ST. THÉRÈSE OF LISIEUX

THE STORY OF A SOUL (L'HISTOIRE D'UNE ÂME): THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OFST. THÉRÈSE OF LISIEUX

WITH ADDITIONAL WRITINGS AND SAYINGS OF ST. THÉRÈSE

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NOTE TO THIS ELECTRONIC EDITION

This electronic edition of the autobiography of St. Thérèse ofLisieux (_The Story of a Soul_) includes much, but not all, of thecontent of _Soeur Thérèse of Lisieux_ (London: Burns, Oates &Washbourne, 1912; 8th ed. , 1922), edited by Rev. T. N. Taylor. Allthe translated writings and sayings of St. Thérèse contained inthat book are in this electronic edition, including theautobiography as well as "Counsels and Reminiscences, " letters, and selected poems. Also included are the preface by CardinalBourne, the prologue relating Thérèse's parentage and birth, andthe epilogue describing her final illness, her death, and relatedevents. Not included are the illustrations, the list ofillustrations, accounts of favors attributed to the intercessionof St. Thérèse, documents related to her beatification, and someother material not written by her. 

Footnotes have been re-numbered sequentially in each chapter. Theyare presented at the end of each chapter, and some have beenslightly modified for ease of reference. A few footnotes, referring to page numbers in the original, have been modified oromitted. Citations to the Psalms, many of which were numbereddifferently in Catholic Bibles of St. Thérèse's time than theycommonly are today, have the "new" number in brackets next to the"old" number from the original--e. G. , "Psalm 22[23]:1-4. " Footnotenumbers are shown in brackets, e. G. , "[1]. "

The original page headers, page numbering, disclaimer of anyintention to anticipate the judgment of the Church in calling St. Thérèse a "saint" before her canonization, and other extraneousmatter, which were deemed suitable for a printed book in 1922 butnot for an e-book in 2005, are not here. The French "oe" ligature, in words such as "soeur, " is not available in the standardISO-8859-1 character set, and obviously is represented here by thetwo-letter combination "oe. " Italics are represented byunderscores at the beginning and end, _like this. _ The first wordof each chapter is not set in all caps as it was in the printedbook. A few obvious typographical errors have been corrected, withthe changes in brackets, e. G. , "[s]he" for "the" in Chapter IX. All else, including capitalization, punctuation, grammar, andBritish spelling, is intended to reflect the content of the eighthedition of _Soeur Thérèse of Lisieux. _ If it does not, the faultis that of the transcriber (me, David McClamrock). 

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SOEUR THÉRÈSE OF LISIEUX, THE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS

A NEW AND COMPLETE TRANSLATION OF L'HISTOIRE D'UNE ÂME, WITH ANACCOUNT OF SOME FAVOURS ATTRIBUTED TO THE INTERCESSION OF SOEURTHÉRÈSE

EDITED BY T. N. TAYLOR: PRIEST OF THE ARCHDIOCESE OF GLASGOW:WITNESS BEFORE THE TRIBUNAL OF THE BEATIFICATION

BURNS, OATES & WASHBOURNE LD. 

TWENTY-EIGHT ORCHARD STREET, LONDON, W. , AND EIGHT TO TENPATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E. C. 

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NIHIL OBSTAT JOANNES N. STRASSMAIER, S. J. Censor Deputatus

IMPRIMATUR EDMUNDUS Canonicus SURMONT Vicarius Generalis

WESTMONASTERII, die nonâ Decembris, 1912. 

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CONTENTS

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DEDICATION

PREFACE BY H. E. CARDINAL BOURNE

PROLOGUE: PARENTAGE AND BIRTH

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Chapter I. Earliest Memories " II. A Catholic Household " III. Pauline Enters the Carmel " IV. First Communion and Confirmation " V. Vocation of Thérèse " VI. A Pilgrimage to Rome " VII. The Little Flower Enters the Carmel " VIII. Profession of Soeur Thérèse " IX. The Night of the Soul " X. The New Commandment " XI. A Canticle of Love

EPILOGUE: A VICTIM OF DIVINE LOVE

COUNSELS AND REMINISCENCES

LETTERS OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE To Céline To Mother Agnes of Jesus To Sister Mary of the Sacred Heart To Sister Frances Teresa To Marie Guérin To Jeanne Guérin To Missionaries

PRAYERS OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE Her Act of Oblation A Morning Prayer Act of Consecration to the Holy Face Prayer in Honour of the Holy Child Prayer to the Holy Child Prayer to the Holy Face Prayer in Honour of St. Joan of Arc Prayer to Obtain Humility

DAYS OF GRACE

SELECTED POEMS My Song of To-day Memories I Thirst for Love To Scatter Flowers Why I Love Thee, Mary

SHOWER OF ROSES [omitted]

PROCESS OF BEATIFICATION [omitted]

LETTERS OF PIUS X AND OTHERS [omitted]

INDULGENCED PRAYERS [omitted]

SUPPLEMENT [omitted]

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THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE SERVANT OF GOD, SOEUR THÉRÈSE, INTHANKSGIVING FOR GRACES OBTAINED, AND TO HER "PETITE MÈRE, " MOTHERAGNES OF JESUS, IN GRATEFUL MEMORY OF INNUMERABLE KINDNESSESEXTENDING OVER MANY YEARS

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PREFACE

As we become acquainted with the histories of those in whom, inlong succession, God has been pleased to show forth examples ofholiness of life, it seems as if every phase of human existencehad in the history of the Church received its consecration as apower to bring men nearer to their Maker. But there is no limit tothe types of sanctity which the Creator is pleased to unfoldbefore His Creatures. To many, on reading for the first time thestory of Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face, itcame almost as a shock to find a very youthful member of anaustere Order, strictly retired from the world, engaged in hiddenprayer and mortification, appearing before us to reveal to thewhole world the wonders of the close intimacy of friendship towhich her Divine Spouse had been pleased to call her. Certainlythe way by which Soeur Thérèse was led is not the normal life ofCarmel, nor hers the manner whereby most Carmelites are called toaccomplish the wondrous apostolate of intercession to which theirlives are given. But no less certain is it that, in her particularcase, her work for God and her apostolate were not to be confinedbetween the walls of her religious home, or to be limited by herfew years on earth. 

In the first place, we know that it was by obedience that therecord of God's dealings with her soul were set down in writing. And again, the long tale of graces granted in such strangeprofusion through her intercession is proof sufficient that it wasnot without Divine permission and guidance that the history of herspecial and peculiar vocation has become the property of allCatholics in every land. It is for God to keep, and for Him tomake known the secrets of His Love for men. And in the case ofSoeur Thérèse it has been His Will to divulge His secrets in mostgenerous consideration for our needs. 

What are the hidden treasures which Our Divine Master thus revealsto us through His chosen little servant?

It is the old story of simplicity in God's service, of the perfectaccomplishment of small recurring duties, of trustful confidencein Him who made and has redeemed and sanctified us. Humility, self-effacement, obedience, hiddenness, unfaltering charity, withall the self-control and constant effort that they imply, arewritten on every page of the history of this little Saint. And, aswe turn its pages, the lesson is borne in upon our souls thatthere is no surer nor safer way of pleasing Our Father Who is inHeaven than by remaining ever as little children in His sight. Doubtless for many of her clients whose hearts are kindled as theyread this book, Soeur Thérèse will obtain, as she has done sooften in the past, wonderful gifts for health of soul and body. But may she win for all of us without exception a deep andfruitful conviction of the unchanging truth, that unless we becomeas little children in the doing of our Heavenly Father's Will, wecannot enter into our Eternal Home. 

FRANCIS CARDINAL BOURNE, Archbishop of Westminster. 

Feast of the Presentation of Our Blessed Lady, 1912. 

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PROLOGUE: THE PARENTAGE & BIRTH OF MARIE FRANÇOISE THÉRÈSE MARTIN

In the month of September, 1843, a young man of twenty climbed themountain of the Great St. Bernard. His eyes shone with a holyenthusiasm as the splendour of the Alps stirred to the depths hisresponsive nature. Presently, accustomed as they were to discernGod's beauty in the beauty of His handiwork, they glistened withtears. He paused for a space, then, continuing his journey, soonreached the celebrated monastery that like a beacon on thoseheights darts afar its beams of faith and magnificent charity. 

The Prior, struck by the frank and open countenance of his guest, welcomed him with more than wonted hospitality. Louis JosephStanislaus Martin was the pilgrim's name. He was born on August22, 1823, at Bordeaux, while his father, a brave and devoutsoldier, was captain in the garrison there. "God has predestinedthis little one for Himself, " said the saintly Bishop of Bordeauxon the occasion of his baptism, and events have proved the truthof his words. From this town, by the banks of the Garonne, hisparents went to Alençon in lower Normandy, and there in their newhome, as in their old one, Louis was the cherished Benjamin. 

It was not the loveliness of Swiss lakes and mountains and skiesthat had drawn the traveller from distant Alençon. He came to themonastery--and his journey was chiefly on foot--to consecrate hisdays to God. On learning his purpose the Prior questioned him uponhis knowledge of Latin, only to discover that the young aspiranthad not completed his course of studies in that language. "I amindeed sorry, my child, " said the venerable monk, "since this isan essential condition, but you must not be disheartened. Go backto your own country, apply yourself diligently, and when you haveended your studies we shall receive you with open arms. "

Louis was disappointed. He set out for home--for exile he wouldhave said--but ere long he saw clearly that his life was to bededicated to God in another and equally fruitful way, and that theAlpine monastery was to be nothing more to him than a sweet memory. 

* * * * * *

A few years after the vain quest of Louis Martin, a similar scenewas enacted in Alençon itself. Accompanied by her mother, ZélieGuérin--an attractive and pious girl--presented herself at theConvent of the Sisters of Charity in the hope of gainingadmission. For years it had been her desire to share the Sisters'work, but this was not to be. In the interview that followed, theSuperioress--guided by the Holy Ghost--decided unhesitatinglythat Zélie's vocation was not for the religious life. God wantedher in the world, and so she returned to her parents, and to thecompanionship of her elder sister and her younger brother. Shortlyafterwards the gates of the Visitation Convent at Le Mans closedupon her beloved sister, and Zélie's thoughts turned to theSacrament of Holy Matrimony. "O my God"--she repeated constantly--"since I am unworthy to be Thy Spouse, like my dear sister, Ishall enter the married state to fulfill Thy Holy Will, and Ibeseech Thee to make me the mother of many children, and to grantthat all of them may be dedicated to Thee. "

God gave ear to her prayer, and His Finger was visible in thecircumstances which led to her becoming the wife of Louis Martin, on July 12, 1858, in Alençon's lovely Church of Notre Dame. Likethe chaste Tobias, they were joined together in matrimony--"solelyfor the love of children, in whom God's Name might be blessed forever and ever. " Nine white flowers bloomed in this sacred garden. Of the nine, four were transplanted to Paradise ere their buds hadquite unfolded, while five were gathered in God's walled gardensupon earth, one entering the Visitation Convent at Caen, theothers the Carmel of Lisieux. 

From the cradle all were dedicated to Mary Immaculate, and allreceived her name: Marie Louise, Marie Pauline, Marie Léonie, Marie Hélène, who died at the age of four and a half, Marie JosephLouis, Marie Joseph Jean Baptiste, Marie Céline, Marie MélanieTherèse, who died when three months old, and lastly, _MarieFrançoise Thérèse. _

The two boys were the fruit of prayers and tears. After the birthof the four elder girls, their parents entreated St. Joseph toobtain for them the favour of a son who should become a priest anda missionary. Marie Joseph soon was given them, and his prettyways appealed to all hearts, but only five months had run theircourse when Heaven demanded what it had lent. Then followed moreurgent novenas. 

The grandeur of the Priesthood, glorious upon earth, ineffable ineternity, was so well understood by those Christian parents, thattheir hearts coveted it most dearly. At all costs the family musthave a Priest of the Lord, one who would be an apostle, peradventure a martyr. But, "the thoughts of the Lord are not ourthoughts, His ways are not our ways. " Another little Joseph wasborn, and with him hope once again grew strong. Alas! Nine monthshad scarcely passed when he, too, fled from this world and joinedhis angel brother. 

They did not ask again. Yet, could the veil of the future havebeen lifted, their heavy hearts would, of a surety, have beencomforted. A child was to be vouchsafed them who would be a heraldof Divine love, not to China alone, but to all the ends of theearth. 

Nay, they themselves were destined to shine as apostles, and weread on one of the first pages of the Portuguese edition of theAutobiography, these significant words of an eminent Jesuit:

"To the Sacred Memory of Louis Joseph Stanislaus Martin and ofZélie Guérin, the blessed parents of Sister Teresa of the ChildJesus, for an example to all Christian parents. "

They little dreamed of this future apostolate, nevertheless theymade ready their souls day by day to be God's own instruments inGod's good time. With most loving resignation they greeted themany crosses which the Lord laid upon them--the Lord whose tendername of Father is truest in the dark hour of trial. 

Every morning saw them at Mass; together they knelt at the HolyTable. They strictly observed the fasts and abstinences of theChurch, kept Sunday as a day of complete rest from work in spiteof the remonstrance of friends, and found in pious reading theirmost delightful recreation. They prayed in common--after thetouching example of Captain Martin, whose devout way of repeatingthe _Our Father_ brought tears to all eyes. Thus the greatChristian virtues flourished in their home. Wealth did not bringluxury in its train, and a strict simplicity was invariablyobserved. 

"How mistaken are the great majority of men!" Madame Martin usedoften to say. "If they are rich, they at once desire honours; andif these are obtained, they are still unhappy; for never can thatheart be satisfied which seeks anything but God. "

Her whole ambition as a mother was directed to Heaven. "Four of mychildren are already well settled in life, " she once wrote; "andthe others will go likewise to that Heavenly Kingdom--enrichedwith greater merit because the combat will have been moreprolonged. "

Charity in all its forms was a natural outlet to the piety ofthese simple hearts. Husband and wife set aside each year aconsiderable portion of their earnings for the Propagation of theFaith; they relieved poor persons in distress, and ministered tothem with their own hands. On one occasion Monsieur Martin, like agood Samaritan, was seen to raise a drunken man from the ground ina busy thoroughfare, take his bag of tools, support him on hisarm, and lead him home. Another time when he saw, in a railwaystation, a poor and starving epileptic without the means to returnto his distant home, he was so touched with pity that he took offhis hat and, placing in it an alms, proceeded to beg from thepassengers on behalf of the sufferer. Money poured in, and it waswith a heart brimming over with gratitude that the sick manblessed his benefactor. 

Never did he allow the meannesses of human respect to degrade hisChristian dignity. In whatever company he might be, he alwayssaluted the Blessed Sacrament when passing a Church; and he nevermet a priest without paying him a mark of respect. A word from hislips sufficed to silence whosoever dared blaspheme in his presence. 

In reward for his virtues, God showered even temporal blessings onHis faithful servant. In 1871 he was able to give up his businessas a jeweller, and retire to a house in the Rue St. Blaise. Themaking of point-lace, however, begun by Madame Martin, was stillcarried on. 

In that house the "Little Flower of Jesus" first saw the sunshine. Again and again, in the pages of her Autobiography, she callsherself by this modest name of the _Little Flower, _ emblematic ofher humility, her purity, her simplicity, and it may be added, ofthe poetry of her soul. The reader will learn in the Epilogue howit was also used by one of her favourite martyr-saints--the nowBlessed Théophane Vénard. On the manuscript of her Autobiographyshe set the title: _"The Story of the Springtime of a little whiteFlower, "_ and in truth such it was, for long ere the rigours oflife's winter came round, the Flower was blossoming in Paradise. 

It was, however, in mid-winter, January 2, 1873, that this ninthchild of Louis Martin and Zélie Guérin was born. Marie and Paulinewere at home for the Christmas holidays from the VisitationConvent at Le Mans, and though there was, it is true, a slightdisappointment that the future priest was still denied them, itquickly passed, and the little one was regarded as a special giftfrom Heaven. Later on, her beloved Father delighted in callingher his "Little Queen, " adding at times the high-soundingtitles--"Of France and Navarre. "

The Little Queen was indeed well received that winter's morning, and in the course of the day a poor waif rang timidly at the doorof the happy home, and presented a paper bearing the followingsimple stanza:

"Smile and swiftly grow; All beckons thee to joy, Sweet love, andtenderest care. Smile gladly at the dawn, Bud of an hour!--forthou Shalt be a stately rose. "

It was a charming prophecy, for the bud unfolded its petals andbecame a rose--a rose of love--but not for long, "for the space ofa morn!"

* * * * * *

On January 4, she was carried to the Church of Notre Dame toreceive the Sacrament of Baptism; her eldest sister, Marie, washer godmother, and she was given the name of _Marie FrançoiseThérèse. _[1]

All was joy at first, but soon the tender bud drooped on itsdelicate stem: little hope was held out--it must wither and die. "You must pray to St. Francis de Sales, " wrote her aunt from theconvent at Le Mans, "and you must promise, if the child recovers, to call her by her second name, Frances. " This was a sword-thrustfor the Mother. Leaning over the cradle of her Thérèse, sheawaited the coming of the end, saying: "Only when the last hopehas gone, will I promise to call her Frances. "

The gentle St. Francis waived his claim in favour of the greatReformer of the Carmelite Order: the child recovered, and soretained her sweet name of Thérèse. Sorrow, however, was mixedwith the Mother's joy, when it became necessary to send the babeto a foster-mother in the country. There the "little rose-bud"grew in beauty, and after some months had gained strengthsufficient to allow of her being brought back to Alençon. Hermemory of this short but happy time spent with her sainted Motherin the Rue St. Blaise was extraordinarily vivid. To-day a tableton the balcony of No. 42 informs the passers-by that here was borna certain Carmelite, by name, Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus andthe Holy Face. Fifteen years have gone since the meeting in Heavenof Madame Martin and her Carmelite child, and if the pilgrimage towhere the Little Flower first saw the light of day, be not solarge as that to the grave where her remains await their gloriousresurrection, it may nevertheless be numbered in thousands. And tothe English-speaking pilgrim there is an added pleasure in thefact that her most notable convert, the first minister of theUnited Free Church of Scotland to enter the True Fold, performs, with his convert wife, the courteous duties of host. 

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It will not be amiss to say a brief word here on the brother andsister of Madame Martin. Her sister--in religion, Sister MarieDosithea--led a life so holy at Le Mans that she was cited by DomGuéranger, perhaps the most distinguished Benedictine of thenineteenth century, as the model of a perfect nun. By her ownconfession, she had never been guilty from earliest childhood ofthe smallest deliberate fault. She died on February 24, 1877. Itwas in the convent made fragrant by such holiness that her niecePauline Martin, elder sister and "little mother" of Thérèse, andfor five years her Prioress at the Carmel, received her education. And if the Little Flower may have imbibed the liturgical spiritfrom her teachers, the daughters of St. Benedict in Lisieux, sothat she could say before her death: "I do not think it ispossible for anyone to have desired more than I to assist properlyat choir and to recite perfectly the Divine Office"--may it not beto the influences from Le Mans that may be traced something of thehoney-sweet spirit of St. Francis de Sales which pervades thepages of the Autobiography?

With the brother of Zélie Guérin the reader will make acquaintancein the narrative of Thérèse. He was a chemist in Lisieux, and itwas there his daughter Jeanne Guérin married Dr. La Néele and hisyounger child Marie entered the Carmel. Our foreign missionarieshad a warm friend in the uncle of Thérèse--for his charities hewas made godfather to an African King; and to the CatholicPress--that home missionary--he was ever most devoted. Founder, atLisieux, of the Nocturnal Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, anda zealous member of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, he wascalled to his abundant reward on September 28, 1909. Verily thelamp of faith is not extinct in the land of the Norman. 

The Father of Thérèse, after the death of his wife, likewise madehis home in the delightful town which lies amid the beautifulapple orchards of the valley of the Touques. Lisieux is deeplyinteresting by reason of its fine old churches of St. Jacques andSt. Pierre, and its wonderful specimens of quaint houses, some ofwhich date from the twelfth century. In matters of faith it isneither fervent nor hostile, and in 1877 its inhabitants littlethought that through their new citizen, Marie Françoise ThérèseMartin, their town would be rendered immortal. 

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"The cell at Lisieux reminds us of the cell of the Blessed Gabrielat Isola. There is the same even tenor of way, the samemagnificant fidelity in little things, the same flames of divinecharity, consuming but concealed. Nazareth, with the simplicity ofits Child, and the calm abysmal love of Mary and Joseph--Nazareth, adorable but imitable, gives the key to her spirit, and herAutobiography does but repeat the lessons of the thirty hiddenyears. "[2]

And it repeats them with an unrivalled charm. "This master ofasceticism, " writes a biographer[3] of St. Ignatius Loyola, "lovedthe garden and loved the flowers. In the balcony of his study hesat gazing on the stars: it was then Lainez heard him say: 'Oh, how earth grows base to me when I look on Heaven!' . . . The likeimaginative strain, so scorned of our petty day, inhered in allthe lofty souls of that age. Even the Saints of our day speak aless radiant language: and sanctity shows 'shorn of its rays'through the black fog of universal utilitarianism, the materialitywhich men have drawn into the very lungs of their souls. "

This is not true of the sainted authoress of the chapters thatfollow--"less radiant, " in the medium of a translation. In herown inimitable pages, as in those of a Campion or an Ignatius, aTeresa of Avila, or a John of the Cross--the Spirit of Poetry isthe handmaiden of Holiness. This new lover of flowers and studentof the stars, this "strewer of roses, " has uplifted a millionhearts from the "base earth" and "black fog" to the very throne ofGod, and her mission is as yet but begun. 

The pen of Soeur Thérèse herself must now take up the narrative. It will do so in words that do not merely tell of love but set theheart on fire, and at the same time lay bare the workings of Godin a soul that "since the age of three never refused the Good Godanything. " The writing of this Autobiography was an act ofobedience, and the Prioress who imposed the task sought, in allsimplicity, her own personal edification. But the fragrance of itspages was such that she was advised to publish them to the world. She did so in 1899 under the title of _L'Histoire d'une Âme. _ AnEnglish version by M. H. Dziewicki appeared in 1901. 

This new translation relates more fully the story of thechildhood, girlhood, and brief convent days of Soeur Thérèse. Ittells of her "Roses, " and sets forth again, in our world-widetongue, her world-wide embassy--the ever ancient message of God'sMerciful Love, the ever new _way_ to Him of "confidence andself-surrender. "

The Editor. ______________________________

[1] The baptismal entry, with its numerous signatures, is shown tovisitors, and a tablet in the baptistry of the beautiful Gothicchurch tells the pilgrim that here the "Little Queen" was made achild of God. [Ed. ]

[2] _"As Little Children"_: the abridged life of Soeur Thérèse. Published at the Orphans' Press, Rochdale. 

[3] Francis Thompson. 

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THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE OF LISIEUX, ENTITLED BYHERSELF: "THE STORY OF THE SPRINGTIME OF A LITTLE WHITE FLOWER"

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CHAPTER IEARLIEST MEMORIES

It is to you, dear Mother, that I am about to confide the story ofmy soul. When you asked me to write it, I feared the task mightunsettle me, but since then Our Lord has deigned to make meunderstand that by simple obedience I shall please Him best. Ibegin therefore to sing what must be my eternal song: "the Merciesof the Lord. "[1]

Before setting about my task I knelt before the statue of Our Ladywhich had given my family so many proofs of Our Heavenly Mother'sloving care. [2] As I knelt I begged of that dear Mother to guidemy hand, and thus ensure that only what was pleasing to her shouldfind place here. 

Then opening the Gospels, my eyes fell on these words: "Jesus, going up into a mountain, called unto Him whom He wouldHimself. "[3]

They threw a clear light upon the mystery of my vocation and of myentire life, and above all upon the favours which Our Lord hasgranted to my soul. He does not call those who are worthy, butthose whom He will. As St. Paul says: "God will have mercy on whomHe will have mercy. [4] So then it is not of him that willeth, norof him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy. "[5]

I often asked myself why God had preferences, why all souls didnot receive an equal measure of grace. I was filled with wonderwhen I saw extraordinary favours showered on great sinners likeSt. Paul, St. Augustine, St. Mary Magdalen, and many others, whomHe forced, so to speak, to receive His grace. In reading the livesof the Saints I was surprised to see that there were certainprivileged souls, whom Our Lord favoured from the cradle to thegrave, allowing no obstacle in their path which might keep themfrom mounting towards Him, permitting no sin to soil the spotlessbrightness of their baptismal robe. And again it puzzled me why somany poor savages should die without having even heard the name ofGod. 

Our Lord has deigned to explain this mystery to me. He showed methe book of nature, and I understood that every flower created byHim is beautiful, that the brilliance of the rose and thewhiteness of the lily do not lessen the perfume of the violet orthe sweet simplicity of the daisy. I understood that if all thelowly flowers wished to be roses, nature would lose its springtidebeauty, and the fields would no longer be enamelled with lovelyhues. And so it is in the world of souls, Our Lord's livinggarden. He has been pleased to create great Saints who may becompared to the lily and the rose, but He has also created lesserones, who must be content to be daisies or simple violetsflowering at His Feet, and whose mission it is to gladden HisDivine Eyes when He deigns to look down on them. And the moregladly they do His Will the greater is their perfection. 

I understood this also, that God's Love is made manifest as wellin a simple soul which does not resist His grace as in one morehighly endowed. In fact, the characteristic of love beingself-abasement, if all souls resembled the holy Doctors who haveilluminated the Church, it seems that God in coming to them wouldnot stoop low enough. But He has created the little child, whoknows nothing and can but utter feeble cries, and the poor savagewho has only the natural law to guide him, and it is to theirhearts that He deigns to stoop. These are the field flowers whosesimplicity charms Him; and by His condescension to them OurSaviour shows His infinite greatness. As the sun shines both onthe cedar and on the floweret, so the Divine Sun illumines everysoul, great and small, and all correspond to His care--just as innature the seasons are so disposed that on the appointed day thehumblest daisy shall unfold its petals. 

You will wonder, dear Mother, to what all this is leading, fortill now I have said nothing that sounds like the story of mylife; but did you not tell me to write quite freely whatever cameinto my mind? So, it will not be my life properly speaking, thatyou will find in these pages, but my thoughts about the graceswhich it has pleased Our Lord to bestow on me. 

I am now at a time of life when I can look back on the past, formy soul has been refined in the crucible of interior and exteriortrials. Now, like a flower after the storm, I can raise my headand see that the words of the Psalm are realised in me: "The Lordis my Shepherd and I shall want nothing. He hath set me in a placeof pasture. He hath brought me up on the water of refreshment. Hehath converted my soul. He hath led me on the paths of justice forHis own Name's sake. For though I should walk in the midst of theshadow of death, I will fear no evils for Thou are with me. "[6]

Yes, to me Our Lord has always been "compassionate and merciful, long-suffering and plenteous in mercy. "[7]

And so it gives me great joy, dear Mother, to come to you and singHis unspeakable mercies. It is for you alone that I write thestory of the little flower gathered by Jesus. This thought willhelp me to speak freely, without troubling either about style orabout the many digressions that I shall make; for a Mother's heartalways understands her child, even when it can only lisp, and so Iam sure of being understood and my meaning appreciated. 

If a little flower could speak, it seems to me that it would tellus quite simply all that God has done for it, without hiding anyof its gifts. It would not, under the pretext of humility, saythat it was not pretty, or that it had not a sweet scent, that thesun had withered its petals, or the storm bruised its stem, if itknew that such were not the case. 

The Little Flower, that now tells her tale, rejoiced in having topublish the wholly undeserved favours bestowed upon her by OurLord. She knows that she had nothing in herself worthy ofattracting Him: His Mercy alone showered blessings on her. Heallowed her to grow in holy soil enriched with the odour ofpurity, and preceded by eight lilies of shining whiteness. In HisLove He willed to preserve her from the poisoned breath of theworld--hardly had her petals unfolded when this good Mastertransplanted her to the mountain of Carmel, Our Lady's chosengarden. 

And now, dear Mother, having summed up in a few words all thatGod's goodness has done for me, I will relate in detail the storyof my childhood. I know that, though to others it may seemwearisome, your motherly heart will find pleasure in it. In thestory of my soul, up to the time of my entry into the Carmel, there are three clearly marked periods: the first, in spite of itsshortness, is by no means the least rich in memories. 

It extends from the dawn of reason to the death of my dearly lovedMother; in other words, till I was four years and eight monthsold. God, in His goodness, did me the favour of awakening myintelligence very early, and He has imprinted the recollections ofmy childhood so deeply in my memory that past events seem to havehappened but yesterday. Without doubt He wished to make me knowand appreciate the Mother He had given me. Alas! His Divine Handsoon took her from me to crown her in Heaven. 

All my life it has pleased Him to surround me with affection. Myfirst recollections are of loving smiles and tender caresses; butif He made others love me so much, He made me love them too, for Iwas of an affectionate nature. 

You can hardly imagine how much I loved my Father and Mother, and, being very demonstrative, I showed my love in a thousand littleways, though the means I employed make me smile now when I thinkof them. 

Dear Mother, you have given me the letters which my Mother wroteat this time to Pauline, who was at school at the VisitationConvent at Le Mans. I remember perfectly the events they refer to, but it will be easier for me simply to quote some passages, thoughthese charming letters, inspired by a Mother's love, are too oftenfull of my praises. 

In proof of what I have said about my way of showing affection formy parents, here is an example: "Baby is the dearest little rogue;she comes to kiss me, and at the same time wishes me to die. 'Oh, how I wish you would die, dear Mamma, ' she said, and when she wasscolded she was quite astonished, and answered: 'But I want you togo to Heaven, and you say we must die to go there'; and in heroutburst of affection for her Father she wishes him to die too. The dear little thing will hardly leave me, she follows meeverywhere, but likes going into the garden best; when I am notthere she refuses to stay, and cries so much that they are obligedto bring her back. She will not even go upstairs alone withoutcalling me at each step, 'Mamma! Mamma!' and if I forget to answer'Yes, darling!' she waits where she is, and will not move. "

I was nearly three years old when my Mother wrote: "Little Thérèseasked me the other day if she would go to Heaven. 'Yes, if you aregood, ' I told her. 'Oh, Mamma, ' she answered, 'then if I am notgood, shall I go to Hell? Well, you know what I will do--I shallfly to you in Heaven, and you will hold me tight in your arms, andhow could God take me away then?' I saw that she was convincedthat God could do nothing to her if she hid herself in my arms. "

"Marie loves her little sister very much; indeed she is a childwho delights us all. She is extraordinarily outspoken, and it ischarming to see her run after me to confess her childish faults:'Mamma, I have pushed Céline; I slapped her once, but I'll not doit again. ' The moment she has done anything mischievous, everyonemust know. Yesterday, without meaning to do so, she tore off asmall piece of wall paper; you would have been sorry for her--shewanted to tell her father immediately. When he came home fourhours later, everyone else had forgotten about it, but she ran atonce to Marie saying: 'Tell Papa that I tore the paper. ' Shewaited there like a criminal for sentence; but she thinks she ismore easily forgiven if she accuses herself. "

Papa's name fills me with many happy memories. Mamma laughinglysaid he always did whatever I wanted, but he answered: "Well, whynot? She is the Queen!" Then he would lift me on to his shoulder, and caress me in all sorts of ways. Yet I cannot say that hespoilt me. I remember one day while I was swinging he called outas he passed: "Come and kiss me, little Queen. " Contrary to myusual custom, I would not stir, and answered pertly: "You mustcome for it, Papa. " He refused quite rightly, and went away. Mariewas there and scolded me, saying: "How naughty to answer Papa likethat!" Her reproof took effect; I got off the swing at once, andthe whole house resounded with my cries. I hurried upstairs, notwaiting this time to call Mamma at each step; my one thought wasto find Papa and make my peace with him. I need not tell you thatthis was soon done. 

I could not bear to think I had grieved my beloved parents, and Iacknowledged my faults instantly, as this little anecdote, relatedby my Mother, will show: "One morning before going downstairs Iwanted to kiss Thérèse; she seemed to be fast asleep, and I didnot like to wake her, but Marie said: 'Mamma, I am sure she isonly pretending. ' So I bent down to kiss her forehead, andimmediately she hid herself under the clothes, saying in the toneof a spoilt child: 'I don't want anyone to look at me. ' I was notpleased with her, and told her so. A minute or two afterwards Iheard her crying, and was surprised to see her by my side. She hadgot out of her cot by herself, and had come downstairs with barefeet, stumbling over her long nightdress. Her little face was wetwith tears: 'Mamma, ' she said, throwing herself on my knee, 'I amsorry for being naughty--forgive me!' Pardon was quickly granted;I took the little angel in my arms and pressed her to my heart, smothering her with kisses. "

I remember also my great affection for my eldest sister Marie, whohad just left school. Without seeming to do so, I took in all thatI saw and heard, and I think that I reflected on things then as Ido now. I listened attentively while she taught Céline, and wasvery good and obedient, so as to obtain the privilege of beingallowed in the room during lessons. She gave me many triflingpresents which pleased me greatly. I was proud of my two bigsisters; but as Pauline seemed so far away from us, I thought ofher all day long. When I was only just learning to talk, and Mammaasked: "What are you thinking about?" my answer invariably was:"Pauline. " Sometimes I heard people saying that Pauline would be anun, and, without quite knowing what it meant, I thought: "I willbe a nun too. " This is one of my first recollections, and I havenever changed my mind; so it was the example of this belovedsister which, from the age of two, drew me to the Divine Spouse ofVirgins. My dearest Mother, what tender memories of Pauline Icould confide to you here! But it would take me too long. 

Léonie had also a very warm place in my heart; she loved me verymuch, and her love was returned. In the evening when she came homefrom school she used to take care of me while the others went out, and it seems to me I can still hear the sweet songs she sang toput me to sleep. I remember perfectly the day of her FirstCommunion, and I remember also her companion, the poor child whommy Mother dressed, according to the touching custom of thewell-to-do families in Alençon. This child did not leave Léoniefor an instant on that happy day, and in the evening at the granddinner she sat in the place of honour. Alas! I was too small tostay up for this feast, but I shared in it a little, thanks toPapa's goodness, for he came himself to bring his little Queen apiece of the iced cake. 

The only one now left to speak of is Céline, the companion of mychildhood. My memories of her are so many that I do not know whichto choose. We understood each other perfectly, but I was much moreforward and lively, and far less ingenuous. Here is a letter whichwill show you, dear Mother, how sweet was Céline, and how naughtyThérèse. I was then nearly three years old, and Céline six and ahalf. "Céline is naturally inclined to be good; as to the littlepuss, Thérèse, one cannot tell how she will turn out, she is soyoung and heedless. She is a very intelligent child, but has notnearly so sweet a disposition as her sister, and her stubbornnessis almost unconquerable. When she has said 'No, ' nothing will makeher change; one could leave her all day in the cellar withoutgetting her to say 'Yes. ' She would sooner sleep there. "

I had another fault also, of which my Mother did not speak in herletters: it was self-love. Here are two instances: --One day, nodoubt wishing to see how far my pride would go, she smiled andsaid to me, "Thérèse, if you will kiss the ground I will give youa halfpenny. " In those days a halfpenny was a fortune, and inorder to gain it I had not far to stoop, for I was so tiny therewas not much distance between me and the ground; but my pride wasup in arms, and holding myself very erect, I said, "No, thank you, Mamma, I would rather go without it. "

Another time we were going into the country to see some friends. Mamma told Marie to put on my prettiest frock, but not to let mehave bare arms. I did not say a word, and appeared as indifferentas children of that age should be, but I said to myself, "I shouldhave looked much prettier with bare arms. "

With such a disposition I feel sure that had I been brought up bycareless parents I should have become very wicked, and perhapshave lost my soul. But Jesus watched over His little Spouse, andturned even her faults to advantage, for, being checked early inlife, they became a means of leading her towards perfection. Forinstance, as I had great self-love and an innate love of good aswell, it was enough to tell me once: "You must not do that, " and Inever wanted to do it again. Having only good example before myeyes, I naturally wished to follow it, and I see with pleasure inmy Mother's letters that as I grew older I began to be a greatercomfort. This is what she writes in 1876: "Even Thérèse is anxiousto make sacrifices. Marie has given her little sisters a string ofbeads on purpose to count their acts of self-denial. They havereally spiritual, but very amusing, conversations together. Célinesaid the other day: 'How can God be in such a tiny Host?' Thérèseanswered: 'That is not strange, because God is Almighty!' 'Andwhat does Almighty mean?' 'It means that He can do whatever Helikes. '

"But it is more amusing still to see Thérèse put her hand in herpocket, time after time, to pull a bead along the string, whenevershe makes a little sacrifice. The children are inseparable, andare quite sufficient company for one another. Nurse has givenThérèse two bantams, and every day after dinner she and Céline sitby the fire and play with them. 

"One morning Thérèse got out of her cot and climbed into Céline's. The nurse went to fetch her to be dressed, and, when at last shefound her, the little thing said, hugging her sister very hard:'Oh, Louise! leave me here, don't you see that we are like thelittle white bantams, we can't be separated from one another. '"

It is quite true that I could not be separated from Céline; Iwould rather leave my dessert unfinished at table than let her gowithout me, and I would get down from my high chair when she did, and off we went to play together. On Sundays, as I was still toosmall to go to the long services, Mamma stayed at home to takecare of me. I was always very good, walking about on tip-toe; butas soon as I heard the door open there was a tremendous outburstof joy--I threw myself on my dear little sister, exclaiming: "Oh, Céline! give me the blessed bread, quick!"[8] One day she had notbrought any--what was to be done? I could not do without it, for Icalled this little feast my Mass. A bright idea struck me: "Youhave no blessed bread! --make some. " Céline immediately opened thecupboard, took out the bread, cut a tiny bit off, and after sayinga Hail Mary quite solemnly over it, triumphantly presented it tome; and I, making the sign of the Cross, ate it with devotion, fancying it tasted exactly like the real blessed bread. 

One day Léonie, thinking no doubt that she was too big to playwith dolls, brought us a basket filled with clothes, pretty piecesof stuff, and other trifles on which her doll was laid: "Here, dears, " she said, "choose whatever you like. " Céline looked at it, and took a woollen ball. After thinking about it for a minute, Iput out my hand saying: "I choose everything, " and I carried offboth doll and basket without more ado. 

This childish incident was a forecast, so to speak, of my wholelife. Later on, when the way of perfection was opened out beforeme, I realised that in order to become a Saint one must suffermuch, always seek the most perfect path, and forget oneself. Ialso understood that there are many degrees of holiness, that eachsoul is free to respond to the calls of Our Lord, to do much orlittle for His Love--in a word, to choose amongst the sacrificesHe asks. And then also, as in the days of my childhood, I criedout: "My God, I choose everything, I will not be a Saint byhalves, I am not afraid of suffering for Thee, I only fear onething, and that is to do my own will. Accept the offering of mywill, for I choose all that Thou willest. "

But, dear Mother, I am forgetting myself--I must not tell you yetof my girlhood, I am still speaking of the baby of three and fouryears old. 

I remember a dream I had at that age which impressed itself verydeeply on my memory. I thought I was walking alone in the gardenwhen, suddenly, I saw near the arbour two hideous little devilsdancing with surprising agility on a barrel of lime, in spite ofthe heavy irons attached to their feet. At first they cast fieryglances at me; then, as though suddenly terrified, I saw them, inthe twinkling of an eye, throw themselves down to the bottom ofthe barrel, from which they came out somehow, only to run and hidethemselves in the laundry which opened into the garden. Findingthem such cowards, I wanted to know what they were going to do, and, overcoming my fears, I went to the window. The wretchedlittle creatures were there, running about on the tables, notknowing how to hide themselves from my gaze. From time to timethey came nearer, peering through the windows with an uneasy air, then, seeing that I was still there, they began to run about againlooking quite desperate. Of course this dream was nothingextraordinary; yet I think Our Lord made use of it to show me thata soul in the state of grace has nothing to fear from the devil, who is a coward, and will even fly from the gaze of a little child. 

Dear Mother, how happy I was at that age! I was beginning to enjoylife, and goodness itself seemed full of charms. Probably mycharacter was the same as it is now, for even then I had greatself-command, and made a practice of never complaining when mythings were taken; even if I was unjustly accused, I preferred tokeep silence. There was no merit in this, for I did it naturally. 

How quickly those sunny years of my childhood passed away, andwhat tender memories they have imprinted on my mind! I rememberthe Sunday walks when my dear Mother always accompanied us; and Ican still feel the impression made on my childish heart at thesight of the fields bright with cornflowers, poppies, andmarguerites. Even at that age I loved far-stretching views, sunlitspaces and stately trees; in a word, all nature charmed me andlifted up my soul to Heaven. 

Often, during these walks, we met poor people. I was always chosento give them an alms, which made me feel very happy. Sometimes, mydear Father, knowing the way was too long for his little Queen, took me home. This was a cause of grief, and to console me Célinewould fill her basket with daisies, and give them to me on herreturn. Truly everything on earth smiled on me; I found flowersstrewn at every step, and my naturally happy disposition helped tomake life bright. But a new era was about to dawn. 

I was to be the Spouse of Our Lord at such an early age that itwas necessary I should suffer from my childhood. As the earlyspring flowers begin to come up under the snow and open at thefirst rays of the sun, so the Little Flower whose story I amwriting had to pass through the winter of trial and to have hertender cup filled with the dew of tears. ______________________________

[1] Ps. 88[89]:1. 

[2] This statue twice appeared as if endowed with life, in orderto enlighten and console Mme. Martin, mother of Thérèse. A likefavour was granted to Thérèse herself, as will be seen in thecourse of the narrative. 

[3] Mark 3:13. 

[4] Cf. Exodus 33:19. 

[5] Cf. Rom. 9:16. 

[6] Cf. Ps. 22[23]:1-4. 

[7] Ps. 102[103]:8. 

[8] The custom still prevails in some parts of France of blessingbread at the Offertory of the Mass and then distributing it to thefaithful. It is known as _pain bénit. _ This blessing only takesplace at the Parochial Mass. [Ed. ]

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CHAPTER IIA CATHOLIC HOUSEHOLD

All the details of my Mother's illness are still fresh in my mind. I remember especially her last weeks on earth, when Céline and Ifelt like poor little exiles. Every morning a friend came to fetchus, and we spent the day with her. Once, we had not had time tosay our prayers before starting, and on the way my little sisterwhispered: "Must we tell her that we have not said our prayers?""Yes, " I answered. So, very timidly, Céline confided our secret toher, and she exclaimed: "Well, well, children, you shall saythem. " Then she took us to a large room, and left us there. Célinelooked at me in amazement. I was equally astonished, andexclaimed: "This is not like Mamma, she always said our prayerswith us. " During the day, in spite of all efforts to amuse us, thethought of our dear Mother was constantly in our minds. I rememberonce, when my sister had an apricot given to her, she leanttowards me and said: "We will not eat it, I will give it toMamma. " Alas! our beloved Mother was now too ill to eat anyearthly fruit; she would never more be satisfied but by the gloryof Heaven. There she would drink of the mysterious wine whichJesus, at His Last Supper, promised to share with us in theKingdom of His Father. 

The touching ceremony of Extreme Unction made a deep impression onme. I can still see the place where I knelt, and hear my poorFather's sobs. 

My dear Mother died on August 28, 1877, in her forty-sixth year. The day after her death my Father took me in his arms and said:"Come and kiss your dear Mother for the last time. " Without sayinga word I put my lips to her icy forehead. I do not remember havingcried much, and I did not talk to anyone of all that filled myheart; I looked and listened in silence, and I saw many thingsthey would have hidden from me. Once I found myself close to thecoffin in the passage. I stood looking at it for a long time; Ihad never seen one before, but I knew what it was. I was so smallthat I had to lift up my head to see its whole length, and itseemed to me very big and very sad. 

Fifteen years later I was again standing by another coffin, thatof our holy Mother Genevieve, [1] and I was carried back to thedays of my childhood. Memories crowded upon me; it was the samelittle Thérèse who looked at it, but she had grown, and the coffinseemed small. She had not to lift up her head to it, now she onlyraised her eyes to contemplate Heaven which seemed to her veryfull of joy, for trials had matured and strengthened her soul, sothat nothing on earth could make her grieve. 

