that God spoke to her not only in prayer or through the priest’s sermon, but also through the events of life.

Marguerite became a teacher because she was convinced that education was essential for the progress of the poor. However, she intended to be an instrument of God in favor of the needy, and what God proposed to her was love and charity.

Talking to people, she met some young men who wanted to become priests, but could not afford to pay for their studies. Saddened, because she too was poor, she gave them the meager money she had, which was still not enough to pay their board for just a few months. She found a solution: after giving the classes, she would work to get some money and send it to the seminarians. So it was until they were ordained priests.

One day at the end of 1629 or the beginning of 1630, a joyful commotion broke out in the village: the village priest announced that some priests were coming from Paris to carry out a mission in the village. The sincerely Catholic people were thrilled to hear the news. A mission implied many benefits: God had remembered them and they could receive confession from an unknown priest other than the parish priest who was so familiar to them; they knew that they would heal the divisions in the village until an embrace of forgiveness and union was reached; and especially they knew that these missionaries founded by Vincent de Paul would not leave the village until they had solved the situation of the poor. They also said that Vincent de Paul himself was leading the way.

The priest Vincent de Paul was the founder of the Confraternities of Charity some thirteen years earlier in a small town, Chátillon, near Lyon. It was unexpected, something that can only be understood when it is accomplished, but which is later seen as unquestionable because it addresses a social problem of primary necessity: how to solve the predicament in which sick poor people are placed.

This is what happened to Vincent de Paul when he was pastor of Chátillon. All the members of a peasant family, living in a hamlet on the outskirts, fell ill. They were too poor to hire servants or employees. He was told this when he was about to celebrate Mass on Sunday, August 20, 1617. In his homily he spoke firmly and compassionately about the need to help the poor.  The people turned out in droves; there was not a family in the little town that did not bring food: but he discovered that he had organized it badly: that family now had too much and in a few days they would have nothing again.  The “Charities”, as these groups of active Christian women were called, were established in many towns.

In 1625 Vincent de Paul founded the Congregation of the Mission with the aim of evangelizing the poor through popular missions and to help them through the Confraternities of Charity. Wherever they gave a Mission, they established “Charities”.

The day came for the mission to begin in the village where Marguerite had settled as a temporary teacher of girls; all the villagers dressed in their best clothes and, not missing anyone, filled the parish church. Among them was Marguerite Naseau. Day by day the mission touched the hearts of the crowd. The people were happy and content. Eventually, the mission was coming to an end and it was time to solve the needs of the poor. Monsieur Vincent went up to the pulpit and spoke with courage, with emotion, with persuasion, as if the poor were his brothers and sisters.  He spoke of injustice, of poverty and of the obligation that every Christian, every person has to uproot it.  Then he summoned the ladies to meet him, after his talk, in the sacristy.  With the ladies who freely wished, he was going to create a confraternity of Charity; they would take care of all the poor sick people in their homes by themselves. They would cook for them, bring them medicine and clean their houses and themselves, if they had no one to do it for them.

From the pulpit he told them that this Confraternity of Charity was already established in many towns and cities and even in a parish in Paris. In Paris, great ladies of nobility and finance belonged to the Charity. Of course, being of noble birth, the French laws of the seventeenth century prevented them from doing physical labor, and sometimes their husbands or parents also forbade it, and it was not uncommon for them to feel ashamed of going through the streets with a pot of food and a packet of medicine for the poor or to be frightened of being infected by the many mysterious diseases suffered by the needy. The consequence was to send their maids instead of them. All this was an inconvenience to the smooth running of the Charities. At this point Vincent asked if there might not be some poor young woman who, for a salary, would do in Paris the coarse or heavy work that had to be done for the poor and which a Parisian noblewoman considered humiliating for her.

To Marguerite this last proposal sounded like something God was proposing to her. While the priest was talking about such a remarkable Confraternity of Charity, she was telling God: Why not me? But I am already devoted to the poor, teaching them to read. And I do it for free, just for You, my God. But isn’t it more urgent to heal bodies than culture? Still, in that Confraternity I would not serve the poor for God’s sake, but for a salary. At this moment, suddenly, an idea struck her fast, as if it were a divine inspiration: And why not also do it for free, for God? That would be her vocation. Greater than that of the rich ladies; they gave their money, but Marguerite, her person.

In the meantime people were going to confession. It was her turn, and she approached Vincent de Paul. Trembling and half-heartedly she told him about the work she was doing in her improvised schools, and that she believed that the work of the Charities was more important. She offered to do the humiliating work for the noblewomen. But on one condition: she would do it for free, for God’s sake, as if it were her vocation.

This unexpected vision of the Charities surprised Vincent de Paul. It was a new understanding of his Charities. Would it come from God? It had to be considered and to wait for God’s will. After a silence that seemed like a century to Marguerite, the priest said to her: All right, I will consider your proposal. When you can, go to Paris, to the Rue St. Victor, and ask for Mademoiselle Le Gras. And tell her, on my behalf, all that you have told me. If I get there first, I’ll bring her up to date.

