In the first half of November 1634, Father Vincent de Paul was giving a mission in a small village about 25 miles north of Paris, near the town of Chantilly. The village was called Villers-sous-Saint-Leu. The priest stayed at the home of Jean-André Lumague, the lord of the village, meaning that most of the land belonged to him and was rented to the peasants. He had a daughter fully dedicated to the poor. She belonged to the Ladies of Charity of the Grand Hospital: her name was Marie de Pollalion, taking the last name of her late husband. At that time, she was 35 years old, and St. Vincent had chosen her, along with Madame Goussault, to assist St. Louise in the leadership of the Daughters of Charity. In other words, they served as the two counselors of the Company.

The mission had ended very much to Father Vincent’s satisfaction, which meant that the entire village had made a general confession. Vincent de Paul was already gathering his things when Miss Pollalion came into the parlor, accompanied by two young peasant women about 25 years old. They sat down, and the lady explained that these two young women wanted to join the group of Marie Joly that he and Mademoiselle Le Gras had just founded. They talked for a while, and the Founder found them to be good candidates, but he told them he would need to consult with Louise de Marillac.

The day after he returned, he informed Louise de Marillac. Knowing that they were brought by Miss Pollalion, they were accepted without further discussion. One was named Henriette Gesseaume, and she made the best impression on the two saints. She was one of those peasant girls who didn’t fuss about things, lively, and clever as a whip. Because of that, she was assigned to care for the sick at the Grand Hospital alongside the noble ladies, under the orders of St. Louise. The Daughters of Charity were not primarily responsible for caring for the sick; that duty belonged to the Augustinian Hospitallers. The young women of the Daughters of Charity assisted them voluntarily.

Every afternoon, they would appear at the hospital beside the Ladies of Charity, sometimes on their own. By this time, the Grand Hospital of Paris had grown. It was like a small city, divided into wards ventilated by windows placed high on the walls. Each ward had two rows of beds separated by curtains. Under each bed, there was a chamber pot, which was emptied into basins placed in the middle of the hallways. In some wards, there was a corner with straw where the incontinent were laid. It wasn’t unusual for the stench to be unbearable, and sometimes in the morning a Sister would faint upon entering. The Grand Hospital had about 300 beds, with two or three patients in each. One ward was reserved exclusively for contagious diseases.

While the Ladies talked and catechized the patients, serving them the dinner-supper they themselves funded, the Daughters of Charity accompanied them, fed the patients who couldn’t feed themselves, washed dishes, cleaned chamber pots, and helped the Augustinians when they were overwhelmed.

Daughter of Charity (1706), engraving by Bernard Picart (1673–1733). Source: Carnavalet Museum, Paris.

That was Henriette’s work for four years. She and her companions were personally directed by Louise de Marillac. Henriette became fond of Mademoiselle Le Gras. She considered her a saint and always missed her when she wasn’t around to guide her.

When Louise left Paris, Vincent de Paul took extra care in looking after the Daughters of Charity, keeping St. Louise informed about her Daughters. In May 1636, Louise went to visit the Charities in several villages for a few weeks. St. Vincent noticed that Henriette appeared constantly weary, but the sharp Marie Joly, who had been left in charge in Louise’s absence, reassured the superior, saying that it was only because Sister Henriette missed Louise de Marillac more than the others.

Sister Henriette Gesseaume had become one of the most valuable Daughters of Charity. The Ladies, the patients, and the Augustinians were all delighted by her dedication, her work ethic, and her uncommon intelligence. They noticed just one small flaw: sometimes she acted impulsively without thinking of the consequences; and she tended to disregard corrections or advice. Occasionally, when alone, she would exclaim, Oh, what nonsense! Still, she had a naturally kind heart, and everyone liked and respected her. St. Vincent himself knew her well and held her in high regard.

The Daughters of Charity who worked at the Grand Hospital lived in Mademoiselle Le Gras’s apartment. When, in 1636, St. Louise moved the Motherhouse to the small village of La Chapelle on the northern outskirts of Paris, the Ladies rented a home near the Grand Hospital for the four Daughters of Charity serving there.