Our Lord did not leave me wholly an orphan; on the day of myMother's funeral He gave me another mother, and allowed me tochoose her freely. We were all five together, looking at oneanother sadly, when our nurse, overcome with emotion, said, turning to Céline and to me: "Poor little dears, you no longerhave a Mother. " Then Céline threw herself into Marie's arms, crying: "Well, you will be my Mother now. " I was so accustomed toimitate Céline that I should undoubtedly have followed herexample, but I feared Pauline would be sad and feel herself leftout if she too had not a little daughter. So, with a loving look, I hid my face on her breast saying in my turn: "And Pauline willbe my Mother. "

That day, as I have said, began the second period of my life. Itwas the most sorrowful of all, especially after Pauline, my secondMother, entered the Carmel; and it lasted from the time I was fouryears old until I was fourteen, when I recovered much of mychildish gaiety, even though I understood more fully the seriousside of life. 

I must tell you that after my Mother's death my naturally happydisposition completely changed. Instead of being lively anddemonstrative as I had been, I became timid, shy, and extremelysensitive; a look was enough to make me burst into tears. I couldnot bear to be noticed or to meet strangers, and was only at easein my own family circle. There I was always cherished with themost loving care; my Father's affectionate heart seemed endowedwith a mother's love, and my sisters were no less tender anddevoted. If Our Lord had not lavished so much love and sunshine onHis Little Flower, she never could have become acclimatised tothis earth. Still too weak to bear the storm, she needed warmth, refreshing dew, and soft breezes, and these gifts were neverwanting to her, even in the chilling seasons of trials. 

Soon after my Mother's death, Papa made up his mind to leaveAlençon and live at Lisieux, so that we might be near our uncle, my Mother's brother. He made this sacrifice in order that my youngsisters should have the benefit of their aunt's guidance in theirnew life, and that she might act as a mother towards them. I didnot feel any grief at leaving my native town: children love changeand anything out of the common, and so I was pleased to come toLisieux. I remember the journey quite well, and our arrival in theevening at my uncle's house, and I can still see my littlecousins, Jeanne and Marie, waiting on the doorstep with my aunt. How touching was the affection all these dear ones showed us!

The next day they took us to our new home, _Les Buissonets, _[2]situated in a quiet part of the town. I was charmed with the housemy Father had taken. The large upper window from which there wasan extensive view, the flower garden in front, and the kitchengarden at the back--all these seemed delightfully new to mychildish mind; and this happy home became the scene of many joysand of family gatherings which I can never forget. Elsewhere, as Isaid before, I felt an exile, I cried and fretted for my Mother;but here my little heart expanded, and I smiled on life once more. 

When I woke there were my sisters ready to caress me, and I saidmy prayers kneeling between them. Then Pauline gave me my readinglesson, and I remember that "Heaven" was the first word I couldread alone. When lessons were over I went upstairs, where Papa wasgenerally to be found, and how pleased I was when I had good marksto show. Every afternoon I went out for a walk with him, and wepaid a visit to the Blessed Sacrament in one or other of theChurches. It was in this way that I first saw the Chapel of theCarmel: "Look, little Queen, " Papa said to me, "behind that biggrating there are holy nuns who are always praying to AlmightyGod. " Little did I think that nine years later I should be amongstthem, that in this blessed Carmel I should receive so many graces. 

On returning home I learnt my lessons, and then spent the rest ofthe day playing in the garden near Papa. I never cared for dolls, but one of my favourite amusements was making coloured mixtureswith seeds and the bark of trees. If the colours were pretty, Iwould promptly offer them to Papa in a little cup and entice himto taste them; then my dearest Father would leave his work andsmilingly pretend to drink. I was very fond of flowers, and amusedmyself by making little altars in holes which I happened to findin the middle of my garden wall. When finished I would run andcall Papa, and he seemed delighted with them. I should never stopif I told you of the thousand and one incidents of this kind thatI can remember. How shall I make you understand the love that myFather lavished on his little Queen!

Those were specially happy days for me when I went fishing with mydear "King, " as I used to call him. Sometimes I tried my hand witha small rod of my own, but generally I preferred to sit on thegrass some distance away. Then my reflections became really deep, and, without knowing what meditation meant, my soul was absorbedin prayer. Far-off sounds reached me, the murmuring of the wind, sometimes a few uncertain notes of music from a military band inthe town a long way off; all this imparted a touch of melancholyto my thoughts. Earth seemed a place of exile, and I dreamed ofHeaven. 

The afternoon passed quickly away, and it was soon time to gohome, but before packing up I would eat the provisions I hadbrought in a small basket. Somehow the slices of bread and jam, prepared by my sisters, looked different; they had seemed sotempting, and now they looked stale and uninviting. Even such atrifle as this made the earth seem sadder, and I realised thatonly in Heaven will there be unclouded joy. 

Speaking of clouds, I remember how one day when we were out, theblue sky became overcast and a storm came on, accompanied by vividlightning. I looked round on every side, so as to lose nothing ofthe grand sight. A thunderbolt fell in a field close by, and, farfrom feeling the least bit afraid, I was delighted--it seemed thatGod was so near. Papa was not so pleased, and put an end to myreverie, for already the tall grass and daisies, taller than I, were sparkling with rain-drops, and we had to cross several fieldsto reach the road. In spite of his fishing tackle, he carried mein his arms while I looked down in the beautiful jewelled drops, almost sorry that I could not be drenched by them. 

I do not think I have told you that in our daily walks at Lisieux, as in Alençon, I often used to give alms to the beggars. One daywe came upon a poor old man who dragged himself painfully along oncrutches. I went up to give him a penny. He looked sadly at me fora long time, and then, shaking his head with a sorrowful smile, herefused my alms. I cannot tell you what I felt; I had wished tohelp and comfort him, and instead of that, I had, perhaps, hurthim and caused him pain. He must have guessed my thought, for Isaw him turn round and smile at me when we were some way off. 

Just then Papa bought me a cake. I wished very much to run afterthe old man and give it to him, for I thought: "Well, he did notwant money, but I am sure he would like to have a cake. " I do notknow what held me back, and I felt so sad I could hardly keep fromcrying; then I remembered having heard that one obtains all thefavours asked for on one's First Communion Day. This thoughtconsoled me immediately, and though I was only six years old atthe time, I said to myself: "I will pray for my poor old man onthe day of my First Communion. " Five years later I faithfully keptmy resolution. I have always thought that my childish prayer forthis suffering member of Christ has been blessed and rewarded. 

As I grew older my love of God grew more and more. I often offeredmy heart to Him, using the words my Mother had taught me, and Itried very hard to please Him in all my actions, taking great carenever to offend Him. And yet one day I committed a fault which Imust tell you here--it gives me a good opportunity of humblingmyself, though I believe I have grieved over it with perfectcontrition. 

It was the month of May, 1878. My sisters decided that I was toosmall to go to the May devotions every evening, so I stayed athome with the nurse and said my prayers with her before the littlealtar which I had arranged according to my own taste. Everythingwas small--candlesticks, vases, and the rest; two wax vestas werequite sufficient to light it up properly. Sometimes Victoire, themaid, gave me some little bits of real candle, but not often. 

One evening, when we went to our prayers, I said to her: "Will youbegin the _Memorare?_ I am going to light the candles. " She triedto begin, and then looked at me and burst out laughing. Seeing myprecious vestas burning quickly away, I begged her once more tosay the _Memorare. _ Again there was silence, broken only by burstsof laughter. All my natural good temper deserted me. I got upfeeling dreadfully angry, and, stamping my foot furiously, I criedout: "Victoire, you naughty girl!" She stopped laughing at once, and looked at me in utter astonishment, then showed me--toolate--the surprise she had in store hidden under her apron--twopieces of candle. My tears of anger were soon changed into tearsof sorrow; I was very much ashamed and grieved, and made a firmresolution never to act in such a way again. 

Shortly after this I made my first confession. [3] It is a verysweet memory. Pauline had warned me: "Thérèse, darling, it is notto a man but to God Himself that you are going to tell your sins. "I was so persuaded of this that I asked her quite seriously if Ishould not tell Father Ducellier that I loved him "with my wholeheart, " as it was really God I was going to speak to in his person. 

Well instructed as to what I was to do, I entered theconfessional, and turning round to the priest, so as to see himbetter, I made my confession and received absolution in a spiritof lively faith--my sister having assured me that at this solemnmoment the tears of the Holy Child Jesus would purify my soul. Iremember well that he exhorted me above all to a tender devotiontowards Our Lady, and I promised to redouble my love for her whoalready filled so large a place in my heart. Then I passed him myRosary to be blessed, and came out of the Confessional more joyfuland lighthearted than I had ever felt before. It was evening, andas soon as I got to a street lamp I stopped and took the newlyblessed Rosary out of my pocket, turning it over and over. "Whatare you looking at, Thérèse, dear?" asked Pauline. "I am seeingwhat a blessed Rosary looks like. " This childish answer amused mysisters very much. I was deeply impressed by the graces I hadreceived, and wished to go to confession again for all the bigfeasts, for these confessions filled me with joy. The feasts! Whatprecious memories these simple words bring to me. I loved them;and my sisters knew so well how to explain the mysteries hidden ineach one. Those days of earth became days of Heaven. Above all Iloved the procession of the Blessed Sacrament: what a joy it wasto strew flowers in God's path! But before scattering them on theground I threw them high in the air, and was never so happy aswhen I saw my rose-leaves touch the sacred Monstrance. 

And if the great feasts came but seldom, each week brought onevery dear to my heart, and that was Sunday. What a glorious day!The Feast of God! The day of rest! First of all the whole familywent to High Mass, and I remember that before the sermon we had tocome down from our places, which were some way from the pulpit, and find seats in the nave. This was not always easy, but tolittle Thérèse and her Father everyone offered a place. My unclewas delighted when he saw us come down; he called me his"Sunbeam, " and said that to see the venerable old man leading hislittle daughter by the hand was a sight which always filled himwith joy. I never troubled myself if people looked at me, I wasonly occupied in listening attentively to the preacher. A sermonon the Passion of our Blessed Lord was the first I understood, andit touched me deeply. I was then five and a half, and after thattime I was able to understand and appreciate all instructions. IfSt. Teresa was mentioned, my Father would bend down and whisper tome: "Listen attentively, little Queen, he is speaking of your holypatroness. " I really did listen attentively, but I must own Ilooked at Papa more than at the preacher, for I read many thingsin his face. Sometimes his eyes were filled with tears which hestrove in vain to keep back; and as he listened to the eternaltruths he seemed no longer of this earth, his soul was absorbed inthe thought of another world. Alas! Many long and sorrowful yearshad to pass before Heaven was to be opened to him, and Our Lordwith His Own Divine Hand was to wipe away the bitter tears of Hisfaithful servant. 

To go back to the description of our Sundays. This happy day whichpassed so quickly had also its touch of melancholy; my happinesswas full till Compline, but after that a feeling of sadness tookpossession of me. I thought of the morrow when one had to beginagain the daily life of work and lessons, and my heart, feelinglike an exile on this earth, longed for the repose of Heaven--thenever ending Sabbath of our true Home. Every Sunday my auntinvited us in turns to spend the evening with her. I was alwaysglad when mine came, and it was a pleasure to listen to my uncle'sconversation. His talk was serious, but it interested me, and helittle knew that I paid such attention; but my joy was not unmixedwith fear when he took me on his knee and sang "Bluebeard" in hisdeep voice. 

About eight o'clock Papa would come to fetch me. I remember that Iused to look up at the stars with inexpressible delight. Orion'sbelt fascinated me especially, for I saw in it a likeness to theletter "T. " "Look, Papa, " I would cry, "my name is written inHeaven!" Then, not wishing to see this dull earth any longer, Iasked him to lead me, and with my head thrown back, I gazedunweariedly at the starry skies. 

I could tell you much about our winter evenings at home. After agame of draughts my sisters read aloud Dom Guéranger's _LiturgicalYear, _ and then a few pages of some other interesting andinstructive book. While this was going on I established myself onPapa's knee, and when the reading was done he used to singsoothing snatches of melody in his beautiful voice, as if to lullme to sleep, and I would lay my head on his breast while he rockedme gently to and fro. 

Later on we went upstairs for night prayers, and there again myplace was beside my beloved Father, and I had only to look at himto know how the Saints pray. Pauline put me to bed, and Iinvariably asked her: "Have I been good to-day? Is God pleasedwith me? Will the Angels watch over me?" The answer was always"Yes, " otherwise I should have spent the whole night in tears. After these questions my sisters kissed me, and little Thérèse wasleft alone in the dark. 

I look on it as a real grace that from childhood I was taught toovercome my fears. Sometimes in the evening Pauline would send meto fetch something from a distant room; she would take no refusal, and she was quite right, for otherwise I should have become verynervous, whereas now it is difficult to frighten me. I wondersometimes how my little Mother was able to bring me up with somuch tenderness, and yet without spoiling me, for she did not passover the least fault. It is true she never scolded me withoutcause, and I knew well she would never change her mind when once athing was decided upon. 

To this dearly loved sister I confided my most intimate thoughts;she cleared up all my doubts. One day I expressed surprise thatGod does not give an equal amount of glory to all the elect inHeaven--I was afraid that they would not all be quite happy. Shesent me to fetch Papa's big tumbler, and put it beside my tinythimble, then, filling both with water, she asked me which seemedthe fuller. I replied that one was as full as the other--it wasimpossible to pour more water into either of them, for they couldnot hold it. In this way Pauline made it clear to me that inHeaven the least of the Blessed does not envy the happiness of thegreatest; and so, by bringing the highest mysteries down to thelevel of my understanding, she gave my soul the food it needed. 

Joyfully each year I welcomed the prize day. Though I was the onlycompetitor, justice was none the less strictly observed, and Inever received rewards unless they were well merited. My heartused to beat with excitement when I heard the decisions, and inpresence of the whole family received prizes from Papa's hands. Itwas to me like a picture of the Judgment Day!

Seeing Papa so cheerful, no suspicion of the terrible trials whichawaited him crossed my mind; but one day God showed me, in anextraordinary vision, a vivid picture of the trouble to come. MyFather was away on a journey, and could not return as early asusual. It was about two or three o'clock in the afternoon; the sunwas shining brightly, and all the world seemed gay. I was alone atthe window, looking on to the kitchen garden, my mind full ofcheerful thoughts, when I saw before me, in front of thewash-house, a man dressed exactly like Papa, of the same heightand appearance, but more bent and aged. I say _aged, _ to describehis general appearance, for I did not see his face as his head wascovered with a thick veil. He advanced slowly, with measured step, along my little garden; at that instant a feeling of supernaturalfear seized me, and I called out loudly in a trembling voice:"Papa, Papa!" The mysterious person seemed not to hear, hecontinued his walk without even turning, and went towards a clumpof firs which grew in the middle of the garden. I expected to seehim reappear at the other side of the big trees, but the propheticvision had vanished. 

It was all over in a moment, but it was a moment which impresseditself so deeply on my memory that even now, after so many years, the remembrance of it is as vivid as the vision itself. 

My sisters were all together in an adjoining room. Hearing me call"Papa!" they were frightened themselves, but Marie, hiding herfeelings, ran to me and said: "Why are you calling Papa, when heis at Alençon?" I told her what I had seen, and to reassure methey said that Nurse must have covered her head with her apron onpurpose to frighten me. Victoire, however, when questioned, declared she had not left the kitchen--besides, the truth was toodeeply impressed on my mind: I had seen a man, and that man wasexactly like my Father. We all went to look behind the clump oftrees, and, finding nothing, my sisters told me to think no moreabout it. Ah, that was not in my power! Often and often myimagination brought before me this mysterious vision, often andoften I tried to raise the veil which hid its true meaning, anddeep down in my heart I had a conviction that some day it would befully revealed to me. And you know all, dear Mother. You know thatit was really my Father whom God showed me, bent by age, andbearing on his venerable face and his white head the symbol of histerrible trial. [4]

As the Adorable Face of Jesus was veiled during His Passion, so itwas fitting that the face of His humble servant should be veiledduring the days of his humiliation, in order that it might shinewith greater brilliancy in Heaven. How I admire God's ways! Heshowed us this precious cross beforehand, as a father shows hischildren the glorious future he is preparing for them--a futurewhich will bring them an inheritance of priceless treasures. 

But a thought comes into my mind: "Why did God give this light toa child who, if she had understood it, would have died of grief?""Why?" Here is one of those incomprehensible mysteries which weshall only understand in Heaven, where they will be the subject ofour eternal admiration. My God, how good Thou art! How well dostThou suit the trial to our strength!

At that time I had not courage even to think that Papa could die, without being terrified. One day he was standing on a highstep-ladder, and as I was close by he called out: "Move away, little Queen; if I fall I shall crush you. " Instantly I felt aninward shock, and, going still nearer to the ladder, I thought:"At least if Papa falls I shall not have the pain of seeing himdie, for I shall die with him. " I could never say how much I lovedhim. I admired everything he did. When he explained his ideas onserious matters, as if I were a big girl, I answered him naïvely:"It is quite certain, Papa, that if you spoke like that to thegreat men who govern the country they would take you and make youKing. Then France would be happier than it was ever been; but youwould be unhappy, because that is the lot of kings; besides youwould no longer be my King alone, so I am glad that they do notknow you. "

When I was six or seven years old I saw the sea for the firsttime. The sight made a deep impression on me, I could not take myeyes off it. Its majesty, and the roar of the waves, all spoke tomy soul of the greatness and power of God. I remember, when wewere on the beach, a man and woman looked at me for a long time, then, asking Papa if I was his child, they remarked that I was avery pretty little girl. Papa at once made a sign to them not toflatter me; I was delighted to hear what they said, for I did notthink I was pretty. My sisters were most careful never to talkbefore me in such a way as to spoil my simplicity and childishinnocence; and, because I believed so implicitly in them, Iattached little importance to the admiration of these people andthought no more about it. 

That evening at the hour when the sun seems to sink into the vastocean, leaving behind it a trail of glory, I sat with Pauline on abare rock, and gazed for long on this golden furrow which she toldme was an image of grace illumining the way of faithful souls herebelow. Then I pictured my soul as a tiny barque, with a gracefulwhite sail, in the midst of the furrow, and I resolved never tolet it withdraw from the sight of Jesus, so that it might sailpeacefully and quickly towards the Heavenly Shore. ______________________________

[1] This holy nun had been professed at the Carmel of Poitiers, and was sent from there to make the foundation at Lisieux in 1838. Her memory is held in benediction in both these convents; in thesight of God she constantly practised the most heroic virtue, andon December 5, 1891, crowned a life of good works by a holy death. She was then eighty-six years of age. 

[2] This house, an object of deep interest to the clients of SoeurThérèse, is much frequented by pilgrims to Lisieux. [Ed. ]

[3] This first confession was made in the beautiful church of St. Pierre, formerly the cathedral of Lisieux. [Ed. ]

[4] It seems advisable, on account of the vague allusions whichoccur here and elsewhere, to state what happened to M. LouisMartin. At the age of sixty-six, having already had severalpartial attacks, he was struck with general paralysis, and hismind gave way altogether. 

______________________________

CHAPTER IIIPAULINE ENTERS THE CARMEL

I was eight and a half when Léonie left school, and I took herplace at the Benedictine Abbey in Lisieux. The girls of my classwere all older than myself; one of them was fourteen, and, thoughnot clever, she knew how to impose on the little ones. Seeing meso young, nearly always first in class, and a favourite with allthe nuns, she was jealous, and used to pay me out in a thousandways. Naturally timid and sensitive, I did not know how to defendmyself, and could only cry in silence. Céline and my elder sistersdid not know of my grief, and, not being advanced enough in virtueto rise above these troubles, I suffered considerably. 

Every evening I went home, and then my spirits rose. I would climbon to Papa's knee, telling him what marks I had, and his caressesmade me forget all my troubles. With what delight I announced theresult of my first essay, for I won the maximum number of marks. In reward I received a silver coin which I put in my money box forthe poor, and nearly every Thursday I was able to increase thefund. 

Indeed, to be spoilt was a real necessity for me. The LittleFlower had need to strike its tender roots deeper and deeper intothe dearly loved garden of home, for nowhere else could it findthe nourishment it required. Thursday was a holiday, but it wasnot like the holidays I had under Pauline, which I generally spentupstairs with Papa. Not knowing how to play like other children, Ifelt myself a dull companion. I tried my best to do as the othersdid, but without success. 

After Céline, who was, so to say, indispensable to me, I soughtthe company of my little cousin Marie, because she left me free tochoose the games I liked best. We were already closely united inheart and will, as if God were showing us in advance how one dayin the Carmel we should embrace the same religious life. [1]

Very often, at my uncle's house, we used to play at being twoaustere hermits, with only a poor hut, a little patch of corn, anda garden in which to grow a few vegetables. Our life was to bespent in continual contemplation, one praying while the otherengaged in active duties. All was done with religious gravity anddecorum. If we went out, the make-believe continued even in thestreet; the two hermits would say the Rosary, using their fingersto count on, so as not to display their devotion before those whomight scoff. One day, however, the hermit Thérèse forgotherself--before eating a cake, given her for lunch, she made alarge Sign of the Cross, and some worldly folk did not repress asmile. 

We were so bent on always doing the same thing that sometimes wecarried it too far. Endeavouring one evening, on our way home fromschool, to imitate the modest demeanour of the hermits, I said toMarie: "Lead me, I am going to shut my eyes. " "So am I, " sheanswered. Being on the pavement we were in no fear of vehicles, and for a short while all went well, and we enjoyed walking withour eyes shut; but presently we both fell over some boxes standingat a shop door and knocked them down. The shopkeeper came out in arage to replace them, but the would-be blind pair pickedthemselves up and ran off as fast as they could, with eyes wideopen. Then the hermits had to listen to a well-deserved scoldingfrom Jeanne, the maid, who seemed as vexed as the shopkeeper. 

I have not yet told you how Céline and I altered when we came toLisieux. She had now become the little romp, full of mischief, while Thérèse had turned into a very quiet little girl, far toomuch inclined to tears. I needed a champion, and who can say howcourageously my dear little sister played that part. We used toenjoy making each other little presents, for, at that age, thesimplicity of our hearts was unspoiled. Like the spring flowersthey unfolded, glad to receive the morning dew, while the samesoft breezes swayed their petals. Yes, our joys were mutual. Ifelt this especially on the happy day of Céline's First Communion;I was only seven years old, and had not yet begun school at theAbbey. How sweet is the remembrance of her preparation! Everyevening during its last weeks my sisters talked to her of thegreat event. I listened, eager to prepare myself too, and my heartswelled with grief when I was told to go away because I was stilltoo young. I thought that four years was not too long to spend inmaking ready to receive Our dear Lord. One evening I heard someonesay to my happy little sister: "From the time of your FirstCommunion you must begin an entirely new life. " At once I made aresolution not to wait till the time of my First Communion, but tobegin with Céline. During her retreat she remained as a boarder atthe Abbey, and it seemed to me she was away a long time; but atlast the happy day came. What a delightful impression it has lefton my mind--it was like a foretaste of my own First Communion! Howmany graces I received that day! I look on it as one of the mostbeautiful of my life. 

I have gone back a little in order to recall these happy memories;but now I must tell you of the mournful parting which crushed myheart when Our Lord took from me my little Mother whom I loved sodearly. I told her once that I would like to go away with her to afar-off desert; she replied that it was her wish too, but that shewas waiting till I was big enough to set out. This impossiblepromise I took in earnest, and what was my grief when I heardPauline talking to Marie about soon entering the Carmel! I did notknow the Carmel; but I knew that she was leaving me to enter aconvent, and that she would not wait for me. 

How can I describe the anguish I suffered! In a flash I saw lifespread out before me as it really is, full of sufferings andfrequent partings, and I shed bitter tears. At that time I did notknow the joy of sacrifice; I was weak--so weak that I look on itas a great grace that I was able to bear such a trial, oneseemingly so much beyond my strength--and yet live. I shall neverforget how tenderly my little Mother consoled me, while explainingthe religious life. Then one evening, when I was thinking over thepicture she had drawn, I felt that the Carmel was the desert whereGod wished me also to hide. I felt this so strongly that I had notthe least doubt about it; nor was it a childish dream, but thecertainty of a Divine Call. This impression, which I cannotproperly describe, left me with a feeling of great inward peace. 

Next day I confided my desires to Pauline. They seemed to her as aproof of God's Will, and she promised to take me soon to theCarmel, to see the Mother Prioress and to tell her my secret. Thissolemn visit was fixed for a certain Sunday, and great was myembarrassment on hearing that my cousin Marie--who was still youngenough to be allowed to see the Carmelites--was to come with us. [2]

I had to contrive a means of being alone with the Reverend Mother, and this is what I planned. I told Marie, that, as we were to havethe great privilege of seeing her, we must be very good andpolite, and tell her our little secrets, and in order to do that, we must go out of the room in turns. Though she did not quite likeit, because she had no secrets to confide, Marie took me at myword, and so I was able to be alone with you, dear Mother. Youlistened to my great disclosure, and believed in my vocation, butyou told me that postulants were not received at the age of nine, and that I must wait till I was sixteen. In spite of my ardentdesire to enter with Pauline and make my First Communion on herclothing day, I had to be resigned. 

At last the 2nd of October came--a day of tears, but also ofblessings, when Our Lord gathered the first of His flowers, thechosen flower who, later on, was to become the Mother of hersisters. [3] Whilst Papa, with my uncle and Marie, climbed themountain of Carmel to offer his first sacrifice, my aunt took meto Mass, with my sisters and cousins. We were bathed in tears, andpeople gazed at us in astonishment when we entered the church, butthat did not stop our crying. I even wondered how the sun could goon shining. Perhaps, dear Mother, you think I exaggerate my griefa little. I confess that this parting ought not to have upset meso much, but my soul was yet far from mature, and I had to passthrough many trials before reaching the haven of peace, beforetasting the delicious fruits of perfect love and of completeabandonment to God's Will. 

In the afternoon of that October day, 1882, behind the grating ofthe Carmel, I saw my beloved Pauline, now become Sister Agnes ofJesus. Oh, how much I suffered in that parlour! As I am writingthe story of my soul, it seems to me that I ought to tell youeverything. Well, I acknowledge that I hardly counted the firstpains of this parting, in comparison with those which followed. I, who had been accustomed to talk with my little Mother of all thatwas in my heart, could now scarcely snatch two or three minuteswith her at the end of the family visits; even these short minuteswere passed in tears, and I went away with my heart torn withgrief. 

I did not realise that it was impossible to give us each half anhour, and that of course Papa and Marie must have the largestshare. I could not understand all this, and I said from the depthsof my heart: "Pauline is lost to me. "

This suffering so affected me that I soon became seriously ill. The illness was undoubtedly the work of the devil, who, in hisfury at this first entry into the Carmel, tried to avenge himselfon me for the great harm my family was to do him in the future. However, he little knew that the Queen of Heaven was watchingfaithfully over her Little Flower, that she was smiling upon itfrom on high, ready to still the tempest just when the delicateand fragile stalk was in danger of being broken once and for all. At the close of the year 1882 I began to suffer from constantheadaches; they were bearable, however, and did not prevent mefrom continuing my studies. This lasted till the Easter of 1883. Just then Papa went to Paris with my elder sisters, and confidedCéline and me to the care of our uncle and aunt. One evening I wasalone with my uncle, and he talked so tenderly of my Mother and ofbygone days that I was deeply moved and began to cry. Mysensitiveness touched him too; he was surprised that one of my ageshould feel as I did. So he determined to do all he could todivert my mind during the holidays. 

But God had decided otherwise. That very evening my headachebecame acute, and I was seized with a strange shivering whichlasted all night. My aunt, like a real mother, never left me for amoment; all through my illness she lavished on me the most tenderand devoted care. You may imagine my poor Father's grief when hereturned from Paris to find me in this hopeless state; he thoughtI was going to die, but Our Lord might have said to him: "Thissickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God. "[4]

Yes, God was glorified by means of this trial, by the wonderfulresignation of my Father and sisters. And to Marie especially whatsuffering it brought, and how grateful I am to this dear sister!She seemed to divine my wants by instinct, for a mother's heart ismore knowing than the science of the most skilful doctors. 

And now Pauline's clothing day was drawing near; but, fearing todistress me, no one dared mention it in my presence, since it wastaken for granted that I should not be well enough to be there. Deep down in my heart, however, I firmly believed that God wouldgive me the consolation of seeing dear Pauline on that day. I wasquite sure that this feast would be unclouded; I knew that OurLord would not try His Spouse by depriving her of my presence, shehad already suffered so much on account of my illness. And so itturned out. I was there, able to embrace my dear little Mother, tosit on her knee, and, hiding myself under her veil, to receive herloving caresses. I was able to feast my eyes upon her--she lookedso lovely in her veil and mantle of white. Truly it was a day ofhappiness in the midst of heavy trials; but this day, or ratherthis hour, passed only too quickly, and soon we were in thecarriage which was to take us away from the Carmel. On reachinghome I was made to lie down, though I did not feel at all tired;but next day I had a serious relapse, and became so ill that, humanly speaking, there was no hope of any recovery. 

I do not know how to describe this extraordinary illness. I saidthings which I had never thought of; I acted as though I wereforced to act in spite of myself; I seemed nearly always to bedelirious; and yet I feel certain that I was never, for a minute, deprived of my reason. Sometimes I remained in a state of extremeexhaustion for hours together, unable to make the least movement, and yet, in spite of this extraordinary torpor, hearing the leastwhisper. I remember it still. And what fears the devil inspired! Iwas afraid of everything; my bed seemed to be surrounded byfrightful precipices; nails in the wall took the terrifyingappearance of long fingers, shrivelled and blackened with fire, making me cry out in terror. One day, while Papa stood looking atme in silence, the hat in his hand was suddenly transformed intosome horrible shape, and I was so frightened that he went awaysobbing. 

But if God allowed the devil to approach me in this open way, Angels too were sent to console and strengthen me. Marie neverleft me, and never showed the least trace of weariness in spite ofall the trouble I gave her--for I could not rest when she wasaway. During meals, when Victoire took care of me, I never ceasedcalling tearfully "Marie! Marie!" When she wanted to go out, itwas only if she were going to Mass or to see Pauline that I keptquiet. As for Léonie and my little Céline, they could not doenough for me. On Sundays they shut themselves up for hours with apoor child who seemed almost to have lost her reason. My own dearsisters, how much I made you suffer! My uncle and aunt were alsodevoted to me. My aunt came to see me every day, and brought memany little gifts. I could never tell you how my love for thesedear ones increased during this illness. I understood better thanever what Papa had so often told us: "Always remember, children, that your uncle and aunt have devoted themselves to you in a waythat is quite exceptional. " In his old age he experienced thishimself, and now he must bless and protect those who lavished uponhim such affectionate care. [5]

When my sufferings grew less, my great delight was to weavegarlands of daisies and forget-me-nots for Our Lady's statue. Wewere in the beautiful month of May, when all nature is clothedwith the flowers of spring; the Little Flower alone drooped, andseemed as though it had withered for ever. Yet she too had ashining sun, the miraculous statue of the Queen of Heaven. Howoften did not the Little Flower turn towards this glorious Sun!

One day Papa came into my room in the deepest distress, and Iwatched him go up to Marie and give her some money, bidding herwrite to Paris, and have a novena of Masses said at the shrine ofOur Lady of Victories, [6] to obtain the cure of his poor littleQueen. How touching were his faith and love! How much I longed toget up and tell him I was cured! Alas! my wishes could not work amiracle, and it needed one to restore me to health. Yes, it neededa great miracle, and this was wrought by Our Lady of Victoriesherself. 

One Sunday, during the novena, Marie went into the garden, leavingme with Léonie, who was reading by the window. After a short timeI began to call: "Marie! Marie!" very softly. Léonie, accustomedto hear me fret like this, took no notice, so I called louder, until Marie came back to me. I saw her come into the room quitewell, but, for the first time, I failed to recognise her. I lookedall round and glanced anxiously into the garden, still calling:"Marie! Marie!" Her anguish was perhaps greater than mine, andthat was unutterable. At last, after many fruitless efforts tomake me recognise her, she whispered a few words to Léonie, andwent away pale and trembling. Léonie presently carried me to thewindow. There I saw the garden, and Marie walking up and down, butstill I did not recognise her; she came forward, smiling, and heldout her arms to me calling tenderly: "Thérèse, dear littleThérèse!" This last effort failing, she came in again and knelt intears at the foot of my bed; turning towards the statue of OurLady, she entreated her with the fervour of a mother who begs thelife of her child and will not be refused. Léonie and Célinejoined her, and that cry of faith forced the gates of Heaven. Itoo, finding no help on earth and nearly dead with pain, turned tomy Heavenly Mother, begging her from the bottom of my heart tohave pity on me. Suddenly the statue seemed to come to life andgrow beautiful, with a divine beauty that I shall never find wordsto describe. The expression of Our Lady's face was ineffablysweet, tender, and compassionate; but what touched me to the verydepths of my soul was her gracious smile. Then, all my painvanished, two big tears started to my eyes and fell silently. . . . 

They were indeed tears of unmixed heavenly joy. "Our Blessed Ladyhas come to me, she has smiled at me. How happy I am, but I shalltell no one, or my happiness will leave me!" Such were mythoughts. Looking around, I recognised Marie; she seemed very muchovercome, and looked lovingly at me, as though she guessed that Ihad just received a great grace. 

Indeed her prayers had gained me this unspeakable favour--a smilefrom the Blessed Virgin! When she saw me with my eyes fixed on thestatue, she said to herself: "Thérèse is cured!" And it was true. The Little Flower had come to life again--a bright ray from itsglorious Sun had warmed and set it free for ever from its cruelenemy. "The dark winter is past, the rain is over and gone, "[7]and Our Lady's Little Flower gathered such strength that fiveyears later it opened wide its petals on the fertile mountain ofCarmel. 

As I said before, Marie was convinced that Our Blessed Lady, whilerestoring my bodily health, had granted me some hidden grace. So, when I was alone with her, I could not resist her tender andpressing inquiries. I was so astonished to find my secret alreadyknown, without my having said a word, that I told her everything. Alas! as I had foreseen, my joy was turned into bitterness. Forfour years the remembrance of this grace was a cause of real painto me, and it was only in the blessed sanctuary of Our Lady ofVictories, at my Mother's feet, that I once again found peace. There it was restored to me in all its fulness, as I will tell youlater. 

This is how my joy was changed into sadness. When Marie had heardthe childish, but perfectly sincere, account of the grace I hadreceived, she begged my leave to tell them at the Carmel, and Idid not like to refuse her. My first visit there after my illnesswas full of joy at seeing Pauline clothed in the habit of Our Ladyof Carmel. It was a happy time for us both, we had so much to say, we had both suffered so much. My heart was so full that I couldhardly speak. 

You were there, dear Mother, and plainly showed your affection forme; I saw several other Sisters too, and you must remember howthey questioned me about my cure. Some asked if Our Lady washolding the Infant Jesus in her arms, others if the Angels werewith her, and so on. All these questions distressed and grievedme, and I could only make one answer: "Our Lady looked verybeautiful; I saw her come towards me and smile. " But noticing thatthe nuns thought something quite different had happened from whatI had told them, I began to persuade myself that I had been guiltyof an untruth. 

If only I had kept my secret I should have kept my happiness also. But Our Lady allowed this trouble to befall me for the good of mysoul; perhaps without it vanity would have crept into my heart, whereas now I was humbled, and I looked on myself with feelings ofcontempt. My God, Thou alone knowest all that I suffered!______________________________

[1] Marie Guérin entered the Carmel at Lisieux on August 15, 1895, and took the name of Sister Mary of the Eucharist. She died onApril 14, 1905, aged thirty-four. 

[2] With the Carmelites the grating is only opened for nearrelatives and very young children. [Ed. ]

[3] "Pauline" has several times been Prioress of the Carmel ofLisieux, and in 1909 again succeeded to that office on the deathof the young and saintly Mother Mary of St. Angelus of the ChildJesus. [Ed. ]

[4] John 11:4. 

[5] Mme. Guérin died holily on February 13, 1900, aged fifty-two. During her illness Thérèse assisted her in an extraordinary way, several times making her presence felt. Monsieur Guérin, havingfor many years used his pen in defence of the Church, and hisfortune in the support of good works, died a beautiful death onSeptember 28, 1909, in his sixty-ninth year. [Ed. ]

[6] It was in this small church--once deserted and to-day perhapsthe most frequented in Paris--that the saintly Abbé Desgenetteswas inspired by Our Lady, in 1836, to establish the Confraternityof the Immaculate Heart of Mary for the conversion of sinners. [Ed. ]

[7] Cant. 2:11. 

______________________________

CHAPTER IVFIRST COMMUNION AND CONFIRMATION

While describing this visit to the Carmel, my thoughts are carriedback to the first one which I paid after Pauline entered. On themorning of that happy day, I wondered what name would be given tome later on. I knew that there was already a Sister Teresa ofJesus; nevertheless, my beautiful name of Thérèse could not betaken from me. Suddenly I thought of the Child Jesus whom I lovedso dearly, and I felt how much I should like to be called Teresaof the Child Jesus. I was careful not to tell you of my wish, dearMother, yet you said to me, in the middle of our conversation:"When you come to us, little one, you will be called 'Teresa ofthe Child Jesus. '" My joy was great indeed. This happy coincidenceof thought seemed a special favour from the Holy Child. 

So far I have not said anything about my love for pictures andbooks, and yet I owe some of the happiest and strongestimpressions which have encouraged me in the practice of virtue tothe beautiful pictures Pauline used to show me. Everything wasforgotten while looking at them. For instance, "The Little Flowerof the Divine Prisoner" suggested so many thoughts that I wouldremain gazing at it in a kind of ecstasy. I offered myself to OurLord to be His Little Flower; I longed to console Him, to draw asnear as possible to the Tabernacle, to be looked on, cared for, and gathered by Him. 

As I was of no use at games, I should have preferred to spend allmy time in reading. Happily for me, I had visible guardian angelsto guide me in this matter; they chose books suitable to my age, which interested me and at the same time provided food for mythoughts and affections. I was only allowed a limited time forthis favourite recreation, and it became an occasion of muchself-sacrifice, for as soon as the time had elapsed I made it myduty to stop instantly, even in the middle of a most interestingpassage. 

As to the impressions produced on me by these books, I mustfrankly own that, in reading certain tales of chivalry, I did notalways understand the realities of life. And so, in my admirationof the patriotic deeds of the heroines of France, especially ofthe Venerable Joan of Arc, I longed to do what they had done. About this time I received what I have looked on as one of thegreatest graces of my life, for, at that age, I was not favouredwith lights from Heaven, as I am now. 

Our Lord made me understand that the only true glory is that whichlasts for ever; and that to attain it there is no necessity to dobrilliant deeds, but rather to hide from the eyes of others, andeven from oneself, so that "the left hand knows not what the righthand does. "[1] Then, as I reflected that I was born for greatthings, and sought the means to attain them, it was made known tome interiorly that my personal glory would never reveal itselfbefore the eyes of men, but that it would consist in becoming aSaint. 

This aspiration may very well appear rash, seeing how imperfect Iwas, and am, even now, after so many years of religious life; yetI still feel the same daring confidence that one day I shallbecome a great Saint. I am not trusting in my own merits, for Ihave none; but I trust in Him Who is Virtue and Holiness itself. It is He alone Who, pleased with my feeble efforts, will raise meto Himself, and, by clothing me with His merits, make me a Saint. At that time I did not realise that to become one it is necessaryto suffer a great deal; but God soon disclosed this secret to meby means of the trials I have related. 

I must now continue my story where I left off. Three months aftermy cure Papa took me away for a change. It was a very pleasanttime, and I began to see something of the world. All around me wasjoy and gladness; I was petted, made much of, admired--in fact, for a whole fortnight my path was strewn with flowers. The WiseMan is right when he says: "The bewitching of vanity overturneththe innocent mind. "[2] At ten years of age the heart is easilyfascinated, and I confess that in my case this kind of life hadits charms. Alas! the world knows well how to combine itspleasures with the service of God. How little it thinks of death!And yet death has come to many people I knew then, young, rich, and happy. I recall to mind the delightful places where theylived, and ask myself where they are now, and what profit theyderive to-day from the beautiful houses and grounds where I sawthem enjoying all the good things of this life, and I reflect that"All is vanity besides loving God and serving Him alone. "[3]

Perhaps Our Lord wished me to know something of the world beforeHe paid His first visit to my soul, so that I might choose moredeliberately the way in which I was to follow Him. 

I shall always remember my First Communion Day as one of uncloudedhappiness. It seems to me that I could not have been betterprepared. Do you remember, dear Mother, the charming little bookyou gave me three months before the great day? I found in it ahelpful method which prepared me gradually and thoroughly. It istrue I had been thinking about my First Communion for a long time, but, as your precious manuscript told me, I must stir up in myheart fresh transports of love and fill it anew with flowers. So, each day I made a number of little sacrifices and acts of love, which were to be changed into so many flowers: now violets, another time roses, then cornflowers, daisies, orforget-me-nots--in a word, all nature's blossoms were to form inme a cradle for the Holy Child. 

I had Marie, too, who took Pauline's place. Every evening I spenta long time with her, listening eagerly to all she said. Howdelightfully she talked to me! I felt myself set on fire by hernoble, generous spirit. As the warriors of old trained theirchildren in the profession of arms, so she trained me for thebattle of life, and roused my ardour by pointing to the victor'sglorious palm. She spoke, too, of the imperishable riches whichare so easy to amass each day, and of the folly of trampling themunder foot when one has but to stoop and gather them. When shetalked so eloquently, I was sorry that I was the only one tolisten to her teaching, for, in my simplicity, it seemed to methat the greatest sinners would be converted if they but heardher, and that, forsaking the perishable riches of this world, theywould seek none but the riches of Heaven. 

I should have liked at this time to practise mental prayer, butMarie, finding me sufficiently devout, only let me say my vocalprayers. A mistress at the Abbey asked me once what I did onholidays, when I stayed at home. I answered timidly: "I often hidemyself in a corner of my room where I can shut myself in with thebed curtains, and then I think. " "But what do you think about?"said the good nun, laughing. "I think about the Good God, aboutthe shortness of life, and about eternity: in a word, I _think. "_My mistress did not forget this, and later on she used to remindme of the time when I thought, asking me if I still _thought. _. . . Now, I know that I was really praying, while my DivineMastergently instructed me. 

The three months' preparation for First Communion passed quicklyby; it was soon time for me to begin my retreat, and, during it, Istayed at the Abbey. Oh, what a blessed retreat it was! I do notthink that one can experience such joy except in a religioushouse; there, with only a few children, it is easy for each one toreceive special attention. I write this in a spirit of filialgratitude; our mistresses at the Abbey showed us a true motherlyaffection. I do not know why, but I saw plainly that they watchedover me more carefully than they did over the others. 

Every night the first mistress, carrying her little lamp, openedmy bed curtains softly, and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. She showed me such affection that, touched by her kindness, I saidone night: "Mother, I love you so much that I am going to tell youa great secret. " Then I took from under my pillow the preciouslittle book you had given me, and showed it to her, my eyessparkling with pleasure. She opened it with care, and, lookingthrough it attentively, told me how privileged I was. In fact, several times during the retreat, the truth came home to me thatvery few motherless children of my age are as lovingly cared foras I was then. 

I listened most attentively to the instructions given us by FatherDomin, and wrote careful notes on them, but I did not put down anyof my own thoughts, as I knew I should remember them quite well. And so it proved. 

How happy I was to attend Divine Office as the nuns did! I waseasily distinguished from my companions by a large crucifix, whichLéonie had given me, and which, like the missionaries, I carriedin my belt. They thought I was trying to imitate my Carmelitesister, and indeed my thoughts did often turn lovingly to her. Iknew she was in retreat too, not that Jesus might give Himself toher, but that she might give herself entirely to Jesus, and thison the same day as I made my First Communion. The time of quietwaiting was therefore doubly dear to me. 

At last there dawned the most beautiful day of all the days of mylife. How perfectly I remember even the smallest details of thosesacred hours! the joyful awakening, the reverent and tenderembraces of my mistresses and older companions, the room filledwith snow-white frocks, where each child was dressed in turn, and, above all, our entrance into the chapel and the melody of themorning hymn: "O Altar of God, where the Angels are hovering. "

But I would not and I could not tell you all. Some things losetheir fragrance when exposed to the air, and so, too, one's inmostthoughts cannot be translated into earthly words without instantlylosing their deep and heavenly meaning. How sweet was the firstembrace of Jesus! It was indeed an embrace of love. I felt that Iwas loved, and I said: "I love Thee, and I give myself to Thee forever. " Jesus asked nothing of me, and claimed no sacrifice; for along time He and little Thérèse had known and understood oneanother. That day our meeting was more than simple recognition, itwas perfect union. We were no longer two. Thérèse had disappearedlike a drop of water lost in the immensity of the ocean; Jesusalone remained--He was the Master, the King! Had not Thérèse askedHim to take away her liberty which frightened her? She feltherself so weak and frail, that she wished to be for ever unitedto the Divine Strength. 