The following Sunday, Marguerite put on her best dress and went to Paris. She arrived at Rue Saint-Victor and asked for Mademoiselle Le Gras. She knocked on the door and a small, thin woman, full of energy, answered. Marguerite was immediately struck by her friendliness and charm. Her family name was Louise de Marillac; her husband died at Christmas in 1625 and she had a son, Michael, studying at the seminary. Louise de Marillac was only four years older than her. She went in and they began to talk. Marguerite told her about her meeting with Vincent de Paul and the offer he had made her. The young lady listened attentively. She was intelligent and understood that what this peasant woman was proposing was a bold vision. But it seemed to come from God. They talked for hours. When they parted, Marguerite was impressed by how charming the young lady was. Louise felt that the young woman was extraordinary and that she had been sent by God.

Quick-tempered and energetic, Mademoiselle Le Gras immediately wrote a note to Monsieur Vincent, urging him to speak with her. They spoke many times about Marguerite’s innovative idea. Marguerite visited Mademoiselle Le Gras frequently over the course of several weeks. Finally, Vincent de Paul and Louise de Marillac realized that it was Providence who had sent Marguerite Naseau to them, and they agreed that Louise would take her in, train her, teach her to serve the poor sick, and put her to work helping the Ladies of Charity in the Parish of Saint-Saviour.

Every morning, Marguerite would go to the home of the lady of Charity assigned to her for helping the poor that particular day. She would ask for the pot of food and medicine and then leave to care for the poor sick people in their humble dwellings. She would tidy up the house and clean them if they had no one to do so, give them their medicine, and leave them food for the day. Then she would go to the house of another sick person, and then another, and another. She set aside time for prayer, and if she had an hour free, she would use it to study or wash clothes in the Seine River to earn a little money so as not to be a burden, even though the ladies paid for her room and board. In the afternoons, the ladies also visited the sick, took an interest in them, found out what they needed, and taught them the catechism.

This young woman and her lifestyle attracted the attention of many people. Some admired her and even envied her. Others, especially young girls, taunted her. Sometimes, in the narrow streets or at the market, she would talk to young women who asked her about her lifestyle and her work. She would tell them about her life and encourage them to seek the destiny that God had in mind for each of them. On one occasion, a young girl asked her if she could do the same for the love of God. Marguerite introduced her to Mademoiselle Le Gras, who formed her and put her to work helping the ladies of other parishes. Now there were two, soon three, and then more. One of them was named Marie Joly. Marguerite met her at the home of a wealthy bourgeois woman, Madame Goussault. She was her maid. Margaret and Marie and the others were encouraged to look for girls who would follow their example, and soon there was a handful of young women serving the poor, without payment, solely for the love of the poor and for the glory of God. Three years passed, and exactly three years later, an irreparable tragedy was about to strike.

In February 1633, men, women, and even children appeared with buboes in their groins, vomit, and high fever. Within a few days, they were dead. At first, it was only a few houses. Then the plague spread like an apocalyptic shade, ravaging the neighborhoods. The Parisians were terrified: it was the bubonic plague. Driven mad, they closed shops and houses so that no one could enter and spread the disease. The rich fled to their castles in the countryside or locked themselves in their palaces; the poor wandered the streets. It was not uncommon for a family member to be thrown out of the house if they contracted the plague. It was difficult to find a doctor; everyone refused to visit the sick, and the city council felt powerless to help anyone who wanted to bury the dead.

In mid-February, Margarita stopped to help a woman dying of the plague in the street. Her family, driven mad by fear, had thrown her out of their home. With the utmost naturalness, or better yet, as if she recognized Jesus lying in the street, Marguerite picked her up and took her to her room. She laid her on her own bed, and there the poor woman died, cared for by that angel sent by God. Marguerite changed the straw on her mattress, but that wasn’t enough; the plague had taken hold in the fabric and blanket. Unaware of how contagious it was, she lay down on the same bed, and a few days later she was overcome by fever and developed terrible tumors in her groin. She was infected.

Fr. Vincent wrote to Louise asking her to find a good doctor and, if Marguerite was taken to the hospital of St. Louis, not to be afraid to visit her. It was February 24, 1633. He also ordered that the young woman who lived with Marguerite leave the apartment and gave her money to live elsewhere until the plague had passed.

We know nothing more about her life. We only know that she died soon, I presume comforted by Louise de Marillac. They were almost the same age and had been friends for three years. From such different backgrounds and following different paths, God guided them, through Vincent de Paul, towards the same goal: to save the poor. Both Saint Vincent and Saint Louise mourned her: they often remembered her in front of the Daughters of Charity. Even nine years later, in a conference, Saint Vincent considered her to be the first Daughter of Charity.

Author: Benito Martínez, C.M.
Source: Brochure “Las cuatro cumplieron con su misión [The Four Fulfilled Their Mission] (Ediciones Fe y Vida, Teruel, Spain, 1994).