Around October 1637, Sister Henriette asked for permission to visit her hometown. Louise consulted Vincent, who was not only agreeable but delighted to grant her permission, as long as Louise could find another Sister to take her place at the Grand Hospital and do the job just as well. St. Vincent, who knew her so well, added, “No matter what may happen.” Here the saint was mistaken. Sister Henriette never doubted her vocation, despite the hardships she would face later. Her love for her vocation and the Company was matched only by her devotion to the poor.

We donot know whether she went or not, but around that time, a brother and a nephew of Henriette joined the Congregation of the Mission, and two nieces became Daughters of Charity: Sister Perrette Chefdeville and Sister Françoise Gesseaume.

In September 1638, Louise proposed to St. Vincent that Henriette replace Sister Barbara Angiboust in Saint-Germain-en-Laye. It was a sensitive assignment because she had to replace a prudent and calm Sister in no less than the Charity at the Royal Court, due to an unfortunate incident with another Daughter of Charity who, after winning over the influential members of the court, refused to be reassigned. Henriette was also to run a small school. Vincent de Paul doubted she was prepared to manage a school, but agreed to a trial. The trial went well. Sister Henriette proved to be responsible and very intelligent.

Whether with permission or not, by December of the following year she was again back in her village. St. Vincent asked her brother, Claude, a Brother of the Congregation of the Mission, about her, and he replied that she was returning soon and would speak to Louise de Marillac before going back to Saint-Germain. In any case, she had stayed home longer than allowed. St. Vincent did not overreact or consider the matter trivial. He simply instructed St. Louise to remove her from Saint-Germain.

Sister Henriette did not suffer from being denied the return to her former assignment. She was never attached to any particular place. She admitted to being impulsive and acting without thinking, acknowledged her fault lightly, and cheerfully accepted her new assignment. There, she remained consistently joyful and responsible, doing her work wonderfully. Everywhere she went, she won over people and the poor, and to her, nothing seemed like a big deal.

In August 1641, Sister Henriette was making a retreat at La Chapelle, the Daughters of Charity’s Central House, when “Mademoiselle” (as Louise was called) received a moving letter from Sister Marie Joly, describing the work they were doing in Sedan. Louise read the letter aloud to the Sisters on retreat and wrote to Vincent de Paul that they all listened like soldiers awaiting the trumpet call to charge—especially Sister Henriette. Moved, she asked to be sent to Sedan that very day to care for the poor devastated by war. Louise considered sending her to replace Sister Claudie, Marie’s timid companion, but ultimately did not, as she needed her elsewhere.

Throughout 1642, always cheerful, Sister Henriette became Louise de Marillac’s go-to Sister. She never complained because she loved the foundress and understood her burdens. If Sister Catherine needed to be recalled, “send Sister Henriette as soon as possible”; if Sister Gilita had to be brought back from Sedan, again, Sister Henriette was the one to replace her; if there were problems in Fontenay, Henriette was sent; she was also sent to the Charity of Saint-Sulpice to address disorders.

On March 25, 1642, Vincent de Paul chose her, along with Sisters Barbara Angiboust, Isabelle Turgis, and another Sister, to make the vows for the first time in the history of the Daughters of Charity, alongside Louise. It was a sign of esteem and trust from Father Vincent, but also a sign that she was firmly grounded in her vocation and living a committed spiritual life. Sister Henriette felt honored. She acknowledged that her life was a mixture of light and shadow, and Father Vincent valued the light more than the shadow.

However, her spontaneous, impulsive, and perhaps slightly brash character led to several problems: she clashed with a parish priest, and on another occasion, the Attorney General of the Parliament of Paris forbade her to leave a certain place—though the details are unclear. Still, Sister Henriette’s reputation was so esteemed, both by the Ladies of Charity and by Louise, that no one wanted to part with her. In 1645, she served at the Charity of the Parish of Saint-Germain, the royal parish. But Louise needed her to found a new Charity in the parish of Saint-Gervais. It was impossible to take her away. A compromise was reached with the Presidents of the Charities: the President of Saint-Germain would loan her to Saint-Gervais “for just fifteen days.” Sister Henriette did not let it go to her head: Oh, what does it matter whether I serve in this parish or another—what matters is serving the poor!