And then my joy became so intense, so deep, that it could not berestrained; tears of happiness welled up and overflowed. Mycompanions were astonished, and asked each other afterwards: "Whydid she cry? Had she anything on her conscience? No, it is becauseneither her Mother nor her dearly loved Carmelite sister is here. "And no one understood that all the joy of Heaven had come downinto one heart, and that this heart, exiled, weak, and mortal asit was, could not contain it without tears. 

How could my Mother's absence grieve me on my First Communion Day?As Heaven itself dwelt in my soul, in receiving a visit from OurDivine Lord I received one from my dear Mother too. Nor was Icrying on account of Pauline's absence, for we were even moreclosely united than before. No, I repeat it--joy alone, a joy toodeep for words, overflowed within me. 

During the afternoon I read the act of consecration to Our Lady, for myself and my companions. I was chosen probably because I hadbeen deprived of my earthly Mother while still so young. With allmy heart I consecrated myself to the Blessed Virgin Mary, andasked her to watch over me. She seemed to look lovingly on herLittle Flower and to smile at her again, and I thought of thevisible smile which had once cured me, and of all I owed her. Hadshe not herself, on the morning of that 8th of May, placed in thegarden of my soul her Son Jesus--"the Flower of the field and theLily of the valleys"?[4]

On the evening of this happy day Papa and I went to the Carmel, and I saw Pauline, now become the Spouse of Christ. She wore awhite veil like mine and a crown of roses. My joy was unclouded, for I hoped soon to join her, and at her side to wait for Heaven. 

I was pleased with the feast prepared for me at home, and wasdelighted with the beautiful watch given to me by Papa. Myhappiness was perfect, and nothing troubled the inward peace of mysoul. Night came, and so ended that beautiful day. Even thebrightest days are followed by darkness; one alone will know nosetting, the day of the First and Eternal Communion in our trueHome. Somehow the next day seemed sorrowful. The pretty clothesand the presents I had received could not satisfy me. HenceforthOur Lord alone could fill my heart, and all I longed for was theblissful moment when I should receive Him again. 

I made my second Communion on Ascension Day, and had the happinessof kneeling at the rails between Papa and Marie. My tears flowedwith inexpressible sweetness; I kept repeating those words of St. Paul: "I live now, not I; but Christ liveth in me. "[5] After thissecond visit of Our Lord I longed for nothing else but to receiveHim. Alas! the feasts seemed so far apart. . . . 

On the eve of these happy days Marie helped me to prepare, as shehad done for my First Communion. I remember once she spoke ofsuffering, and said that in all probability, instead of making mewalk by this road, God, in His goodness, would carry me alwayslike a little child. Her words came into my mind next day after myCommunion; my heart became inflamed with an ardent desire forsuffering, and I felt convinced that many crosses were in storefor me. Then my soul was flooded with such consolation as I havenever since experienced. Suffering became attractive, and I foundin it charms which held me spellbound, though as yet I did notappreciate them to the full. 

I had one other great wish; it was to love God only, and to findmy joy in Him alone. During my thanksgiving after Holy Communion Ioften repeated this passage from the _Imitation of Christ:_ "O myGod, who art unspeakable sweetness, turn for me into bitternessall the consolations of earth. "[6] These words rose to my lipsquite naturally; I said them like a child, who, without wellunderstanding, repeats what a friend may suggest. Later on I willtell you, dear Mother, how Our Lord has been pleased to fulfill mydesire, how He, and He alone, has always been my joy; but if Iwere to speak of it now I should have to pass on to my girlhood, and there is still much to tell you of my early days. 

Soon after my First Communion I went into retreat again, beforebeing confirmed. I prepared myself with the greatest care for thecoming of the Holy Ghost; I could not understand anyone not doingso before receiving this Sacrament of Love. As the ceremony couldnot take place on the day fixed, I had the consolation ofremaining somewhat longer in retreat. How happy I felt! Like theApostles, I looked with joy for the promised Comforter, gladdenedby the thought that I should soon be a perfect Christan, and havethe holy Cross, the symbol of this wondrous Sacrament, traced uponmy forehead for eternity. I did not feel the mighty wind of thefirst Pentecost, but rather the gentle breeze which the prophetElias heard on Mount Horeb. On that day I received the gift offortitude in suffering--a gift I needed sorely, for the martyrdomof my soul was soon to begin. 

When these delightful feasts, which can never be forgotten, wereover, I had to resume my life as a day scholar, at the Abbey. Imade good progress with my lessons, and remembered easily thesense of what I read, but I had the greatest difficulty inlearning by heart; only at catechism were my efforts crowned withsuccess. The Chaplain called me his little "Doctor ofTheology, "[7] no doubt because of my name, Thérèse. 

During recreation I often gave myself up to serious thoughts, while from a distance I watched my companions at play. This was myfavourite occupation, but I had another which gave me realpleasure. I would search carefully for any poor little birds thathad fallen dead under the big trees, and I then buried them withgreat ceremony, all in the same cemetery, in a special grass plot. Sometimes I told stories to my companions, and often even the biggirls came to listen; but soon our mistress, very rightly, broughtmy career as an orator to an end, saying she wanted us to exerciseour bodies and not our brains. At this time I chose as friends twolittle girls of my own age; but how shallow are the hearts ofcreatures! One of them had to stay at home for some months; whileshe was away I thought about her very often, and on her return Ishowed how pleased I was. However, all I got was a glance ofindifference--my friendship was not appreciated. I felt this verykeenly, and I no longer sought an affection which had proved soinconstant. Nevertheless I still love my little school friend, andcontinue to pray for her, for God has given me a faithful heart, and when once I love, I love for ever. 

Observing that some of the girls were very devoted to one or otherof the mistresses, I tried to imitate them, but I never succeededin winning special favour. O happy failure, from how many evilshave you saved me! I am most thankful to Our Lord that He let mefind only bitterness in earthly friendships. With a heart likemine, I should have been taken captive and had my wings clipped, and how then should I have been able to "fly away and be atrest"?[8]

How can a heart given up to human affections be closely united toGod? It seems to me that it is impossible. I have seen so manysouls, allured by this false light, fly right into it like poormoths, and burn their wings, and then return, wounded, to OurLord, the Divine fire which burns and does not consume. I knowwell Our Lord saw that I was too weak to be exposed to temptation, for, without doubt, had the deceitful light of created lovedazzled my eyes, I should have been entirely consumed. Wherestrong souls find joy and practise detachment faithfully, I onlyfound bitterness. No merit, then, is due to me for not havinggiven up to these frail ties, since I was only preserved from themby the Mercy of God. I fully realised that without Him I shouldhave fallen as low as St. Mary Magdalen, and the Divine Master'swords re-echoed sweetly in my soul. Yes, I know that "To whom lessis forgiven he loveth less, "[9] but I know too that Our Lord hasforgiven me more than St. Mary Magdalen. Here is an example whichwill, at any rate, show you some of my thoughts. 

Let us suppose that the son of a very clever doctor, stumblingover a stone on the road, falls and breaks his leg. His fatherhastens to him, lifts him lovingly, and binds up the fracturedlimb, putting forth all his skill. The son, when cured, displaysthe utmost gratitude, and he has excellent reason for doing so. But let us take another supposition. 

The father, aware that a dangerous stone lies in his son's path, is beforehand with the danger and removes it, unseen by anyone. The son, thus tenderly cared for, not knowing of the mishap fromwhich his father's hand has saved him, naturally will not show himany gratitude, and will love him less than if he had cured him ofa grievous wound. But suppose he heard the whole truth, would henot in that case love him still more? Well now, I am this child, the object of the foreseeing love of a Father "Who did not sendHis son to call the just, but sinners. "[10] He wishes me to loveHim, because He has forgiven me, not much, but everything. Withoutwaiting for me to love Him much, as St. Mary Magdalen did, He hasmade me understand how He has loved me with an ineffable love andforethought, so that now my love may know no bounds. 

I had often heard it said, both in retreats and elsewhere, that Heis more deeply loved by repentant souls than by those who have notlost their baptismal innocence. Ah! If I could but give the lie tothose words. . . . 

But I have wandered so far from my subject that I hardly knowwhere to begin again. It was during the retreat before my secondCommunion that I was attacked by the terrible disease of scruples. One must have passed through this martyrdom to understand it. Itwould be quite impossible for me to tell you what I suffered fornearly two years. All my thoughts and actions, even the simplest, were a source of trouble and anguish to me; I had no peace till Ihad told Marie everything, and this was most painful, since Iimagined I was obliged to tell absolutely all my thoughts, eventhe most extravagant. As soon as I had unburdened myself I felt amomentary peace, but it passed like a flash, and my martyrdombegan again. Many an occasion for patience did I provide for mydear sister. 

That year we spent a fortnight of our holidays at the sea-side. Myaunt, who always showed us such motherly care, treated us to allpossible pleasures--donkey rides, shrimping, and the rest. Sheeven spoiled us in the matter of clothes. I remember one day shegave me some pale blue ribbon; although I was twelve and a half, Iwas still such a child that I quite enjoyed tying it in my hair. But this childish pleasure seemed sinful to me, and I had so manyscruples that I had to go to Confession, even at Trouville. 

While I was there I had an experience which did me good. My cousinMarie often suffered from sick headaches. On these occasions myaunt used to fondle her and coax her with the most endearingnames, but the only response was continual tears and the unceasingcry: "My head aches!" I had a headache nearly every day, though Idid not say so; but one evening I thought I would imitate Marie. So I sat down in an armchair in a corner of the room, and set towork to cry. My aunt, as well as my cousin Jeanne, to whom I wasvery devoted, hastened to me to know what was the matter. Ianswered like Marie: "My head aches. " It would seem thatcomplaining was not in my line; no one would believe that aheadache was the reason of my tears. Instead of petting me asusual, my aunt spoke to me seriously. Even Jeanne reproached me, very kindly it is true, and was grieved at my want of simplicityand trust in my aunt. She thought I had a big scruple, and was notgiving the real reason of my tears. At last, getting nothing formy pains, I made up my mind not to imitate other people any more. I thought of the fable of the ass and the little dog; I was theass, who, seeing that the little dog got all the petting, put hisclumsy hoof on the table to try and secure his share. If I did nothave a beating like the poor beast, at any rate I got what Ideserved--a severe lesson, which cured me once for all of thedesire to attract attention. 

I must go back now to the subject of my scruples. They made me soill that I was obliged to leave school when I was thirteen. Inorder to continue my education, Papa took me several times a weekto a lady who was an excellent teacher. Her lessons served thedouble purpose of instructing me and making me associate withother people. 

Visitors were often shown into the old-fashioned room where I satwith my books and exercises. As far as possible my teacher'smother carried on the conversation, but still I did not learn muchwhile it lasted. Seemingly absorbed in my book, I could hear manythings it would have been better for me not to hear. One lady saidI had beautiful hair; another asked, as she left, who was thatpretty little girl. Such remarks, the more flattering because Iwas not meant to hear them, gave me a feeling of pleasure whichshowed plainly that I was full of self-love. 

I am very sorry for souls who lose themselves in this way. It isso easy to go astray in the seductive paths of the world. Withoutdoubt, for a soul somewhat advanced in virtue, the sweetnessoffered by the world is mingled with bitterness, and the immensevoid of its desires cannot be filled by the flattery of a moment;but I repeat, if my heart had not been lifted up towards God fromthe first moment of consciousness, if the world had smiled on mefrom the beginning of my life, what should I have become? DearestMother, with what a grateful heart do I sing "the Mercies of theLord!" Has He not, according to the words of Holy Wisdom, "takenme away from the world lest wickedness should alter myunderstanding, or deceit beguile my soul?"[11]

Meanwhile I resolved to consecrate myself in a special way to OurBlessed Lady, and I begged to be enrolled among the Children ofMary. [12] To gain this favour I had to go twice a week to theConvent, and I must confess this cost me something, I was so shy. There was no question of the affection I felt towards mymistresses, but, as I said before, I had no special friend amongthem, with whom I could have spent many hours like other oldpupils. So I worked in silence till the end of the lesson, andthen, as no one took any notice of me, I went to the tribune inthe Chapel till Papa came to fetch me home. Here, during thissilent visit, I found my one consolation--for was not Jesus myonly Friend? To Him alone could I open my heart; all conversationwith creatures, even on holy subjects, wearied me. It is true thatin these periods of loneliness I sometimes felt sad, and I usedoften to console myself by repeating this line of a beautiful poemPapa had taught me: "Time is thy barque, and not thydwelling-place. "

Young as I was, these words restored my courage, and even now, inspite of having outgrown many pious impressions of childhood, thesymbol of a ship always delights me and helps me to bear the exileof this life. Does not the Wise Man tell us--"Life is like a shipthat passeth through the waves: when it is gone by, the tracethereof cannot be found"?[13]

When my thoughts run on in this way, my soul loses itself as itwere in the infinite; I seem already to touch the Heavenly Shoreand to receive Our Lord's embrace. I fancy I can see Our BlessedLady coming to meet me, with my Father and Mother, my littlebrothers and sisters; and I picture myself enjoying true familyjoys for all eternity. 

But before reaching Our Father's Home in Heaven, I had to gothrough many partings on this earth. The year in which I was madea Child of Mary, Our Lady took from me my sister Marie, the onlysupport of my soul, [14] my oracle and inseparable companion sincethe departure of Pauline. As soon as I knew of her decision, Imade up my mind to take no further pleasure in anything herebelow. I could not tell you how many tears I shed. But at thistime I was much given to crying, not only over big things, butover trifling ones too. For instance: I was very anxious toadvance in virtue, but I went about it in a strange way. I was notaccustomed to wait on myself; Céline always arranged our room, andI never did any household work. Sometimes, in order to please OurLord, I used to make my bed, or, if she were out in the evening, to bring in her plants and seedlings. As I said before, it wassimply to please Our Lord that I did these things, and so I oughtnot to have expected any thanks from creatures. But, alas! I didexpect them, and, if unfortunately Céline did not seem surprisedand grateful for my little services, I was not pleased, and tearsrose to my eyes. 

Again, if by accident I offended anyone, instead of taking it inthe right way, I fretted till I made myself ill, thus making myfault worse, instead of mending it; and when I began to realise myfoolishness, I would cry for having cried. 

In fact, I made troubles out of everything. Now, things are quitedifferent. God in His goodness has given me grace not to be castdown by any passing difficulty. When I think of what I used to be, my heart overflows with gratitude. The graces I have received havechanged me so completely, that I am scarcely the same person. 

After Marie entered the Carmel, and I no longer had her to listento my scruples, I turned towards Heaven and confided them to thefour little angels who had already gone before me, for I thoughtthat these innocent souls, who had never known sorrow or fear, ought to have pity on their poor little suffering sister. I talkedto them with childish simplicity, telling them that, as I was theyoungest of the family, I had always been the most petted andloved by my parents and sisters; that if they had remained onearth they would no doubt have given me the same proofs of theiraffection. The fact that they had gone to Heaven seemed no reasonwhy they should forget me--on the contrary, as they were able todraw form the treasury of Heaven, they ought to obtain for me thegrace of peace, and prove that they still knew how to love me. 

The answer was not long in coming; soon my soul was flooded withthe sweetest peace. I knew that I was loved, not only on earth butalso in Heaven. From that time my devotion for these littlebrothers and sisters increased; I loved to talk to them and tellthem of all the sorrows of this exile, and of my wish to join themsoon in our Eternal Home. ______________________________

[1] Cf. Matt. 6:3. 

[2] Wisdom 4:12. 

[3] _Imit. , _ I, ch. I. 3. 

[4] Cant. 2:1. 

[5] Gal. 2:20. 

[6] _Imit. , _ III, ch. Xxvi. 3. 

[7] St. Teresa, who reformed the Carmelite Order, and died in1582, is sometimes called the Doctor of Mystical Theology, becauseof her luminous writings on the relations of the soul with God inprayer. [Ed. ]

[8] Ps. 54[55]:7. 

[9] Luke 7:47. 

[10] Luke 5:32. 

[11] Cf. Wisdom 4:11. 

[12] It was on May 31, 1886, that she became a Sodalist of OurLady. [Ed. ]

[13] Wisdom 5:10. 

[14] Marie entered the Carmel of Lisieux on October 15, 1886, taking the name of Sister Mary of the Sacred Heart. 

______________________________

CHAPTER V VOCATION OF THÉRÈSE

I was far from meriting all the graces which Our Lord showered onme. I had a constant and ardent desire to advance in virtue, butoften my actions were spoilt by imperfections. My extremesensitiveness made me almost unbearable. All arguments wereuseless. I simply could not correct myself of this miserablefault. How, then, could I hope soon to be admitted to the Carmel?A miracle on a small scale was needed to give me strength ofcharacter all at once, and God worked this long-desired miracle onChristmas Day, 1886. 

On that blessed night the sweet Infant Jesus, scarce an hour old, filled the darkness of my soul with floods of light. By becomingweak and little, for love of me, He made me strong and brave; Heput His own weapons into my hands, so that I went from victory tovictory, beginning, if I may say so, "to run as a giant. "[1] Thefountain of my tears was dried up, and from that time they flowedneither easily nor often. 

Now I will tell you, dear Mother, how I received this inestimablegrace of complete conversion. I knew that when we reached homeafter Midnight Mass I should find my shoes in the chimney-corner, filled with presents, just as when I was a little child, whichproves that my sisters still treated me as a baby. Papa, too, liked to watch my enjoyment and hear my cries of delight at eachfresh surprise that came from the magic shoes, and his pleasureadded to mine. But the time had come when Our Lord wished to freeme from childhood's failings, and even withdraw me from itsinnocent pleasures. On this occasion, instead of indulging me ashe generally did, Papa seemed vexed, and on my way upstairs Iheard him say: "Really all this is too babyish for a big girl likeThérèse, and I hope it is the last year it will happen. " His wordscut me to the quick. Céline, knowing how sensitive I was, whispered: "Don't go downstairs just yet--wait a little, you wouldcry too much if you looked at your presents before Papa. " ButThérèse was no longer the same--Jesus had changed her heart. 

Choking back my tears, I ran down to the dining-room, and, thoughmy heart beat fast, I picked up my shoes, and gaily pulled out allthe things, looking as happy as a queen. Papa laughed, and did notshow any trace of displeasure, and Céline thought she must bedreaming. But happily it was a reality; little Thérèse hadregained, once for all, the strength of mind which she had lost atthe age of four and a half. 

On this night of grace, the third period of my life began--themost beautiful of all, the one most filled with heavenly favours. In an instant Our Lord, satisfied with my good will, accomplishedthe work I had not been able to do during all these years. Likethe Apostle I could say: "Master, we have laboured all night, andhave taken nothing. "[2]

More merciful to me even than to His beloved disciples, Our LordHimself took the net, cast it, and drew it out full of fishes. Hemade me a fisher of men. Love and a spirit of self-forgetfulnesstook possession of me, and from that time I was perfectly happy. 

One Sunday, closing my book at the end of Mass, a picture of OurLord on the Cross half slipped out, showing only one of His DivineHands, pierced and bleeding. I felt an indescribable thrill suchas I had never felt before. My heart was torn with grief to seethat Precious Blood falling to the ground, and no one caring totreasure It as It fell, and I resolved to remain continually inspirit at the foot of the Cross, that I might receive the DivineDew of Salvation and pour it forth upon souls. From that day thecry of my dying Saviour--"I thirst!"--sounded incessantly in myheart, and kindled therein a burning zeal hitherto unknown to me. My one desire was to give my Beloved to drink; I felt myselfconsumed with thirst for souls, and I longed at any cost to snatchsinners from the everlasting flames of hell. 

In order still further to enkindle my ardour, Our Divine Mastersoon proved to me how pleasing to him was my desire. Just then Iheard much talk of a notorious criminal, Pranzini, who wassentenced to death for several shocking murders, and, as he wasquite impenitent, everyone feared he would be eternally lost. HowI longed to avert this irreparable calamity! In order to do so Iemployed all the spiritual means I could think of, and, knowingthat my own efforts were unavailing, I offered for his pardon theinfinite merits of Our Saviour and the treasures of Holy Church. 

Need I say that in the depths of my heart I felt certain myrequest would be granted? But, that I might gain courage topersevere in the quest for souls, I said in all simplicity: "MyGod, I am quite sure that Thou wilt pardon this unhappy Pranzini. I should still think so if he did not confess his sins or give anysign of sorrow, because I have such confidence in Thy unboundedMercy; but this is my first sinner, and therefore I beg for justone sign of repentance to reassure me. " My prayer was granted tothe letter. My Father never allowed us to read the papers, but Idid not think there was any disobedience in looking at the partabout Pranzini. The day after his execution I hastily opened thepaper, _La Croix, _ and what did I see? Tears betrayed my emotion;I was obliged to run out of the room. Pranzini had mounted thescaffold without confessing or receiving absolution, and theexecutioners were already dragging him towards the fatal block, when all at once, apparently in answer to a sudden inspiration, heturned round, seized the crucifix which the Priest was offering tohim, and kissed Our Lord's Sacred Wounds three times. . . . I hadobtained the sign I asked for, and to me it was especially sweet. Was it not when I saw the Precious Blood flowing from the Woundsof Jesus that the thirst for souls first took possession of me? Iwished to give them to drink of the Blood of the Immaculate Lambthat It might wash away their stains, and the lips of "my firstborn" had been pressed to these Divine Wounds. What a wonderfulanswer!

After receiving this grace my desire for the salvation of soulsincreased day by day. I seemed to hear Our Lord whispering to me, as He did to the Samaritan woman: "Give me to drink!"[3] It wasindeed an exchange of love: upon souls I poured forth the PreciousBlood of Jesus, and to Jesus I offered these souls refreshed withthe Dew of Calvary. In this way I thought to quench His Thirst;but the more I gave Him to drink, so much the more did the thirstof my own poor soul increase, and I accepted it as the mostdelightful recompense. 

In a short time God, in His goodness, had lifted me out of thenarrow sphere in which I lived. The great step was taken; but, alas! I had still a long road to travel. Now that I was free fromscruples and morbid sensitiveness, my mind developed. I had alwaysloved what was noble and beautiful, and about this time I wasseized with a passionate desire for learning. Not content withlessons from my teachers, I took up certain subjects by myself, and learnt more in a few months than I had in my whole schoollife. Was not this ardour--"vanity and vexation of spirit"?[4] Forme, with my impetuous nature, this was one of the most dangeroustimes of my life, but Our Lord fulfilled in me those words ofEzechiel's prophecy: "Behold thy time was the time of lovers: andI spread my garment over thee. And I swore to thee, and I enteredinto a covenant with thee, saith the Lord God, and thou becamestMine. And I washed thee with water, and I anointed thee with oil. I clothed thee with fine garments, and put a chain about thy neck. Thou didst eat fine flour and honey and oil, and wast madeexceedingly beautiful, and wast advanced to be a queen. "[5]

Yes, Our Lord has done all this for me. I might take each word ofthat striking passage and show how it has been completely realisedin me, but the graces of which I have already told you aresufficient proof. So I will only speak now of the food with whichmy Divine Master abundantly provided me. For a long time I hadnourished my spiritual life with the "fine flour" contained in the_Imitation of Christ. _ It was the only book which did me good, forI had not yet found the treasures hidden in the Holy Gospels. Ialways had it with me, to the amusement of my people at home. Myaunt used often to open it, and make me repeat by heart the firstchapter she chanced to light upon. 

Seeing my great thirst for knowledge, God was pleased, when I wasfourteen, to add to the "fine flour, " "honey" and "oil" inabundance. 

This "honey" and "oil" I found in the conferences of FatherArminjon on _The End of this World and the Mysteries of the Worldto Come. _ While reading this book my soul was flooded with ahappiness quite supernatural. I experienced a foretaste of whatGod has prepared for those who love Him; and, seeing that eternalrewards are so much in excess of the petty sacrifices of thislife, I yearned to love Our Lord, to love Him passionately, and togive Him countless proofs of affection while this was still in mypower. 

Céline had become the most intimate sharer of my thoughts, especially since Christmas. Our Lord, Who wished to make usadvance in virtue together, drew us to one another by tiesstronger than blood. He made us sisters in spirit as well as inthe flesh. The words of our Holy Father, St. John of the Cross, were realised in us:

 Treading within Thy Footsteps Young maidens lightly run upon the way. From the spark's contact, And the spicèd wine, They give forth aspirations of a balm divine. 

It was lightly indeed that we followed in the footsteps of OurSaviour. The burning sparks which He cast into our souls, thestrong wine which He gave us to drink, made us lose sight of allearthly things, and we breathed forth sighs of love. 

Very sweet is the memory of our intercourse. Every evening we wentup to our attic window together and gazed at the starry depths ofthe sky, and I think very precious graces were bestowed on usthen. As the _Imitation_ says: "God communicates Himself sometimesamid great light, at other times sweetly in signs and figures. "[6]

In this way He deigned to manifest Himself to our hearts; but howslight and transparent was the veil! Doubt was no longer possible;already Faith and Hope had given place to Love, which made us findHim whom we sought, even on this earth. When He found usalone--"He gave us His kiss, and now no one may despise us. "[7]

These divine impressions could not but bear fruit. The practice ofvirtue gradually became sweet and natural to me. At first my looksbetrayed the effort, but, little by little, self-sacrifice seemedto come more easily and without hesitation. Our Lord has said: "Toeveryone that hath shall be given, and he shall abound. "[8]

Each grace faithfully received brought many others. He gaveHimself to me in Holy Communion oftener than I should have daredto hope. I had made it my practice to go to Communion as often asmy confessor allowed me, but never to ask for leave to go morefrequently. Now, however, I should act differently, for I amconvinced that a soul ought to disclose to her director thelonging she has to receive her God. He does not come down fromHeaven each day in order to remain in a golden ciborium, but tofind another Heaven--the Heaven of our souls in which He takessuch delight. 

Our Lord, Who knew my desire, inspired my confessor to allow me togo to Communion several times a week, and this permission, comingas it did straight from Him, filled me with joy. 

In those days I did not dare to speak of my inner feelings; theroad which I trod was so direct, so clear, that I did not feel theneed of any guide but Jesus. I compared directors to mirrors whofaithfully reflect Our Saviour to the souls under their care, andI thought that in my case He did not use an intermediary but acteddirectly. 

When a gardener gives special attention to a fruit which he wishesto ripen early, he does so, not with a view to leaving it on thetree, but in order to place it on a well-spread table. Our Lordlavished His favours on His Little Flower in the same way. Hewishes His Mercies to shine forth in me--He Who, while on earth, cried out in a transport of joy: "I bless Thee, O Father, becauseThou hast hidden these things from the wise and prudent and hastrevealed them to little ones. "[9]

And because I was small and frail, He bent down to me andinstructed me sweetly in the secrets of His love. As St. John ofthe Cross says in his "Canticle of the Soul":

 On that happy night In secret I went forth, beheld by none, And seeing naught; Having no light nor guide Excepting that which burned within my heart, Which lit my way More safely than the glare of noon-day sun To where, expectant, He waited for me Who doth know me well, Where none appeared but He. 

This place was Carmel, but before I could "sit down under HisShadow Whom I desired, "[10] I had to pass through many trials. Andyet the Divine Call was becoming so insistent that, had it beennecessary for me to go through fire, I would have thrown myselfinto it to follow my Divine Master. 

Pauline[11] was the only one who encouraged me in my vocation;Marie thought I was too young, and you, dear Mother, no doubt toprove me, tried to restrain my ardour. From the start Iencountered nothing but difficulties. Then, too, I dared not speakof it to Céline, and this silence pained me deeply; it was so hardto have a secret she did not share. 

However, this dear sister soon found out my intention, and, farfrom wishing to keep me back, she accepted the sacrifice withwonderful courage. As she also wished to be a nun, she ought tohave been given the first opportunity; but, imitating the martyrsof old, who used joyfully to embrace those chosen to go beforethem into the arena, she allowed me to leave her, and took mytroubles as much to heart as if it were a question of her ownvocation. From Céline, then, I had nothing to fear, but I did notknow how to set about telling Papa. How could his little Queentalk of leaving him when he had already parted with his two eldestdaughters? Moreover, this year he had been stricken with a seriousattack of paralysis, and though he recovered quickly we were fullof anxiety for the future. 

What struggles I went through before I could make up my mind tospeak! But I had to act decisively; I was now fourteen and a half, and in six months' time the blessed feast of Christmas would behere. I had resolved to enter the Carmel at the same hour at whicha year before I had received the grace of conversion. 

I chose the feast of Pentecost on which to make my greatdisclosure. All day I was praying for light from the Holy Ghost, and begging the Apostles to pray for me, to inspire me with thewords I ought to use. Were they not the very ones to help a timidchild whom God destines to become an apostle of apostles by prayerand sacrifice?

In the afternoon, when Vespers were over, I found the opportunityI wanted. My Father was sitting in the garden, his hands clasped, admiring the wonders of nature. The rays of the setting sun gildedthe tops of the tall trees, and the birds chanted their eveningprayer. 

His beautiful face wore a heavenly expression--I could feel thathis soul was full of peace. Without a word, I sat down by hisside, my eyes already wet with tears. He looked at me withindescribable tenderness, and, pressing me to his heart, said:"What is it, little Queen? Tell me everything. " Then, in order tohide his own emotion, he rose and walked slowly up and down, stillholding me close to him. 

Through my tears I spoke of the Carmel and of my great wish toenter soon. He, too, wept, but did not say a word to turn me frommy vocation; he only told me that I was very young to make such agrave decision, and as I insisted, and fully explained my reasons, my noble and generous Father was soon convinced. We walked aboutfor a long time; my heart was lightened, and Papa no longer shedtears. He spoke to me as Saints speak, and showed me some flowersgrowing in the low stone wall. Picking one of them, he gave it tome, and explained the loving care with which God had made itspring up and grow till now. 

I fancied myself listening to my own story, so close was theresemblance between the little flower and little Thérèse. Ireceived this floweret as a relic, and noticed that in gatheringit my Father had pulled it up by the roots without breaking them;it seemed destined to live on, but in other and more fertile soil. Papa had just done the same for me. He allowed me to leave thesweet valley, where I had passed the first years of my life, forthe mountain of Carmel. I fastened my little white flower to apicture of Our Lady of Victories--the Blessed Virgin smiles onit, and the Infant Jesus seems to hold it in His Hand. It is therestill, but the stalk is broken close to the root. God doubtlesswishes me to understand that He will soon break all the earthlyties of His Little Flower and will not leave her to wither on thisearth. 

Having obtained my Father's consent, I thought I could now fly tothe Carmel without hindrance. Far from it! When I told my uncle ofmy project, he declared that to enter such a severe Order at theage of fifteen seemed to him against all common sense, and that itwould be doing a wrong to religion to let a child embrace such alife. He added that he should oppose it in every way possible, andthat nothing short of a miracle would make him change his mind. 

I could see that all arguments were useless, so I left him, myheart weighed down by profound sadness. My only consolation wasprayer. I entreated Our Lord to work this miracle for me becausethus only could I respond to His appeal. Some time went by, and myuncle did not seem even to remember our conversation, though Ilearnt later that it had been constantly in his thoughts. 

Before allowing a ray of hope to shine on my soul, Our Lorddeigned to send me another most painful trial which lasted forthree days. Never had I understood so well the bitter grief of OurLady and St. Joseph when they were searching the streets ofJerusalem for the Divine Child. I seemed to be in a frightfuldesert, or rather, my soul was like a frail skiff, without apilot, at the mercy of the stormy waves. I knew that Jesus wasthere asleep in my little boat, but how could I see Him while thenight was so dark? If the storm had really broken, a flash oflightning would perhaps have pierced the clouds that hung over me:even though it were but a passing ray, it would have enabled me tocatch a momentary glimpse of the Beloved of my heart--but this wasdenied me. Instead, it was night, dark night, utter desolation, death! Like my Divine Master in the Agony in the Garden, I feltthat I was alone, and found no comfort on earth or in Heaven. 

Nature itself seemed to share my bitter sadness, for during thesethree days there was not a ray of sunshine and the rain fell intorrents. I have noticed again and again that in all the importantevents of my life nature has reflected my feelings. When I wept, the skies wept with me; when I rejoiced, no cloud darkened theblue of the heavens. On the fourth day, a Saturday, I went to seemy uncle. What was my surprise when I found his attitude towardsme entirely changed! He invited me into his study, a privilege Ihad not asked for; then, after gently reproaching me for being alittle constrained with him, he told me that the miracle of whichhe had spoken was no longer needed. He had prayed God to guide hisheart aright, and his prayer had been heard. I felt as if I hardlyknew him, he seemed so different. He embraced me with fatherlyaffection, saying with much feeling: "Go in peace, my dear child, you are a privileged little flower which Our Lord wishes togather. I will put no obstacle in the way. "

Joyfully I went home. . . . The clouds had quite disappeared fromthe sky, and in my soul also dark night was over. Jesus hadawakened to gladden my heart. I no longer heard the roar of thewaves. Instead of the bitter wind of trial, a light breeze swelledmy sail, and I fancied myself safe in port. Alas! more than onestorm was yet to rise, sometimes even making me fear that I shouldbe driven, without hope of return, from the shore which I longedto reach. 

I had obtained my uncle's consent, only to be told by you, dearMother, that the Superior of the Carmelites would not allow me toenter till I was twenty-one. No one had dreamt of this seriousopposition, the hardest of all to overcome. And yet, withoutlosing courage, I went with Papa to lay my request before him. Hereceived me very coldly, and could not be induced to change hismind. We left him at last with a very decided "No. " "Of course, "he added, "I am only the Bishop's delegate; if he allows you toenter, I shall have nothing more to say. "

When we came out of the Presbytery again, it was raining intorrents, and my soul, too, was overcast with heavy clouds. Papadid not know how to console me, but he promised, if I wished, totake me to Bayeux to see the Bishop, and to this I eagerlyconsented. 

Many things happened, however, before we were able to go. To allappearances my life seemed to continue as formerly. I went onstudying, and, what is more important, I went on growing in thelove of God. Now and then I experienced what were indeed rapturesof love. 

One evening, not knowing in what words to tell Our Lord how much Iloved him, and how much I wished that He was served and honouredeverywhere, I thought sorrowfully that from the depths of hellthere does not go up to Him one single act of love. Then, from myinmost heart, I cried out that I would gladly be cast into thatplace of torment and blasphemy so that He might be eternally lovedeven there. This could not be for His Glory, since He only wishesour happiness, but love feels the need of saying foolish things. If I spoke in this way, it was not that I did not long to go toHeaven, but for me Heaven was nothing else than Love, and in myardour I felt that nothing could separate me from the Divine BeingWho held me captive. 

About this time Our Lord gave me the consolation of an intimateknowledge of the souls of children. I gained it in this way. During the illness of a poor woman, I interested myself in her twolittle girls, the elder of whom was not yet six. It was a realpleasure to see how simply they believed all that I told them. Baptism does indeed plant deeply in our souls the theologicalvirtues, since from early childhood the hope of heavenly reward isstrong enough to make us practise self-denial. When I wanted mytwo little girls to be specially kind to one another, instead ofpromising them toys and sweets, I talked to them about the eternalrecompense the Holy Child Jesus would give to good children. Theelder one, who was coming to the use of reason, used to look quitepleased and asked me charming questions about the little Jesus andHis beautiful Heaven. She promised me faithfully always to give into her little sister, adding that all through her life she wouldnever forget what I had taught her. I used to compare theseinnocent souls to soft wax, ready to receive any impression--evil, alas! as well as good, and I understood the words of Our Lord: "Itwere better to be thrown into the sea than to scandalise one ofthese little ones. "[12]

How many souls might attain to great sanctity if only they weredirected aright from the first! I know God has not need of anyoneto help Him in His work of sanctification, but as He allows aclever gardener to cultivate rare and delicate plants, giving himthe skill to accomplish it, while reserving to Himself the rightof making them grow, so does He wish to be helped in thecultivation of souls. What would happen if an ignorant gardenerdid not graft his trees in the right way? if he did not understandthe nature of each, and wished, for instance, to make roses growon peach trees?

This reminds me that I used to have among my birds a canary whichsang beautifully, and also a little linnet taken from the nest, ofwhich I was very fond. This poor little prisoner, deprived of theteaching it should have received from its parents, and hearing thejoyous trills of the canary from morning to night, tried hard toimitate them. A difficult task indeed for a linnet! It wasdelightful to follow the efforts of the poor little thing; hissweet voice found great difficulty in accommodating itself to thevibrant notes of his master, but he succeeded in time, and, to mygreat surprise, his song became exactly like the song of thecanary. 

Oh, dear Mother, you know who taught me to sing from the days ofmy earliest childhood! You know the voices which drew me on. Andnow I trust that one day, in spite of my weakness, I may sing forever the Canticle of Love, the harmonious notes of which I haveoften heard sweetly sounding here below. 

But where am I? These thoughts have carried me too far, and I mustresume the history of my vocation. 

On October 31, 1887, alone with Papa, I started for Bayeux, myheart full of hope, but also excited at the idea of presentingmyself at the Bishop's house. For the first time in my life, I wasgoing to pay a visit without any of my sisters, and this to aBishop. I, who had never yet had to speak except to answerquestions addressed to me, would have to explain and enlarge on myreasons for begging to enter the Carmel, and so give proofs of thegenuineness of my vocation. 

It cost me a great effort to overcome my shyness sufficiently todo this. But it is true that Love knows no such word as"impossible, " for it deems "all things possible, all thingsallowed. " Nothing whatsoever but the love of Jesus could have mademe face these difficulties and others which followed, for I had topurchase my happiness by heavy trials. Now, it is true, I think Ibought it very cheaply, and I would willingly bear a thousandtimes more bitter suffering to gain it, if it were not alreadymine. 

When we reached the Bishop's house, the floodgates of Heavenseemed open once more. The Vicar-General, Father Révérony, who hadsettled the date of our coming, received us very kindly, though helooked a little surprised, and seeing tears in my eyes said:"Those diamonds must not be shown to His Lordship!" We were ledthrough large reception-rooms which made me feel how small I was, and I wondered what I should dare say. The Bishop was walking in acorridor with two Priests. I saw the Vicar-General speak a fewwords to him, then they came into the room where we were waiting. There were three large armchairs in front of the fireplace, wherea bright fire blazed. 

As his Lordship entered, my Father and I knelt for his blessing;then he made us sit down. Father Révérony offered me the armchairin the middle. I excused myself politely, but he insisted, tellingme to show if I knew how to obey. I did so without any morehesitation, and was mortified to see him take an ordinary chairwhile I was buried in an enormous seat that would comfortably haveheld four children like me--more comfortably in fact, for I wasfar from being at ease. I hoped that Papa was going to do all thetalking, but he told me to explain the reason of our visit. I didso as eloquently as I could, though I knew well that one word fromthe Superior would have carried more weight than all my reasons, while his opposition told strongly against me. The Bishop askedhow long I had wanted to enter the Carmel. "A very long time, myLord!" "Come!" said the Vicar-General, laughing, "it cannot be aslong as fifteen years. " "That is true, " I answered, "but it is notmuch less, for I have wished to give myself to God from the time Iwas three. " The Bishop, no doubt to please Papa, tried to explainthat I ought to remain some time longer with him; but, to hisgreat surprise and edification, my Father took my part, addingrespectfully that we were going to Rome with the diocesanpilgrimage, and that I should not hesitate to speak to the HolyFather if I could not obtain permission before then. However, itwas decided that, previous to giving an answer, an interview withthe Superior was absolutely necessary. This was particularlyunpleasant hearing, for I knew his declared and determinedopposition; and, in spite of the advice not to allow the Bishop tosee any diamonds, I not only showed them but let them fall. Heseemed touched, and caressed me fondly. I was afterwards told hehad never treated any child so kindly. 

"All is not lost, little one, " he said, "but I am very glad thatyou are going to Rome with your good Father; you will thusstrengthen your vocation. Instead of weeping, you ought torejoice. I am going to Lisieux next week, and I will talk to theSuperior about you. You shall certainly have my answer when youare in Italy. " His Lordship then took us to the garden, and wasmuch interested when Papa told him that, to make myself lookolder, I had put up my hair for the first time that very morning. This was not forgotten, for I know that even now, whenever theBishop tells anyone about his "little daughter, " he always repeatsthe story about her hair. I must say I should prefer my littlesecret to have been kept. As he took us to the door, theVicar-General remarked that such a thing had never been seen--afather as anxious to give his child to God as the child was tooffer herself. 

We had to return to Lisieux without a favourable answer. It seemedto me as though my future were shattered for ever; the nearer Idrew to the goal, the greater my difficulties became. But all thetime I felt deep down in my heart a wondrous peace, because I knewthat I was only seeking the Will of my Lord. ______________________________

[1] Cf. Psalm 18[19]:5. 

[2] Luke 5:5. 

[3] John 4:7. 

[4] Eccl. 1:14. 

[5] Ezechiel 16:8, 9, 13. 

[6] Cf. _Imit. , _ III, ch. Xliii. 4. 

[7] Cf. Cant. 8:1. 

[8] Luke 19:26. 

[9] Cf. Luke 10:21. 

[10] Cant. 2:3. 

[11] Sister Agnes of Jesus. 

[12] Cf. Matt. 18:6. 

______________________________

CHAPTER VIA PILGRIMAGE TO ROME

Three days after the journey to Bayeux, I started on a much longerone--to the Eternal City. This journey taught me the vanity ofall that passes away. Nevertheless I saw splendid monuments; Istudied the countless wonders of art and religion; and better thanall, I trod the very ground the Holy Apostles had trodden--theground watered by the blood of martyrs--and my soul grew bycontact with these holy things. 

I was delighted to go to Rome; but I could quite understand peoplecrediting Papa with the hope that in this way I should be broughtto change my mind about the religious life. It might certainlyhave upset a vocation that was not very strong. 

To begin with, Céline and I found ourselves in the company of manydistinguished people. In fact, there were scarcely any others inthe pilgrimage; but, far from being dazzled thereby, titles seemedto us but a "vapour of smoke, "[1] and I understood the words ofthe _Imitation:_ "Be not solicitous for the shadow of a greatname. "[2] I understood that true greatness is not found in a namebut in the soul. The Prophet Isaias tells us: "The Lord shall callHis servants by another name, "[3] and we read in St. John: "To himthat overcometh I will give a white counter, and on the counter anew name written which no man knoweth but he that receivethit. "[4] In Heaven, therefore, we shall know our titles ofnobility, and "then shall every man have praise from God, "[5] andhe who on earth chose to be poorest and least known for love ofhis Saviour, he will be the first, the noblest, and the richest. 

The second thing I learnt had to do with Priests. Up to this timeI had not understood the chief aim of the Carmelite Reform. Topray for sinners delighted me; to pray for Priests, whose soulsseemed pure as crystal, that indeed astonished me. But in Italy Irealised my vocation, and even so long a journey was a small priceto pay for such valuable knowledge. During that month I met withmany holy Priests, and yet I saw that even though the sublimedignity of Priesthood raises them higher than the Angels, they arestill but weak and imperfect men. And so if holy Priests, whom OurLord in the Gospel calls the salt of the earth, have need of ourprayers, what must we think of the lukewarm? Has not Our Lordsaid: "If the salt lose its savour wherewith shall it besalted?"[6] Oh, dear Mother, how beautiful is our vocation! WeCarmelites are called to preserve "the salt of the earth. " Weoffer our prayers and sacrifices for the apostles of the Lord; weourselves ought to be their apostles, while they, by word andexample, are preaching the Gospel to our brethren. Have we not aglorious mission to fulfill? But I must say no more, for I feelthat on this subject my pen would run on for ever. 

Now let me describe my journey in some detail. At three o'clock inthe morning of November 4, we passed through the silent streets. Lisieux still lay shrouded in the darkness of night. I felt that Iwas going out into the unknown, and that great things wereawaiting me in Rome. When we reached Paris, Papa took us to seeall the sights. For me there was but one--Our Lady of Victories. Ican never tell you what I felt at her shrine; the graces Our Ladygranted me were like those of my First Communion Day. I was filledwith peace and happiness. In this holy spot the Blessed Virgin, myMother, told me plainly that it was really she who had smiled onme and cured me. With intense fervour I entreated her to keep mealways, and to realise my heart's desire by hiding me under herspotless mantle, and I also asked her to remove from me everyoccasion of sin. 

I was well aware that during this journey I should come acrossthings that might disturb me; knowing nothing of evil, I feared Imight discover it. As yet I had not experienced that "to the pureall things are pure, "[7] that a simple and upright soul does notsee evil in anything, because evil only exists in impure heartsand not in inanimate objects. I prayed specially to St. Joseph towatch over me; from my childhood, devotion to him has beeninterwoven with my love for our Blessed Lady. Every day I said theprayer beginning: "St. Joseph, Father and Protector of Virgins". . . So I felt I was well protected and quite safe from danger. 

We left Paris on November 7, after our solemn Consecration to theSacred Heart in the Basilica of Montmartre. [8] Each compartment ofthe train was named after a Saint, and the selection was made inhonour of some Priest occupying it--his own patron or that of hisparish being chosen. But in the presence of all the pilgrims ourcompartment was named after St. Martin! My Father, deeply touchedby this compliment, went at once to thank Mgr. Legoux, Vicar-General of Coutances and director of the pilgrimage. Fromthis onwards he was often called "Monsieur Saint Martin. "

Father Révérony watched my behaviour closely. I could tell that hewas doing so; at table, if I were not opposite to him, he wouldlean forward to look at me and listen to what I was saying. Ithink he must have been satisfied with his investigations, for, towards the end of the journey, he seemed more favourablydisposed. I say towards the end, for in Rome he was far from beingmy advocate, as I will tell you presently. Still I would not haveit thought he deceived me in any way by falling short of the goodwill he had shown at Bayeux. On the contrary, I am sure that healways felt kindly towards me, and that if he opposed my wishes itwas only to put me to the test. 

On our way into Italy we passed through Switzerland, with its highmountains, their snowy peaks lost in the clouds, its rushingtorrents, and its deep valleys filled with giant ferns and purpleheather. Great good was wrought in my soul by these beauties ofnature so abundantly scattered abroad. They lifted it to Him Whohad been pleased to lavish such masterpieces upon this transientearth. 

Sometimes we were high up the mountain side, while at our feet anunfathomable abyss seemed ready to engulf us. A little later wewere passing through a charming village with its cottages andgraceful belfry, above which light fleecy clouds floated lazily. Farther on a great lake with its blue waters, so calm and clear, would blend with the glowing splendour of the setting sun. Icannot tell you how deeply I was impressed with this scenery sofull of poetry and grandeur. It was a foretaste of the wonders ofHeaven. Then the thought of religious life would come before me, as it really is, with its constraints and its little dailysacrifices made in secret. I understood how easily one mightbecome wrapped in self and forget the sublime end of one'svocation, and I thought: "Later on, when the time of trial comes, when I am enclosed in the Carmel and shall only be able to see alittle bit of sky, I will remember this day and it will encourageme. I will make light of my own small interests by thinking of thegreatness and majesty of God; I will love Him alone, and will notbe so foolish as to attach myself to the fleeting trifles of thisworld, now that my heart has had a glimpse of what is reserved forthose who love Him. "

After having contemplated the works of God, I turned next toadmire those of His creatures. Milan was the first Italian town wevisited, and we carefully studied its Cathedral of white marble, adorned with countless statues. Céline and I left the timid ones, who hid their faces in fear after climbing to the first stage, and, following the bolder pilgrims, we reached the top, fromwhence we viewed the city below. When we came down we started onthe first of our expeditions; these lasted the whole month of thepilgrimage, and quite cured me of a desire to be always lazilyriding in a carriage. 

The "Campo Santo"[9] charmed us. The whole vast enclosure iscovered with marble statues, so exquisitely carved as to belife-like, and placed with an apparent negligence that onlyenhances their charm. You feel almost tempted to console theimaginary personages that surround you, their expression soexactly portrays a calm and Christian sorrow. And what works ofart! Here is a child putting flowers on its father's grave--oneforgets how solid is marble--the delicate petals appear to slipthrough its fingers. Sometimes the light veils of the widows, andthe ribbons of the young girls, seem floating on the breeze. 

We could not find words to express our admiration, but an oldgentleman who followed us everywhere--regretting no doubt hisinability to share our sentiments--said in a tone of ill-temper:"Oh, what enthusiasts these French people are!" and yet he alsowas French. I think the poor man would have done better to stay athome. Instead of enjoying the journey he was always grumbling:nothing pleased him, neither cities, hotels, people, nor anythingelse. My Father, whose disposition was the exact opposite, wasquite content, no matter what happened, and tried to cheer ourfriend, offering him his place in the carriage or elsewhere, andwith his wonted goodness encouraging him to look on the brightside of things. But nothing could cheer him. How many differentkinds of people we saw and how interesting it is to study theworld when one is just about to leave it!

In Venice the scene changed completely. Instead of the bustle of alarge city, silence reigned, broken only by the lapping of thewaters and the cries of the gondoliers as they plied their oars;it is a city full of charm but full of sadness. Even the Palace ofthe Doges, splendid though it be, is sad; we walked through hallswhose vaulted roofs have long since ceased to re-echo the voicesof the governors in their sentences of life and death. Its darkdungeons are no longer a living tomb for unfortunate prisoners topine within. 

While visiting these dreadful prisons I fancied myself in thetimes of the martyrs, and gladly would I have chosen this sombreabode for my dwelling if there had been any question of confessingmy faith. Presently the guide's voice roused me from my reverie, and I crossed the "Bridge of Sighs, " so called because of thesighs uttered by the wretched prisoners as they passed from theirdungeons to sentence and to death. After leaving Venice we visitedPadua and there venerated the relic of St. Anthony's tongue; thenBologna, where St. Catherine's body rests. Her face still bearsthe impress of the kiss bestowed on her by the Infant Jesus. 

I was indeed happy when on the way to Loreto. Our Lady had chosenan ideal spot in which to place her Holy House. Everything ispoor, simple, and primitive; the women still wear the gracefuldress of the country and have not, as in the large towns, adoptedthe modern Paris fashions. I found Loreto enchanting. And whatshall I say of the Holy House? I was overwhelmed with emotion whenI realised that I was under the very roof that had sheltered theHoly Family. I gazed on the same walls Our Lord had looked on. Itrod the ground once moistened with the sweat of St. Joseph'stoil, and saw the little chamber of the Annunciation, where theBlessed Virgin Mary held Jesus in her arms after she had borne Himthere in her virginal womb. I even put my Rosary into the littleporringer used by the Divine Child. How sweet those memories!

But our greatest joy was to receive Jesus in His own House, andthus become His living temple in the very place which He hadhonoured by His Divine Presence. According to Roman custom theBlessed Sacrament is reserved at one Altar in each Church, andthere only is it given to the faithful. At Loreto this Altar wasin the Basilica--which is built round the Holy House, enclosing itas a precious stone might be enclosed in a casket of white marble. The exterior mattered little to us, it was in the _diamond_ itselfthat we wished to receive the Bread of Angels. My Father, with hishabitual gentleness, followed the other pilgrims, but hisdaughters, less easily satisfied, went towards the Holy House. 

God favoured us, for a Priest was on the point of celebratingMass; we told him of our great wish, and he immediately asked fortwo hosts, which he placed on the paten. You may picture, dearMother, the ecstatic happiness of that Communion; no words candescribe it. What will be our joy when we communicate eternally inthe dwelling of the King of Heaven? It will be undimmed by thegrief of parting, and will know no end. His House will be ours forall eternity, and there will be no need to covet fragments fromthe walls hallowed by the Divine Presence. He will not give us Hisearthly Home--He only shows it to us to make us love poverty andthe hidden life. What He has in store for us is the Palace of HisGlory, where we shall no longer see Him veiled under the form of achild or the appearance of bread, but as He is, in the brightnessof His Infinite Beauty. 

Now I am going to tell you about Rome--Rome, where I thought tofind comfort and where I found the cross. It was night when wearrived. I was asleep, and was awakened by the porters calling:"Roma!" The pilgrims caught up the cry and repeated: "Roma, Roma!"Then I knew that it was not a dream, I was really in Rome!

Our first day, and perhaps the most enjoyable, was spent outsidethe walls. There, everything retains its stamp of antiquity, whilst in Rome, with its hotels and shops, one might fancy oneselfin Paris. This drive in the Roman Campagna has left a speciallydelightful impression on my mind. 

How shall I describe the feelings which thrilled me when I gazedon the Coliseum? At last I saw the arena where so many Martyrs hadshed their blood for Christ. My first impulse was to kiss theground sanctified by their glorious combats. But what adisappointment! The soil has been raised, and the real arena isnow buried at the depth of about twenty-six feet. 

As the result of excavations the centre is nothing but a mass ofrubbish, and an insurmountable barrier guards the entrance; in anycase no one dare penetrate into the midst of these dangerousruins. But was it possible to be in Rome and not go down to thereal Coliseum? No, indeed! And I no longer listened to the guide'sexplanations: one thought only filled my mind--I must reach thearena. 

We are told in the Gospel that St. Mary Magdalen remained close tothe Sepulchre and stooped down constantly to look in; she wasrewarded by seeing two Angels. So, like her, I kept stooping downand I saw, not two Angels, but what I was in search of. I uttereda cry of joy and called out to my sister: "Come, follow me, weshall be able to get through. " We hurried on at once, scramblingover the ruins which crumbled under our feet. Papa, aghast at ourboldness, called out to us, but we did not hear. 

As the warriors of old felt their courage grow in face of peril, so our joy increased in proportion to the fatigue and danger wehad to face to attain the object of our desires. Céline, moreforeseeing than I, had listened to the guide. She remembered thathe had pointed out a particular stone marked with a cross, and hadtold us it was the place where the Martyrs had fought the goodfight. She set to work to find it, and having done so we threwourselves on our knees on this sacred ground. Our souls united inone and the same prayer. My heart beat violently when I pressed mylips to the dust reddened with the blood of the early Christians. I begged for the grace to be a martyr for Jesus, and I felt in thedepths of my heart that my prayer was heard. All this took but ashort time. After collecting some stones we approached the wallsonce more to face the danger. We were so happy that Papa had notthe heart to scold us, and I could see that he was proud of ourcourage. 

From the Coliseum we went to the Catacombs, and there Céline and Ilaid ourselves down in what had once been the tomb of St. Cecilia, and took some of the earth sanctified by her holy remains. Beforeour journey to Rome I had not felt any special devotion to St. Cecilia, but on visiting the house where she was martyred, andhearing her proclaimed "Queen of harmony"--because of the sweetsong she sang in her heart to her Divine Spouse--I felt more thandevotion towards her, it was real love as for a friend. She becamemy chosen patroness, and the keeper of all my secrets; herabandonment to God and her boundless confidence delighted mebeyond measure. They were so great that they enabled her to makesouls pure which had never till then desired aught but earthlypleasures. 

St. Cecilia is like the Spouse in the Canticles. I find in her theScriptural "choir in an armed camp. "[10] Her life was onemelodious song in the midst of the greatest trials; and this isnot strange, because we read that "the Book of the Holy Gospelslay ever on her heart, "[11] while in her heart reposed the Spouseof Virgins. 

Our visit to the Church of St. Agnes was also very delightful. Itried, but without success, to obtain a relic to take back to mylittle Mother, Sister Agnes of Jesus. Men refused me, but GodHimself came to my aid: a little bit of red marble, from anancient mosaic dating back to the time of the sweet martyr, fellas my feet. Was this not touching? St. Agnes herself gave me akeepsake from her house. 

We spent six days in visiting the great wonders in Rome, and onthe seventh saw the greatest of all--Leo XIII. I longed for, yetdreaded, that day, for on it depended my vocation. I had receivedno answer from the Bishop of Bayeux, and so the Holy Father'spermission was my one and only hope. But in order to obtain thispermission I had first to ask it. The mere thought made metremble, for I must dare speak to the Pope, and that, in presenceof many Cardinals, Archbishops, and Bishops!

On Sunday morning, November 20, we went to the Vatican, and weretaken to the Pope's private chapel. At eight o'clock we assistedat his Mass, during which his fervent piety, worthy of the Vicarof Christ, gave evidence that he was in truth the "Holy Father. "

The Gospel for that day contained these touching words: "Fear not, little flock, for it hath pleased your Father to give you aKingdom. "[12] My heart was filled with perfect confidence. No, Iwould not fear, I would trust that the Kingdom of the Carmel wouldsoon be mine. I did not think of those other words of Our Lord: "Idispose to you, as my Father hath disposed to Me, a Kingdom. "[13]That is to say, I will give you crosses and trials, and thus willyou become worthy to possess My Kingdom. _If you desire to sit onHis right hand you must drink the chalice which He has drunkHimself. _[14] "Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, andso to enter into His glory?"[15]

A Mass of thanksgiving followed, and then the audience began. LeoXIII, whose cassock and cape were of white, was seated on a raisedchair, and round him were grouped various dignitaries of thechurch. According to custom each visitor knelt in turn and kissed, first the foot and next the hand of the venerable Pontiff, andfinally received his blessing; then two of the Noble Guard signedto the pilgrim that he must rise and pass on to the adjoining roomto make way for those who followed. 

No one uttered a word, but I was firmly determined to speak, whensuddenly the Vicar-General of Bayeux, Father Révérony, who wasstanding at the Pope's right hand, told us in a loud voice that heabsolutely forbade anyone to address the Holy Father. My heartbeat fast. I turned to Céline, mutely inquiring what I should do. "Speak!" she said. 

The next moment I found myself on my knees before the Holy Father. I kissed his foot and he held out his hand; then raising my eyes, which were filled with tears, I said entreatingly: "Holy Father, Ihave a great favour to ask you. " At once he bent towards me tillhis face almost touched mine, and his piercing black eyes seemedto read my very soul. "Holy Father, " I repeated, "in honour ofyour jubilee, will you allow me to enter the Carmel when I amfifteen?"

The Vicar-General, surprised and displeased, said quickly: "HolyFather, this is a child who desires to become a Carmelite, but theSuperiors of the Carmel are looking into the matter. " "Well, mychild, " said His Holiness, "do whatever the Superiors decide. "Clasping my hands and resting them on his knee, I made a finaleffort: "Holy Father, if only you say 'yes, ' everyone else wouldagree. "

He looked at me fixedly and said clearly and emphatically: "Well, well! You will enter if it is God's Will. " I was going to speakagain, when the Noble Guards motioned to me. As I paid littleattention they came forward, the Vicar-General with them, for Iwas still kneeling before the Pope with my hands resting on hisknee. Just as I was forced to rise, the dear Holy Father gentlyplaced his hand on my lips, then lifted it to bless me, lettinghis eyes follow me for quite a long time. 

My Father was much distressed to find me coming from the audiencein tears; he had passed out before me, and so did not knowanything about my request. The Vicar-General had shown him unusualkindness, presenting him to Leo XIII as the father of twoCarmelites. The Sovereign Pontiff, as a special sign ofbenevolence, had placed his hand on his head, thus appearing inthe name of Christ Himself to mark him with a mysterious seal. Butnow that this father of _four_ Carmelites is in Heaven, it is nolonger the hand of Christ's Vicar which rests on his brow, prophesying his martyrdom: it is the hand of the Spouse ofVirgins, of the King of Heaven; and this Divine Hand will never betaken away from the head which it has blessed. 

This trial was indeed a heavy one, but I must admit that in spiteof my tears I felt a deep inward peace, for I had made everyeffort in my power to respond to the appeal of my Divine Master. This peace, however, dwelt in the depths of my soul--on thesurface all was bitterness; and Jesus was silent--absent it wouldseem, for nothing revealed that He was there. 

On that day, too, the sun dared not shine, and the beautiful bluesky of Italy, hidden by dark clouds, mingled its tears with mine. All was at an end. My journey had no further charm for me since ithad failed in its object. It is true the Holy Father's words: "Youwill enter if it is God's Will, " should have consoled me, theywere indeed a prophecy. In spite of all these obstacles, what Godin His goodness willed, has come to pass. He has not allowed Hiscreatures to do what they will but only what He wills. Sometimebefore this took place I had offered myself to the Child Jesus tobe His little plaything. I told Him not to treat me like one ofthose precious toys which children only look at and dare nottouch, but to treat me like a little ball of no value, that couldbe thrown on the ground, kicked about, pierced, left in a corner, or pressed to His Heart just as it might please Him. In a word Iwished to amuse the Holy child and to let Him play with me as Hefancied. Here indeed He was answering my prayer. In Rome Jesuspierced His little plaything. He wanted to see what was inside. . . And when satisfied, He let it drop and went to sleep. WhatwasHe doing during His sweet slumber, and what became of the ballthus cast on one side? He dreamed that He was still at play, thatHe took it up or threw it down, that He rolled it far away, but atlast He pressed it to His Heart, nor did He allow it again to slipfrom His tiny Hand. Dear Mother, you can imagine the sadness ofthe little ball lying neglected on the ground! And yet itcontinued to hope against hope. 

After our audience my Father went to call on Brother Simeon--thefounder and director of St. Joseph's College--and there he metFather Révérony. He reproached him gently for not having helped mein my difficult task, and told the whole story to Brother Simeon. The good old man listened with much interest and even made notes, saying with evident feeling: "This kind of thing is not seen inItaly. "

The next day we started for Naples and Pompeii. Vesuvius did usthe honour of emitting from its crater a thick volume of smoke, accompanied by numerous loud reports. The traces of thedevastation of Pompeii are terrifying. They show forth the powerof God: "He looketh upon the earth, and maketh it tremble; Hetoucheth the mountains and they smoke. "

I should like to have wandered alone among its ruins, meditatingon the instability of human things, but such solitude was not tobe thought of. 

At Naples we made an expedition to the monastery of San Martino;it crowns a high hill overlooking the whole city. On the way backthe horses took the bit in their teeth, and it is solely to ourGuardian Angels that I attribute our safe return to the splendidhotel. This word "splendid" is not too strong to describe it; infact during the whole journey we stayed only at the most expansivehotels. I had never been surrounded by such luxury, but it isindeed a true saying that riches do not make happiness. I shouldhave been a thousand times more contented under a thatched room, with the hope of entering the Carmel, than I was amid marblestaircases, gilded ceilings, and silken hangings, with my heartfull of sorrow. 

I realised thoroughly that joy is not found in the things whichsurround us, but lives only in the soul. One could possess it aswell in an obscure prison as in the palace of a king. And so now Iam happier at the Carmel, in the midst of trials within andwithout, than I was in the world where I had everything I wanted, and, above all, the joys of a happy home. 

Although I felt heavy of heart, outwardly I was as usual, for Ithought no one had any knowledge of my petition to the Pope. I wasmistaken. One day, when the other pilgrims had gone to therefreshment-room and Céline and I were alone, Mgr. Legoux came tothe door of the carriage. He looked at me attentively and smilingsaid: "Well, and how is our little Carmelite?" This showed me thatmy secret was known to all the pilgrims, and I gathered it, too, from their kindly looks; but happily no one spoke to me on thesubject. 

At Assisi I had a little adventure. While visiting the placessanctified by the virtues of St. Francis and St. Clare I lost thebuckle of my belt in the monastery. It took me some time to findand put it back in place, and when I reached the door all thecarriages had started except one; that belonged to theVicar-General of Bayeux! Should I run after those which were nolonger in sight and so perhaps miss the train, or should I beg fora seat in the carriage of Father Révérony? I decided that this wasthe wiser plan. 

I tried to hide my extreme embarrassment and explained things. Hewas placed in a difficulty himself, for all the seats wereoccupied, but one of the party promptly gave me his place and satby the driver. I felt like a squirrel caught in a snare. I was illat ease in the midst of these great people, and I had to sit faceto face with the most formidable of all. He was exceedingly kind, however, and now and then interrupted his conversation to talk tome about the Carmel and promise that he would do all in his powerto realise my desire of entering at fifteen. This meeting was likebalm to my wounds, though it did not prevent me from suffering. Ihad now lost all trust in creatures and could only lean on GodHimself. 

And yet my distress did not hinder me from taking a deep interestin the holy places we visited. In Florence we saw the shrine ofSt. Mary Magdalen of Pazzi, in the choir of the Carmelite Church. All the pilgrims wanted to touch the Saint's tomb with theirRosaries, but my hand was the only one small enough to passthrough the grating. So I was deputed for this important andlengthy task, and I did it with pride. 

It was not the first time I had obtained special favours. One day, at _Santa Croce, _ in Rome, we venerated the relics of the TrueCross, together with two of the Thorns, and one of the SacredNails. I wanted to examine them closely, so I remained behind, andwhen the monk in charge was going to replace them on the Altar, Iasked if I might touch the precious treasures. He said I might doso, but was doubtful if I should succeed; however, I put my littlefinger into one of the openings of the reliquary and was able totouch the Sacred Nail once hallowed by the Blood of Our Saviour. You see I behaved towards Him like a child who thinks it may do asit pleases and looks on its Father's treasures as its own. 

Having passed through Pisa and Genoa we came back to France by oneof the loveliest routes. At times we were close to the sea, andone day during a storm it seemed as though the waves would reachthe train. Farther on we travelled through plains covered withorange trees, olives, and feathery palms, while at night thenumerous seaports twinkled with lights, and stars came out in thedeep blue sky. But I watched the fairy picture fade away from myeyes without any regret--my heart was set elsewhere. 

My Father proposed to take me to Jerusalem, but in spite of thenatural wish I had to visit the places sanctified by Our Lord'sFootsteps, I was weary of earthly pilgrimages and only longed forthe beauties of Heaven. In order to win these beauties for souls Iwanted to become a prisoner as quickly as possible. I felt that Imust suffer and struggle still more before the gates of my blessedprison would open; yet my trust in God did not grow less, and Istill hoped to enter at Christmas. 

We had hardly reached home when I paid a visit to the Carmel. Youmust remember well that interview, dear Mother. I left myselfentirely in your hands, for I had exhausted all my resources. Youtold me to write to the Bishop and remind him of his promise. Iobeyed at once, and as soon as my letter was posted I felt Ishould obtain the coveted permission without any delay. Alas! eachday brought fresh disappointments. The beautiful feast ofChristmas dawned; still Jesus slept. He left His little ball onthe ground without even glancing that way. 

This was indeed a sore trial, but Our Lord, Whose Heart is alwayswatching, taught me that He granted miracles to those whose faithis small as a grain of mustard seed, in the hope of strengtheningthis slender faith; whilst for His intimate friends, for HisMother, He did not work miracles till He had proved their faith. Did He not permit Lazarus to die even though Mary and Martha hadsent word that he was sick? And at the marriage feast of Cana, when Our Lady asked her Divine Son to aid the master of the house, did He not answer that His hour had not yet come? But after thetrial what a reward! Water is changed into wine, and Lazarus risesfrom the dead. In this way did my Beloved act with His littleThérèse; after He had tried her for a long time He granted all herdesires. 

For my New Year's gift of 1888, Jesus again gave me His Cross. Youtold me, dear Mother, that you had had the Bishop's answer sinceDecember 28, the feast of Holy Innocents; that he authorised myimmediate entry into the Carmel, but that nevertheless you haddecided not to open its doors till after Lent. I could notrestrain my tears at the thought of such a long delay. This trialaffected me in a special manner, for I felt my earthly ties weresevered, and yet the Ark in its turn refused to admit the poorlittle dove. 

How did these three months pass? They were fruitful in sufferingsand still more so in other graces. At first the thought came intomy mind that I would not put any extra restraint on myself, Iwould lead a life somewhat less strictly ordered than was mycustom. But Our Lord made me understand the benefit I might derivefrom this time He had granted me, and I then resolved to givemyself up to a more serious and mortified life. When I saymortified, I do not mean that I imitated the penances of theSaints; far from resembling those beautiful souls who havepractised all sorts of mortifications from their infancy, I mademine consist in simply checking my inclinations, keeping back animpatient answer, doing little services to those around me withoutsetting store thereby, and a hundred other things of the kind. Bypractising these trifles I prepared myself to become the Spouse ofJesus, and I can never tell you, Mother, how much the added delayhelped me to grow in abandonment, in humility, and in othervirtues. ______________________________

[1] Joel 2:19. 

[2] _Imitation of Christ, _ III, xxiv. 2. 

[3] Isa. 65:15. 

[4] Apoc. 2:17. 

[5] 1 Cor. 4:5. 

[6] Matt. 5:13. 

[7] Tit. 1:15. 

[8] Montmartre--the "Mount of Martyrs"--is the hill whereon St. Denis, apostle and bishop of Paris, was martyred with his twocompanions in the third century. It was a famous place ofpilgrimage in medieval times, and here St. Ignatius and the firstJesuits took their vows. Under the presidency of Marshal MacMahon, the erection of the well-known Basilica was voted in 1873 by theFrench Chamber of Deputies as a national act of reparation to theSacred Heart. [Ed. ]

[9] Cemetery. 

[10] Cf. Cant. 7:1. 

[11] Office of St. Cecilia. 

[12] Luke 12:32. 

[13] Luke 22:29. 

[14] Cf. Matt. 20:22. 

[15] Luke 24:26. 

______________________________

CHAPTER VIITHE LITTLE FLOWER ENTERS THE CARMEL

Monday, April 9, 1888, being the Feast of the Annunciation, transferred from Passiontide, was the day chosen for me to enterthe Carmel. On the evening before, we were gathered around thetable where I was to take my place for the last time. Thesefarewells are in themselves heartrending, and just when I wouldhave liked to be forgotten I received the tenderest expressions ofaffection, as if to increase the pain of parting. 

The next morning, after a last look at the happy home of mychildhood, I set out for the Carmel, where we all heard Mass. Atthe moment of Communion, when Jesus had entered our hearts, Iheard sobs on all sides. I did not shed a tear, but as I led theway to the cloister door my heart beat so violently that Iwondered if I were going to die. Oh, the agony of that moment! Onemust have experienced it in order to understand. I embraced all mydear ones and knelt for my Father's blessing. He, too, knelt downand blessed me through his tears. It was a sight to gladden theAngels, this old man giving his child to God while she was yet inthe springtime of life. At length the doors of the Carmel closedupon me. . . . I found a welcome in your arms, dear Mother, andreceived the embraces of another family, whose devotedness andlove is not dreamt of by the outside world. 

At last my desires were realised, and I cannot describe the deepsweet peace which filled my soul. This peace has remained with meduring the eight and a half years of my life here, and has neverleft me even amid the greatest trials. 

Everything in the Convent delighted me, especially our littlecell. [1] I fancied myself transported to the desert. I repeat thatmy happiness was calm and peaceful--not even the lightest breezeruffled the tranquil waters on which my little barque sailed; nocloud darkened the blue sky. I felt fully recompensed for all Ihad gone through, and I kept saying: "Now I am here for ever. "Mine was no passing joy, it did not fade like first illusions. From illusions God in His Mercy has ever preserved me. I found thereligious life just what I expected, and sacrifice was never amatter of surprise. Yet you know well that from the beginning myways was strewn with thorns rather than with roses. 

In the first place, my soul had for its daily food the bread ofspiritual dryness. Then, too, dear Mother, Our Lord allowed you, unconsciously, to treat me very severely. You found fault with mewhenever you met me. I remember once I had left a cobweb in thecloister, and you said to me before the whole community: "It iseasy to see that our cloisters are swept by a child of fifteen. Itis disgraceful! Go and sweep away that cobweb, and be more carefulin future. "

On the rare occasions when I spent an hour with you for spiritualdirection, you seemed to be scolding me nearly all the time, andwhat pained me most of all was that I did not see how to correctmy faults: for instance, my slow ways and want of throughness inmy duties, faults which you were careful to point out. 

One day it occurred to me that you would certainly prefer me tospend my free time in work instead of in prayer, as was my custom;so I plied my needle industriously without even raising my eyes. No one ever knew of this, as I wished to be faithful to Our Lordand do things solely for Him to see. 

When I was a postulant our Mistress used to send me everyafternoon at half-past four to weed the garden. This was a realpenance, the more so, dear Mother, because I was almost sure tomeet you on the way, and once you remarked: "Really, this childdoes absolutely nothing. What are we to think of a novice who musthave a walk every day?" And yet, dear Mother, how grateful I am toyou for giving me such a sound and valuable training. It was aninestimable grace. What should I have become, if, as the worldoutside believed, I had been but the pet of the Community?Perhaps, instead of seeing Our Lord in the person of my superiors, I should only have considered the creature, and my heart, whichhad been so carefully guarded in the world, would have beenensnared by human affection in the cloister. Happily, yourmotherly prudence saved me from such a disaster. 

And not only in this matter, but in other and more bitter trials, I can truly say that Suffering opened her arms to me from thefirst, and I took her to my heart. In the solemn examinationbefore my profession I declared--as was customary--the reason ofmy entry into the Carmel: "I have come to save souls, andespecially to pray for Priests. " One cannot attain the end withoutadopting the means, and as Our Lord made me understand that it wasby the Cross He would give me souls, the more crosses I met with, the stronger grew my attraction to suffering. For five years thisway was mine, but I alone knew it; this was precisely the flower Iwished to offer to Jesus, a hidden flower which keeps its perfumeonly for Heaven. 

Two months after my entry Father Pichon was surprised at theworkings of grace in my soul; he thought my piety childlike and mypath an easy one. My conversation with this good Father would havebrought me great comfort, had it not been for the extremedifficulty I found in opening my heart. Nevertheless I made ageneral confession, and after it he said to me: "Before God, theBlessed Virgin, and Angels, and all the Saints, I declare that youhave never committed a mortal sin. Thank God for the favours Hehas so freely bestowed on you without any merit on your part. "

Without any merit on my part! That was not difficult to believe. Fully conscious of my weakness and imperfection, my heartoverflowed with gratitude. I had distressed myself, fearing Imight have stained my baptismal robe, and this assurance, comingas it did from the lips of a director, a man of wisdom andholiness, such as our Mother St. Teresa desired, seemed to comefrom God Himself. Father Pichon added: "May Our Lord always beyour Superior and your Novice Master!" And indeed He ever was, andlikewise my Director. In saying this I do not mean to imply that Iwas not communicative with my superiors; far from being reserved, I always tried to be as an open book. 

Our Mistress was a true saint, the perfect type of the firstCarmelites, and I seldom left her side, for she had to teach mehow to work. Her kindness was beyond words, I loved andappreciated her, and yet my soul did not expand. I could notexplain myself, words failed me, and so the time of spiritualdirection became a veritable martyrdom. 

One of the older nuns seemed to understand what I felt, for sheonce said to me during recreation: "I should think, child, youhave not much to tell your superiors. " "Why do you think that, dear Mother?" I asked. "Because your soul is very simple; but whenyou are perfect you will become more simple still. The nearer oneapproaches God, the simpler one becomes. "

This good Mother was right. Nevertheless the great difficulty Ifound in opening my heart, though it came from simplicity, was agenuine trial. Now, however, without having lost my simplicity, Iam able to express my thoughts with the greatest ease. 

I have already said that Our Lord Himself had acted as mySpiritual Guide. Hardly had Father Pichon become my director whenhis Superiors sent him to Canada. I was only able to hear from himonce in the year, so now the Little Flower which had beentransplanted to the mountain of Carmel quickly turned to theDirector of Directors, and unfolded itself under the shadow of HisCross, having for refreshing dew His Tears, His Precious Blood, and for radiant sun His Adorable Face. 

Until then I had not appreciated the beauties of the Holy Face; itwas my dear Mother, Agnes of Jesus, who unveiled them to me. Asshe had been the first of her sisters to enter the Carmel, so shewas the first to penetrate the mysteries of love hidden in theFace of Our Divine Spouse. Then she showed them to me and Iunderstood better than ever, in what true glory consists. He whose"Kingdom is not of this world"[2] taught me that the only royaltyto be coveted lies in being "unknown and esteemed as naught, "[3]and in the joy of self-abasement. And I wished that my face, likethe Face of Jesus, "should be, as it were, hidden anddespised, "[4] so that no one on earth should esteem me. I thirstedto suffer and to be forgotten. 

Most merciful has been the way by which the Divine Master has everled me. He has never inspired me with any desire and left itunsatisfied, and that is why I have always found His bitterchalice full of sweetness. 

At the end of May, Marie, our eldest, was professed, and Thérèse, the Benjamin, had the privilege of crowning her with roses on theday of her mystical espousals. After this happy feast trials againcame upon us. Ever since his first attack of paralysis we realisedthat my Father was very easily tired. During our journey to Rome Ioften noticed that he seemed exhausted and in pain. But, aboveall, I remarked his progress in the path of holiness; he hadsucceeded in obtaining a complete mastery over the impetuosity ofhis natural disposition, and earthly things were unable to rufflehis calm. Let me give you an instance. 

During our pilgrimage we were in the train for days and nightstogether, and to wile away the time our companions played cards, and occasionally grew very noisy. One day they asked us to jointhem, but we refused, saying we knew little about the game; we didnot find the time long--only too short, indeed, to enjoy thebeautiful views which opened before us. Presently their annoyancebecame evident, and then dear Papa began quietly to defend us, pointing out that as we were on pilgrimage, more of our time mightbe given to prayer. 

One of the players, forgetting the respect due to age, called outthoughtlessly: "Thank God, Pharisees are rare!" My Father did notanswer a word, he even seemed pleased; and later on he found anopportunity of shaking hands with this man, and of speaking sopleasantly that the latter must have thought his rude words hadeither not been heard, or at least were forgotten. 

His habit of forgiveness did not date from this day; my Mother andall who knew him bore witness that no uncharitable word everpassed his lips. 

His faith and generosity were likewise equal to any trial. This ishow he announced my departure to one of his friends: "Thérèse, mylittle Queen, entered the Carmel yesterday. God alone could asksuch a sacrifice; but He helps me so mightily that even in themidst of tears my heart is overflowing with joy. "

This faithful servant must needs receive a reward worthy of hisvirtues, and he himself claimed that reward. You remember theinterview when he said to us: "Children, I have just come backfrom Alençon, and there, in the Church of Notre Dame, I receivedsuch graces and consolations that I made this prayer: 'My God, itis too much, yes, I am too happy; I shall not get to Heaven likethis, I wish to suffer something for Thee--and I offered myself asa'"--the word _victim_ died on his lips. He dared not pronounce itbefore us, but we understood. You know, dear Mother, the story ofour trial; I need not recall its sorrowful details. 

And now my clothing day drew near. Contrary to all expectations, my Father had recovered from a second attack, and the Bishop fixedthe ceremony for January 10. The time of waiting had been longindeed, but now what a beautiful feast! Nothing was wanting, noteven snow. 

Do you remember my telling you, dear Mother, how fond I am ofsnow? While I was still quite small, its whiteness entranced me. Why had I such a fancy for snow? Perhaps it was because, being alittle winter flower, my eyes first saw the earth clad in itsbeautiful white mantle. So, on my clothing day, I wished to see itdecked, like myself, in spotless white. The weather was so mildthat it might have been spring, and I no longer dared hope forsnow. The morning of the feast brought no change and I gave up mychildish desire, as impossible to be realised. My Father came tomeet me at the enclosure door, his eyes full of tears, andpressing me to his heart exclaimed: "Ah! Here is my little Queen!"Then, giving me his arm, we made our solemn entry into the publicChapel. This was his day of triumph, his last feast on earth; nowhis sacrifice was complete, and his children belonged to God. [5]Céline had already confided to him that later on she also wishedto leave the world for the Carmel. On hearing this he was besidehimself with joy: "Let us go before the Blessed Sacrament, " hesaid, "and thank God for all the graces He has granted us and thehonour He has paid me in choosing His Spouses from my household. God has indeed done me great honour in asking for my children. IfI possessed anything better I would hasten to offer it to Him. "That something better was himself, "and God received him as avictim of holocaust; He tried him as gold in the furnace, andfound him worthy of Himself. "[6]

After the ceremony in the Chapel I re-entered the Convent and theBishop intoned the _Te Deum. _ One of the Priests observed to himthat this hymn of thanksgiving was only sung at professions, but, once begun, it was continued to the end. Was it not right thatthis feast should be complete, since in it all other joyful dayswere reunited?

The instant I set foot in the enclosure again my eyes fell on thestatue of the Child Jesus smiling on me amid the flowers andlights; then, turning towards the quadrangle, I saw that, in spiteof the mildness of the weather, it was covered with snow. What adelicate attention on the part of Jesus! Gratifying the least wishof His little Spouse, He even sent her this. Where is the creatureso mighty that he can make one flake of it fall to please hisbeloved?

Everyone was amazed, and since then many people, hearing of mydesire, have described this event as "the little miracle" of myclothing day, and thought it strange I should be so fond of snow. So much the better, it shows still more the wonderfulcondescension of the Spouse of Virgins--of Him Who loves lilieswhite as the snow. After the ceremony the Bishop entered. He gaveme many proofs of his fatherly tenderness, and, in presence of allthe Priests, spoke of my visit to Bayeux and the journey to Rome;nor did he forget to tell them how I had put up my hair beforevisiting him. Then, laying his hand on my head, he blessed meaffectionately. My mind dwelt with ineffable sweetness on thecaresses Our Lord will soon lavish upon me before all the Saints, and this consoling thought was a foretaste of Heaven. I have justsaid that January 10 was a day of triumph for my dear Father. Iliken it to the feast of the entry of Christ into Jerusalem, onPalm Sunday. As in the case of Our Divine Master, his day oftriumph was followed by long days of sorrow; and, even as theagony of Jesus pierced the heart of His divine Mother, so ourhearts were deeply wounded by the humiliations and sufferings ofhim, whom we loved best on earth. . . . I remember that in themonth of June 1888, when we were fearing another stroke ofparalysis, I surprised our Novice Mistress by saying: "I amsuffering a great deal, Mother, yet I feel I can suffer stillmore. " I did not then foresee the trial awaiting us. I did notknow that on February 12, one month after my clothing day, ourbeloved Father would drink so deeply of such a bitter chalice. Ino longer said I could suffer more, words cannot express ourgrief; nor shall I attempt to describe it here. 

In Heaven, we shall enjoy dwelling on these dark days of exile. Yet the three years of my Father's martyrdom seem to me thesweetest and most fruitful of our lives. I would not exchange themfor the most sublime ecstasies, and my heart cries out ingratitude for such a priceless treasure: "We have rejoiced for thedays wherein Thou hast afflicted us. "[7] Precious and sweet wasthis bitter cross, and our hearts only breathed out sighs ofgrateful love. We no longer walked--we ran, we flew along the pathof perfection. 

Léonie and Céline, though living in the world, were no longer ofthe world. The letters they wrote were full of the most edifyingresignation. And what talks I had with Céline! Far from separatingus, the grating of the Carmel united us more closely: the samethoughts, the same desires, the same love for Our Lord and forsouls, made our very life. Not a word concerning things of earthentered into our conversation; but, just as in former days welifted longing eyes to Heaven, so now our hearts strained afterthe joys beyond time and space, and, for the sake of an eternalhappiness, we chose to suffer and be despised here below. 

Though my suffering seemed to have reached its height, yet myattraction thereto did not grow less, and soon my soul shared inthe trials my heart had to bear. My spiritual aridity increased, and I found no comfort either in Heaven or on earth; yet, amidthese waters of tribulation that I had so thirsted for, I was thehappiest of mortals. 

Thus passed the time of my betrothal, too long a time for me. Atthe end of the year you told me, dear Mother, that I must not yetthink of my profession, as our Ecclesiastical Superior expresslyforbade it. I had therefore to wait for eight months more. Atfirst I found it very difficult to be resigned to such asacrifice, but divine light penetrated my soul before long. 

At this time I was using for my meditations Surin's _Foundationsof the Spiritual life. _ One day during prayer, it was brought hometo me that my too eager desire to take my vows was mingled withmuch self-love; as I belonged to Our Lord and was His littleplaything to console and please Him, it was for me to do His Will, not for Him to do mine. I also understood that a bride would notbe pleasing to the bridegroom on her wedding day were she notmagnificently attired. But, what had I made ready? So I said toOur Lord: "I do not ask Thee to hasten the day of my profession, Iwill wait as long as Thou pleasest, only I cannot bear thatthrough any fault of mine my union with Thee should be delayed; Iwill set to work and carefully prepare a wedding-dress enrichedwith diamonds and precious stones, and, when Thou findest itsufficiently rich, I am sure that nothing will keep Thee fromaccepting me as Thy Spouse. "

I took up the task with renewed zest. Since my clothing day I hadreceived abundant lights on religious perfection, chieflyconcerning the vow of poverty. Whilst I was a postulant I liked tohave nice things to use and to find everything needful ready tohand. Jesus bore with me patiently, for He gives His light littleby little. At the beginning of my spiritual life, about the age offourteen, I used to ask myself how, in days to come, I should moreclearly understand the true meaning of perfection. I imagined Ithen understood it completely, but I soon came to realise that themore one advances along this path the farther one seems from thegoal, and now I am resigned to be always imperfect, and I evenfind joy therein. 

To return to the lessons which Our Lord taught me. One eveningafter Compline I searched in vain for our lamp on the shelveswhere they are kept, and, as it was the time of the "GreatSilence, " I could not recover it. I guessed rightly that a Sister, believing it to be her own, had taken it; but just on that eveningI had counted much on doing some work, and was I to spend a wholehour in the dark on account of this mistake? Without the interiorlight of grace I should undoubtedly have pitied myself, but, withthat light, I felt happy instead of aggrieved, and reflected thatpoverty consists in being deprived not only of what is convenient, but of what is necessary. And, in this exterior darkness, I foundmy soul illumined by a brightness that was divine. 

At this time I was seized with a craving for whatever was ugly andinconvenient; and was thus quite pleased when a pretty little jugwas taken from our cell and a large chipped one put in its place. I also tried hard not to make excuses, but I found this verydifficult, especially with our Mistress; from her I did not liketo hide anything. 

My first victory was not a great one, but it cost me a good deal. A small jar, left behind a window, was found broken. No one knewwho had put it there, but our Mistress was displeased, and, thinking I was to blame in leaving it about, told me I was veryuntidy and must be more careful in future. Without answering, Ikissed the ground and promised to be more observant. I was solittle advanced in virtue that these small sacrifices cost medear, and I had to console myself with the thought that at the dayof Judgment all would be known. 

Above all I endeavoured to practise little hidden acts of virtue;thus I took pleasure in folding the mantles forgotten by theSisters, and I sought for every possible occasion of helping them. One of God's gifts was a great attraction towards penance, but Iwas not permitted to satisfy it; the only mortification allowed meconsisted in mortifying my self-love, and this did me far moregood than bodily penance would have done. 

However, Our Lady helped me with my wedding-dress, and, as soon asit was finished, every obstacle vanished and my profession wasfixed for September 8, 1890. 

All that I have set down in these few words would take many pagesto relate; but those pages will never be read on earth. . . . ______________________________

[1] Nuns, in the spirit of poverty, avoid using the word _my, _ asdenoting private possessions; so, later on, "our lamp, " "ourhandkerchief, " will occur. [Ed. ]

[2] John 18:36. 

[3] _Imit. , _ I, ii. 3. 

[4] Is. 53:3. 

[5] Léonie, having entered an order too severe for her delicatehealth, had been obliged to return home to her Father. Later shebecame a Visitation nun at Caen, and took the name of SisterFrances Teresa. 

[6] Cf. Wisdom 3:5, 6. 

[7] Ps. 89[90]:15. 

______________________________

CHAPTER VIII PROFESSION OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE

Need I tell you, dear Mother, about the retreat before myprofession? Far from receiving consolation, I went through it in astate of utter dryness and as if abandoned by God. Jesus, as wasHis wont, slept in my little barque. How rarely do souls sufferHim to sleep in peace! This Good Master is so wearied withcontinually making fresh advances that He eagerly avails Himselfof the repose I offer Him, and, no doubt, He will sleep on untilmy great and everlasting retreat; but, instead of being grieved atthis, I am glad. 

In truth I am no Saint, as this frame of mind well shows. I oughtnot to rejoice in my dryness of soul, but rather attribute it tomy want of fervour and fidelity. That I fall asleep so oftenduring meditation, and thanksgiving after Communion, shoulddistress me. Well, I am not distressed. I reflect that littlechildren are equally dear to their parents whether they are asleepor awake; that, in order to perform operations, doctors put theirpatients to sleep; and finally that "The Lord knoweth our frame, He remembereth that we are but dust. "[1] Yet, apparently barren aswas my retreat--and those which followed have been no less so--Iunconsciously received many interior lights on the best means ofpleasing God, and practising virtue. I have often observed thatOur Lord will not give me any store of provisions, but nourishesme each moment with food that is ever new; I find it within mewithout knowing how it has come there. I simply believe that it isJesus Himself hidden in my poor heart, who is secretly at work, inspiring me with what He wishes me to do as each occasion arises. 

Shortly before my profession I received the Holy Father'sblessing, through the hands of Brother Simeon; and this preciousBlessing undoubtedly helped me through the most terrible storm ofmy whole life. 