In the spring of 1646, Sister Henriette was living at the Motherhouse alongside Louise. Her talent, her love for the poor, and her selflessness inspired and guided the newcomers. At the end of July 1646, Louise, along with several Sisters, took a carriage and then a boat down the Loire River to introduce the Daughters of Charity to the Grand Hospital of Nantes. The importance of the hospital and the city made it worth the effort for her to go personally. She would be away from Paris for several months. Before leaving, she divided responsibilities among the Sisters at the Motherhouse. She entrusted Sister Henriette with visiting the Sisters and the Charity of Saint-Sulpice every seven to ten days. Henriette understood that “Mademoiselle” trusted and cared for her. She carried out the task well and felt happy, especially when they read letters from Louise de Marillac and heard greetings sent especially to her.

When Louise returned from Nantes, she came back with a concern. The city was populous, full of dockworkers, sailors, warship crewmen, merchants, laborers, and women of all walks of life. Nantes was the main French port for trade with the Americas. The Grand Hospital of Saint René was home to a whole world of illness. Medicine was rare and expensive. The hospital needed a Daughter of Charity not only trained in pharmacy but an excellent pharmacist, knowledgeable in herbs and medicines.

Upon returning to Paris, Louise spoke with Vincent de Paul, and both agreed to send Sister Henriette Gesseaume. She was the best-prepared Daughter of Charity. There was one drawback: she was needed in Paris to train other Sisters. The Charities in Paris depended on her. But failure in Nantes was not an option, so they sent her in October. Still, they made it clear to the hospital administrators that they were lending Sister Henriette for only six months, just enough time to train Sister Claudia in pharmacy. As always, Sister Henriette obeyed cheerfully: Oh, what does it matter if I work in Paris or in Nantes, as long as I’m serving the poor!

In early November, she arrived at the hospital, introduced herself to the administrators, and began her work as a pharmacist and teacher to Sister Claude. Within days, the administrators and patients realized they had received a treasure. She was charming, sociable, responsible, and quick-minded in preparing remedies. Just ten days after arriving, one of the administrators wrote to Mademoiselle Le Gras: “As for the pharmacist, Sister Henriette, do not expect to take her from us in six months; we will surely need her for at least a year.”

The following months passed peacefully. But in March 1647, a flood of letters poured in to St. Louise—from the community’s spiritual director, the chaplain, the superior, and the Sisters themselves. Nantes had become a battleground. The chaplain, the superior, and the Sisters were divided. The chaplain was accused of dividing the community and treating it as his own. Two Sisters, allied with him, brought him gifts and accused the superior, Sister Isabelle Martin, of being authoritarian and unkind.

Though not the cause of the tension, Sister Henriette could not remain on the sidelines. Her impulsive and unreflective nature pushed her to speak up and take sides—she sided with the chaplain, not because she had assessed the situation, but because the Sisters did not want to confess to him. That bothered her. Her nature led her to challenge authority. That is who she was. Both factions used her as a reason to support their claims.

Neither Louise nor Vincent could tolerate a divided community, but both had tender and patient hearts, and both were prudent. Each wrote a thoughtful and carefully worded letter. They also sent a Counselor, Sister Jeanne Lepeintre, for a Regular Visitation, and the Vincentian Father Lambert for a Canonical Visitation. Fr. Lambert quickly grasped Sister Henriette’s character: she was innocent, without malice, not responsible for the unbearable situation, but closely allied with the chaplain. So, he forbade her any further contact with him. Henriette had suffered hard blows due to her spontaneity, but she never imagined that she could be a cause of disunity in the community she so loved. She was deeply troubled.

In July 1648, Father Lambert visited again. He confirmed that Sister Henriette had obeyed his written instructions and was working quietly and diligently, like a silent ant.

She was still wounded by the community’s strife and asked to be sent back to Paris but stated she was ready to obey whatever “Mademoiselle” asked. When Fr. Lambert relayed this to Louise, she reassigned her to Richelieu. However, the administrators of Nantes, who greatly admired her, opposed her transfer, and Louise decided to let her stay.

Certainly, Sister Henriette was discouraged. Her tendency to downplay her responses, even on serious matters, was seen as defiance; her impulsive remarks were interpreted as brazen. She lost her fervor and abandoned her spiritual life. Yet, she continued to care for the sick—the foundation of her entire life.