On the eve of the great day, instead of being filled with thecustomary sweetness, my vocation suddenly seemed to me as unrealas a dream. The devil--for it was he--made me feel sure that I waswholly unsuited for life in the Carmel, and that I was deceivingmy superiors by entering on a way to which I was not called. Thedarkness was so bewildering that I understood but one thing--I hadno religious vocation, and must return to the world. I cannotdescribe the agony I endured. What was I to do in such adifficulty? I chose the right course, deciding to tell my NoviceMistress of the temptation without delay. I sent for her to comeout of choir, and though full of confusion, I confessed the stateof my soul. Fortunately she saw more clearly than I did, andreassured me completely by laughing frankly at my story. The devilwas put to instant flight by my humble avowal; what he wanted wasto keep me from speaking, and thus draw me into his snares. But itwas my turn now to ensnare him, for, to make my humiliation morecomplete, I also told you everything, dear Mother, and yourconsoling words dispelled my last fears. 

On the morning of September 8, a wave of peace flooded my soul, and, in "that peace which surpasseth all understanding, "[2] Ipronounced my holy vows. 

Many were the graces I asked. I felt myself truly a queen and tookadvantage of my title to obtain every favour from the King for Hisungrateful subjects. No one was forgotten. I wished that everysinner on earth might be converted; that on that day Purgatoryshould set its captives free; and I bore upon my heart this lettercontaining what I desired for myself:

"O Jesus, my Divine Spouse, grant that my baptismal robe may neverbe sullied. Take me from this world rather than let me stain mysoul by committing the least wilful fault. May I never seek orfind aught but Thee alone! May all creatures be nothing to me andI nothing to them! May no earthly thing disturb my peace!

"O Jesus, I ask but Peace. . . . Peace, and above all, Love. . . . Love--without limit. Jesus, I ask that for Thy sake I may die aMartyr; give me martyrdom of soul or body. Or rather give me boththe one and the other. 

"Grant that I may fulfill my engagements in all their perfection;that no one may think of me; that I may be trodden under foot, forgotten, as a little grain of sand. I offer myself to Thee, O myBeloved, that Thou mayest ever perfectly accomplish in me Thy HolyWill, without let or hindrance from creatures. "

When at the close of this glorious day I laid my crown of roses, according to custom, at Our Lady's feet, it was without regret. Ifelt that time would never lessen my happiness. 

It was the Nativity of Mary. What a beautiful feast on which tobecome the Spouse of Jesus! It was the _little_ new-born HolyVirgin who presented her _little_ Flower to the _little_ Jesus. That day everything was little except the graces Ireceived--except my peace and joy in gazing upon the beautifulstar-lit sky at night, and in thinking that soon I should fly awayto Heaven and be united to my Divine Spouse amid eternal bliss. 

On September 24 took place the ceremony of my receiving the veil. This feast was indeed _veiled_ in tears. Papa was too ill to comeand bless his little Queen; at the last minute Mgr. Hugonin, whoshould have presided, was unable to do so, and, for other reasonsalso, the day was a painful one. And yet amid it all, my soul wasprofoundly at peace. That day it pleased Our Lord that I shouldnot be able to restrain my tears, and those tears were notunderstood. It is true I had borne far harder trials withoutshedding a tear; but then I had been helped by special graces, whilst on this day Jesus left me to myself, and I soon showed myweakness. 

Eight days after I had taken the veil my cousin, Jeanne Guérin, was married to Dr. La Néele. When she came to see us afterwardsand I heard of all the little attentions she lavished on herhusband, my heart thrilled and I thought: "It shall never be saidthat a woman in the world does more for her husband than I do forJesus, my Beloved. " And, filled with fresh ardour, I set myselfmore earnestly than ever to please my Heavenly Spouse, the King ofKings, Who had deigned to honour me by a divine alliance. 

Having seen the letter announcing the marriage, I amused myself bycomposing the following invitation, which I read to the novices inorder to bring home to them what had struck me so forcibly--thatthe glory of all earthly unions is as nothing compared to thetitles of a Spouse of Our Divine Lord. 

"God Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth, Sovereign Ruler of theUniverse, and the Glorious Virgin Mary, Queen of the HeavenlyCourt, announce to you the Spiritual Espousals of their AugustSon, Jesus, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, with little ThérèseMartin, now Princess and Lady of His Kingdoms of the HolyChildhood and the Passion, assigned to her as a dowry, by herDivine Spouse, from which Kingdoms she holds her titles ofnobility--_of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face. _ It was notpossible to invite you to the Wedding Feast which took place onthe Mountain of Carmel, September 8, 1890--the Heavenly Court wasalone admitted--but you are requested to be present at the WeddingFeast which will take place to-morrow, the day of Eternity, whenJesus, the Son of God, will come in the clouds of Heaven, in thesplendour of His Majesty, to judge the living and the dead. 

"The hour being still uncertain, you are asked to hold yourselvesin readiness and watch. "[3]

And now, Mother, what more shall I say? It was through your handsthat I gave myself to Our Lord, and you have known me fromchildhood--need I write my secrets? Forgive me if I cut short thestory of my religious life. 

During the general retreat following my profession I receivedgreat graces. As a rule I find preached retreats most trying, butthis one was quite an exception. I anticipated so much sufferingthat I prepared myself by a fervent novena. It was said that thegood Priest understood better how to convert sinners than todirect the souls of nuns. Well then, I must be a great sinner, forGod made use of this holy religious to bring me much consolation. At that time I had all kinds of interior trials which I found itimpossible to explain to anyone; suddenly, I was able to lay openmy whole soul. The Father understood me in a marvellous way; heseemed to divine my state, and launched me full sail upon thatocean of confidence and love in which I had longed to advance, butso far had not dared. He told me that my faults did not pain theGood God, and added: "At this moment I hold His place, and Iassure you from Him that He is well pleased with your soul. " Howhappy these consoling words made me! I had never been told beforethat it was possible for faults not to pain the Sacred Heart; thisassurance filled me with joy and helped me to bear with patiencethe exile of this life. It was also the echo of my inmostthoughts. In truth I had long known that the Lord is more tenderthan a mother, and I have sounded the depths of more than onemother's heart. I know that a mother is ever ready to forgive herchild's small thoughtless faults. How often have I not had thissweet experience! No reproach could have touched me more than onesingle kiss from my Mother. My nature is such that fear makes meshrink, while, under love's sweet rule, I not only advance--I fly. 

Two months after this happy retreat our Venerable Foundress, Mother Genevieve of St. Teresa, quitted our little convent toenter the Heavenly Carmel. Before speaking of my impressions atthe time of her death, I should like to tell you what a joy it wasto have lived for some years with a soul whose holiness was notinimitable, but lay in the practice of simple and hidden virtues. More than once she was to me a source of great consolation. 

One Sunday I went to the infirmary to pay her a visit, but, as twoof the older nuns were there, I was retiring quietly, when shecalled me and said, with something of inspiration in her manner:"Wait, my child, I have just a word for you; you are always askingme for a spiritual bouquet, well, to-day I give you this one:Serve the Lord in peace and in joy. Remember that Our God is theGod of peace. "

I thanked her quite simply and went out of the room. I was movedalmost to tears, and was convinced that God had revealed to herthe state of my soul. That day I had been sorely tried, almost tosadness. Such was the darkness that I no longer knew if I werebeloved of God, and so, dear Mother, you can understand what lightand consolation succeeded this gloom. 

The following Sunday I asked her whether she had received anyrevelation about me, but she assured me that she had not, and thisonly made me admire her the more, for it showed how intimatelyJesus lived in her soul and directed her words and actions. Suchholiness seems to me the most true, the most holy; it is theholiness I desire, for it is free from all illusion. 

On the day when this revered Mother ended her exile, I received avery special grace. It was the first time I had assisted at adeath-bed, yet though the sight enchanted me by its beauty, my twohours of watching had made me very drowsy. I was grieved at this, but, at the moment her soul took its flight to Heaven, my feelingswere completely changed. In an instant I was filled with anindescribable joy and fervour, as if the soul of our blessedFoundress made me share in the happiness she already enjoyed--forI am quite convinced she went straight to Heaven. I had said toher some time previously: "You will not go to Purgatory, dearMother. " "I hope not, " she answered sweetly. Certainly God wouldnot disappoint a hope so full of humility; and the proof that Hedid not, lies in the many favours we have received. 

The Sisters hastened to claim something belonging to our belovedMother, and you know what a precious relic is mine. During heragony I had noticed a tear glistening like a beautiful diamond. That tear, the last she shed on this earth, did not fall, I stillsaw it shining when her body was exposed in the choir. Whenevening came, I made bold to approach unseen, with a little pieceof linen, and I now have the happiness of possessing the last tearof a Saint. 

I attach no importance to my dreams, and indeed, they seldom haveany special meaning, though I do often wonder how it is that, as Ithink of God all the day, my mind does not dwell on Him more in mysleep. Generally I dream of the woods and the flowers, the brooksand the sea, and nearly always of pretty children; or I chasebirds and butterflies such as I have never seen. But, if my dreamsare sometimes poetical, they are never mystical. 

However, one night after Mother Genevieve's death, I had a moreconsoling one. I thought I saw her giving to each of us somethingthat had belonged to herself. When my turn came, her hands wereempty, and I was afraid I was not to receive anything; but shelooked at me lovingly, and said three times: "To you I leave myheart. "

About a month after that seraphic death, towards the close of theyear 1891, an epidemic of influenza raged in the Community; I onlyhad it slightly and was able to be about with two other Sisters. It is impossible to imagine the heartrending state of our Carmelthroughout those days of sorrow. The worst sufferers were nursedby those who could hardly drag themselves about; death was allaround us, and, when a Sister had breathed her last, we had toleave her instantly. 

My nineteenth birthday was saddened by the death of MotherSub-Prioress; I assisted with the infirmarian during her agony, and two more deaths quickly followed. I now had to do the Sacristywork single-handed, and I wonder sometimes how I was equal to itall. 

One morning, when it was time to rise, I had a presentiment thatSister Magdalen was no more. The dormitory was quite in darkness, no one was leaving her cell. I decided, however, to go in toSister Magdalen, and I found her dressed, but lying dead on herbed. I was not in the least afraid, and running to the Sacristy Iquickly brought a blessed candle, and placed on her head a wreathof roses. Amid all this desolation I felt the Hand of God and knewthat His Heart was watching over us. Our dear Sisters left thislife for a happier one without any struggle; an expression ofheavenly joy shone on their faces, and they seemed only to beenjoying a pleasant sleep. During all these long and trying weeksI had the unspeakable consolation of receiving Holy Communionevery day. How sweet it was! For a long time Jesus treated me as aspoilt child, for a longer time than His more faithful Spouses. Hecame to me daily for several months after the influenza hadceased, a privilege not granted to the Community. I had not askedthis favour, but I was unspeakably happy to be united day afterday to my Beloved. 

Great was my joy in being allowed to touch the Sacred Vessels andprepare the Altar linen on which Our Lord was to be laid. I feltthat I must increase in fervour, and I often recalled those wordsaddressed to deacons at their ordination: "Be you holy, you whocarry the Vessels of the Lord. "

What can I tell you, dear Mother, about my thanksgivings afterCommunion? There is no time when I taste less consolation. Butthis is what I should expect. I desire to receive Our Lord, notfor my own satisfaction, but simply to give Him pleasure. 

I picture my soul as a piece of waste ground and beg Our BlessedLady to take away my imperfections--which are as heaps ofrubbish--and to build upon it a splendid tabernacle worthy ofHeaven, and adorn it with her own adornments. Then I invite allthe Angels and Saints to come and sing canticles of love, and itseems to me that Jesus is well pleased to see Himself received sograndly, and I share in His joy. But all this does not preventdistractions and drowsiness from troubling me, and notunfrequently I resolve to continue my thanksgiving throughout theday, since I made it so badly in choir. 

You see, dear Mother, that my way is not the way of fear; I canalways make myself happy, and profit by my imperfections, and OurLord Himself encourages me in this path. Once, contrary to myusual custom, I felt troubled when I approached the Holy Table. For several days there had not been a sufficient number of Hosts, and I had only received a small part of one; this morning Ifoolishly thought: "If the same thing happens to-day, I shallimagine that Jesus does not care to come into my heart. " Iapproached the rails. What a joy awaited me! The Priest hesitateda moment, then gave me two entire Hosts. Was this not a sweetresponse?

I have much to be thankful for. I will tell you quite openly whatthe Lord has done for me. He has shown unto me the same mercy asunto King Solomon. All my desires have been satisfied; not only mydesires of perfection, but even those of which I understood thevanity, in theory, if not in practice. I had always looked onSister Agnes of Jesus as my model, and I wished to be like her ineverything. She used to paint exquisite miniatures and writebeautiful poems, and this inspired me with a desire to learn topaint, [4] and express my thoughts in verse, that I might do somegood to those around me. But I would not ask for these naturalgifts, and my desire remained hidden in my heart. 

Jesus, too, had hidden Himself in this poor little heart, and Hewas pleased to show me once more the vanity of all that passes. Tothe great astonishment of the Community, I succeeded in paintingseveral pictures and in writing poems which have been a help tocertain souls. And just as Solomon, "turning to all the workswhich his hand had wrought, and to the labours wherein he hadlaboured in vain, saw in all things vanity and vexation ofmind, "[5] so experience showed me that the sole happiness of earthconsists in lying hidden, and remaining in total ignorance ofcreated things. I understood that without love even the mostbrilliant deeds count for nothing. These gifts, which Our Lordlavished upon me, far from doing me any harm, drew me towards Him;I saw that He alone is unchangeable, He alone can fill the vastabyss of my desires. 

Talking of my desires, I must tell you about others of quite adifferent kind, which the Divine Master has also been pleased togrant: childish desires, like the wish for snow on my clothingday. You know, dear Mother, how fond I am of flowers. When I mademyself a prisoner at the age of fifteen, I gave up for ever thedelights of rambling through meadows bright with the treasures ofspring. Well, I never possessed so many flowers as I have hadsince entering the Carmel. In the world young men present theirbetrothed with beautiful bouquets, and Jesus did not forget me. For His Altar I received, in abundance, all the flowers I lovedbest: cornflowers, poppies, marguerites--one little friend onlywas missing, the purple vetch. I longed to see it again, and atlast it came to gladden me and show that, in the least as in thegreatest, God gives a hundred-fold, even in this life, to thosewho have left all for His Love. 

But one desire, the dearest of all, and for many reasons the mostdifficult, remained unfulfilled. It was to see Céline enter theCarmel of Lisieux. However, I had made a sacrifice of my longing, and committed to God alone the future of my loved sister. I waswilling she should be sent to far distant lands if it must be so;but I wanted above all things to see her like myself, the Spouseof Jesus. I suffered deeply, aware that she was exposed in theworld to dangers I had never even known. My affection for her wasmaternal rather than sisterly, and I was filled with solicitudefor the welfare of her soul. 

She was to go one evening with my aunt and cousins to a dance. Iknow not why, but I felt more anxious than usual, and I shed manytears, imploring Our Lord to hinder her dancing. And this was justwhat happened; for He did not suffer His little Spouse to dancethat evening, although as a rule she did so most gracefully. And, to the astonishment of everyone, her partner, too, found that hewas only able to walk gravely up and down with Mademoiselle. Thepoor young man slipped away in confusion, and did not dare appearagain that evening. This unique occurrence increased my confidencein Our Lord, and showed me clearly that He had already set Hisseal on my sister's brow. 

On July 29, 1894, God called my saintly and much-tried Father toHimself. For the last two years of his life he was completelyparalysed; so my uncle took him into his house and surrounded himwith the tenderest care. He became quite helpless and was onlyable to visit us once during the whole course of his illness. Itwas a sad interview. At the moment of parting, as we saidgood-bye, he raised his eyes, and pointing upwards said in a voicefull of tears: "In Heaven!"

Now that he was with God, the last ties which kept his consolingAngel in the world were broken. Angels do not remain on thisearth; when they have accomplished their mission, they returninstantly to Heaven. That is why they have wings. Céline triedtherefore to fly to the Carmel; but the obstacles seemedinsurmountable. One day, when matters were going from bad toworse, I said to Our Lord after Holy Communion: "Thou knowest, dear Jesus, how earnestly I have desired that the trials my Fatherendured should serve as his purgatory. I long to know if my wishis granted. I do not ask Thee to speak to me, I only want a sign. Thou knowest how much opposed is Sister N. To Céline's entering;if she withdraw her opposition, I shall regard it as an answerfrom Thee, and in this way I shall know that my Father wentstraight to Heaven. "

God, Who holds in His Hand the hearts of His creatures, andinclines them as He will, deigned in His infinite mercy andineffable condescension to change that Sister's mind. She was thefirst person I met after my thanksgiving, and, with tears in hereyes, she spoke of Céline's entrance, which she now ardentlydesired. Shortly afterwards the Bishop set every obstacle aside, and then you were able, dear Mother, without any hesitation, toopen our doors to the poor little exile. [6]

Now I have no desire left, unless it be to love Jesus even untofolly! It is Love alone that draws me. I no longer wish either forsuffering or death, yet both are precious to me. Long did I callupon them as the messengers of joy. I have suffered much, and Ihave thought my barque near indeed to the Everlasting Shore. Fromearliest childhood I have imagined that the Little Flower would begathered in its springtime; now, the spirit of self-abandonmentalone is my guide. I have no other compass, and know not how toask anything with eagerness, save the perfect accomplishment ofGod's designs upon my soul. I can say these words of the Canticleof our Father, St. John of the Cross:

"I drank deep in the cellar of my Friend, And, coming forth again, Knew naught of all this plain, And lost the flock I erst was wontto tend. My soul and all its wealth I gave to be His Own; No moreI tend my flock, all other work is done, And all my exercise isLove alone. "[7]

Or rather:

"Love hath so wrought in me Since I have known its sway, That allwithin me, whether good or ill, It makes subservient to the end itseeks, And soon transforms my soul into itself. "[8]

Full sweet is the way of Love. It is true one may fall and beunfaithful to grace; but Love, knowing how to profit byeverything, quickly consumes whatever is displeasing to Jesus, leaving in the heart only a deep and humble peace. I have obtainedmany spiritual lights through the works of St. John of the Cross. When I was seventeen and eighteen they were my only food; but, later on, and even now, all spiritual authors leave me cold anddry. However beautiful and touching a book may be, my heart doesnot respond, and I read without understanding, or, if Iunderstand, I cannot meditate. In my helplessness the HolyScriptures and the _Imitation_ are of the greatest assistance; inthem I find a hidden manna, genuine and pure. But it is from theGospels that I find most help in the time of prayer; from them Idraw all that I need for my poor soul. I am always discovering inthem new lights and hidden mysterious meanings. I know and I haveexperienced that "the Kingdom of God is within us. "[9] Our Lordhas no need of books or teachers to instruct our souls. He, theTeacher of Teachers, instructs us without any noise of words. Ihave never heard Him speak, yet I know He is within me. He isthere, always guiding and inspiring me; and just when I need them, lights, hitherto unseen, break in. This is not as a rule during myprayers, but in the midst of my daily duties. Sometimes, however, as this evening, at the close of a meditation spent in utterdryness, a word of comfort is given to me: "Here is the Master Igive thee, He will teach thee all that thou shouldst do. I wishthee to read in the Book of Life in which is contained the scienceof love. . . . "[10]

The Science of Love! How sweetly do these words echo in my soul!That science alone do I desire. Having given all my substance forit, like the Spouse in the Canticles, "I think that I have givennothing. "[11] After so many graces, may I not sing with thePsalmist that "the Lord is good, that His Mercy endureth forever"?[12]

It seems to me that if everyone were to receive such favours Godwould be feared by none, but loved to excess; that no one wouldever commit the least wilful fault--and this through love, notfear. 

Yet all souls cannot be alike. It is necessary that they shoulddiffer from one another in order that each Divine Perfection mayreceive its special honour. To me, He has given His InfiniteMercy, and it is in this ineffable mirror that I contemplate hisother attributes. Therein all appear to me radiant with Love. HisJustice, even more perhaps than the rest, seems to me to beclothed with Love. What joy to think that Our Lord is just, thatis to say, that He takes our weakness into account, that He knowsperfectly the frailty of our nature! Of what, then, need I beafraid?

Will not the God of Infinite Justice, Who deigns so lovingly topardon the sins of the Prodigal Son, be also just to me "who amalways with Him"?[13]

In the year 1895 I received the grace to understand, more thanever, how much Jesus desires to be loved. Thinking one day ofthose who offer themselves as victims to the Justice of God, inorder to turn aside the punishment reserved for sinners by takingit upon themselves, I felt this offering to be noble and generous, but was very far from feeling myself drawn to make it. "O myDivine Master, " I cried from the bottom of my heart, "shall ThyJustice alone receive victims of holocaust? Has not Thy MercifulLove also need thereof? On all sides it is ignored, rejected . . . The hearts on which Thou wouldst lavish it turn to creatures, there to seek their happiness in the miserable satisfaction of amoment, instead of casting themselves into Thine Arms, into theunfathomable furnace of Thine Infinite Love. 

"O my God! must Thy Love which is disdained lie hidden in ThyHeart? Methinks, if Thou shouldst find souls offering themselvesas victims of holocaust to Thy Love, Thou wouldst consume themrapidly; Thou wouldst be well pleased to suffer the flames ofinfinite tenderness to escape that are imprisoned in Thy Heart. 

"If Thy Justice--which is of earth--must needs be satisfied, howmuch more must Thy Merciful Love desire to inflame souls, since_"Thy mercy reacheth even to the Heavens"_?[14] O Jesus! Let me bethat happy victim--consume Thy holocaust with the Fire of DivineLove!"

Dear Mother, you know the love, or rather the oceans of gracewhich flooded my soul immediately after I made that Act ofOblation on June 9, 1895. From that day I have been penetrated andsurrounded with love. Every moment this Merciful Love renews meand purifies me, leaving in my soul no trace of sin. I cannot fearPurgatory; I know I do not merit to enter, even, into that placeof expiation with the Holy Souls, but I also know that the fire ofLove is more sanctifying than the fire of Purgatory. I know thatJesus could not wish useless suffering for us, and He would notinspire me with the desires I feel, were He not willing to fulfillthem. ______________________________

[1] Psalm 102[103]:14. 

[2] Phil. 4:7. 

[3] This letter, the style of which may seem strange to Englishears, is modelled closely on the formal and quaint letters wherebyFrench parents of the better class announce to their friends themarriage of their children. Such letters of _"faire-part"_ areissued in the name of relatives to the third or fourth degree. [Ed. ]

[4] Thérèse had kept this wish hidden in her heart from the daysof her childhood, and later in life she made the followingconfidence: "I was ten the day Papa told Céline that she was tobegin painting lessons. I felt quite envious. Then he turned to meand said: 'Well, little Queen, would you like to learn paintingtoo?' I was going to say: 'Yes, indeed I should, ' when Marieremarked that I had not the same taste for it as Céline. Shecarried her point, and I said nothing, thinking it was a splendidopportunity to make a big sacrifice for Our Lord; I was so anxiousto learn, that even now I wonder how I was able to keep silence. "

[5] Eccl. 2:11. 

[6] Céline entered the Convent on September 14, 1894, and took thename of Sister Genevieve of St. Teresa. 

[7] Spiritual Canticle: Stanzas 18 and 20. 

[8] Hymn to the Deity. 

[9] Luke 17:21. 

[10] Revelation of Our Lord to Bd. Margaret Mary. 

[11] Cant. 8:7. 

[12] Psalm 103[104]:1. 

[13] Luke 15:31. 

[14] Cf. Psalm 35[36]:6. 

______________________________

CHAPTER IXTHE NIGHT OF THE SOUL

Dear Mother, I thought I had written enough, and now you wish formore details of my religious life. I will not argue, but I cannothelp smiling when I have to tell you things that you know quite aswell as I do. Nevertheless, I will obey. I do not ask what usethis manuscript can be to any one, I assure you that even were youto burn it before my eyes, without having read it, I should notmind in the least. 

The opinion is not uncommon in the Community that you have alwaysindulged me, ever since I entered the Convent; however, "Man seeththose things that appear, but the Lord beholdeth the heart. "[1]Dear Mother, once again I thank you for not having spared me. Jesus knew well that His Little Flower needed the life-givingwater of humiliation--it was too weak to take root otherwise, andto you it owes so great a blessing. But for some months, theDivine Master has entirely changed His method of cultivating HisLittle Flower. Finding no doubt that it has been sufficientlywatered, He now allows it to expand under the warm rays of abrilliant sun. He smiles on it, and this favour also comes throughyou, dear Mother, but far from doing it harm, those smiles makethe Little Flower grow in a wondrous way. Deep down in its heartit treasures those precious drops of dew--the mortifications ofother days--and they remind it that it is small and frail. Evenwere all creatures to draw near to admire and flatter it, thatwould not add a shade of idle satisfaction to the true joy whichthrills it, on realising that in God's Eyes it is but a poor, worthless thing, and nothing more. 

When I say that I am indifferent to praise, I am not speaking, dear Mother, of the love and confidence you show me; on thecontrary I am deeply touched thereby, but I feel that I have nownothing to fear, and I can listen to those praises unperturbed, attributing to God all that is good in me. If it please Him tomake me appear better than I am, it is nothing to me, He can actas He will. My God, how many ways dost Thou lead souls! We read ofSaints who left absolutely nothing at their death, not the leastthing by which to remember them, not even a single line ofwriting; and there are others like our holy Mother, St. Teresa, who have enriched the Church with their sublime teaching, and havenot hesitated to reveal "the secrets of the King, "[2] that He maybe better known and better loved. 

Which of these two ways is more pleasing to Our Lord? It seems tome that they are equally so. 

All those beloved by God have followed the inspiration of the HolyGhost, who commanded the prophets to write: "Tell the just manthat all is well. "[3] Yes, all is well when one seeks only theMaster's Will, and so I, poor Little Flower, obey my Jesus when Itry to please you, who represent him here on earth. 

You know it has ever been my desire to become a Saint, but I havealways felt, in comparing myself with the Saints, that I am as farremoved from them as the grain of sand, which the passer-bytramples underfoot, is remote from the mountain whose summit islost in the clouds. 

Instead of being discouraged, I concluded that God would notinspire desires which could not be realised, and that I may aspireto sanctity in spite of my littleness. For me to become great isimpossible. I must bear with myself and my many imperfections; butI will seek out a means of getting to Heaven by a little way--veryshort and very straight, a little way that is wholly new. We livein an age of inventions; nowadays the rich need not trouble toclimb the stairs, they have lifts instead. Well, I mean to try andfind a lift by which I may be raised unto God, for I am too tinyto climb the steep stairway of perfection. I have sought to findin Holy Scripture some suggestion as to what this lift might bewhich I so much desired, and I read these words uttered by theEternal Wisdom Itself: "Whosoever is a little one, let him come toMe. "[4] Then I drew near to God, feeling sure that I haddiscovered what I sought; but wishing to know further what Hewould do to the little one, I continued my search and this is whatI found: "You shall be carried at the breasts and upon the knees;as one whom the mother caresseth, so will I comfort you. "[5]

Never have I been consoled by words more tender and sweet. ThineArms, then, O Jesus, are the lift which must raise me up even untoHeaven. To get there I need not grow; on the contrary, I mustremain little, I must become still less. O my God, thou hast gonebeyond my expectation, and I . . . "I will sing Thy mercies! Thouhast taught me, O Lord, from my youth and till now I have declaredThy wonderful works, and thus unto old age and grey hairs. "[6]

What will this old age be for me? It seems to me that it could aswell be now as later: two thousand years are no more in the Eyesof the Lord than twenty years . . . Than a single day! But do notthink, dear Mother, that your child is anxious to leave you, anddeems it a greater grace to die in the morning rather than in theevening of life; to please Jesus is what [s]he really values anddesires above all things. Now that He seems to come near and drawher to His Heavenly Home, she is glad; she has understood that Godhas need of no one to do good upon earth, still less of her thanof others. Meantime I know your will, dear Mother. You wish me tocarry out, at your side, a work which is both sweet and easy, [7]and this work I shall complete in Heaven. You have said to me, asOur Lord said to St. Peter: "Feed my lambs. " I am amazed, for Ifeel that I am so little. I have entreated you to feed your littlelambs yourself and to keep me among them. You have complied inpart with my reasonable wish, and have called me their companion, rather than their mistress, telling me nevertheless to lead themthrough fertile and shady pastures, to point out where the grassis sweetest and best, and warn them against the brilliant butpoisonous flowers, which they must never touch except to crushunder foot. 

How is it, dear Mother, that my youth and inexperience have notfrightened you? Are you not afraid that I shall let your lambsstray afar? In acting as you have done, perhaps you rememberedthat Our Lord is often pleased to give wisdom to little ones. 

On this earth it is rare indeed to find souls who do not measureGod's Omnipotence by their own narrow thoughts. The world isalways ready to admit exceptions everywhere here below. God aloneis denied this liberty. It has long been the custom among men toreckon experience by age, for in his youth the holy King Davidsang to His Lord: "I am young and despised, "[8] but in the samePsalm he does not fear to say: "I have had understanding above oldmen, because I have sought Thy commandments, Thy word is a lamp tomy feet, and a light to my paths; I have sworn, and I amdetermined, to keep the judgments of Thy Justice. "[9]

And you did not even consider it imprudent to assure me one day, that the Divine Master had enlightened my soul and given me theexperience of years. I am too little now to be guilty of vanity; Iam likewise too little to endeavour to prove my humility byfine-sounding words. I prefer to own in all simplicity that "Hethat is mighty hath done great things to me"--[10] and thegreatest is that He has shown me my littleness and how incapable Iam of anything good. 

My soul has known trials of many kinds. I have suffered much onthis earth. In my childhood I suffered with sadness, but now Ifind sweetness in all things. Anyone but you, dear Mother, whoknow me thoroughly, would smile at reading these pages, for hasever a soul seemed less tried than mine? But if the martyrdomwhich I have endured for the past year were made known, howastonished everyone would be! Since it is your wish I will try todescribe it, but there are no words really to explain thesethings. The words will always fall short of the reality. 

During Lent last year I felt much better than ever and continuedso until Holy Week, in spite of the fast which I observed in allits rigour. But in the early hours of Good Friday, Jesus gave meto hope that I should soon join Him in His beautiful Home. Howsweet is this memory!

I could not obtain permission to remain watching at the Altar ofRepose throughout the Thursday night, and I returned to our cellat midnight. Scarcely was my head laid on the pillow when I felt ahot stream rise to my lips. I thought I was going to die, and myheart nearly broke with joy. But as I had already put out ourlamp, I mortified my curiosity until the morning and slept inpeace. At five o'clock, when it was time to get up, I rememberedat once that I had some good news to learn, and going to thewindow I found, as I had expected, that our handkerchief wassoaked with blood. Dearest Mother, what hope was mine! I wasfirmly convinced that on this anniversary of His Death, my Belovedhad allowed me to hear His first call, like a sweet, distantmurmur, heralding His joyful approach. 

I assisted at Prime and Chapter most fervently, and then Ihastened to cast myself at my Mother's knees and confide to her myhappiness. I did not feel the least pain, so I easily obtainedpermission to finish Lent as I had begun, and on this Good FridayI shared in all the austerities of the Carmel without anyrelaxation. Never had these austerities seemed sweeter to me; thehope of soon entering Heaven transported me with joy. 

Still full of joy, I returned to our cell on the evening of thathappy day, and was quietly falling asleep, when my sweet Jesusgave me the same sign as on the previous night, of my speedyentrance to Eternal Life. I felt such a clear and lively Faiththat the thought of Heaven was my sole delight. I could notbelieve it possible for men to be utterly devoid of Faith, and Iwas convinced that those who deny the existence of another worldreally lie in their hearts. 

But during the Paschal days, so full of light, our Lord made meunderstand that there really are in truth souls bereft of Faithand Hope, who, through abuse of grace, lose these precioustreasures, the only source of pure and lasting joy. He allowed mysoul to be overwhelmed with darkness, and the thought of Heaven, which had consoled me from my earliest childhood, now became asubject of conflict and torture. This trial did not last merelyfor days or weeks; I have been suffering for months, and I stillawait deliverance. I wish I could express what I feel, but it isbeyond me. One must have passed through this dark tunnel tounderstand its blackness. However, I will try to explain it bymeans of a comparison. 

Let me suppose that I had been born in a land of thick fogs, andhad never seen the beauties of nature, or a single ray ofsunshine, although I had heard of these wonders from my earlyyouth, and knew that the country wherein I dwelt was not my realhome--there was another land, unto which I should always lookforward. Now this is not a fable, invented by an inhabitant of theland of fogs, it is the solemn truth, for the King of that sunlitcountry dwelt for three and thirty years in the land of darkness, and alas!--the darkness did not understand that He was the Lightof the World. _[11]

But, dear Lord, Thy child has understood Thou art the LightDivine; she asks Thy pardon for her unbelieving brethren, and iswilling to eat the bread of sorrow as long as Thou mayest wish. For love of Thee she will sit at that table of bitterness wherethese poor sinners take their food, and she will not stir from ituntil Thou givest the sign. But may she not say in her own name, and the name of her guilty brethren: "O God, be merciful to ussinners!"[12] Send us away justified. May all those on whom Faithdoes not shine see the light at last! O my God, if that tablewhich they profane can be purified by one that loves Thee, I amwilling to remain there alone to eat the bread of tears, until itshall please Thee to bring me to Thy Kingdom of Light: the onlyfavour I ask is, that I may never give Thee cause for offence. 

From the time of my childhood I felt that one day I should be setfree from this land of darkness. I believed it, not only because Ihad been told so by others, but my heart's most secret and deepestlongings assured me that there was in store for me another andmore beautiful country--an abiding dwelling-place. I was likeChristopher Columbus, whose genius anticipated the discovery ofthe New World. And suddenly the mists about me have penetrated myvery soul and have enveloped me so completely that I cannot evenpicture to myself this promised country . . . All has faded away. When my heart, weary of the surrounding darkness, tries to findsome rest in the thought of a life to come, my anguish increases. It seems to me that out of the darkness I hear the mocking voiceof the unbeliever: "You dream of a land of light and fragrance, you dream that the Creator of these wonders will be yours forever, you think one day to escape from these mists where you nowlanguish. Nay, rejoice in death, which will give you, not what youhope for, but a night darker still, the night of utternothingness!" . . . 

Dear Mother, this description of what I suffer is as far removedfrom reality as the first rough outline is from the model, but Ifear that to write more were to blaspheme . . . Even now I mayhave said too much. May God forgive me! He knows that I try tolive by Faith, though it does not afford me the least consolation. I have made more acts of Faith in this last year than during allthe rest of my life. 

Each time that my enemy would provoke me to combat, I behave as agallant soldier. I know that a duel is an act of cowardice, andso, without once looking him in the face, I turn my back on thefoe, then I hasten to my Saviour, and vow that I am ready to shedmy blood in witness of my belief in Heaven. I tell him, if only Hewill deign to open it to poor unbelievers, I am content tosacrifice all pleasure in the thought of it as long as I live. Andin spite of this trial, which robs me of all comfort, I still cansay: "Thou hast given me, O Lord, delight in all Thou dost. "[13]For what joy can be greater than to suffer for Thy Love? The morethe suffering is and the less it appears before men, the more isit to Thy Honour and Glory. Even if--but I know it to beimpossible--Thou shouldst not deign to heed my sufferings, Ishould still be happy to bear them, in the hope that by my tears Imight perhaps prevent or atone for one sin against Faith. 

No doubt, dear Mother, you will think I exaggerate somewhat _thenight of my soul. _ If you judge by the poems I have composed thisyear, it must seem as though I have been flooded withconsolations, like a child for whom the veil of Faith is almostrent asunder. And yet it is not a veil--it is a wall which risesto the very heavens and shuts out the starry sky. 

When I sing of the happiness of Heaven and the eternal possessionof God, I do not feel any joy therein, for I sing only of what Iwish to believe. Sometimes, I confess, a little ray of sunshineillumines my dark night, and I enjoy peace for an instant, butlater, the remembrance of this ray of light, instead of consolingme, makes the blackness thicker still. 

And yet never have I felt so deeply how sweet and merciful is theLord. He did not send me this heavy cross when it might havediscouraged me, but at a time when I was able to bear it. Now itsimply takes from me all natural satisfaction I might feel in mylonging for Heaven. 

Dear Mother, it seems to me that at present there is nothing toimpede my upward flight, for I have no longer any desire save tolove Him till I die. I am free; I fear nothing now, not even whatI dreaded more than anything else, a long illness which would makeme a burden to the Community. Should it please the Good God, I amquite content to have my bodily and mental sufferings prolongedfor years. I do not fear a long life; I do not shrink from thestruggle. The Lord is the rock upon which I stand--"Who teachethmy hands to fight, and my fingers to war. He is my Protector and Ihave hoped in Him. "[14] I have never asked God to let me dieyoung, It is true I have always thought I should do so, but it isa favour I have not tried to obtain. 

Our Lord is often content with the wish to do something for HisGlory, and you know the immensity of my desires. You know alsothat Jesus has offered me more than one bitter chalice through mydearly loved sisters. The holy King David was right when he sang:"Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwelltogether in unity. "[15] But such unity can only exist upon earthin the midst of sacrifice. It was not in order to be with mysisters that I came to this holy Carmel; on the contrary, I knewwell that in curbing my natural affection I should have much tosuffer. 

How can it be said that it is more perfect to separate oneselffrom home and friends? Has anyone ever reproached brothers whofight side by side, or together win the martyr's palm? It is true, no doubt, they encourage each other; but it is also true that themartyrdom of each is a martyrdom to them all. 

And so it is in the religious life; theologians call it amartyrdom. A heart given to God loses nothing of its naturalaffection--on the contrary, this affection grows stronger bybecoming purer and more spiritual. It is with this love, dearMother, that I love you and my sisters. I am glad to fight besideyou for the glory of the King of Heaven, but I am ready to go toanother battlefield, did the Divine Commander but express a wish. An order would not be necessary: a simple look, a sign, wouldsuffice. 

Ever since I came to the Carmel I have thought that if Our Lorddid not take me quickly to Heaven, my lot would be that of Noe'sdove, and that one day he would open the window of the Ark and bidme fly to heathen lands, bearing the olive branch. This thoughthas helped me to soar above all created things. 

Knowing that even in the Carmel there must be partings, I tried tomake my abode in Heaven; and I accepted not only exile in themidst of an unknown people, but what was far more bitter, Iaccepted exile for my sisters. And indeed, two of them were askedfor by the Carmel of Saïgon, our own foundation. For a time therewas serious question of their being sent, and I would not say aword to hold them back, though my heart ached at the thought ofthe trials awaiting them. Now all that is at an end; the superiorswere absolutely opposed to their departure, and I only touched thecup with my lips long enough to taste of its bitterness. 

Let me tell you, dear Mother, why, if Our Lady cures me, I wish torespond to the call from our Mothers of Hanoï. It appears that tolive in foreign Carmels, a very special vocation is needed, andmany souls think they are called without being so in reality. Youhave told me that I have this vocation, and that my health alonestands in the way. But if I am destined one day to leave thisCarmel, it will not be without a pang. My heart is naturallysensitive, and because this is a cause of much suffering, I wishto offer Jesus whatsoever it can bear. Here, I am loved by you andall the Sisters, and this love is very sweet to me, and I dream ofa convent where I should be unknown, where I should taste thebitterness of exile. I know only too well how useless I am, and soit is not for the sake of the services I might render to theCarmel of Hanoï that I would leave all that is dearest to me--mysole reason would be to do God's Will, and sacrifice myself forHim. 

And I should not suffer any disappointment, for when we expectnothing but suffering, then the least joy is a surprise; and lateron suffering itself becomes the greatest of all joys, when we seekit as a precious treasure. 

But I know I shall never recover from this sickness, and yet I amat peace. For years I have not belonged to myself, I havesurrendered myself wholly to Jesus, and He is free to do with mewhatsoever He pleases. He has spoken to me of exile, and has askedme if I would consent to drink of that chalice. At once I essayedto grasp it, but He, withdrawing His Hand, showed me that myconsent was all He desired. 

O my God! from how much disquiet do we free ourselves by the vowof obedience! Happy is the simple religious. Her one guide beingthe will of her superiors, she is ever sure of following the rightpath, and has no fear of being mistaken, even when it seems thather superiors are making a mistake. But if she ceases to consultthe unerring compass, then at once her soul goes astray in barrenwastes, where the waters of grace quickly fail. Dear Mother, youare the compass Jesus has given me to direct me safely to theEternal Shore. I find it most sweet to fix my eyes upon you, andthen do the Will of my Lord. By allowing me to suffer thesetemptations against Faith, He has greatly increased the spirit ofFaith, which makes me see Him living in your soul, and through youcommunicating His holy commands. 

I am well aware that you lighten the burden of obedience for me, but deep in my heart I feel that my attitude would not change, norwould my filial affection grow less, were you to treat me withseverity: and this because I should still see the Will of Godmanifesting itself in another way for the greater good of my soul. 

Among the numberless graces that I have received this year, notthe least is an understanding of how far-reaching is the preceptof charity. I had never before fathomed these words of Our Lord:"The second commandment is like to the first: Thou shalt love thyneighbour as thyself. "[16] I had set myself above all to love God, and it was in loving Him that I discovered the hidden meaning ofthese other words: "It is not those who say, Lord, Lord! who enterinto the Kingdom of Heaven, but he who does the Will of MyFather. "[17]

Jesus revealed me this Will when at the Last Supper He gave HisNew Commandment in telling His Apostles to _love one another as Hehad loved them. _[18] I set myself to find out how He had loved HisApostles; and I saw that it was not for their natural qualities, for they were ignorant men, full of earthly ideas. And yet Hecalls them His Friends, His Brethren; He desires to see them nearHim in the Kingdom of His Father, and in order to admit them tothis Kingdom He wills to die on the Cross, saying: "Greater lovethan this no man hath, that a man lay down his life for hisfriends. "[19]

As I meditated on these Divine words, I saw how imperfect was thelove I bore my Sisters in religion. I understood that I did notlove tem as Our Lord loves them. I know now that true charityconsists in bearing all our neighbours' defects--not beingsurprised at their weakness, but edified at their smallestvirtues. Above all I know that charity must not remain shut up inthe heart, for "No man lighteth a candle, and putteth it in ahidden place, nor under a bushel; but upon a candlestick, thatthey who come in may see the light. "[20]

It seems to me, dear Mother, this candle represents that charitywhich enlightens and gladdens, not only those who are dear to us, but all _those who are of the household. _

In the Old Law, when God told His people to love their neighbouras themselves, He had not yet come down upon earth; and knowingfull well how man loves himself, He could not ask anythinggreater. But when Our Lord gave His Apostles a NewCommandment--"His own commandment"[21]--He was not content withsaying: "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself, " but would havethem love even as He had loved, and as He will love till the endof time. 

O my Jesus! Thou does never ask what is impossible; Thou knowestbetter than I, how frail and imperfect I am, and Thou knowest thatI shall never love my Sisters as Thou hast loved them, unlesswithin me Thou lovest them, dear Lord! It is because Thou dostdesire to grant me this grace that Thou hast given a NewCommandment. Oh how I love it, since I am assured thereby that itis Thy Will to love in me all those Thou dost bid me love!

Yes, I know when I show charity to others, it is simply Jesusacting in me, and the more closely I am united to Him, the moredearly I love my Sisters. If I wish to increase this love in myheart, and the devil tries to bring before me the defects of aSister, I hasten to look for her virtues, her good motives; I callto mind that though I may have seen her fall once, no doubt shehas gained many victories over herself, which in her humility sheconceals. It is even possible that what seems to me a fault, mayvery likely, on account of her good intention, be an act ofvirtue. I have no difficulty in persuading myself of this, becauseI have had the same experience. One day, during recreation, theportress came to ask for a Sister to help her. I had a childishlonging to do this work, and it happened the choice fell upon me. I therefore began to fold up our needlework, but so slowly that myneighbour, who I knew would like to take my place, was readybefore me. The Sister who had asked for help, seeing howdeliberate I was, said laughingly: "I thought you would not addthis pearl to your crown, you are so extremely slow, " and all theCommunity thought I had yielded to natural reluctance. I cannottell you what profit I derived from this incident, and it made meindulgent towards others. It still checks any feelings of vanity, when I am praised, for I reflect that since my small acts ofvirtue can be mistaken for imperfections, why should not myimperfections be mistaken for virtue? And I say with St. Paul: "Tome it is a very small thing to be judged by you, or by man's day. But neither do I judge myself. He that judgeth me is the Lord. "[22]

And it is the Lord, it is Jesus, Who is my judge. Therefore I willtry always to think leniently of others, that He may judge meleniently, or rather not at all, since He says: "Judge not, and yeshall not be judged. "[23]

But returning to the Holy Gospel where Our Lord explains to meclearly in what His New Commandment consists, I read in St. Matthew: "You have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt lovethy neighbour, and hate thy enemy: but I say unto you, Love yourenemies, and pray for them that persecute you. "[24]

There are, of course, no enemies in the Carmel; but, after all, wehave our natural likes and dislikes. We may feel drawn towards oneSister, and may be tempted to go a long way round to avoid meetinganother. Well, Our Lord tells me that this is the Sister to loveand pray for, even though her behaviour may make me imagine shedoes not care for me. "If you love them that love you, what thanksare to you? For sinners also love those that love them. "[25] Andit is not enough to love, we must prove our love; naturally onelikes to please a friend, but that is not charity, for sinners dothe same. 

Our Lord also taught me: "Give to everyone that asketh thee; andof him that taketh away thy goods, ask them not again. "[26] Togive to everyone who asks is not so pleasant as to give of one'sown accord. If we are asked pleasantly, it is easy to give; but ifwe are asked discourteously, then, unless we are perfect incharity, there is an inward rebellion, and we find no end ofexcuses for refusing. Perhaps, after first pointing out therudeness of the request, we make such a favour of consentingthereto, that the slight service takes far less time to performthan was lost in arguing the point. And if it is difficult to giveto whosoever asks, it is far more difficult to let what belongs tous be taken without asking it again. Dear Mother, I say this ishard, but I should rather say that it seems hard, for "The yoke ofthe Lord is sweet and His burden light. "[27] And when we submit tothat yoke, we at once feel its sweetness. 

I have said Jesus does not wish me to ask again for what is myown. This ought to seem quite easy, for, in reality, nothing ismine. I ought, then, to be glad when an occasion arises whichbrings home to me the poverty to which I am vowed. I used to thinkmyself completely detached, but since Our Lord's words have becomeclear, I see that I am indeed very imperfect. 

For instance: when starting to paint, if I find the brushes indisorder, and a ruler or penknife gone, I feel inclined to losepatience, and have to keep a firm hold over myself not to betraymy feelings. Of course I may ask for these needful things, and ifI do so humbly I am not disobeying Our Lord's command. I am thenlike the poor who hold out their hands for the necessaries oflife, and, if refused, are not surprised, since no one owes themanything. Deep peace inundates the soul when it soars above merenatural sentiments. There is no joy equal to that which is sharedby the truly poor in spirit. If they ask with detachment forsomething necessary, and not only is it refused, but an attempt ismade to take away what they already possess, they are followingthe Master's advice: "If any man will take away thy coat, let himhave thy cloak also. "[28] To give up one's cloak is, it seems tome, to renounce every right, and to regard oneself as the servant, the slave, of all. Without a cloak it is easier to walk or run, and so the Master adds: "And whosoever shall force thee to go onemile, go with him other two. "[29]

It is therefore not enough for me to give to whoever asks--I oughtto anticipate the wish, and show myself glad to be of service; butif anything of mine be taken away, I should show myself glad to berid of it. I cannot always carry out to the letter the words ofthe Gospel, for there are occasions when I am compelled to refusesome request. Yet when charity is deeply rooted in the soul itlets itself be outwardly seen, and there is a way of refusing sograciously what one is unable to give, that the refusal affords asmuch pleasure as the gift would have done. It is true that peopledo not hesitate to ask from those who readily oblige, neverthelessI ought not to avoid importunate Sisters on the pretext that Ishall be forced to refuse. The Divine Master has said: "From himthat would borrow of thee turn not away. "[30] Nor should I be kindin order to appear so, or in the hope that the Sister will returnthe service, for once more it is written: "If you lend to them ofwhom you hope to receive, what thanks are to you? For sinners alsolend to sinners for to receive as much. But you do good and lend, hoping for nothing thereby, and your reward shall be great. "[31]

Verily, the reward is great even on earth. In this path it is onlythe first step which costs. To lend without hope of being repaidseems hard; one would rather give outright, for what you give isno longer yours. When a Sister says confidently: "I want your helpfor some hours--I have our Mother's leave, and be assured I willdo as much for you later, " one may know well that these hours_lent_ will not be repaid, and be sorely tempted to say: "I preferto _give_ them. " But that would gratify self-love, besides lettingthe Sister feel that you do not rely much on her promise. TheDivine precepts run contrary to our natural inclinations, andwithout the help of grace it would be impossible to understandthem, far less to put them in practice. 

Dear Mother, I feel that I have expressed myself with more thanusual confusion, and I do not know what you can find to interestyou in these rambling pages, but I am not aiming at a literarymasterpiece, and if I weary you by this discourse on charity, itwill at least prove your child's good will. I must confess I amfar from living up to my ideal, and yet the very desire to do sogives me a feeling of peace. If I fall into some fault, I ariseagain at once--and for some months now I have not even had tostruggle. I have been able to say with our holy Father, St. Johnof the Cross: "My house is entirely at peace, " and I attributethis interior peace to a victory I gained over myself. Since thatvictory, the hosts of Heaven have hastened to my aid, for theywill not allow me to be wounded, now that I have fought sovaliantly. 

A holy nun of our community annoyed me in all that she did; thedevil must have had something to do with it, and he it wasundoubtedly who made me see in her so many disagreeable points. Idid not want to yield to my natural antipathy, for I rememberedthat charity ought to betray itself in deeds, and not exist merelyin the feelings, so I set myself to do for this sister all Ishould do for the one I loved most. Every time I met her I prayedfor her, and offered to God her virtues and merits. I felt thatthis was very pleasing to Our Lord, for there is no artist who isnot gratified when his works are praised, and the Divine Artist ofsouls is pleased when we do not stop at the exterior, but, penetrating to the inner sanctuary He has chosen, admire itsbeauty. 

I did not rest satisfied with praying for this Sister, who gave mesuch occasions for self-mastery, I tried to render her as manyservices as I could, and when tempted to answer her sharply, Imade haste to smile and change the subject, for the _Imitation_says: "It is more profitable to leave everyone to his way ofthinking than to give way to contentious discourses. " Andsometimes when the temptation was very severe, I would run like adeserter from the battlefield if I could do so without letting theSister guess my inward struggle. 

One day she said to me with a beaming face: "My dear SoeurThérèse, tell me what attraction you find in me, for whenever wemeet, you greet me with such a sweet smile. " Ah! What attracted mewas Jesus hidden in the depths of her soul--Jesus who maketh sweeteven that which is most bitter. 

I spoke just now, dear Mother, of the flight that is my lastresource to escape defeat. It is not honourable, I confess, butduring my noviciate, whenever I had recourse to this means, itinvariably succeeded. I will give you a striking example, whichwill, I am sure, amuse you. You had been ill with bronchitis forseveral days, and we were all uneasy about you. One morning, in myduty as sacristan, I came to put back the keys of theCommunion-grating. This was my work, and I was very pleased tohave an opportunity of seeing you, though I took good care not toshow it. One of the Sisters, full of solicitude, feared I shouldawake you, and tried to take the keys from me. I told her aspolitely as I could, that I was quite as anxious as she was thereshould be no noise, and added that it was my right to return them. I see now that it would have been more perfect simply to yield, but I did not see it then, and so I followed her into the room. Very soon what she feared came to pass: the noise did awaken you. All the blame fell upon me; the Sister I had argued with began along discourse, of which the point was: Soeur Thérèse made all thenoise. I was burning to defend myself, but a happy inspiration ofgrace came to me. I thought that if I began to justify myself Ishould certainly lose my peace of mind, and as I had too littlevirtue to let myself be unjustly accused without answering, mylast chance of safety lay in flight. No sooner thought than done. I hurried away, but my heart beat so violently, I could not gofar, and I was obliged to sit down on the stairs to enjoy in quietthe fruit of my victory. This is an odd kind of courage, undoubtedly, but I think it is best not to expose oneself in theface of certain defeat. 

When I recall these days of my noviciate I understand how far Iwas from perfection, and the memory of certain things makes melaugh. How good God has been, to have trained my soul and given itwings All the snares of the hunter can no longer frighten me, for"A net is spread in vain before the eyes of them that havewings. "[32]

It may be that some day my present state will appear to me full ofdefects, but nothing now surprises me, and I do not even distressmyself because I am so weak. On the contrary I glory therein, andexpect each day to find fresh imperfections. Nay, I must confess, these lights on my own nothingness are of more good to my soulthan lights on matters of Faith. Remembering that "Charitycovereth a multitude of sins, "[33] I draw from this rich mine, which Our Saviour has opened to us in the Gospels. I search thedepths of His adorable words, and cry out with david: "I have runin the way of Thy commandments since Thou hast enlarged myheart. "[34] And charity alone can make wide the heart. O Jesus!Since its sweet flame consumes my heart, I run with delight in theway of Thy New Commandment, and I desire to run therein until thatblessed day when, with Thy company of Virgins, I shall follow Theethrough Thy boundless Realm, singing Thy New Canticle--TheCanticle of Love. ______________________________

[1] 1 Kings 16:7. 

[2] Tobias 12:7. 

[3] Cf. Isaias 3:10. 

[4] Prov. 9:4. 

[5] Isa. 66:12, 13. 

[6] Cf. Ps. 70[71]:17, 18. 

[7] Soeur Thérèse had charge of the novices without being giventhe title of Novice Mistress. 

[8] Ps. 118[119]:141. 

[9] Ps. 118[119]:100, 105, 106. 

[10] Luke 1:49. 

[11] Cf. John 1:5. 

[12] Cf. Luke 18:13. 

[13] Ps. 91[92]:5. 

[14] Ps. 143[144]:1, 2. 

[15] Ps. 132[133]:1. 

[16] Matt. 22:39. 

[17] Cf. Matt. 7:21. 

[18] Cf. John 13:34. 

[19] John 15:12. 

[20] Luke 11:33. 

[21] John 15:12. 

[22] 1 Cor. 4:3, 4. 

[23] Luke 6:37. 

[24] Matt. 5:43, 44. 

[25] Luke 6:32. 

[26] Luke 6:30. 

[27] Matt. 11:30. 

[28] Matt. 5:40. 

[29] Matt. 5:41. 

[30] Matt. 5:42. 

[31] Luke 6:34, 35. 

[32] Prov. 1:27. 

[33] Prov. 10:12. 

[34] Ps. 118[119]:32. 

______________________________

CHAPTER XTHE NEW COMMANDMENT

Dear Mother, God in His infinite goodness has given me a clearinsight into the deep mysteries of Charity. If I could but expresswhat I know, you would hear a heavenly music; but alas! I can onlystammer like a child, and if God's own words were not my support, I should be tempted to beg leave to hold my peace. When the DivineMaster tells me to give to whosoever asks of me, and to let whatis mine be taken without asking it again, it seems to me that Hespeaks not only of the goods of earth, but also of the goods ofHeaven. Besides, neither one nor the other are really mine; Irenounced the former by the vow of poverty, and the latter giftsare simply lent. If God withdraw them, I have no right to complain. 

But our very own ideas, the fruit of our mind and heart, form atreasury on which none dare lay hands. For instance, if I revealto a Sister some light given me in prayer, and she repeats itlater on as though it were her own, it seems as though sheappropriates what is mine. Or, if during recreation someone makesan apt and witty remark, which her neighbour repeats to theCommunity, without acknowledging whence it came, it is a sort oftheft; and the person who originated the remark is naturallyinclined to seize the first opportunity of delicately insinuatingthat her thoughts have been borrowed. 

I could not so well explain all these weaknesses of human naturehad I not experienced them. I should have preferred to indulge inthe illusion that I was the only one who suffered thus, had younot bidden me advise the novices in their difficulties. I havelearnt much in the discharge of this duty, and especially I feelbound to put in practice what I teach. 

I can say with truth that by God's grace I am no more attached tothe gifts of the intellect than to material things. If it happensthat a thought of mine should please my Sisters, I find it quiteeasy to let them regard it as their own. My thoughts belong to theHoly Ghost. They are not mine. St. Paul assures us that _withoutthe Spirit of Love, we cannot call God our Father. _[1]

And besides, though far from depreciating those beautiful thoughtswhich bring us nearer to God, I have long been of opinion that wemust be careful not to over-estimate their worth. The highestinspirations are of no value without good works. It is true thatothers may derive much profit therefrom, if they are duly gratefulto our Lord for allowing them to share in the abundance of one ofHis privileged souls; but should this privileged soul take pridein spiritual wealth, and imitate the Pharisee, she becomes like toa hostess dying of starvation at a well-spread table, while herguests enjoy the richest fare, and perhaps case envious glances atthe possessor of so many treasures. 

Verily it is true that God alone can sound the heart. Howshort-sighted are His creatures! When they see a soul whose lightssurpass their own, they conclude that the Divine Master loves themless. Since when has He lost the right to make use of one of Hischildren, in order to supply the others with the nourishment theyneed? That right was not lost in the days of Pharaoh, for God saidunto him: "And therefore have I raised thee, that I may show Mypower in thee, and My name may be spoken of throughout all theearth. "[2]

Generations have passed away since the Most High spoke thesewords, and His ways have not changed. He has ever chosen humaninstruments for the accomplishment of His work. 

If an artist's canvas could but think and speak, surely it wouldnever complain of being touched and re-touched by the brush, norwould it feel envious thereof, knowing that all its beauty is dueto the artist alone. So, too, the brush itself could not boast ofthe masterpiece it had helped to produce, for it must know that anartist is never at a loss; that difficulties do but stimulate him;and that at times it pleases him to make use of instruments themost unlikely and defective. 

Dear Mother, I am the little brush that Jesus has chosen to paintHis likeness in the souls you have confided to my care. Now anartist has several brushes--two at the least: the first, which ismore useful, gives the ground tints and rapidly covers the wholecanvas; the other, and smaller one, puts in the lesser touches. Mother, you represent the big brush which our Lord holds lovinglyin His Hand when He wishes to do some great work in the souls ofyour children; and I am the little one He deigns to useafterwards, to fill in the minor details. 

The first time the Divine Master took up His little brush wasabout December 8, 1892. I shall always remember that time as oneof special grace. 

When I entered the Carmel, I found in the noviciate a companionabout eight years older than I was. In spite of this difference ofage, we became the closest friends, and to encourage an affectionwhich gave promise of fostering virtue we were allowed to conversetogether on spiritual subjects. My companion charmed me by herinnocence and by her open and frank disposition, though I wassurprised to find how her love for you differed from mine; andbesides, I regretted many things in her behaviour. But God hadalready given me to understand that there are souls for whom inHis Mercy He waits unweariedly, and to whom He gives His light bydegrees; so I was very careful not to forestall Him. 

One day when I was thinking over the permission we had to talktogether, so that we might--as our holy constitutions tellsus--incite ourselves more ardently to the love of our DivineSpouse, it came home to me sadly that our conversations did notattain the desired end; and I understood that either I must nolonger fear to speak out, or else I must put an end to what wasdegenerating into mere worldly talk. I begged our Lord to inspireme with words, kind and convincing; or better still, to speakHimself for me. He heard my prayer, for those _who look upon Himshall be enlightened, _[3] and "to the upright a light is risen inthe darkness. "[4] The first of these texts I apply to myself, theother to my companion, who was truly upright in heart. 

The next time we met, the poor little Sister saw at once that mymanner had changed, and, blushing deeply, she sat down beside me. I pressed her to my heart, and told her gently what was in mymind; then I pointed out to her in what true love consists, andproved that in loving her Prioress with such natural affection shewas in reality loving herself. I confided to her the sacrifices ofthis kind which I had been obliged to make at the beginning of myreligious life, and before long her tears were mingled with mine. She admitted very humbly that she was in the wrong and that I wasright, and, begging me as a favour always to point out her faults, she promised to begin a new life. From this time our love for oneanother became truly spiritual; in us were fulfilled these wordsof the Holy Ghost: "A brother that is helped by his brother islike a strong city. "[5]

Dear Mother, you know very well that it was not my wish to turn mycompanion away from you, I only wanted her to grasp that true lovefeeds on sacrifice, and that in proportion as our souls renouncenatural enjoyments our affections become stronger and moredetached. 

I remember that when I was a postulant I was sometimes soviolently tempted to seek my own satisfaction by having a wordwith you, that I was obliged to hurry past your cell and hold onto the banisters to keep myself from turning back. Numerouspermissions I wanted to ask, and a hundred pretexts for yieldingto my desires suggested themselves, but now I am truly glad that Idid not listen. I already enjoy the reward promised to those whofight bravely. I no longer feel the need of refusing myself theseconsolations, for my heart is fixed on God. Because it has lovedHim only, it has grown, little by little, and now it can give tothose who are dear to Him a far deeper and truer love than if itwere centred in a barren and selfish affection. 

I have told you of the first piece of work which you accomplishedtogether with Our Lord by means of the little brush, but that wasonly the prelude to the masterpiece which was afterwards to bepainted. From the moment I entered the sanctuary of souls, I sawat a glance that the task was beyond my strength. Throwing myselfwithout delay into Our Lord's Arms, I imitated those tinychildren, who, when they are frightened, hide their faces on theirfather's shoulder, and I said:

"Dear Lord, Thou seest that I am too small to feed these littleones, but if through me Thou wilt give to each what is suitable, then fill my hands, and without leaving the shelter of Thine Arms, or even turning away, I will distribute Thy treasures to the soulswho come to me asking for food. Should they find it to theirtaste, I shall know that this is due not to me, but to Thee; andif, on the contrary, they find fault with its bitterness, I shallnot be cast down, but try to persuade them that it cometh fromThee, while taking good care to make no change in it. "

The knowledge that it was impossible to do anything of myselfrendered my task easier. My one interior occupation was to unitemyself more and more closely to God, knowing that the rest wouldbe given to me over and above. And indeed my hope has never beendeceived; I have always found my hands filled when sustenance wasneeded for the souls of my Sisters. But had I done otherwise, andrelied on my own strength, I should very soon have been forced toabandon my task. 

From afar it seems so easy to do good to souls, to teach them tolove God more, and to model them according to one's own ideas. But, when we draw nearer, we quickly feel that without God's helpthis is quite as impossible as to bring back the sun when once ithas set. We must forget ourselves, and put aside our tastes andideas, and guide souls not by our own way, but along the pathwhich Our Lord points out. Even this is not the most difficultpart; what costs me more than all is having to observe theirfaults, their slightest imperfections, and wage war against them. 

Unhappily for me--I was going to say, but that would be cowardly, so I will say--happily for my Sisters, ever since I placed myselfin the Arms of Jesus I have been like a watchman on the look-outfor the enemy from the highest turret of a fortified castle. Nothing escapes my vigilance; indeed, I am sometimes surprised atmy own clear-sightedness, and I think it was quite excusable inthe prophet Jonas to fly before the face of the Lord, that hemight not have to announce the ruin of Ninive. Rather than makeone single reproach, I would prefer to receive a thousand, yet Ifeel it is necessary that the task should cause me pain, for if Ispoke only through natural impulse, then the soul in fault wouldnot understand its defects and would simply think: "This Sister isdispleased, and her displeasure falls on me although I am full ofthe best intentions. "

But in this, as in all else, I must practise sacrifice andself-denial. Even in the matter of writing a letter, I feel thatit will produce no fruit, unless I am disinclined to write, andonly do so from obedience. 

When conversing with a novice I am on the watch to mortify myself, and I avoid asking questions which would satisfy my curiosity. Ifshe begins to speak on an interesting subject, and, leaving itunfinished, passes on to another that wearies me, I take care notto remind her of the interruption, for it seems to me that no goodcan come of self-seeking. 

I know, dear Mother, that your little lambs find me severe; ifthey were to read these lines, they would say that, so far as theycan see, it does not distress me to run after them, and show themhow they have soiled their beautiful white fleece, or torn it inthe brambles. Well, the little lambs may say what they like--intheir hearts they know I love them dearly; there is no fear of myimitating "the hireling . . . Who seeth the wolf coming andleaveth the sheep, and flieth. "[6]

I am ready to lay down my life for them, and my affection is sodisinterested that I would not have my novices know this. By God'shelp, I have never tried to draw their hearts to myself, for Ihave always understood that my mission was to lead them to Him andto you, dear Mother, who on this earth hold His place in theirregard, and whom, therefore, they must love and respect. 

I said before, that I have learnt much by guiding others. In thefirst place I see that all souls have more or less the samebattles to fight, and on the other hand, that one soul differswidely from another, so each must be dealt with differently. Withsome I must humble myself, and not shrink from acknowledging myown struggles and defeats; then they confess more readily thefaults into which they fall, and are pleased that I know byexperience what they suffer. With others, my only means of successis to be firm, and never go back on what I have once said;self-abasement would be taken for weakness. 

Our Lord has granted me the grace never to fear the conflict; atall costs I must do my duty. I have more than once been told: "Ifyou want me to obey, you must be gentle and not severe, otherwiseyou will gain nothing. " But no one is a good judge in his owncase. During a painful operation a child will be sure to cry outand say that the remedy is worse than the disease; but if after afew days he is cured, then he is greatly delighted that he can runabout and play. And it is the same with souls: they soon recognisethat a little bitter is better than too much sweet, and they arenot afraid to make the acknowledgment. Sometimes the change whichtakes place from one day to another seems almost magical. 

A novice will say to me: "You did well to be severe yesterday; atfirst I was indignant, but when I thought it all over, I saw thatyou were quite right. I left your cell thinking: 'This ends it. Iwill tell Our Mother that I shall never go to Soeur Thérèseagain'; but I knew this was the devil's suggestion, and then Ifelt you were praying for me, and I grew calm. I began to seethings more clearly, and now I come to you for further guidance. "

I am only too happy to follow the dictates of my heart and hastento console with a little sweetness, but I see that one must notpress forward too quickly--a word might undo the work that cost somany tears. If I say the least thing which seems to tone down thehard truths of the previous day, I see my little Sister trying totake advantage of the opening thus given her. At once I haverecourse to prayer, I turn to Our Blessed Lady, and Jesus alwaystriumphs. Verily in prayer and sacrifice lies all my strength, they are my invincible arms; experience has taught me that theytouch hearts far more easily than words. 

Two years ago, during Lent, a novice came to me smiling, and said:"You would never imagine what I dreamt last night--I thought I waswith my sister, who is so worldly, and I wanted to withdraw herfrom all vain things; to this end I explained the words of yourhymn:

'They richly lose who love Thee, dearest Lord; Thine are myperfumes, Thine for evermore. '

I felt that my words sank deep into her soul, and I was overjoyed. This morning it seems to me that perhaps Our Lord would like me togain Him this soul. How would it do if I wrote at Easter anddescribed my dream, telling her that Jesus desires to have her forHis Spouse?" I answered that she might certainly ask permission. 

As Lent was not nearly over, you were surprised, dear Mother, atsuch a premature request, and, evidently guided by God, youreplied that Carmelites should save souls by prayer rather than byletters. When I heard your decision I said to the little Sister:"We must set to work and pray hard; if our prayers are answered atthe end of Lent, what a joy it will be!" O Infinite Mercy of ourLord! At the close of Lent, one soul more had given herself toGod. It was a real miracle of grace--a miracle obtained throughthe fervour of a humble novice. 

How wonderful is the power of prayer! It is like unto a queen, who, having free access to the king, obtains whatsoever she asks. In order to secure a hearing there is no need to recite setprayers composed for the occasion--were it so, I ought indeed tobe pitied!

Apart from the Divine Office, which in spite of my unworthiness isa daily joy, I have not the courage to look through books forbeautiful prayers. I only get a headache because of their number, and besides, one is more lovely than another. Unable therefore tosay them all, and lost in choice, I do as children who have notlearnt to read--I simply tell Our Lord all that I want, and Healways understands. 

With me prayer is an uplifting of the heart; a glance towardsheaven; a cry of gratitude and love, uttered equally in sorrow andin joy. In a word, it is something noble, supernatural, whichexpands my soul and unites it to God. Sometimes when I am in sucha state of spiritual dryness that not a single good thought occursto me, I say very slowly the "Our Father" or the "Hail Mary, " andthese prayers suffice to take me out of myself, and wonderfullyrefresh me. 

But what was I speaking of? Again I am lost in a maze ofreflections. Forgive me, dear Mother, for wandering thus. My storyis like a tangled skein, but I fear I can do no better. I write mythoughts as they come; I fish at random in the stream of my heart, and offer you all that I catch. 

I was telling you about the novices. They often say: "You have ananswer for everything. This time I thought I should puzzle you. Where do you find all that you teach us?" Some are even simpleenough to think I can read their souls, because at times ithappens I discover to them--without revelation--the subject oftheir thoughts. The senior novice had determined to hide from me agreat sorrow. She spent the night in anguish, keeping back hertears lest her eyes might betray her. Yet she came to me with asmile next day, seeming even more cheerful than usual, and when Isaid: "You are in trouble, I am sure, " she looked at me ininexpressible amazement. Her surprise was so great that it reactedon me, and imparted a sense of the supernatural. I felt that Godwas close to us. Unwittingly--for I have not the gift of readingsouls--I had spoken as one inspired, and was able to console hercompletely. 

And now, dear Mother, I will tell you wherein I gain most with thenovices. You know they are allowed without restriction to sayanything to me, agreeable or the reverse; this is all the easiersince they do not owe me the respect due to a Novice-Mistress. Icannot say that Our Lord makes me walk in the way of exteriorhumiliation; He is satisfied with humbling me in my inmost soul. In the eyes of creatures all is success, and I walk in thedangerous path of honour--if a religious may so speak. Iunderstand God's way and that of my superiors in this respect; forif the Community thought me incapable, unintelligent, and wantingin judgment, I could be of no possible use to you, dear Mother. This is why the Divine Master has thrown a veil over all myshortcomings, both interior and exterior. Because of this veil Ireceive many compliments from the novices--compliments withoutflattery, for they really mean what they say; and they do notinspire me with vanity, for the remembrance of my weakness is everbefore me. At times my soul tires of this over-sweet food, and Ilong to hear something other than praise; then Our Lord serves mewith a nice little salad, well spiced, with plenty of vinegar--oilalone is wanting, and this it is which makes it more to my taste. And the salad is offered to me by the novices at the moment Ileast expect. God lifts the veil that hides my faults, and my dearlittle Sisters, beholding me as I really am, do not find mealtogether agreeable. With charming simplicity, they tell me how Itry them and what they dislike in me; in fact, they are as frankas though they were speaking of someone else, for they are awarethat I am pleased when they act in this way. 

I am more than pleased--I am transported with delight by thissplendid banquet set before me. How can anything so contrary toour natural inclinations afford such extraordinary pleasure? Had Inot experienced it, I could not have believed it possible. 

One day, when I was ardently longing for some humiliation, a youngpostulant came to me and sated my desire so completely, that I wasreminded of the occasion when Semei cursed David, and I repeatedto myself the words of the holy King: "Yea, it is the Lord whohath bidden him say all these things. "[7] In this way God takescare of me. He cannot always provide that strength-giving bread, exterior humiliation, but from time to time He allows me to eat of"the crumbs from the table of the children. "[8] How magnificentare His Mercies!

Dear Mother, since that Infinite Mercy is the subject of this myearthly song, I ought also to discover to you one real advantage, reaped with many others in the discharge of my task. Formerly, ifI saw a Sister acting in a way that displeased me, and wasseemingly contrary to rule, I would think: "Ah, how glad I shouldbe if only I could warn her and point out where she is wrong. "Since, however, this burden has been laid upon me my ideas havechanged, and when I happen to see something not quite right, I saywith a sigh of relief: "Thank God! It is not a novice, and I amnot obliged to correct"; and at once I try to find excuses, andcredit the doer with the good intentions she no doubt possesses. 

Your devotedness, dear Mother, now that I am ill, has also taughtme many a lesson of charity. No remedy is too costly, and if onedoes not succeed, you unhesitatingly try something new. When I ampresent at recreation, how careful you are to shield me fromdraughts. I feel that I ought to be as compassionate for thespiritual infirmities of my Sisters as you are for my bodily ills. 

I have noticed that it is the holiest nuns who are most deeplyloved; everyone is anxious to seek their company, and do themservice, without even being asked. These very souls who are wellable to bear with want of affection and little attentions arealways surrounded by an atmosphere of love. Our Father, St. Johnof the Cross, says with great truth: "All good things have comeunto me, since I no longer sought them for myself. "

Imperfect souls, on the contrary, are left alone. They aretreated, it is true, with the measure of politeness whichreligious life demands; yet their company is avoided, lest a wordmight be said which would hurt their feelings. When I sayimperfect souls, I am not referring to souls with spiritualimperfections only, for the holiest souls will not be perfect tillthey are in heaven. I mean those who are also afflicted with wantof tact and refinement, as well as ultra-sensitive souls. I knowsuch defects are incurable, but I also know how patient you wouldbe, in nursing and striving to relieve me, were my illness to lastfor many years. 

From all this I draw the conclusion:--I ought to seek thecompanionship of those Sisters towards whom I feel a naturalaversion, and try to be their good Samaritan. A word or a smile isoften enough to put fresh life in a despondent soul. And yet it isnot merely in the hope of giving consolation that I try to bekind. If it were, I know that I should soon be discouraged, forwell-intentioned words are often totally misunderstood. Consequently, not to lose my time or labour, I try to act solelyto please Our Lord, and follow this precept of the Gospel: "Whenthou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends or thybrethren, lest perhaps they also invite thee again and arecompense be made to thee. But when thou makest a feast, call thepoor, the maimed, the blind, and the lame, and thou shalt beblessed, because they have naught wherewith to make theerecompense, and thy Father Who seeth in secret will repay thee. "[9]

What feast can I offer my Sisters but a spiritual one of sweet andjoyful charity! I know none other, and I wish to imitate St. Paul, who rejoiced with those who rejoiced. It is true that he wept withthose who wept, and at my feast, too, the tears must sometimesfall, still I shall always try to change them into smiles, for"God loveth a cheerful giver. "[10]

I remember an act of charity with which God inspired me while Iwas still a novice, and this act, though seemingly small, has beenrewarded even in this life by Our Heavenly Father, "Who seeth insecret. "

Shortly before Sister St. Peter became quite bedridden, it wasnecessary every evening, at ten minutes to six, for someone toleave meditation and take her to the refectory. It cost me a gooddeal to offer my services, for I knew the difficulty, or I shouldsay the impossibility, of pleasing the poor invalid. But I did notwant to lose such a good opportunity, for I recalled Our Lord'swords: "As long as you did it to one of these my least brethren, you did it to Me. "[11] I therefore humbly offered my aid. It wasnot without difficulty I induced her to accept it, but afterconsiderable persuasion I succeeded. Every evening, when I saw hershake her sand-glass, I understood that she meant: "Let us go!"Summoning up all my courage I rose, and the ceremony began. Firstof all, her stool had to be moved and carried in a particular way, and on no account must there be any hurry. The solemn processionensued. I had to follow the good Sister, supporting her by hergirdle; I did it as gently as possible, but if by some mischanceshe stumbled, she imagined I had not a firm hold, and that she wasgoing to fall. "You are going too fast, " she would say, "I shallfall and hurt myself!" Then when I tried to lead her more quietly:"Come quicker . . . I cannot feel you . . . You are letting me go!I was right when I said you were too young to take care of me. "

When we reached the refectory without further mishap, moretroubles were in store. I had to settle my poor invalid in herplace, taking great pains not to hurt her. Then I had to turn backher sleeves, always according to her own special rubric, and afterthat I was allowed to go. 

But I soon noticed that she found it very difficult to cut herbread, so I did not leave her till I had performed this lastservice. She was much touched by this attention on my part, forshe had not expressed any wish on the subject; it was by thisunsought-for kindness that I gained her entire confidence, andchiefly because--as I learnt later--at the end of my humble taskI bestowed upon her my sweetest smile. 

Dear Mother, it is long since all this happened, but Our Lordallows the memory of it to linger with me like a perfume fromHeaven. One cold winter evening, I was occupied in the lowly workof which I have just spoken, when suddenly I heard in the distancethe harmonious strains of music outside the convent walls. Ipictured a drawing-room, brilliantly lighted and decorated, andrichly furnished. Young ladies, elegantly dressed, exchanged athousand compliments, as is the way of the world. Then I looked onthe poor invalid I was tending. Instead of sweet music I heard hercomplaints, instead of rich gilding I saw the brick walls of ourbare cloister, scarcely visible in the dim light. The contrast wasvery moving. Our Lord so illuminated my soul with the rays oftruth, before which the pleasures of the world are but asdarkness, that for a thousand years of such worldly delights, Iwould not have bartered even the ten minutes spent in my act ofcharity. 

If even now, in days of pain and amid the smoke of battle, thethought that God has withdrawn us from the world is so entrancing, what will it be when, in eternal glory and everlasting repose, werealise the favour beyond compare He has done us here, by singlingus out to dwell in His Carmel, the very portal of Heaven?

I have not always felt these transports of joy in performing actsof charity, but at the beginning of my religious life Jesus wishedto make me feel how sweet to Him is charity, when found in thehearts of his Spouses. Thus when I led Sister St. Peter, it waswith so much love that I could not have shown more were I guidingOur Divine Lord Himself. 

The practice of charity has not always been so pleasant as I havejust pointed out, dear Mother, and to prove it I will recount someof my many struggles. 

For a long time my place at meditation was near a Sister whofidgeted continually, either with her Rosary, or something else;possibly, as I am very quick of hearing, I alone heard her, but Icannot tell you how much it tried me. I should have liked to turnround, and by looking at the offender, make her stop the noise;but in my heart I knew that I ought to bear it tranquilly, bothfor the love of God and to avoid giving pain. So I kept quiet, butthe effort cost me so much that sometimes I was bathed inperspiration, and my meditation consisted merely in suffering withpatience. After a time I tried to endure it in peace and joy, atleast deep down in my soul, and I strove to take actual pleasurein the disagreeable little noise. Instead of trying not to hearit, which was impossible, I set myself to listen, as though it hadbeen some delightful music, and my meditation--which was not the"prayer of quiet"--was passed in offering this music to Our Lord. 

Another time I was working in the laundry, and the Sisteropposite, while washing handkerchiefs, repeatedly splashed me withdirty water. My first impulse was to draw back and wipe my face, to show the offender I should be glad if she would behave morequietly; but the next minute I thought how foolish it was torefuse the treasures God offered me so generously, and I refrainedfrom betraying my annoyance. On the contrary, I made such effortsto welcome the shower of dirty water, that at the end of half anhour I had taken quite a fancy to this novel kind of aspersion, and I resolved to come as often as I could to the happy spot wheresuch treasures were freely bestowed. 

Dear Mother, you see that I am a very little soul, who can onlyoffer very little things to Our Lord. It still happens that Ifrequently let slip the occasion of these slender sacrifices, which bring so much peace, but this does not discourage me; I bearthe loss of a little peace, and I try to be more watchful for thefuture. 

How happy does Our Lord make me, and how sweet and easy is Hisservice on this earth! He has always given me what I desired, orrather He has made me desire what He wishes to give. A short timebefore my terrible temptation against Faith, I had reflected howfew exterior trials, worthy of mention, had fallen to my lot, andthat if I were to have interior trials, God must change my path;and this I did not think He would do. Yet I could not always liveat ease. Of what means, then, would He make use?

I had not long to wait for an answer, and it showed me that Hewhom I love is never at a loss, for without changing my way, Hesent me this great trial; and thus mingled a healing bitternesswith all the sweet. ______________________________

[1] Cf. Rom. 8:15. 

[2] Exod. 9:16. 

[3] Cf. Ps. 33[34]:6. 

[4] Ps. 111[112]:4. 

[5] Prov. 18:19. 

[6] John 10:12. 

[7] Cf. 2 Kings 16:10. 

[8] Mark 7:28. 

[9] Cf. Luke 14:12, 13, 14. 

[10] 2 Cor. 9:7. 

[11] Matt. 25:40. 

______________________________

CHAPTER XI A CANTICLE OF LOVE

It is not only when He is about to send me some trial that OurLord gives me warning and awakens my desire for it. For years Ihad cherished a longing which seemed impossible of realisation--tohave a brother a Priest. I often used to think that if my littlebrothers had not gone to Heaven, I should have had the happinessof seeing them at the Altar. I greatly regretted being deprived ofthis joy. Yet God went beyond my dream; I only asked for onebrother who would remember me each day at the Holy Altar, and Hehas united me in the bonds of spiritual friendship with two of Hisapostles. I should like to tell you, dear Mother, how Our DivineMaster fulfilled my desire. 

In 1895 our holy Mother, St. Teresa, sent my first brother as agift for my feast. It was washing day, and I was busy at my work, when Mother Agnes of Jesus, then Prioress, called me aside andread me a letter from a young Seminarist, in which he said he hadbeen inspired by St. Teresa to ask for a sister who would devoteherself specially to his salvation, and to the salvation of hisfuture flock. He promised always to remember this spiritual sisterwhen saying Mass, and the choice fell upon me. Dear Mother, Icannot tell you how happy this made me. Such unlooked-forfulfillment of my desire awoke in my heart the joy of a child; itcarried me back to those early days, when pleasures were so keen, that my heart seemed too small to contain them. Years had passedsince I had tasted a like happiness, so fresh, so unfamiliar, asif forgotten chords had been stirred within me. 

Fully aware of my obligations, I set to work, and strove toredouble my fervour. Now and again I wrote to my new brother. Undoubtedly, it is by prayer and sacrifice that we can help ourmissionaries, but sometimes, when it pleases Our Lord to unite twosouls for His Glory, He permits them to communicate theirthoughts, and thus inspire each other to love God more. Of coursean express command from those in authority is needed for this, otherwise, it seems to me, that such a correspondence would domore harm than good, if not to the missionary, at least to theCarmelite, whose manner of life tends to continual introversion. This exchange of letters, though rare, would occupy her minduselessly; instead of uniting her to God, she would perhaps fancyshe was doing wonders, when in reality, under cover of zeal, shewas doing nothing but producing needless distraction. --And heream I, launched, not upon a distraction, but upon a dissertationequally superfluous. I shall never be able to correct myself ofthese lengthy digressions which must be so wearisome to you, dearMother. Forgive me, should I offend again. 

Last year, at the end of May, it was your turn to give me mysecond brother, and when I represented that, having given all mymerits to one future apostle, I feared they could not be given toanother, you told me that obedience would double their value. Inthe depths of my heart I thought the same thing, and, since thezeal of a Carmelite ought to embrace the whole world, I hope, withGod's help, to be of use to even more than two missionaries. Ipray for all, not forgetting our Priests at home, whose ministryis quite as difficult as that of the missionary preaching to theheathen. . . . In a word, I wish to be a true daughter of theChurch, like our holy Mother St. Teresa, and pray for all theintentions of Christ's Vicar. That is the one great aim of mylife. But just as I should have had a special interest in mylittle brothers had they lived, and that, without neglecting thegeneral interests of the Church, so now, I unite myself in aspecial way to the new brothers whom Jesus has given me. All thatI possess is theirs also. God is too good to give by halves; He isso rich that He gives me all I ask for, even though I do not losemyself in lengthy enumerations. As I have two brothers and mylittle sisters, the novices, the days would be too short were I toask in detail for the needs of each soul, and I fear I mightforget something important. Simple souls cannot understandcomplicated methods, and, as I am one of their number, Our Lordhas inspired me with a very simple way of fulfilling myobligations. One day, after Holy Communion, He made me understandthese words of the Canticles: "Draw me: we will run after Thee tothe odour of Thy ointments. "[1] O my Jesus, there is no need tosay: "In drawing me, draw also the souls that I love": thesewords, "Draw me, " suffice. When a soul has let herself be takencaptive by the inebriating odour of Thy perfumes, she cannot runalone; as a natural consequence of her attraction towards Thee, the souls of all those she loves are drawn in her train. 

Just as a torrent carries into the depths of the sea all that itmeets on its way, so, my Jesus, does the soul who plunges into theshoreless ocean of Thy Love bring with it all its treasures. Mytreasures are the souls it has pleased thee to unite with mine;Thou hast confided them to me, and therefore I do not fear to useThy own words, uttered by Thee on the last night that saw Theestill a traveller on this earth. Jesus, my Beloved! I know notwhen my exile will have an end. Many a night I may yet sing ThyMercies here below, but for me also will come the last night, andthen I shall be able to say:

"I have glorified Thee upon earth: I have finished the work whichThou gavest me to do. I have manifested Thy name to the men whomThou hast given me out of the world. Thine they were, and to meThou gavest them; and they have kept Thy word. Now they have knownthat all things which Thou hast given me are from Thee: becausethe words which Thou gavest me I have given to them; and theyhave received them, and have known for certain that I came forthfrom Thee, and they have believed that Thou didst send me. I prayfor them: I pray not for the world, but for them whom Thou hastgiven me, because they are Thine. And all mine are Thine, andThine are mine; and I am glorified in them. And now I am no morein the world, and these are in the world, and I come to Thee. HolyFather, keep them in Thy name, whom Thou hast given me, that theymay be one, as we also are one. And now I come to Thee, and thesethings I speak in the world, that they may have my joy filled inthemselves. I do not ask that Thou take them away out of theworld, but that Thou preserve them from evil. They are not of theworld, as I also am not of the world. And not for them only do Ipray, but for those also who through their word shall believe inme. Father, I will that where I am they also whom Thou hast givenme may be with me, that they may see my glory which Thou hastgiven me, because Thou hast loved me before the foundation of theworld. And I have made known Thy name unto them, and will make itknown, that the love wherewith Thou hast loved me may be in themand I in them. "[2]

Yea, Lord, thus would I repeat Thy words, before losing myself inThy loving embrace. Perhaps it is daring, but, for a long time, hast thou not allowed me to be daring with Thee? Thou hast said tome, as the Prodigal's father to his elder son: "All I have isthine. "[3] And therefore I may use thy very own words to draw downfavours from Our Heavenly Father on all who are dear to me. 

My God, Thou knowest that I have ever desired to love Thee alone. It has been my only ambition. Thy love has gone before me, evenfrom the days of my childhood. It has grown with my growth, andnow it is an abyss whose depths I cannot fathom. 

Love attracts love; mine darts towards Thee, and would fain makethe abyss brim over, but alas! it is not even as a dewdrop in theocean. To love Thee as Thou lovest me, I must make Thy Love mineown. Thus alone can I find rest. O my Jesus, it seems to me thatThou couldst not have overwhelmed a soul with more love than Thouhast poured out on mine, and that is why I dare ask Thee to lovethose Thou hast given me, even as Thou lovest me. 

If, in Heaven, I find that thou lovest them more than Thou lovestme, I shall rejoice, for I acknowledge that their deserts aregreater than mine, but now, I can conceive no love more vast thanthat with which Thou hast favoured me, without any merit on mypart. 

. . . . . . . 

Dear Mother, what I have just written amazes me. I had nointention of writing it. When I said: "The words which Thou gavestme I have given unto them, " I was thinking only of my littlesisters in the noviciate. I am not able to teach missionaries, andthe words I wrote for them were from the prayer of Our Lord: "I donot ask that Thou shouldst take them out of the world; I pray alsofor them who through their word shall believe in Thee. "

How could I forget those souls they are to win by their sufferingsand exhortations?

But I have not told you all my thoughts on this passage of theSacred Canticles: "Draw me--we will run!" Our Lord has said: "Noman can come to Me except the Father Who hath sent Me, drawhim, "[4] and later He tells us that _whosoever seeks shall find, whosoever asks shall receive, that unto him that knocks it shallbe opened, _ and He adds that whatever we ask the Father in HisName shall be given us. It was no doubt for this reason that, longbefore the birth of Our Lord, the Holy Spirit dictated theseprophetic words: "Draw me--we will run!" By asking to be drawn, wedesire an intimate union with the object of our love. If iron andfire were endowed with reason, and the iron could say: "Draw me!"would not that prove its desire to be identified with the fire tothe point of sharing its substance? Well, this is precisely myprayer. I asked Jesus to draw me into the Fire of His love, and tounite me so closely to Himself that He may live and act in me. Ifeel that the more the fire of love consumes my heart, so much themore shall I say: "Draw me!" and the more also will souls who drawnear me _run swiftly in the sweet odour of the Beloved. _

Yes, they will run--we shall all run together, for souls that areon fire can never be at rest. They may indeed, like St. MaryMagdalen, sit at the feet of Jesus, listening to His sweet andburning words, but, though they seem to give Him nothing, theygive much more than Martha, who busied herself about many things. It is not Martha's work that Our Lord blames, but herover-solicitude; His Blessed Mother humbly occupied herself in thesame kind of work when she prepared the meals for the Holy Family. All the Saints have understood this, especially those who haveillumined the earth with the light of Christ's teaching. Was itnot from prayer that St. Paul, St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. John of the Cross, St. Teresa, and so many other friends ofGod drew that wonderful science which has enthralled the loftiestminds[?]