In April 1649, Vincent de Paul, exiled from Paris due to the Fronde, visited the Nantes community. While Fr. Lambert had seen the light in Sister Henriette, St. Vincent saw the shadows and wrote to Louise de Marillac: “Henriette” is a Sister full of zeal and charity but is not very respectful or submissive—or not at all—to the Sister Servant. She is also troublesome to the doctor and to many persons and does not keep the Rule. I think she is the cause of most of the Sisters’ infractions… It is absolutely necessary to recall her.”

These blows took a toll on her heart. Despite her natural impulsiveness, she was becoming more prudent. Love and service on behalf of the poor sustained her during this crucifying period. She never doubted her vocation and threw herself into her work, pleasing everyone. When the Bishop of Nantes—who did not want “religious” women not under his control—considered replacing the Daughters of Charity with “real” religious from Vannes, he summoned Sister Henriette to reassure her and offer to let her stay even if the others Sisters left. She replied that she would go wherever her Sisters went—that she was a Daughter of Charity until death.

The following year, in 1650, the new superior, Sister Jeanne Lepeintre, urgently requested that Louise remove Sister Henriette. Henriette suffered deeply. She felt she had no one left at her side. Almost without realizing it, she poured out her heart to the new spiritual director—a man whom Louise would later call “an angel of God.” The director understood her. Gently, he began guiding her toward where God was calling her. The superior also came to see the true worth of this Sister and wrote to “Mademoiselle” that what Sister Henriette needed was peace and calm.

Even in Paris, people heard of the change in Sister Henriette. On August 20, 1651, St. Vincent wrote to her, naming her the Sister Servant (superior) of Hennebont, in Brittany. The letter he received in reply deeply moved him: she stated that she had always been, and still was, at the service of whatever her superiors decided—and asked simply when she should leave. Touched, the superior left the decision to her: stay in Nantes, go to Hennebont, or come to Paris. But she did not want to choose her own path: “Let God decide through my superiors.” This made Louise de Marillac exclaim, “In her we have always seen strength for good, in the midst of her weaknesses.” When she wrote to the superior, she added a fond postscript: “Tell Sister Henriette—jokingly—that only the journey to Madagascar is left to scare her.”

Sister Henriette Gesseaume was reborn. She had always cherished St. Louise and now felt that the holy Foundress was once again her friend—even though Louise had never stopped loving and esteeming her. The spiritual director paid close attention to this diamond in the rough, still dusty but undeniably precious. Henriette still had one fault: she was outgoing and spoke too freely with outsiders about internal matters of the community, which bothered some of the Sisters. St. Vincent gently corrected this in November 1653, when there was another change in the role of Sister Servant. But the pharmacist Sister remained the pride of the Grand Hospital of Nantes.

All through 1654, Sister Henriette was happy serving the poor sick of the hospital. However, the hospital was shaken when it learned that the superiors had written to the Board informing them they were recalling Sister Henriette to Paris. The unanimous response was “No!”—they couldn’t let her go; they needed her. For months, letters flew back and forth between Paris and Nantes. Neither side budged—the superiors, nor the administrators. The Board’s arguments were strong, especially one: if Sister Henriette weren’t already stationed there and they requested her, given the importance of the hospital in France, she would surely be sent. So why take her away now that she was already there? The matter was discussed by the Council of the Daughters of Charity, and the decision was to maintain the reassignment.

Unable to convince the superiors, the Board tried to win over the Sister. At times privately, at times during official meetings, they offered her the best posts and rewards if she agreed to stay at the hospital, even as a laywoman. But the “rebellious” Sister always responded the same way: “I am happy as a Daughter of Charity, and I will always obey my superiors.”

Eight months passed. In November, the superiors informed Sister Henriette of her new assignment. The Board blamed everything on the superior, Sister Marie Martha Trumeau, and her friend Sister Renata, and made one final attempt to keep Henriette: if she left, the superior and her companion would leave too. All three left. In November 1655, they arrived in Paris. No one could remember such an emotional and simple welcome. They were even brought water to wash their feet.

After nine years, Mademoiselle Le Gras and Henriette Gesseaume saw each other again. Their embrace was long and firm. Both had aged. As the three Sisters dined together, they talked about Nantes, but Louise de Marillac and Sister Henriette also reminisced about the early days of the Company, when Louise had been a vibrant woman of 42 and Henriette a young woman of 25. Twenty-two years had passed. Sitting beside Louise, listening, was a 32-year-old woman, Sister Julienne Loret. For the past month, she had been the Assistant to Louise, second-in-command of the Company, acting in her stead when she was absent. Serving them was a 24-year-old Sister, Maturine Guérin, first secretary to Louise and to the Company. Also present was Sister Barbara Bailly, age 27, second secretary and nurse of the House.