"Give me a lever and a fulcrum on which to lean it, " saidArchimedes, "and I will lift the world. "

What he could not obtain because his request had only a materialend, without reference to God, the Saints have obtained in all itsfulness. They lean on God Almighty's power itself and their leveris the prayer that inflames with love's fire. With this lever theyhave raised the world--with this lever the Saints of the ChurchMilitant still raise it, and will raise it to the end of time. 

Dear Mother, I have still to tell you what I understand by the_sweet odour of the Beloved. _ As Our Lord is now in Heaven, I canonly follow Him by the footprints He has left--footprints full oflife, full of fragrance. I have only to open the Holy Gospels andat once I breathe the perfume of Jesus, and then I know which wayto run; and it is not to the first place, but to the last, that Ihasten. I leave the Pharisee to go up, and full of confidence Irepeat the humble prayer of the Publican. Above all I followMagdalen, for the amazing, rather I should say, the lovingaudacity, that delights the Heart of Jesus, has cast its spellupon mine. It is not because I have been preserved from mortal sinthat I lift up my heart to God in trust and love. I feel that evenhad I on my conscience every crime one could commit, I should losenothing of my confidence: my heart broken with sorrow, I wouldthrow myself into the Arms of my Saviour. I know that He loves theProdigal Son, I have heard His words to St. Mary Magdalen, to thewoman taken in adultery, and to the woman of Samaria. No one couldfrighten me, for I know what to believe concerning His Mercy andHis Love. And I know that all that multitude of sins woulddisappear in an instant, even as a drop of water cast into aflaming furnace. 

It is told in the Lives of the Fathers of the Desert how one ofthem converted a public sinner, whose evil deeds were the scandalof the whole country. This wicked woman, touched by grace, followed the Saint into the desert, there to perform rigorouspenance. But on the first night of the journey, before evenreaching the place of her retirement, the bonds that bound her toearth were broken by the vehemence of her loving sorrow. The holyman, at the same instant, saw her soul borne by Angels to theBosom of God. 

This is a striking example of what I want to say, but these thingscannot be expressed. Dearest Mother, if weak and imperfect soulslike mine felt what I feel, none would despair of reaching thesummit of the Mountain of Love, since Jesus does not ask for greatdeeds, but only for gratitude and self-surrender. 

He says: "I will not take the he-goats from out of the flocks, forall the beasts of the forests are mine, the cattle on the hillsand the oxen. I know all the fowls of the air. If I were hungry, Iwould not tell thee, for the world is Mine, and the fulnessthereof. Shall I eat the flesh of bullocks, or shall I drink theblood of goats? Offer to God the sacrifice of praise andthanksgiving. "[5]

This is all Our Lord claims from us. He has need of our love--Hehas no need of our works. The same God, Who declares that He hasno need to tell us if He be hungry, did not disdain to beg alittle water from the Samaritan woman. He was athirst, but when Hesaid: "Give me to drink, "[6] He, the Creator of the Universe, asked for the love of His creature. He thirsted for love. 

And this thirst of Our Divine Lord was ever on the increase. Amongst the disciples of the world, He meets with nothing butindifference and ingratitude, and alas! among His own, how fewhearts surrender themselves without reserve to the infinitetenderness of His Love. Happy are we who are privileged tounderstand the inmost secrets of Our Divine Spouse. If you, dearMother, would but set down in writing all you know, what wonderscould you not unfold!

But, like Our Blessed Lady, you prefer to _keep all these thingsin your heart. _[7] To me you say that "It is honourable to revealand confess the world of God. "[8] Yet you are right to keepsilence, for no earthly words can convey the secrets of Heaven. 

As for me, in spite of all I have written, I have not as yetbegun. I see so many beautiful horizons, such infinitely variedtints, that the palette of the Divine Painter will alone, afterthe darkness of this life, be able to supply me with the colourswherewith I may portray the wonders that my soul descries. Since, however, you have expressed a desire to penetrate into the hiddensanctuary of my heart, and to have in writing what was the mostconsoling dream of my life, I will end this story of my soul, byan act of obedience. If you will allow me, it is to Jesus I willaddress myself, for in this way I shall speak more easily. You mayfind my expressions somewhat exaggerated, but I assure you thereis no exaggeration in my heart--there all is calm and peace. 

O my Jesus, who can say how tenderly and gently Thou dost lead mysoul! The storm had raged there ever since Easter, the gloriousfeast of Thy triumph, until, in the month of May, there shonethrough the darkness of my night one bright ray of grace. . . . Mymind dwelt on mysterious dreams sent sometimes to Thy favouredones, and I thought how such a consolation was not to bemine--that for me, it was night, always the dark night. And in themidst of the storm I fell asleep. The following day, May 10, justat dawn, I dreamt that I was walking in a gallery alone with OurMother. Suddenly, without knowing how they had entered, Iperceived three Carmelites, in mantles and long veils, and I knewthat they came from Heaven. "Ah!" I thought, "how glad I should beif I could but look on the face of one of these Carmelites!" And, as if my wish had been heard, I saw the tallest of the threeSaints advance towards me. An inexpressible joy took possession ofme as she raised her veil, and then covered me with it. 

At once I recognised our Venerable Mother, Anne of Jesus, foundress of the Carmel in France. [9] Her face was beautiful withan unearthly beauty; no rays came from it, and yet, in spite ofthe thick veil which enveloped us, I could see it suffused by asoft light, which seemed to emanate from her heavenly countenance. She caressed me tenderly, and seeing myself the object of suchaffection, I made bold to say: "Dear Mother, I entreat you, tellme, will Our Lord leave me much longer in this world? Will He notsoon come to fetch me?" She smiled sweetly, and answered, "Yes, soon . . . Very soon . . . I promise you. " "Dear Mother, " I askedagain, "tell me if He does not want more from me than these poorlittle acts and desires that I offer Him. Is He pleased with me?"Then our Venerable Mother's face shone with a new splendour, andher expression became still more gracious: "The Good God asks nomore of you, " she said, "He is pleased, quite pleased, " and, taking my head between her hands, she kissed me so tenderly thatit would be impossible to describe the joy I felt. My heart wasoverflowing with gladness, and, remembering my Sisters, I wasabout to beseech some favour for them, when, alas! I awoke. Myhappiness was too great for words. Many months have passed since Ihad this wonderful dream, and yet its memory is as fresh anddelightful as ever. I can still picture the loving smiles of thisholy Carmelite and feel her fond caresses. O Jesus! "Thou didstcommand the winds and the storm, and there came a great calm. "[10]

On waking, I realised that Heaven does indeed exist, and that thisHeaven is peopled with souls who cherish me as their child, andthis impression still remains with me--all the sweeter, because, up to that time, I had but little devotion to the Venerable MotherAnne of Jesus. I had never sought her help, and but rarely heardher name. And now I know and understand how constantly I was inher thoughts, and the knowledge adds to my love for her and forall the dear ones in my Father's Home. 

O my Beloved! this was but the prelude of graces yet greater whichThou didst desire to heap upon me. Let me remind Thee of themto-day, and forgive my folly if I venture to tell Thee once moreof my hopes, and my heart's well nigh infinite longings--forgiveme and grant my desire, that it may be well with my soul. To beThy Spouse, O my Jesus, to be a daughter of Carmel, and by myunion with Thee to be the mother of souls, should not all thiscontent me? And yet other vocations make themselves felt--I feelcalled to the Priesthood and to the Apostolate--I would be aMartyr, a Doctor of the Church. I should like to accomplish themost heroic deeds--the spirit of the Crusader burns within me, andI long to die on the field of battle in defence of Holy Church. 

The vocation of a Priest! With what love, my Jesus, would I bearThee in my hand, when my words brought Thee down from Heaven! Withwhat love would I give Thee to souls! And yet, while longing to bea Priest, I admire and envy the humility of St. Francis of Assisi, and am drawn to imitate him by refusing the sublime dignity of thePriesthood. How reconcile these opposite tendencies?[11]

Like the Prophets and Doctors, I would be a light unto souls, Iwould travel to every land to preach Thy name, O my Beloved, andraise on heathen soil the glorious standard of Thy Cross. Onemission alone would not satisfy my longings. I would spread theGospel to the ends of the earth, even to the most distant isles. Iwould be a Missionary, not for a few years only, but, were itpossible, from the beginning of the world till the consummation oftime. Above all, I thirst for the Martyr's crown. It was thedesire of my earliest days, and the desire has deepened with theyears passed in the Carmel's narrow cell. But this too is folly, since I do not sigh for one torment; I need them all to slake mythirst. Like Thee, O Adorable Spouse, I would be scourged, I wouldbe crucified! I would be flayed like St. Bartholomew, plunged intoboiling oil like St. John, or, like St. Ignatius of Antioch, ground by the teeth of wild beasts into a bread worthy of God. [12]

With St. Agnes and St. Cecilia I would offer my neck to the swordof the executioner, and like Joan of Arc I would murmur the nameof Jesus at the stake. 

My heart thrills at the thought of the frightful torturesChristians are to suffer at the time of Anti-Christ, and I long toundergo them all. Open, O Jesus, the Book of Life, in which arewritten the deeds of Thy Saints: all the deeds told in that book Ilong to have accomplished for Thee. To such folly as this whatanswer wilt Thou make? Is there on the face of this earth a soulmore feeble than mine? And yet, precisely because I am feeble, ithas delighted Thee to accede to my least and most child-likedesires, and to-day it is Thy good pleasure to realise those otherdesires, more vast than the Universe. These aspirations becoming atrue martyrdom, I opened, one day, the Epistles of St. Paul toseek relief in my sufferings. My eyes fell on the 12th and 13thchapters of the First Epistle to the Corinthians. I read that allcannot become Apostles, Prophets, and Doctors; that the Church iscomposed of different members; that the eye cannot also be thehand. The answer was clear, but it did not fulfill my desires, orgive to me the peace I sought. "Then descending into the depths ofmy nothingness, I was so lifted up that I reached my aim. "[13]

Without being discouraged I read on, and found comfort in thiscounsel: "Be zealous for the better gifts. And I show unto you ayet more excellent way. "[14] The Apostle then explains how allperfect gifts are nothing without Love, that Charity is the mostexcellent way of going surely to God. At last I had found rest. 

Meditating on the mystical Body of Holy Church, I could notrecognise myself among any of its members as described by St. Paul, or was it not rather that I wished to recognise myself inall? Charity provided me with the key to my vocation. I understoodthat since the Church is a body composed of different members, thenoblest and most important of all the organs would not be wanting. I knew that the Church has a heart, that this heart burns withlove, and that it is love alone which gives life to its members. Iknew that if this love were extinguished, the Apostles would nolonger preach the Gospel, and the Martyrs would refuse to shedtheir blood. I understood that love embraces all vocations, thatit is all things, and that it reaches out through all the ages, and to the uttermost limits of the earth, because it is eternal. 

Then, beside myself with joy, I cried out: "O Jesus, my Love, atlast I have found my vocation. My vocation is love! Yes, I havefound my place in the bosom of the Church, and this place, O myGod, Thou hast Thyself given to me: in the heart of the Church, myMother, I will be LOVE! . . . Thus I shall be all things: thuswill my dream be realised. . . . "

Why do I say I am beside myself with joy? This does not convey mythought. Rather is it peace which has become my portion--the calmpeace of the sailor when he catches sight of the beacon whichlights him to port. O luminous Beacon of Love! I know how to comeeven unto Thee, I have found the means of borrowing Thy Fires. 

I am but a weak and helpless child, yet it is my very weaknesswhich makes me dare to offer myself, O Jesus, as victim to ThyLove. 

In olden days pure and spotless holocausts alone were acceptableto the Omnipotent God. Nor could His Justice be appeased, save bythe most perfect sacrifices. But the law of fear has given placeto the law of love, and Love has chosen me, a weak and imperfectcreature, as its victim. Is not such a choice worthy of God'sLove? Yea, for in order that Love may be fully satisfied, it muststoop even unto nothingness, and must transform that nothingnessinto fire. O my God, I know it--"Love is repaid by lovealone. "[15] Therefore I have sought, I have found, how to ease myheart, by rendering Thee love for love. 

"Use the riches that make men unjust, to find you friends who mayreceive you into everlasting dwellings. "[16] This, O Lord, is theadvice Thou gavest to Thy disciples after complaining that "thechildren of this world are wiser in their generation than thechildren of light. "[17]

Child of light, as I am, I understood that my desires to be allthings, and to embrace all vocations, were riches that might wellmake me unjust; so I set to work to use them for the making offriends. Mindful of the prayer of Eliseus when he asked theProphet Elias for his double spirit, I presented myself before thecompany of the Angels and Saints and addressed them thus: "I amthe least of all creatures. I know my mean estate, but I know thatnoble and generous hearts love to do good. Therefore, O BlessedInhabitants of the Celestial City, I entreat you to adopt me asyour child. All the glory that you help me to acquire, will beyours; only deign to hear my prayer, and obtain for me a doubleportion of the love of God. "

O my God! I cannot measure the extent of my request, I should fearto be crushed by the very weight of its audacity. My only excuseis my claim to childhood, and that children do not grasp the fullmeaning of their words. Yet if a father or mother were on thethrone and possessed vast treasures, they would not hesitate togrant the desires of those little ones, more dear to them thanlife itself. To give them pleasure they will stoop even unto folly. 

Well, I am a child of Holy Church, and the Church is a Queen, because she is now espoused to the Divine King of Kings. I ask notfor riches or glory, not even the glory of Heaven--that belongs byright to my brothers the Angels and Saints, and my own glory shallbe the radiance that streams from the queenly brow of my Mother, the Church. Nay, I ask for Love. To love Thee, Jesus, is now myonly desire. Great deeds are not for me; I cannot preach theGospel or shed my blood. No matter! My brothers work in my stead, and I, a little child, stay close to the throne, and love Thee forall who are in the strife. 

But how shall I show my love, since love proves itself by deeds?Well! The little child will strew flowers . . . She will embracethe Divine Throne with their fragrance, she will sing Love'sCanticle in silvery tones. Yes, my Beloved, it is thus my shortlife shall be spent in Thy sight. The only way I have of provingmy love is to strew flowers before Thee--that is to say, I willlet no tiny sacrifice pass, no look, no word. I wish to profit bythe smallest actions, and to do them for Love. I wish to sufferfor Love's sake, and for Love's sake even to rejoice: thus shall Istrew flowers. Not one shall I find without scattering its petalsbefore Thee . . . And I will sing . . . I will sing always, evenif my roses must be gathered from amidst thorns; and the longerand sharper the thorns, the sweeter shall be my song. 

But of what avail to thee, my Jesus, are my flowers and my songs?I know it well: this fragrant shower, these delicate petals oflittle price, these songs of love from a poor little heart likemine, will nevertheless be pleasing unto Thee. Trifles they are, but Thou wilt smile on them. The Church Triumphant, stoopingtowards her child, will gather up these scattered rose leaves, and, placing them in Thy Divine Hands, there to acquire aninfinite value, will shower them on the Church Suffering toextinguish its flames, and on the Church Militant to obtain itsvictory. 

O my Jesus, I love Thee! I love my Mother, the Church; I bear inmind that "the least act of pure love is of more value to her thanall other works together. "[18]

But is this pure love really in my heart? Are not my boundlessdesires but dreams--but foolishness? If this be so, I beseech Theeto enlighten me; Thou knowest I seek but the truth. If my desiresbe rash, then deliver me from them, and from this most grievous ofall martyrdoms. And yet I confess, if I reach not those heights towhich my soul aspires, this very martyrdom, this foolishness, willhave been sweeter to me than eternal bliss will be, unless by amiracle Thou shouldst take from me all memory of the hopes Ientertained upon earth. Jesus, Jesus! If the mere desire of ThyLove awakens such delight, what will it be to possess it, to enjoyit for ever?

How can a soul so imperfect as mine aspire to the plenitude ofLove? What is the key of this mystery? O my only Friend, why dostThou not reserve these infinite longings to lofty souls, to theeagles that soar in the heights? Alas! I am but a poor littleunfledged bird. I am not an eagle, I have but the eagle's eyes andheart! Yet, notwithstanding my exceeding littleless, I dare togaze upon the Divine Sun of Love, and I burn to dart upwards untoHim! I would fly, I would imitate the eagles; but all that I cando is to lift up my little wings--it is beyond my feeble power tosoar. What is to become of me? Must I die of sorrow because of myhelplessness? Oh, no! I will not even grieve. With daringself-abandonment there will I remain until death, my gaze fixedupon that Divine Sun. Nothing shall affright me, nor wind norrain. And should impenetrable clouds conceal the Orb of Love, andshould I seem to believe that beyond this life there is darknessonly, that would be the hour of perfect joy, the hour in which topush my confidence to its uttermost bounds. I should not dare todetach my gaze, well knowing that beyond the dark clouds the sweetSun still shines. 

So far, O my God, I understand Thy Love for me. But Thou knowesthow often I forget this, my only care. I stray from Thy side, andmy scarcely fledged wings become draggled in the muddy pools ofearth; then I lament "like a young swallow, "[19] and my lamenttells Thee all, and I remember, O Infinite Mercy! that "Thou didstnot come to call the just, but sinners. "[20]

Yet shouldst Thou still be deaf to the plaintive cries of Thyfeeble creature, shouldst Thou still be veiled, then I am contentto remain benumbed with cold, my wings bedraggled, and once more Irejoice in this well-deserved suffering. 

O Sun, my only Love, I am happy to feel myself so small, so frailin Thy sunshine, and I am in peace . . . I know that all theeagles of Thy Celestial Court have pity on me, they guard anddefend me, they put to flight the vultures--the demons that fainwould devour me. I fear them not, these demons, I am not destinedto be their prey, but the prey of the Divine Eagle. 

O Eternal Word! O my Saviour! Thou art the Divine Eagle Whom Ilove--Who lurest me. Thou Who, descending to this land of exile, didst will to suffer and to die, in order to bear away the soulsof men and plunge them into the very heart of the BlessedTrinity--Love's Eternal Home! Thou Who, reascending intoinaccessible light, dost still remain concealed here in our valeof tears under the snow-white semblance of the Host, and this, tonourish me with Thine own substance! O Jesus! forgive me if I tellThee that Thy Love reacheth even unto folly. And in face of thisfolly, what wilt Thou, but that my heart leap up to Thee? Howcould my trust have any limits?

I know that the Saints have made themselves as fools for Thy sake;being 'eagles, ' they have done great things. I am too little forgreat things, and my folly it is to hope that Thy Love accepts meas victim; my folly it is to count on the aid of Angels andSaints, in order that I may fly unto Thee with thine own wings, Omy Divine Eagle! For as long a time as Thou willest I shallremain--my eyes fixed upon Thee. I long to be allured by ThyDivine Eyes; I would become Love's prey. I have the hope that Thouwilt one day swoop down upon me, and, bearing me away to theSource of all Love, Thou wilt plunge me at last into that glowingabyss, that I may become for ever its happy Victim. 

O Jesus! would that I could tell all _little souls_ of Thineineffable condescension! I feel that if by any possibility Thoucouldst find one weaker than my own, Thou wouldst take delight inloading her with still greater favours, provided that sheabandoned herself with entire confidence to Thine Infinite Mercy. But, O my Spouse, why these desires of mine to make known thesecrets of Thy Love? Is it not Thyself alone Who hast taught themto me, and canst Thou not unveil them to others? Yea! I know it, and this I implore Thee! . . . 

I ENTREAT THEE TO LET THY DIVINE EYES REST UPON A VAST NUMBER OFLITTLE SOULS, I ENTREAT THEE TO CHOOSE, IN THIS WORLD, A LEGION OFLITTLE VICTIMS OF THY LOVE. _____________________________

[1] Cant. 1:3. 

[2] Cf. John 17. 

[3] Luke 15:31. 

[4] John 6:44. 

[5] Ps. 49[50]:9-14. 

[6] John 4:7. 

[7] Cf. Luke 2:19. 

[8] Tob. 12:7. 

[9] The Venerable Mother Anne of Jesus--in the world, Anne ofLobera--was born in Spain in 1545. She entered the CarmeliteOrder in 1570, in the first convent of St. Joseph of Avila, andshortly afterwards became the counsellor and coadjutor of St. Teresa, who called her, "her daughter and her crown. " St. John ofthe Cross, who was her spiritual director for fourteen years, described her as "a seraph incarnate, " and her prudence andsanctity were held in such esteem that the most learned menconsulted her in their doubts, and accepted her answers asoracles. She was always faithful to the spirit of St. Teresa, andhad received from Heaven the mission to restore the Carmel to itsprimitive perfection. Having founded three convents of the Reformin Spain, she established one in France, and another in Belgium. She died in the odor of sanctity in the Carmel of Brussels onMarch 4, 1621. On May 3, 1878, His Holiness Pope Leo XIII signedthe Decree introducing the Cause of her Beatification. 

[10] Matt. 8:10. 

[11] St. Francis of Assisi, out of humility, refused to accept thesublime dignity of the Priesthood, and remained a Deacon until hisdeath. [Ed. ]

[12] An allusion to the beautiful words of the martyr St. Ignatiusof Antioch, uttered when he heard the roar of the lions in theRoman arena. "I am the wheat of Christ; let me be ground by theteeth of the wild beasts, that I may become clean bread. " [Ed. ]

[13] St. John of the Cross. 

[14] 1 Cor. 12:31. 

[15] St. John of the Cross. 

[16] Cf. Luke 16:9. 

[17] Luke 16:8. 

[18] St. John of the Cross. 

[19] Isa. 38:14. 

[20] Matt. 9:15. 

_____________________________

END OF THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

_____________________________

EPILOGUE: A VICTIM OF DIVINE LOVE

"Many pages of this story"--said its writer--"will never be readupon earth. " It is necessary to repeat and emphasize her words. There are sufferings which are not to be disclosed here below; OurLord has jealously reserved to Himself the right to reveal theirmerit and glory, in the clear vision where all veils shall beremoved. "My God, " she cried on the day of her religiousprofession, "give me martyrdom of soul or body . . . Or rathergive me both the one and the other!" And Our Lord Who, as sheherself avowed, fulfilled all her desires, granted this one also, and in more abundant measure than the rest. He caused "the floodsof infinite tenderness pent up in His Divine Heart to overflowinto the soul of His little Spouse. " This was the "Martyrdom ofLove, " so well described in her melodious song. But it was her owndoctrine that, "to dedicate oneself as a Victim of Love is not tobe dedicated to sweetness and consolations; it is to offer oneselfto all that is painful and bitter, because Love lives only bysacrifice . . . And the more we would surrender ourselves to Love, the more we must surrender ourselves to suffering. "

Therefore, because she desired to attain "the loftiest height ofLove, " the Divine Master led her thither by the rugged path ofsorrow, and it was only on its bleak summit that she died a_Victim of Love. _

. . . . . . . 

We have seen how great was her sacrifice in leaving her happy homeand the Father who loved her so tenderly. It may be imagined thatthis sacrifice was softened, because at the Carmel she found againher two elder and dearly loved sisters. On the contrary, thisafforded the young postulant many an occasion for repressing herstrong natural affections. The rules of solitude and silence werestrictly observed, and she only saw her sisters at recreation. Hadshe been less mortified, she might often have sat beside them, but"by preference she sought out the company of those religious whowere least agreeable to her, " and no one could tell whether or notshe bore a special affection towards her own sisters. 

Some time after her entrance, she was appointed as "aid" to SisterAgnes of Jesus, her dear "Pauline"; this was a fresh occasion forsacrifice. Thérèse knew that all unnecessary conversation wasforbidden, and therefore she never allowed herself even the leastword. "O my little Mother, " she said later, "how I suffered! Icould not open my heart to you, and I thought you no longer knewme!"

After five years of this heroic silence, Sister Agnes of Jesus waselected Prioress. On the evening of the election Thérèse mightwell have rejoiced that henceforth she could speak freely to her"little Mother, " and, as of old, pour out her soul. But sacrificehad become her daily food. If she sought one favour more thananother, it was that she might be looked on as the lowest and theleast; and, among all the religious, not one saw less of theMother Prioress. 

She desired to live the life of Carmel with all the perfectionrequired by St. Teresa, and, although a martyr to habitualdryness, her prayer was continuous. On one occasion a novice, entering her cell, was struck by the heavenly expression of hercountenance. She was sewing industriously, and yet seemed lost indeep contemplation. "What are you thinking of?" the young Sisterasked. "I am meditating on the 'Our Father, '" Thérèse answered. "It is so sweet to call God, 'Our Father!'" . . . And tearsglistened in her eyes. Another time she said, "I cannot well seewhat more I shall have in Heaven than I have now; I shall see God, it is true, but, as to being with Him, I am that already even onearth. "

The flame of Divine Love consumed her, and this is what sheherself relates: "A few days after the oblation of myself to God'sMerciful Love, I was in the choir, beginning the Way of the Cross, when I felt myself suddenly wounded by a dart of fire so ardentthat I thought I should die. I do not know how to explain thistransport; there is no comparison to describe the intensity ofthat flame. It seemed as though an invisible force plunged mewholly into fire. . . . But oh! what fire! what sweetness!"

When Mother Prioress asked her if this rapture was the first shehad experienced, she answered simply: "Dear Mother, I have hadseveral transports of love, and one in particular during myNoviciate, when I remained for a whole week far removed from thisworld. It seemed as though a veil were thrown over all earthlythings. But, I was not then consumed by a real fire. I was able tobear those transports of love without expecting to see the tiesthat bound me to earth give way; whilst, on the day of which I nowspeak, one minute--one second--more and my soul must have been setfree. Alas! I found myself again on earth, and dryness at oncereturned to my heart. " True, the Divine Hand had withdrawn thefiery dart--but the wound was unto death!

In that close union with God, Thérèse acquired a remarkablemastery over self. All sweet virtues flourished in the garden ofher soul, but do not let us imagine that these wondrous flowersgrew without effort on her part. 

"In this world there is no fruitfulness without suffering--eitherphysical pain, secret sorrow, or trials known sometimes only toGod. When good thoughts and generous resolutions have sprung up inour souls through reading the lives of the Saints, we ought not tocontent ourselves, as in the case of profane books, with paying acertain tribute of admiration to the genius of their authors--weshould rather consider the price which, doubtless, they have paidfor that supernatural good they have produced. "[1]

And, if to-day Thérèse transforms so many hearts, and the good shedoes on earth is beyond reckoning, we may well believe she boughtit all at the price with which Jesus bought back our souls: bysuffering and the Cross!

Not the least of these sufferings was the unceasing war she wagedagainst herself, refusing every satisfaction to the demands of hernaturally proud and impetuous nature. While still a child she hadacquired the habit of never excusing herself or making acomplaint; at the Carmel she strove to be the little servant ofher Sisters in religion, and in that same spirit of humility sheendeavoured to obey all without distinction. 

One evening, during her illness, the Community had assembled inthe garden to sing a hymn before an Altar of the Sacred Heart. Soeur Thérèse, who was already wasted by fever, joined them withdifficulty, and, arriving quite exhausted, was obliged to sit downat once. When the hymn began, one of the Sisters made her a signto stand up. Without hesitation, the humble child rose, and, inspite of the fever and great oppression from which she wassuffering, remained standing to the end. 

The Infirmarian had advised her to take a little walk in thegarden for a quarter of an hour each day. This recommendation wasfor her a command. One afternoon a Sister, noticing what an effortit cost her, said: "Soeur Thérèse, you would do much better torest; walking like this cannot do you any good. You only tireyourself!" "That is true, " she replied, "but, do you know whatgives me strength? I offer each step for some missionary. I thinkthat possibly, over there, far away, one of them is weary andtired in his apostolic labours, and to lessen his fatigue I offermine to the Good God. "

She gave her novices some beautiful examples of detachment. Oneyear the relations of the Sisters and the servants of the Conventhad sent bouquets of flowers for Mother Prioress's feast. Thérèsewas arranging them most tastefully, when a Lay-sister saidcrossly: "It is easy to see that the large bouquets have beengiven by your friends. I suppose those sent by the poor will againbe put in the background!" . . . A sweet smile was the only reply, and notwithstanding the unpleasing effect, she immediately put theflowers sent by the servants in the most conspicuous place. 

Struck with admiration, the Lay-sister went at once to thePrioress to accuse herself of her unkindness, and to praise thepatience and humility shown by Soeur Thérèse. 

After the death of Thérèse that same Sister, full of confidence, pressed her forehead against the feet of the saintly nun, oncemore asking forgiveness for her fault. At the same instant shefelt herself cured of cerebral anæmia, from which she had sufferedfor many years, and which had prevented her from applying herselfeither to reading or mental prayer. 

Far from avoiding humiliations, Soeur Thérèse sought them eagerly, and for that reason she offered herself as "aid" to a Sister who, she well knew, was difficult to please, and her generous proposalwas accepted. One day, when she had suffered much from thisSister, a novice asked her why she looked so happy. Great was hersurprise on receiving the reply: "It is because Sister N. Has justbeen saying disagreeable things to me. What pleasure she has givenme! I wish I could meet her now, and give her a sweet smile. " . . . As she was still speaking, the Sister in question knocked at thedoor, and the astonished novice could see for herself how theSaints forgive. Soeur Thérèse acknowledged later on, she "soaredso high above earthly things that humiliations did but make herstronger. "

To all these virtues she joined a wonderful courage. From herentrance into the Carmel, at the age of fifteen, she was allowedto follow all the practices of its austere Rule, the fasts aloneexcepted. Sometimes her companions in the noviciate, seeing howpale she looked, tried to obtain a dispensation for her, eitherfrom the Night Office, or from rising at the usual hour in themorning, but the Mother Prioress would never yield to theserequests. "A soul of such mettle, " she would say, "ought not to bedealt with as a child; dispensations are not meant for her. Lether be, for God sustains her. Besides, if she is really ill, sheshould come and tell me herself. "[2]

But it was always a principle with Thérèse that "We should go tothe end of our strength before we complain. " How many times didshe assist at Matins suffering from vertigo or violent headaches!"I am able to walk, " she would say, "and so I ought to be at myduty. " And, thanks to this undaunted energy, she performed actsthat were heroic. 

It was with difficulty that her delicate stomach accustomed itselfto the frugal fare of the Carmel. Certain things made her ill, butshe knew so well how to hide this, that no one ever suspected it. Her neighbour at table said that she had tried in vain to discoverthe dishes that she preferred, and the kitchen Sisters, findingher so easy to please, invariably served her with what was left. It was only during her last illness, when she was ordered to saywhat disagreed with her, that her mortifications came to light. "When Jesus wishes us to suffer, " she said at that time, "therecan be no evading it. And so, when Sister Mary of the SacredHeart[3] was procuratrix, she endeavoured to look after me with amother's tenderness. To all appearances, I was well cared for, andyet what mortifications did she not impose upon me! for she servedme according to her own taste, which was entirely opposed to mine. "

Thérèse's spirit of sacrifice was far-reaching; she eagerly soughtwhat was painful and disagreeable, as her rightful share. All thatGod asked she gave Him without hesitation or reserve. 

"During my postulancy, " she said, "it cost me a great deal toperform certain exterior penances, customary in our convents, butI never yielded to these repugnances; it seemed to me that theimage of my Crucified Lord looked at me with beseeching eyes, andbegged these sacrifices. "

Her vigilance was so keen, that she never left unobserved anylittle recommendations of the Mother Prioress, or any of the smallrules which render the religious life so meritorious. One of theold nuns, having remarked her extraordinary fidelity on thispoint, ever afterwards regarded her as a Saint. Soeur Thérèse wasaccustomed to say that she never did any great penances. That wasbecause her fervour counted as nothing the few that were allowedher. It happened, however, that she fell ill through wearing fortoo long a time a small iron Cross, studded with sharp points, that pressed into her flesh. "Such a trifle would not have causedthis, " she said afterwards, "if God had not wished thus to make meunderstand that the greater austerities of the Saints are notmeant for me--nor for the souls that walk in the path of'spiritual childhood. '"

. . . . . . . 

"The souls that are the most dear to My Father, " Our Lord oncesaid to Saint Teresa, "are those He tries the most, and thegreatness of their trials is the measure of His Love. " Thérèse wasa soul most dear to God, and He was about to fill up the measureof His Love by making her pass through a veritable martyrdom. Thereader will remember the call on Good Friday, April 3, 1896, when, to use her own expression, she heard the "distant murmur whichannounced the approach of the Bridegroom"; but she had still toendure long months of pain before the blessed hour of herdeliverance. 

On the morning of that Good Friday, she made so little of thehæmorrhage of the previous night, that Mother Prioress allowed herto practise all the penances prescribed by the Rule for that day. In the afternoon, a novice saw her cleaning windows. Her face waslivid, and, in spite of her great energy, it was evident that herstrength was almost spent. Seeing her fatigue, the novice, wholoved her dearly, burst into tears, and begged leave to obtain hersome little reprieve. But the young novice-mistress strictlyforbade her, saying that she was quite able to bear this slightfatigue on the day on which Jesus had suffered and died. 

Soon a persistent cough made the Mother Prioress feel anxious; sheordered Soeur Thérèse a more strengthening diet, and the coughceased for some time. "Truly sickness is too slow a liberator, "exclaimed our dear little Sister, "I can only rely upon Love. "

She was strongly tempted to respond to the appeal of theCarmelites of Hanoï, who much desired to have her, and began anovena to the Venerable Théophane Vénard[4] to obtain her cure, but alas! that novena proved but the beginning of a more seriousphase of her malady. 

Like her Divine Master, she passed through the world doing good;like Him, she had been forgotten and unknown, and now, stillfollowing in His Footsteps, she was to climb the hill of Calvary. Accustomed to see her always suffering, yet always joyous andbrave, Mother Prioress, doubtless inspired by God, allowed her totake part in the Community exercises, some of which tired herextremely. At night, she would courageously mount the stairsalone, pausing at each step to take breath. It was with difficultythat she reached her cell, and then in so exhausted a state, thatsometimes, as she avowed later, it took her quite an hour toundress. After all this exertion it was upon a hard pallet thatshe took her rest. Her nights, too, were very bad, and when askedif she would not like someone to be near her in her hours of pain, she replied: "Oh, no! on the contrary, I am only too glad to be ina cell away from my Sisters, that I may not be heard. I am contentto suffer alone--as soon as I am pitied and loaded withattentions, my happiness leaves me. "

What strength of soul these words betray! Where we find sorrow shefound joy. What to us is to hard to bear--being overlooked andignored by creatures--became to her a source of delight. And herDivine Spouse knew well how to provide that bitter joy she foundso sweet. Painful remedies had often to be applied. One day, whenshe had suffered from them more than usual, she was resting in hercell during recreation, and overheard a Sister in the kitchenspeaking of her thus: "Soeur Thérèse will not live long, andreally sometimes I wonder what our Mother Prioress will find tosay about her when she dies. [5] She will be sorely puzzled, forthis little Sister, amiable as she is, has certainly never doneanything worth speaking about. " The Infirmarian, who had alsooverheard the remark, turned to Thérèse and said: "If you reliedupon the opinion of creatures you would indeed be disillusionedtoday. " "The opinion of creatures!" she replied; "happily God hasgiven me the grace to be absolutely indifferent to that. Let metell you something which showed me, once and for all, how much itis worth. A few days after my Clothing, I went to our dearMother's room, and one of the Sisters who happened to be there, said on seeing me: 'Dear Mother, this novice certainly does youcredit. How well she looks! I hope she may be able to observe theRule for many years to come. ' I was feeling decidedly pleased atthis compliment when another Sister came in, and, looking at me, said: 'Poor little Soeur Thérèse, how very tired you seem! Youquite alarm me. If you do not soon improve, I am afraid you willnot be able to keep the Rule very long. ' I was then only sixteen, but this little incident made such an impression on me, that Inever again set store on the varying opinion of creatures. "

On another occasion someone remarked: "It is said that you havenever suffered much. " Smiling, she pointed to a glass containingmedicine of a bright red colour. "You see this little glass?" shesaid. "One would suppose that it contained a most deliciousdraught, whereas, in reality, it is more bitter than anything elseI take. It is the image of my life. To others it has been all rosecolour; they have thought that I continually drank of a mostdelicious wine; yet to me it has been full of bitterness. I saybitterness, and yet my life has not been a bitter one, for I havelearned to find my joy and sweetness in all that is bitter. "

"You are suffering very much just now, are you not?" "Yes, butthen I have so longed to suffer. " "How it distresses us to see youin such pain, and to think that it may increase!" said her novices. 

"Oh! Do not grieve about me. I have reached a point where I can nolonger suffer, because all suffering is become so sweet. Besides, it is quite a mistake to trouble yourselves as to what I may stillhave to undergo. It is like meddling with God's work. We who runin the way of Love must never allow ourselves to be disturbed byanything. If I did not simply live from one moment to another, itwould be impossible for me to be patient; but I only look at thepresent, I forget the past, and I take good care not to forestallthe future. When we yield to discouragement or despair, it isusually because we think too much about the past and the future. But pray much for me, for it is often just when I cry to Heavenfor help that I feel most abandoned. "

"How do you manage not to give way to discouragement at suchtimes?" "I turn to God and all His Saints, and thank themnotwithstanding; I believe they want to see how far my trust mayextend. But the words of Job have not entered my heart in vain:'Even if God should kill me, I would still trust in Him. '[6] I ownit has taken a long time to arrive at this degree ofself-abandonment; but I have reached it now, and it is the LordHimself Who has brought me there. "

Another time she said: "Our Lord's Will fills my heart to thebrim, and hence, if aught else is added, it cannot penetrate toany depth, but, like oil on the surface of limpid waters, glideseasily across. If my heart were not already brimming over, andmust needs be filled by the feelings of joy and sadness thatalternate so rapidly, then indeed would it be flooded by a wave ofbitter pain; but these quick-succeeding changes scarcely rufflethe surface of my soul, and in its depths there reigns a peacethat nothing can disturb. "

And yet her soul was enveloped in thick darkness, and hertemptations against Faith, ever conquered but ever returning, werethere to rob her of all feeling of happiness at the thought of herapproaching death. "Were it not for this trial, which isimpossible to understand, " she would say, "I think I should die ofjoy at the prospect of soon leaving this earth. "

By this trial, the Divine Master wished to put the finishingtouches to her purification, and thus enable her not only to walkwith rapid steps, but to run in her little way of confidence andabandonment. Her words repeatedly proved this. "I desire neitherdeath nor life. Were Our Lord to offer me my choice, I would notchoose. I only will what He wills; it is what He does that I love. I do not fear the last struggle, nor any pains--however great--myillness may bring. God has always been my help. He has led me bythe hand from my earliest childhood, and on Him I rely. My agonymay reach the furthest limits, but I am convinced He will neverforsake me. "

Such confidence in God, of necessity stirred the fury of thedevil--of him who, at life's close, tries every ruse to sow theseeds of despair in the hearts of the dying. 

"Last night I was seized with a terrible feeling of anguish, " sheconfessed to Mother Agnes of Jesus on one occasion; "I was lost indarkness, and from out of it came an accursed voice: 'Are youcertain God loves you? Has He Himself told you so? The opinion ofcreatures will not justify you in His sight. ' These thoughts hadlong tortured me, when your little note, like a message fromHeaven, was brought to me. You recalled to me, dear Mother, thespecial graces Jesus had lavished upon me, and, as though you hadhad a revelation concerning my trial, you assured me I was deeplyloved by God, and was on the eve of receiving from His Hands myeternal crown. Immediately peace and joy were restored to myheart. Yet the thought came to me, 'It is my little Mother'saffection that makes her write these words. ' Straightway I feltinspired to take up the Gospels, and, opening the book at random, I lighted on a passage which had hitherto escaped me: 'He whom Godhath sent speaketh the Words of God, for God doth not give theSpirit by measure. '[7] Then I fell asleep fully consoled. It wasyou, dear Mother, whom the Good God sent me, and I must believeyou, because you speak the Words of God. "

For several days, during the month of August, Thérèse remained, soto speak, beside herself, and implored that prayers might beoffered for her. She had never before been seen in this state, andin her inexpressible anguish she kept repeating: "Oh! hownecessary it is to pray for the agonising! If one only knew!"

One night she entreated the Infirmarian to sprinkle her bed withHoly Water, saying: "I am besieged by the devil. I do not see him, but I feel him; he torments me and holds me with a grip of iron, that I may not find one crumb of comfort; he augments my woes, that I may be driven to despair. . . . And I cannot pray. I canonly look at Our Blessed Lady and say: 'Jesus!' How needful isthat prayer we use at Compline: 'Procul recedant somnia et noctiumphantasmata!' ('Free us from the phantoms of the night. ')Something mysterious is happening within me. I am not sufferingfor myself, but for some other soul, and satan is angry. " TheInfirmarian, startled, lighted a blessed candle, and the spirit ofdarkness fled, never to return; but the sufferer remained to theend in a state of extreme anguish. 

One day, while she was contemplating the beautiful heavens, someone said to her: "soon your home will be there, beyond the bluesky. How lovingly you gaze at it!" She only smiled, but afterwardsshe said to the Mother Prioress: "Dear Mother, the Sisters do notrealise my sufferings. Just now, when looking at the sky, I merelyadmired the beauty of the material heaven--the true Heaven seemsmore than ever closed against me. At first their words troubledme, but an interior voice whispered: 'Yes, you were looking toHeaven out of love. Since your soul is entirely delivered up tolove, all your actions, even the most indifferent, are marked withthis divine seal. ' At once I was consoled. "

In spite of the darkness which enveloped her, her Divine Savioursometimes left the door of her prison ajar. Those were moments inwhich her soul lost itself in transports of confidence and love. Thus it happened that on a certain day, when walking in the gardensupported by one of her own sisters, she stopped at the charmingspectacle of a hen sheltering its pretty little ones under itswing. Her eyes filled with tears, and, turning to her companion, she said: "I cannot remain here any longer, let us go in!" Andeven when she reached her cell, her tears continued to fall, andit was some time before she could speak. At last she looked at hersister with a heavenly expression, and said: "I was thinking ofOur Lord, and the beautiful comparison He chose in order to makeus understand His ineffable tenderness. This is what He has donefor me all the days of my life. He has completely hidden me underHis Wing. I cannot express all that has just stirred my heart; itis well for me that God conceals Himself, and lets me see theeffects of His Mercy but rarely, and as it were from 'behind thelattices. ' Were it not so I could never bear such sweetness. "

. . . . . . . 

Disconsolate at the prospect of losing their treasure, theCommunity began a novena to Our Lady of Victories on June 5, 1897, in the fervent hope that she would once again miraculously raisethe drooping Little Flower. But her answer was the same as thatgiven by the blessed Martyr, Théophane Vénard, and they wereforced to accept with generosity the bitterness of the comingseparation. 

At the beginning of July, her state became very serious, and shewas at last removed to the Infirmary. Seeing her empty cell, andknowing she would never return to it, Mother Agnes of Jesus saidto her: "When you are no longer with us, how sad I shall feel whenI look at this cell!"

"For consolation, little Mother, you can think how happy I am upthere, and remember that much of my happiness was acquired in thatlittle cell; for, " she added, raising her beautiful eyes toHeaven, "I have suffered so much there, and I should have beenhappy to die there. "

As she entered the Infirmary she looked towards the miraculousstatue of Our Lady, which had been brought thither. It would beimpossible to describe that look. "What is it you see?" said hersister Marie, the witness of her miraculous cure as a child. AndThérèse answered: "Never has she seemed to me so beautiful . . . But to-day it is the statue, whereas that other day, as you wellknow, it was not the statue!" And from that time she oftenreceived similar consolations. 

One evening she exclaimed: "Oh, how I love Our Blessed Lady! Had Ibeen a Priest, how I would have sung her praises! She is spoken ofas unapproachable, whereas she should be represented as easy ofimitation. . . . She is more Mother than Queen. I have heard itsaid that her splendour eclipses that of all the Saints as therising sun makes all the stars disappear. It sounds so strange. That a Mother should take away the glory of her children! I thinkquite the reverse. I believe that she will greatly increase thesplendour of the elect . . . Our Mother Mary! Oh! how simple herlife must have been!" and, continuing her discourse, she drew sucha sweet and delightful picture of the Holy Family that all presentwere lost in admiration. 