That small group from the early days had grown into a Company of over 150 Daughters of Charity, and the responsibility of governance now rested on Mademoiselle Le Gras and a new generation of young women. From the original group, only Mademoiselle, Sister Marie Joly, Sister Barbara Angiboust, and Henriette remained. The others had either left or passed away.

After a few days of rest and spiritual retreat, Henriette was assigned to the parish of Saint-Séverin. The once-brash young woman, who never gave weight to the consequences of her words, was now more sensible and serene—though she would always carry within her the impulsiveness and unreflectiveness typical of her kind, well-meaning nature. St. Louise trusted her, and in the city, her house became the center where mail addressed to Louise de Marillac was received. At the end of June 1658, Louise sent her to make the Regular Visitation to the community of Chantilly.

Sister Henriette was the right Sister to visit that community, and surely Louise knew it. When Henriette arrived in Chantilly, she was not pleased with the lifestyle of the Sisters: they were not very observant and neglected their spiritual lives. Her time in Nantes had prepared her for this mission. The once-“rebellious” Sister had discovered that only by relying on God can a Daughter of Charity overcome the challenges of living in community and serving the poor.

While Sister Henriette was visiting Chantilly, word arrived of a French victory at the Battle of the Dunes over the Spanish, and the capture of Dunkirk. The victory was hard-fought, and the wounded French soldiers numbered in the thousands. They were all taken to Calais. Queen Anne of Austria, as she had done at Sainte-Ménéhould, requested Daughters of Charity to care for her wounded soldiers in Calais as well.

When Henriette returned to Paris, four Daughters of Charity had already departed for the hospital in Calais. During the summer heat, an epidemic broke out in the hospital, killing almost as many as the battle. The Sisters’ work was heroic. They barely had time to treat the wounded, many of whom suffered from wounds caused by gunpowder-infected firearms—wounds never seen before. Exhausted and infected, two Daughters of Charity died, and the other two became gravely ill. But the hospital still needed them, and the queen asked for four more Sisters.

Vincent and Louise trembled. It was hard to find Daughters of Charity willing to go. Two years earlier, when two Sisters were needed for the military hospital at La Fère, the ones chosen had refused to go—though they later repented. Still, Vincent had not wanted to force them and sent others instead. To avoid a similar refusal, he asked for volunteers—but apparently, no one came forward. It was no surprise. Before joining the Company, many of the Sisters had seen for themselves that most of the troops were made up of criminals, bandits, and people of ill-repute. The largest portion were mercenaries with no homeland or faith, enlisting only for the spoils of war—their only way of life. They stole, tortured, murdered, and raped. Wherever they passed, they left fire and ruin. Some Sisters or their families may have suffered from their violence.

On August 2, 1658, Sister Henriette learned of the difficulty her superior was having in finding Sisters willing to volunteer for Calais. Without hesitation, she went straight to the hospital where Father Vincent was. In his presence, she said boldly, “I volunteer to go to Calais.” St. Vincent looked at her and asked, “How old are you?” “About fifty,” she replied. The superior thought she was already an old woman—indeed, by the standards of that century, she was—but he told her to come back the next day, hoping perhaps that some younger Sisters would volunteer. But no one else came forward, except two seminarians (novices) and possibly a third, who may also have been a novice.

The next morning, Saturday, August 3, Sister Henriette knocked early at the door of Saint-Lazare, the residence of Father Vincent, asking for him. Vincent welcomed her warmly, confirmed that he was accepting her, told her she would go as Sister Servant of the group, and that they would leave the next day, Sunday. Henriette returned home joyfully, and Father Vincent was left reflecting on this Sister he had once judged a little too harshly in Nantes.

On Sunday morning, Vincent de Paul addressed the missionaries of the Congregation of the Mission during prayer. Deeply moved, he spoke straight from the heart: “To offer oneself to go risk her life as a victim, for the love of Jesus Christ and for the good of neighbor! Isn’t that admirable? I wouldn’t know what to say, except that those poor Sisters will be our judges on Judgment Day; yes, my brothers, those Sisters will be our judges on the Day of God’s Judgment… Wretched me, who feels so little inclination or desire for that high degree of perfection!”

Later that morning, St. Vincent gathered the four Sisters and, in the presence of Louise, spoke to them from the heart. He marveled at them and expressed regret at sending novices on such a demanding mission. He tried to reassure them of the spiritual value and naturalness of such a unique “novitiate.” He realized how bold it was to send another four Daughters of Charity, almost as if abandoning them to death, and he understood the scandal this might cause among the Sisters:

“It seems I hear the Sisters who remain here saying to me: ‘But Father, where are our Sisters going? Not long ago we saw four others leave; now two are dead and the other two are ill—and may well have died too—and now you send four more in their place, whom we may never see again! Are we going to lose our Sisters? What will happen to the Company?’”

That same morning, Sister Henriette left at the head of those enthusiastic young Sisters, eager to reach their companions as quickly as possible. The carriage devoured the miles. After four days of travel (August 8), they were still about 56 miles from Calais and had to change coaches, rest, and eat. At the station, they met a lady who introduced herself as the owner of the Calais coach service and said she had a letter for Mademoiselle Le Gras in Paris. The letter was sealed with wax. It was from the two sick Daughters of Charity—written by Sister Marie Poulet. It said:

“Mademoiselle, dearest mother: I greet you in the love of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and the same to Father Vincent, Father Portail, and our dear Sisters, whom I beg to pray to God for us in our illness. We doubt you know of the deaths of our two Sisters, Sister Françoise and Sister Marguerite. As for us, Sister Claudia has been bedridden for three weeks, and I, for eight days.

I am very surprised that you haven’t written since our departure from Paris — you had, but the letter had not arrived. I believe God is afflicting me from all sides: first, by depriving us of your news, and second, with the death of my Sisters…

I beg you to remember me in your prayers. I also ask that you inform Mademoiselle Bricart, who is my foster sister, and that she tell her mother. Dearest mother, I send you a letter from Sister Marguerite, which she wrote the day before she died and insisted that no one but Father Vincent or Father Portail should read it.

I ask forgiveness from Father Vincent, Father Portail, you, dearest mother, and all the Sisters. Sister Françoise asked us insistently to make sure her brother, who lives in Richelieu, is told of her death so he may pray for her.”

This was also what the owner of the coach service told them. The four Sisters were shaken as they listened. Quickly, with no time to eat, Sister Henriette grabbed a piece of paper and, right there, scribbled a few lines to Louise, recounting what they had just been told—essentially the contents of the letter. In her note, Henriette wrote a line that perfectly captured her spirit: “To hell with it, if they think this is going to discourage us. On the contrary, it pains us to be late in reaching those who remain.” Both letters were sent to Paris while the coach raced toward Calais.

In Calais, the two sick Sisters seemed to revive with the arrival of their four companions. At the military hospital, over 500 wounded remained. The young novices and the “elderly” Sister Henriette threw themselves into the work. Within a month, the hospital was almost emptied of wounded, and the Sisters were preparing to return. But the hospital administrators wouldn’t let them go. The work had been so intense that all the Sisters fell ill—except for Sister Henriette. Without fuss, she organized the care of the sick Sisters in various hospitals, arranged for their return to Paris in stretchers or carts, and sent them back one by one. She stayed behind with the gravest case, and only once she had seen her recover did she leave. She was the last to return. She kept St. Louise informed of every step.

The impression they left in Calais was one of awe at the sacrifice of that mission. In memory of the two Sisters who died, the queen ordered a memorial plaque to be engraved.

At the end of October, Sister Henriette returned to the Motherhouse with the last of the sick Sisters. Joy, hugs, and tears mingled with the sorrow of the two Sisters buried in Calais. Sister Henriette received congratulations from both Vincent and Louise, but she probably thought it all perfectly natural: “Oh, what does it matter whether I do this or that, as long as I’m serving the poor—the suffering members of Jesus Christ!”

In early November 1658, she was serving the galley slaves at La Tournelle, where Sister Barbara Angiboust had left behind a breath of sanctity. Sister Henriette would leave the same.

From this point on, we lose track of Sister Henriette. We don’t know where she was assigned next, or when she died.