A very heavy cross awaited her before going to join her Spouse. From August 16 to September 30, the happy day of her death, shewas unable to receive Holy Communion, because of her continualsickness. Few have hungered for the Bread of Angels like thisseraph of earth. Again and again during that last winter of herlife, after nights of intolerable pain, she rose at early morn topartake of the Manna of Heaven, and she thought no price too heavyto pay for the bliss of feeding upon God. Before depriving heraltogether of this Heavenly Food, Our Lord often visited her onher bed of pain. Her Communion on July 16, the feast of Our Ladyof Mount Carmel, was specially touching. During the previous nightshe composed some verses which were to be sung before Communion. 

Thou know'st the baseness of my soul, O Lord, Yet fearest not tostoop and enter me. Come to my heart, O Sacrament adored! Come tomy heart . . . It craveth but for Thee! And when Thou comest, straightway let me die Of very love for Thee; this boon impart!Oh, hearken Jesus, to my suppliant cry: Come to my heart!

In the morning, when the Holy Viaticum was carried to theInfirmary, the cloisters were thickly strewn with wild flowers androse-petals. A young Priest, who was about to say his first Massthat day in the Chapel of the Carmel, bore the Blessed Sacramentto the dying Sister; and at her desire, Sister Mary of theEucharist--whose voice was exceptionally sweet--sang the followingcouplet:

Sweet martyrdom! to die of love's keen fire:The martyrdom of which my heart is fain!Hasten, ye Cherubim, to tune your lyre;I shall not linger long in exile's pain!. . . . . . . 

Fulfill my dream, O Jesus, since I sighOf love to die!

A few days later Thérèse grew worse, and on July 30 she receivedExtreme Unction. Radiant with delight the little Victim of Lovesaid to us: "The door of my dark prison is ajar. I am steeped injoy, especially since our Father Superior has assured me thatto-day my soul is like unto that of a little child after Baptism. "

No doubt she thought she was quickly to join the white-robed bandof the Holy Innocents. She little knew that two long months ofmartyrdom had still to run their course. "Dear Mother, " she said, "I entreat you, give me leave to die. Let me offer my life forsuch and such an intention"--naming it to the Prioress. And whenthe permission was refused, she replied: "Well, I know that justat this moment Our Lord has such a longing for a tiny bunch ofgrapes--which no one will give Him--that He will perforce have tocome and steal it. . . . I do not ask anything; this would be tostray from my path of self-surrender. I only beseech Our Lady toremind her Jesus of the title of _Thief, _ which He takes toHimself in the Gospels, so that He may not forget to come andcarry me away. "

. . . . . . . 

One day Soeur Thérèse took an ear of corn from a sheaf they hadbrought her. It was so laden with grain that it bent on its stalk, and after gazing upon it for some time she said to the MotherPrioress: "Mother, that ear of corn is the image of my soul. Godhas loaded it with graces for me and for many others. And it is mydearest wish ever to bend beneath the weight of God's gifts, acknowledging that all comes from Him. "

She was right. Her soul was indeed laden with graces, and it waseasy to discern the Spirit of God speaking His praises out of themouth of that innocent child. 

Had not this Spirit of Truth already dictated these words to thegreat Teresa of Avila:

"Let those souls who have reached to perfect union with God holdthemselves in high esteem, with a humble and holy presumption. Letthem keep unceasingly before their eyes the remembrance of thegood things they have received, and beware of the thought thatthey are practising humility in not recognising the gifts of God. Is it not clear that the constant remembrance of gifts bestowedserves to increase the love of the giver? How can he who ignoresthe riches he possesses, spend them generously upon others?"

But the above was not the only occasion on which the "littleThérèse of Lisieux"[8] gave utterance to words that provedprophetic. In the month of April, 1895, while she was still inexcellent health, she said in confidence to one of the older nuns:"I shall die soon. I do not say that it will be in a few months, but in two or three years at most; I know it because of what istaking place in my soul. "

The novices betrayed surprise when she read their inmost thoughts. "This is my secret, " she said to them: "I never reprimand youwithout first invoking Our Blessed Lady, and asking her to inspireme as to what will be most for your good, and I am oftenastonished myself at the things I teach you. At such times I feelthat I make no mistake, and that it is Jesus Who speak by my lips. "

During her illness one of her sisters had experienced some momentsof acute distress, amounting almost to discouragement, at thethought of the inevitable parting. Immediately afterwards she wentto the Infirmary, but was careful not to let any sign of grief beseen. What was her surprise when Thérèse, in a sad and serioustone, thus addressed her: "We ought not to weep like those whohave no hope. "

One of the Mothers, having come to visit her, did her a triflingservice. "How happy I should be, " thought the Mother, "if thisAngel would only say: 'I will repay you in Heaven!' At thatinstant Soeur Thérèse, turning to her, said: "Mother, I will repayyou in Heaven!"

But more surprising than all, was her consciousness of the missionfor which Our Lord had destined her. The veil which hides thefuture seemed lifted, and more than once she revealed to us itssecrets, in prophecies which have already been realised. 

"I have never given the Good God aught but love; it is with LoveHe will repay. 

AFTER MY DEATH I WILL LET FALL A SHOWER OF ROSES. "

At another time she interrupted a Sister, who was speaking to herof the happiness of Heaven, by the sublime words: "It is not thatwhich attracts me. "

"And what attracts you?" asked the other. "Oh! it is Love! Tolove, to be beloved, and _to return to earth to win love for ourLove!"_

One evening, she welcomed Mother Agnes of Jesus with anextraordinary expression of joy: "Mother!" she said, "some notesfrom a concert far away have just reached my ears, and have mademe think that soon I shall be listening to the wondrous melodiesof Paradise. The thought, however, gave me but a moment's joy--onehope alone makes my heart beat fast: the Love that I shall receiveand the Love I shall be able to give!

"I feel that my mission is soon to begin--my mission to makeothers love God as I love Him . . . To each souls my _little way_. . . 

I WILL SPEND MY HEAVEN IN DOING GOOD UPON EARTH. 

Nor is this impossible, since from the very heart of the BeatificVision, the Angels keep watch over us. No, there can be no restfor me until the end of the world. But when the Angel shall havesaid: 'Time is no more!' then I shall rest, then I shall be ableto rejoice, because the number of the elect will be complete. "

"And what is this _little way_ that you would teach to souls?"

"IT IS THE WAY OF SPIRITUAL CHILDHOOD, THE WAY OF TRUST ANDABSOLUTE SELF-SURRENDER. 

I want to point out to them the means that I have always found soperfectly successful, to tell them that there is but one thing todo here below: we must offer Jesus _the flowers of littlesacrifices_ and win Him by a caress. That is how I have won Him, and that is why I shall be made so welcome. "

"Should I guide you wrongly by my _little way_ of love, " she saidto a novice, "do not fear that I shall allow you to continuetherein; I should soon come back to the earth, and tell you totake another road. If I do not return, then believe in the truthof these my words: We can never have too much confidence in theGood God, He is so mighty, so merciful. As we hope in Him so shallwe receive. "

On the eve of the feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, a novice saidto her: "I think that if you were to die to-morrow, after HolyCommunion, I should be quite consoled--it would be such abeautiful death!" Thérèse answered quickly: "Die after HolyCommunion! Upon a great feast! Nay, not so. _In my 'little way'everything is most ordinary; all that I do, little souls must beable to do likewise. "_

And to one of her missionary brothers she wrote: "What draws me tomy Heavenly Home is the summons of my Lord, together with the hopethat at length I shall love Him as my heart desires, and shall beable to make Him loved by a multitude of souls who will bless Himthroughout eternity. "

And in another letter to China: "I trust fully that I shall notremain idle in Heaven; my desire is to continue my work for theChurch and for souls. I ask this of God, and I am convinced Hewill hear my prayer. You see that if I quit the battle-field sosoon, it is not from a selfish desire of repose. For a long timenow, suffering has been my Heaven here upon earth, and I canhardly conceive how I shall become acclimatised to a land wherejoy is unmixed with sorrow. Jesus will certainly have to work acomplete change in my soul--else I could never support theecstasies of Paradise. "

It was quite true, suffering had become her Heaven upon earth--shewelcomed it as we do happiness. "When I suffer much, " she wouldsay, "when something painful or disagreeable happens to me, instead of a melancholy look, I answer by a smile. At first I didnot always succeed, but now it has become a habit which I am gladto have acquired. "

A certain Sister entertained doubts concerning the patience ofThérèse. One day, during a visit, she remarked that the invalid'sface wore an expression of unearthly joy, and she sought to knowthe reason. "It is because the pain is so acute just now, " Thérèsereplied; "I have always forced myself to love suffering and togive it a glad welcome. " "Why are you so bright this morning?"asked Mother Agnes of Jesus. "Because of two little crosses. Nothing gives me 'little joys' like 'little crosses. '" And anothertime: "You have had many trials to-day?" "Yes, but I love them!. . . I love all the Good God sends me!" "Your sufferings areterrible!" "No--they are not terrible: can a little Victim of Lovefind anything terrible that is sent by her Spouse? Each moment Hesends me what I am able to bear, and nothing more, and if Heincrease the pain, my strength is increased as well. But I couldnever ask for greater sufferings--I am too little a soul. Theywould then be of my own choice. I should have to bear them allwithout Him, and I have never been able to do anything when leftto myself. "

Thus spoke that wise and prudent Virgin on her deathbed, and herlamp, filled to the brim with the oil of virtue, burned brightlyto the end. If, as the Holy Spirit reminds us in the Book ofProverbs: _"A man's doctrine is proved by his patience, "_[9] thosewho have heard her may well believe in her doctrine, for she hasproved it by a patience no test could overcome. 

At each visit the doctor expressed his admiration. "If only youknew what she has to endure! I have never seen any one suffer sointensely with such a look of supernatural joy. . . . I shall notbe able to cure her; she was not made for this earth. " In view ofher extreme weakness, he ordered some strengthening remedies. Thérèse was at first distressed because of their cost, but sheafterwards admitted: "I am no longer troubled at having to takethose expensive remedies, for I have read that when they weregiven to St. Gertrude, she was gladdened by the thought that itwould redound to the good of our benefactors, since Our LordHimself has said: 'Whatever you do to the least of My little ones, you do unto Me. '"[10] "I am convinced that medicines are powerlessto cure me, " she added, "but I have made a covenant with God thatthe poor missionaries who have neither time nor means to take careof themselves may profit thereby. "

She was much moved by the constant gifts of flowers made to her byher friends outside the Convent, and again by the visits of asweet little redbreast that loved to play about her bed. She sawin these things the Hand of God. "Mother, I feel deeply the manytouching proofs of God's Love for me. I am laden with them . . . Nevertheless, I continue in the deepest gloom! . . . I suffer much. . . Very much! and yet my state is one of profound peace. All mylongings have been realised . . . I am full of confidence. "

Shortly afterwards she told me this touching little incident: "Oneevening, during the 'Great Silence, ' the Infirmarian brought me ahot-water bottle for my feet, and put tincture of iodine on mychest. I was in a burning fever, and parched with thirst, and, whilst submitting to these remedies, I could not help saying toOur Lord: 'My Jesus, Thou seest I am already burning, and theyhave brought me more heat and fire. Oh! if they had brought meeven half a glass of water, what a comfort it would have been!. . . My Jesus! Thy little child is so thirsty. But she is glad tohave this opportunity of resembling Thee more closely, and thushelping Thee to save souls. ' The Infirmarian soon left me, and Idid not expect to see her again until the following morning. Whatwas my surprise when she returned a few minutes later with arefreshing drink! 'It has just struck me that you may be thirsty, 'she said, 'so I shall bring you something every evening. ' I lookedat her astounded, and when I was once more alone, I melted intotears. Oh! how good Jesus is! how tender and loving! How easy itis to reach His Heart!"

. . . . . . . 

On September 6, the little Spouse of Jesus received a touchingproof of the loving thought of His Sacred Heart. She hadfrequently expressed a wish to possess a relic of her specialpatron, the Venerable Théophane Vénard, but as her desire was notrealised, she said no more. She was quite overcome, therefore, when Mother Prioress brought her the longed-for treasure--receivedthat very day. She kissed it repeatedly, and would not consent topart with it. 

It may be asked why she was so devoted to this young Martyr. Sheherself explained the reason in an affectionate interview with herown sisters: "Théophane Vénard is a _little_ saint; his life wasnot marked by anything extraordinary. He had an ardent devotion toOur Immaculate Mother and a tender love of his own family. "Dwelling on these words she added: "And I, too, love my familywith a tender love; I fail to understand those Saints who do notshare my feelings. As a parting gift I have copied for you somepassages from his last letters home. His soul and mine have manypoints of resemblance, and his words do but re-echo my thoughts. "

We give here a copy of that letter, which one might have believedwas composed by Thérèse herself:

"I can find nothing on earth that can make me truly happy; thedesires of my heart are too vast, and nothing of what the worldcalls happiness can satisfy it. Time for me will soon be no more, my thoughts are fixed on Eternity. My heart is full of peace, likea tranquil lake or a cloudless sky. I do not regret this life onearth. I thirst for the waters of Life Eternal. 

"Yet a little while and my soul will have quitted this earth, willhave finished her exile, will have ended her combat. I go toHeaven. I am about to enter the Abode of the Blessed--to see whatthe eye hath never seen, to hear what the ear hath never heard, toenjoy those things the heart of man hath not conceived . . . Ihave reached the hour so coveted by us all. It is indeed true thatOur Lord chooses the little ones to confound the great ones ofthis earth. I do not rely upon my own strength but upon Him Who, on the Cross, vanquished the powers of hell. 

"I am a spring flower which the Divine Master culls for Hispleasure. We are all flowers, planted on this earth, and God willgather us in His own good time--some sooner, some later . . . I, little flower of one day, am the first to be gathered! But weshall meet again in Paradise, where lasting joy will be ourportion. 

"Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus, using the words of the angelicmartyr--Théophane Vénard. "

Toward the end of September, when something was repeated to herthat had been said at recreation, concerning the responsibility ofthose who have care of souls, she seemed to revive a little andgave utterance to these beautiful words: "To him that is little, mercy is granted. [11] It is possible to remain _little_ even inthe most responsible position, and is it not written that, at thelast day, 'the Lord will arise to save the meek and lowly ones ofthe earth'?[12] He does not say 'to judge, ' but 'to save!'"

As time went on, the tide of suffering rose higher and higher, andshe became so weak, that she was unable to make the slightestmovement without assistance. Even to hear anyone whisper increasedher discomfort; and the fever and oppression were so extreme thatit was with the greatest difficulty she was able to articulate aword. And yet a sweet smile was always on her lips. Her only fearwas lest she should give her Sisters any extra trouble, and untiltwo days before her death she would never allow any one to remainwith her during the night. However, in spite of her entreaties, the Infirmarian would visit her from time to time. On one occasionshe found Thérèse with hands joined and eyes raised to Heaven. "What are you doing?" she asked; "you ought to try and go tosleep. " "I cannot, Sister, I am suffering too much, so I ampraying. . . . " "And what do you say to Jesus?" "I say nothing--Ionly love Him!"

"Oh! how good God is!" . . . She sometimes exclaimed. "Truly Hemust be very good to give me strength to bear all I have tosuffer. " One day she said to the Mother Prioress: "Mother, I wouldlike to make known to you the state of my soul; but I cannot, Ifeel too much overcome just now. " In the evening Thérèse sent herthese lines, written in pencil with a trembling hand:

"O my God! how good Thou art to the little Victim of Thy MercifulLove! Now, even when Thou joinest these bodily pains to those ofmy soul, I cannot bring myself to say: 'The anguish of death hathencompassed me. '[13] I rather cry out in my gratitude: 'I havegone down into the valley of the shadow of death, but I fear noevil, because Thou, O Lord, art with me. '"[14]

Her little Mother said to her: "Some think that you are afraid ofdeath. " "That may easily come to pass, " she answered; "I do notrely on my own feelings, for I know how frail I am. It will betime enough to bear that cross if it comes, meantime I wish torejoice in my present happiness. When the Chaplain asked me if Iwas resigned to die, I answered: 'Father, I need rather to beresigned to live--I feel nothing but joy at the thought of death. 'Do not be troubled, dear Mother, if I suffer much and show no signof happiness at the end. Did not Our Lord Himself die 'a Victim ofLove, ' and see how great was His Agony!"

. . . . . . . 

At last dawned the eternal day. It was Thursday, September 30, 1897. In the morning, the sweet Victim, her eyes fixed on OurLady's statue, spoke thus of her last night on earth: "Oh! withwhat fervour I have prayed to her! . . . And yet it has been pureagony, without a ray of consolation. . . . Earth's air is failingme: when shall I breathe the air of Heaven?"

For weeks she had been unable to raise herself in bed, but, athalf-past two in the afternoon, she sat up and exclaimed: "DearMother, the chalice is full to overflowing! I could never havebelieved that it was possible to suffer so intensely. . . . I canonly explain it by my extreme desire to save souls. . . . " And alittle while after: "Yes, all that I have written about my thirstfor suffering is really true! I do not regret having surrenderedmyself to Love. "

She repeated these last words several times. A little later sheadded: "Mother, prepare me to die well. " The good Mother Prioressencouraged her with these words: "My child, you are quite ready toappear before God, for you have always understood the virtue ofhumility. " Then, in striking words, Thérèse bore witness toherself:

"Yes, I feel it; my soul has ever sought the truth. . . . I haveunderstood humility of heart!"

. . . . . . . 

At half-past four, her agony began--the agony of this "Victim ofDivine Love. " When the Community gathered round her, she thankedthem with the sweetest smile, and then, completely given over tolove and suffering, the Crucifix clasped in her failing hands, sheentered on the final combat. The sweat of death lay heavy on herbrow . . . She trembled . . . But, as a pilot, when close toharbour, is not dismayed by the fury of the storm, so this soul, strong in faith, saw close at hand the beacon-lights of Heaven, and valiantly put forth every effort to reach the shore. 

As the convent bells rang the evening Angelus, she fixed aninexpressible look upon the statue of the Immaculate Virgin, theStar of the Sea. Was it not the moment to repeat her beautifulprayer:

"O thou who camest to smile on me in the morn of my life, comeonce again and smile, Mother, for now it is eventide!"[15]

A few minutes after seven, turning to the Prioress, the poorlittle Martyr asked: "Mother, is it not the agony? . . . Am I notgoing to die?" "Yes, my child, it is the agony, but Jesus perhapswills that it be prolonged for some hours. " In a sweet andplaintive voice she replied: "Ah, very well then . . . Very well. . . I do not wish to suffer less!"

Then, looking at her crucifix:

"Oh! . . . I love Him! . . . My God, I . . . Love . . . Thee!"

These were her last words. She had scarcely uttered them when, toour great surprise, she sank down quite suddenly, her headinclined a little to the right, in the attitude of the VirginMartyrs offering themselves to the sword; or rather, as a Victimof Love, awaiting from the Divine Archer the fiery shaft, by whichshe longs to die. 

Suddenly she raised herself, as though called by a mysteriousvoice; and opening her eyes, which shone with unutterablehappiness and peace, fixed her gaze a little above the statue ofOur Lady. Thus she remained for about the space of a _Credo, _ whenher blessed soul, now become the prey of the "Divine Eagle, " wasborne away to the heights of Heaven. 

. . . . . . . 

A few days before her death, this little Saint had said: "Thedeath of Love which I so much desire is that of Jesus upon theCross. " Her prayer was fully granted. Darkness enveloped her, andher soul was steeped in anguish. And yet, may we not apply to heralso that sublime prophecy of St. John of the Cross, referring tosouls consumed by the fire of Divine Love: "They die Victims ofthe onslaughts of Love, in raptured ecstasies--like the swan, whose song grows sweeter as death draws nigh. Wherefore thePsalmist declared: 'Precious in the sight of the Lord is the deathof His Saints. '[16] For then it is that the rivers of love burstforth from the soul and are whelmed in the Ocean of Divine Love. "

No sooner had her spotless soul taken its flight than the joy ofthat last rapture imprinted itself on her brow, and a radiantsmile illumined her face. We placed a palm-branch in her hand; andthe lilies and roses that adorned her in death were figures of herwhite robe of baptism made red by her Martyrdom of Love. 

On the Saturday and Sunday a large crowd passed before the gratingof the nuns' chapel, to gaze on the mortal remains of the "LittleFlower of Jesus. " Hundreds of medals and rosaries were brought totouch the "Little Queen" as she lay in the triumphant beauty ofher last sleep. 

. . . . . . . 

On October 4, the day of the funeral, there gathered in the Chapelof the Carmel a goodly company of Priests. The honour was surelydue to one who had prayed so earnestly for those called to thatsacred office. After a last solemn blessing, this grain ofpriceless wheat was cast into the furrow by the hands of HolyMother Church. 

Who shall tell how many ripened ears have sprung forth since, howmany the sheaves that are yet to come? "Amen, amen, I say to you, unless the grain of wheat, falling into the ground, die, itselfremaineth alone. But if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. "[17]Once more the word of the Divine Reaper has been magnificentlyfulfilled. 

THE PRIORESS OF THE CARMEL. _____________________________

[1] Dom Guéranger. 

[2] Mother Mary of Gonzaga died Dec. 17, 1904, at the age of 71. Mother Agnes of Jesus (Pauline) was at that time Prioress. Theformer--herself of the line of St. Antony of Padua--recognized inSoeur Thérèse "an heroic soul, filled with holiness, and capableof becoming one day an excellent Prioress. " With this end in view, she trained her with a strictness for which the young Saint wasmost grateful. In the arms of Mother Mary of Gonzaga the "LittleFlower of Jesus" was welcomed to the Carmel, and in those arms shedied--"happy, " she declared, "not to have in that hour asSuperioress her 'little Mother, ' in order the better to exerciseher spirit of faith in authority. " [Ed. ]

[3] As will be remembered, this was Marie, her eldest sister. [Ed. ]

[4] The Blessed Théophane Vénard was born at St. Loup, in thediocese of Poitiers, on the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lady, Nov. 21, 1829. He was martyred at Kecho, Tong-King, on the Feastof the Presentation of Our Lord, Feb. 2, 1861, at the age of 32. Along and delightful correspondence with his family, begun in hiscollege days and completed from his "cage" at Kecho, reveals akinship of poesy as well as of sanctity and of the love of home, between the two "spring flowers. " The beauty of his soul was sovisible in his boyish face that he was spared all torture duringhis two months in the "cage. " In 1909, the year in which Thérèsebecame "Servant of God" by the commencement of the EpiscopalProcess, her patron received the honours of Beatification. Anotherchild of France--Joan, its "Martyr-Maid"--whose praises have beensung in affectionate verse by the Saints of St. Loup and Lisieux, was beatified that same year. [Ed. ]

[5] An allusion to the obituary notice sent to each of the FrenchCarmels when a Carmelite nun dies in that country. In the case ofthose who die in the odour of sanctity these notices sometimes runto considerable length. Four notices issued from the Carmel ofLisieux are of great interest to the clients of Soeur Thérèse, andare in course of publication at the Orphans' Press, Rochdale;those of the Carmel's saintly Foundress, Mother Genevieve of St. Teresa, whose death is referred to in Chapter VIII; Mother Mary ofGonzaga, the Prioress of Thérèse; Sister Mary of the Eucharist(Marie Guérin), the cousin of Thérèse (Chapter III); and mostinteresting of all, the long sketch, partly autobiographical, ofMother Mary of St. Angelus (Marie Ange), the "trophy of Thérèse, "brought by her intercession to the Carmel in 1902--where thewriter made her acquaintance in the following spring; she becamePrioress in 1908, dying eighteen months later in the odour ofsanctity, aged only 28. [Ed. ]

[6] Cf. Job 13:15. 

[7] John 3:34. 

[8] When asked before her death how they should pray to her inHeaven, Soeur Thérèse, with her wonted simplicity, made answer:"You will call me 'Little Thérèse'--_petite Thérèse. "_ And atGallipoli, on the occasion of her celebrated apparition in theCarmel there, when the Prioress, taking her to be St. Teresa ofAvila, addressed her as "our holy Mother, " the visitor, adoptingher then official title, replied:--"Nay, I am not our holyMother, I am the Servant of God, _Soeur Thérèse of Lisieux_. "This, her own name of Soeur Thérèse, has been retained in thepresent edition, unless where it was advisable to set down hername in full--Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and of the HolyFace. The name of the "Little Flower, " borrowed by her from theBlessed Théophane Vénard, and used so extensively in the pages ofher manuscript, is the one by which she is best known inEnglish-speaking lands. [Ed. ]

[9] Cf. Prov. 19:11. 

[10] Matt. 25:49. 

[11] Wisdom 6:7. 

[12] Cf. Ps. 75[76]:10. 

[13] Cf. Ps. 17[18]:5. 

[14] Cf. Ps. 22[23]:4. 

[15] From the last poem written by Soeur Thérèse. 

[16] Ps. 115[116]:15. 

[17] John 12:24, 25. 

_____________________________

COUNSELS AND REMINISCENCES OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE, THE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS

_____________________________

Most of what follows has been gathered from the conversations ofSoeur Thérèse with her novices. Her advice cannot but provehelpful to souls within the cloister, and likewise to many in theworld who may be attracted by her simple and easy _little way_ toGod. 

* * * * * *

One of the novices, greatly discouraged at the thought of herimperfections, tells us that her mistress spoke to her as follows:

"You make me think of a little child that is learning to stand butdoes not yet know how to walk. In his desire to reach the top ofthe stairs to find his mother, he lifts his little foot to climbthe first step. It is all in vain, and at each renewed effort hefalls. Well, be like that little child. Always keep lifting yourfoot to climb the ladder of holiness, and do not imagine that youcan mount even the first step. All God asks of you is good will. From the top of the ladder He looks lovingly upon you, and soon, touched by your fruitless efforts, He will Himself come down, and, taking you in His Arms, will carry you to His Kingdom never againto leave Him. But should you cease to raise your foot, you will beleft for long on the earth. "

* * * * * *

"The only way to advance rapidly in the path of love is to remainalways very little. That is what I did, and now I can sing withour holy Father, St. John of the Cross:

'Then I abased myself so low, so very low, That I ascended to suchheights, such heights indeed, That I did overtake the prey Ichased!'"

* * * * * *

Under a temptation which seemed to me irresistible, I said to her:"This time, I cannot surmount it. " She replied: "Why seek tosurmount it? Rather pass beneath. It is all well for great soulsto soar above the clouds when the storm rages; we have simply tosuffer the showers. What does it matter if we get wet? We shalldry ourselves in the sunshine of love. 

"It recalls a little incident of my childhood. One day a horse wasstanding in front of the garden gate, and preventing us fromgetting through. My companions talked to him and tried to make himmove off, but while they were still talking I quietly slippedbetween his legs . . . Such is the advantage of remaining small. "

* * * * * *

Our Lord said to the mother of the sons of Zebedee: 'To sit on myright or left hand is for them for whom it is prepared by myFather. '[1] I imagine that these chosen places, which have beenrefused alike to great Saints and Martyrs, will be reserved forlittle children; and did not David foretell it when he said, that'the little Benjamin will preside amidst the assemblies[2] of theSaints. '"

* * * * * *

"You are wrong to find fault with this thing and with that, or totry and make everyone see things as you see them. We desire to be'as little children, ' and little children do not know what isbest: to them all seems right. Let us imitate their ways. Besides, there is no merit in doing what reason dictates. "

* * * * * *

"My patrons and my special favourites in Heaven are those who, soto speak, stole it, such as the Holy Innocents and the Good Thief. The great Saints won it by their works; I wish to be like thethieves and to win it by stratagem--a stratagem of love which willopen its gates both to me and to poor sinners. In the Book ofProverbs the Holy Ghost encourages me, for He says: 'Come to me, little one, to learn subtlety!'"[3]

* * * * * *

"What would you do if you could begin over again your religiouslife?"

"I think I should do as I have already done. "

"Then you do not share the feeling of the hermit who said: 'Whilea quarter of an hour, or even a breath of life still remains tome, I shall fear the fires of hell even though I should have spentlong years in penance'?"

"No, I do not share that fear; I am too small. Little children arenot damned. "

"You are ever seeking to be as little children are, but tell uswhat must be done to obtain that childlike spirit. 'Remaininglittle'--what does it mean?"

"'Remaining little' means--to recognise one's nothingness, toawait everything from the Goodness of God, to avoid being too muchtroubled at our faults; finally, not to worry over amassingspiritual riches, not to be solicitous about anything. Evenamongst the poor, while a child is still small, he is given whatis necessary; but, once he is grown up, his father will no longerfeed him, and tells him to seek work and support himself. Well, itwas to avoid hearing this, that I have never wished to grow up, for I feel incapable of earning my livelihood, which is LifeEternal!"

* * * * * *

In imitation of our saintly Mistress I also wished never to growup; she called me therefore "the little one, " and during a retreatshe wrote to me the following notes:

"Do not fear to tell Jesus that you love him, even though you maynot feel that love. In this way you will compel Him to come toyour aid, and to carry you like a little child who is too weak towalk. 

"It is indeed a great source of trial, when everything looksblack, but this does not depend entirely on yourself. Do all inyour power to detach your heart from earthly cares, especiallyfrom creatures; then be assured Our Lord will do the rest. Hecould not permit you to fall into the abyss. Be comforted, littleone! In Heaven everything will no longer look black, but dazzlingwhite. There all will be clothed in the Divine radiance of OurSpouse--the Lily of the Valley. Together we will follow Himwhithersoever He goeth. Meantime we must make good use of thislife's brief day. Let us give Our Lord pleasure, let us byself-sacrifice give Him souls! Above all, let us be little--solittle that everyone might tread us underfoot without our evenseeming to suffer pain. 

"I am not surprised at the failures of the little one; she forgetsthat in her rôle of missionary and warrior she ought to forgo allchildish consolations. It is wrong to pass one's time in fretting, instead of sleeping on the Heart of Jesus. 

"Should the little one fear the dark of the night, or complain atnot seeing Him who carries her, let her shut her eyes. It is theone sacrifice God asks. By remaining thus, the dark will cease toterrify, because she will not see it, and before long, peace--ifnot joy--will re-enter her soul. "

* * * * * *

To help me accept a humiliation she confided to me what follows:

"If I had not been received into the Carmel, I would have entereda Refuge, and lived there unknown and despised among the poor'penitents. ' My joy would have been to pass for one, and I wouldhave become an apostle among my companions, telling them mythoughts on the Infinite Mercy of God. "

"But how could you have hidden your innocence from your Confessor?"

"I would have told him that while still in the world I made ageneral confession, and that it was forbidden me to repeat it. "

* * * * * *

"Oh! When I think of all I have to acquire!"

"Or rather to lose! It is Jesus Who takes upon Himself to fillyour soul according as you rid it of imperfections. I see clearlythat you are mistaking the road, and that you will never arrive atthe end of your journey. You want to climb the mountain, whereasGod wishes you to descend it. He is awaiting you in the fruitfulvalley of humility. "

* * * * * *

"To me it seems that humility is truth. I do not know whether I amhumble, but I do know that I see the truth in all things. "

* * * * * *

"Indeed you are a Saint!"

"No, I am not a Saint. I have never wrought the works of a Saint. _I am but a tiny soul whom Almighty God has loaded with Hisfavours. _

"The truth of what I say will be made known to you in Heaven. "

"But have you not always been faithful to those favours?"

"Yes, _from the age of three I have never refused our Good Godanything. _ Still I cannot glorify myself. See how this evening thetree-tops are gilded by the setting sun. So likewise my soulappears to you all shining and golden because it is exposed to therays of Love. But should the Divine Sun no longer shine thereon, it would instantly be sunk in gloom. "

"We too would like to become all golden--what must we do?"

"You must practise the little virtues. This is sometimesdifficult, but God never refuses the first grace--courage forself-conquest; and if the soul correspond to that grace, she atonce finds herself in God's sunlight. The praise given to Judithhas always struck me: 'Thou hast done manfully, and thy heart hasbeen strengthened. '[4] In the onset we must act with courage. Bythis means the heart gains strength, and victory follows victory. "

* * * * * *

In conformity with the Rule, Soeur Thérèse never raised her eyesin the refectory, and, as I found great difficulty in thisobservance, she composed for me the following prayer. It revealsher exceeding humility, because in it she asked a grace of which Ialone stood in need:

"O Jesus, in honour and in imitation of the example Thou gavest inthe house of Herod, Thy two little Spouses resolve to keep theireyes cast down in the refectory. When that impious king scoffed atThee, O Infinite Beauty, no complaint came from Thy Lips. Thoudidst not even deign to fix on him Thy Adorable Eyes. He was notworthy of the favour, but we who are Thy Spouses, we desire todraw Thy Divine Gaze upon ourselves. As often as we refrain fromraising our eyes, we beg Thee to reward us by a glance of love, and we even dare ask Thee not to refuse this sweet glance when wefail in our self-control, for we will humble ourselves mostsincerely before Thee. "

* * * * * *

I confided to her that I made no progress, and that consequently Ihad lost heart. 

"Up to the age of fourteen, " she said, "I practised virtue withouttasting its sweetness. I desired suffering, but I did not think ofmaking it my joy; that grace was vouchsafed me later. My soul waslike a beautiful tree the flowers of which had scarcely openedwhen they fell. 

"Offer to God the sacrifice of never gathering any fruit. If Hewill that throughout your whole life you should feel a repugnanceto suffering and humiliation--if He permit that all the flowers ofyour desires and of your good will should fall to the groundwithout any fruit appearing, do not worry. At the hour of death, in the twinkling of an eye, He will cause fair fruits to ripen onthe tree of your soul. 

"We read in the Book of Ecclesiasticus: 'There is an inactive manthat wanteth help, is very weak in ability, and full of poverty:yet the Eye of God hath looked upon him for good, and hath liftedhim up from his low estate, and hath exalted his head: and manyhave wondered at him, and have glorified God. . . . Trust in God, and stay in thy place. For it is easy in the Eyes of God, on asudden, to make the poor man rich. The blessing of God makethhaste to reward the just, and in a swift hour His blessing bearethfruit. '"[5]

"But if I fall, I shall always be found imperfect; whereas you arelooked upon as holy. "

"That is, perhaps, because I have never desired to be consideredso. . . . But that you should be found imperfect is just what isbest. Here is your harvest. To believe oneself imperfect andothers perfect--this is true happiness. Should earthly creaturesthink you devoid of holiness, they rob you of nothing, and you arenone the poorer: it is they who lose. For is there anything moresweet than the inward joy of thinking well of our neighbour?

"As for myself I am glad and rejoice, not only when I am lookedupon as imperfect, but above all when I feel that it is true. Compliments, on the contrary, do but displease me. "

* * * * * *

"God has a special love for you since He entrusts souls to yourcare. "

"That makes no difference, and I am really only what I am in HisEyes. It is not because He wills me to be His interpreter amongyou, that He loves me more; rather, He makes me your littlehandmaid. It is for you, and not for myself, that He has bestowedupon me those charms and those virtues which you see. 

"I often compare myself to a little bowl filled by God with goodthings. All the kittens come to eat from it, and they sometimesquarrel as to which will have the largest share. But the HolyChild Jesus keeps a sharp watch. 'I am willing you should feedfrom My little bowl, ' He says, 'but take heed lest you upset andbreak it. '

"In truth there is no great danger, because I am already on theground. Not so with Prioresses; set, as they are, on tables, theyrun far more risks. Honours are always dangerous. What poisonousfood is served daily to those in high positions! What deadly fumesof incense! A soul must be well detached from herself to passunscathed through it all. "

* * * * * *

"It is a consolation for you to do good and to procure the Gloryof God. I wish I were equally favoured. "

"What if God does make use of me, rather than of another, toprocure His Glory! Provided His Kingdom be established amongsouls, the instrument matters not. Besides, He has no need ofanyone. 

"Some time ago I was watching the flicker, almost invisible, of atiny night-light, when one of the Sisters drew near, and, lightingher candle in the dying flame, passed it round to light all thoseof the Community. 'Who dare glory in his own good works?' Ireflected. 'From one faint spark such as this, it would bepossible to set the whole earth on fire. ' We often think wereceive graces and are divinely illumined by means of brilliantcandles. But from whence comes their light? From the prayers, perhaps, of some humble, hidden soul, whose inward shining is notapparent to human eyes; a soul of unrecognised virtue and, in herown sight, of little value--a dying flame. 

"What mysteries will yet be unveiled to us! I have often thoughtthat perhaps I owe all the graces with which I am laden, to somelittle soul whom I shall know only in Heaven. 

"It is God's Will that in this world souls shall dispense to eachother, by prayer, the treasures of Heaven, in order that when theyreach their Everlasting Home they may love one another withgrateful hearts, and with an affection far in excess of that whichreigns in the most perfect family on earth. 

"There no looks of indifference will meet us, because all theSaints will be mutually indebted to each other. No envious glanceswill be cast, for the happiness of each one of the Blessed will bethe happiness of all. With the Doctors of the Church we shall belike unto Doctors; with the Martyrs, like unto Martyrs; with theVirgins, like unto Virgins; and just as the members of one familyare proud one of the other, so without the least jealousy shall wetake pride in our brothers and sisters. 

"When we see the glory of the great Saints, and know that throughthe secret working of Providence we have contributed to it, whoknows whether the joy we shall feel will not be as intense, perhaps sweeter, than the happiness they themselves possess?

"And do you not think that the great Saints, on their side, seeingwhat they owe to all little souls, will love them with a lovebeyond compare? The friendships of Paradise will be both sweet andfull of surprise, of this I am certain. The familiar friend of anApostle, or of a great Doctor of the Church, may be a shepherdboy, and a simple little child may be united in closest intimacywith a Patriarch. . . . I long to enter that Kingdom of Love!"

* * * * * *

"Believe me, the writing of pious books, the composing of thesublimest poetry, all that does not equal the smallest act ofself-denial. When, however, our inability to do good gives uspain, our only resource is to offer up the good works of others, and in this lies the benefit of the Communion of Saints. Recall tomind that beautiful verse of the canticle of our Father, St. Johnof the Cross:

'Return, my dove! See on the height The wounded Hart, To whomrefreshment brings The breeze, stirred by thy wings. '

"Thus the Spouse, the wounded Hart, is not attracted by theheight, but only by the breeze from the pinions of the dove--abreeze which one single stroke of wing is sufficient to create. "

* * * * * *

"The one thing which is not open to envy is the lowest place. Herealone, therefore, there is neither vanity nor affliction ofspirit. Yet, 'the way of a man is not his own, '[6] and sometimeswe find ourselves wishing for what dazzles. In that hour let us inall humility take our place among the imperfect, and look uponourselves as little souls who at every instant need to be upheldby the goodness of God. From the moment He sees us fully convincedof our nothingness, and hears us cry out: 'My foot stumbles, Lord, but Thy Mercy is my strength, '[7] He reaches out His Hand to us. But, should we attempt great things, even under pretext of zeal, He deserts us. It suffices, therefore, to humble ourselves, tobear with meekness our imperfections. Herein lies--for us--trueholiness. "

* * * * * *

One day I was complaining of being more tired than my Sisters, for, besides the ordinary duties, I had other work unknown to therest. Soeur Thérèse replied:

"I should like always to see you a brave soldier, never grumblngat hardships, but considering the wounds of your companions asmost serious, and your own as mere scratches. You feel thisfatigue so much because no one is aware of it. 

"Now the Blessed Margaret Mary, at the time she had two whitlows, confessed that she really suffered from the hidden one only. Theother, which she was unable to hide, excited her Sisters' pity andmade her an object of compassion. This is indeed a very naturalfeeling, the desire that people should know of our aches andpains, but in giving way to it we play the coward. "

* * * * * *

"When we are guilty of a fault we must never attribute it to somephysical cause, such as illness or the weather. We must ascribe itto our own imperfections, without being discouraged thereby. 'Occasions do not make a man frail, but show what he is. '"[8]

* * * * * *

"God did not permit that our Mother should tell me to write mypoems as soon as I had composed them, and, fearful of committing asin against poverty, I would not ask leave. I had therefore towait for some free time, and at eight o'clock in the evening Ioften found it extremely difficult to remember what I had composedin the morning. 

"True, these trifles are a species of martyrdom; but we must becareful not to alleviate the pain of the martyrdom by permittingourselves, or securing permission for, a thousand and one thingswhich would tend to make the religious life both comfortable andagreeable. "

* * * * * *

One day, as I was in tears, Soeur Thérèse told me to avoid thehabit of allowing others to see the trifles that worried me, adding that nothing made community life more trying thanunevenness of temper. 

"You are indeed right, I answered, "such was my own thought. Henceforward my tears will be for God alone. I shall confide myworries to One Who will understand and console me. "

"Tears for God!" she promptly replied, "that must not be. Far lessto Him than to creatures ought you to show a mournful face. OurDivine Master has only our monasteries where He may obtain somesolace for His Heart. He comes to us in search of rest--to forgetthe unceasing complaints of His friends in the world, who, insteadof appreciating the value of the Cross, receive it far more oftenwith moans and tears. Would you then be as the mediocre souls?Frankly, this is not disinterested love. . . . _It is for us toconsole our Lord, and not for Him to console us. _ His Heart is sotender that if you cry He will dry your tears; but thereafter Hewill go away sad, since you did not suffer Him to reposetranquilly within you. Our Lord loves the glad of heart, thechildren that greet Him with a smile. When will you learn to hideyour troubles from Him, or to tell Him gaily that you are happy tosuffer for Him?"

"The face is the mirror of the soul, " she said once, "and yours, like that of a contented little child, should always be calm andserene. Even when alone, be cheerful, remembering always that youare in the sight of the Angels. "

* * * * * *

I was anxious she should congratulate me on what, in my eyes, wasan heroic act of virtue; but she said to me:

"Compare this little act of virtue with what our Lord has theright to expect of you! Rather should you humble yourself forhaving lost so many opportunities of proving your love. "

Little satisfied with this answer, I awaited an opportunity offinding out how Soeur Thérèse herself would act under trial, andthe occasion was not long in coming. Reverend Mother asked us todo some extremely tiring work which bristled with difficulties, and, on purpose, I made it still more difficult for our Mistress. 

Not for one second, however, could I detect her in fault, and, heedless of the fatigue involved, she remained gracious andamiable, eager throughout to help others at her own expense. Atlast I could resist no longer, and I confessed to her what mythoughts had been. 

"How comes it, " I said, "that you can be so patient? You are everthe same--calm and full of joy. " "It was not always the case withme, " she replied, "but since I have abandoned all thought ofself-seeking, I live the happiest life possible. "

* * * * * *

Our dear Mistress used to say that during recreation, more than atany other time, we should find opportunities for practising virtue. 

"If your desire be to draw great profit, do not go with the ideaof procuring relaxation, but rather with the intention ofentertaining others and practising complete detachment from self. Thus, for instance, if you are telling one of the Sisterssomething you think entertaining, and she should interrupt to tellyou something else, show yourself interested, even though inreality her story may not interest you in the least. Be careful, also, not to try to resume what you were saying. In this way youwill leave recreation filled with a great interior peace andendowed with fresh strength for the practice of virtue, becauseyou have not sought to please yourself, but others. If only wecould realise what we gain by self-denial in all things!"

"You realise it, certainly, for you have always practisedself-denial. "

"Yes, I have forgotten myself, and I have tried not to see myselfin anything. "

* * * * * *

"When some one knocks at our door, or when we are rung for, wemust practise mortification and refrain from doing even anotherstitch before answering. I have practised this myself, and Iassure you that it is a source of peace. "

After this advice, and according as occasion offered, I promptlyanswered every summons. One day, during her illness, she waswitness of this, and said:

"At the hour of death you will be very happy to find this to youraccount. You have just done something more glorious than if, through clever diplomacy, you had procured the good-will of theGovernment for all religious communities and had been proclaimedthroughout France as a second Judith. "

* * * * * *

Questioned as to her method of sanctifying meals, she answered:

"In the refectory we have but one thing to do: perform a lowlyaction with lofty thoughts. I confess that the sweetestaspirations of love often come to me in the refectory. Sometimes Iam brought to a standstill by the thought that were Our Lord in myplace He would certainly partake of those same dishes which areserved to me. It is quite probable that during His lifetime Hetasted of similar food--He must have eaten bread and fruit. 

"Here are my little rubrics:

"I imagine myself at Nazareth, in the house of the Holy Family. If, for instance, I am served with salad, cold fish, wine, oranything pungent in taste, I offer it to St. Joseph. To ourBlessed Lady I offer hot foods and ripe fruit, and to the InfantJesus our feast-day fare, especially rice and preserves. Lastly, when I am served a wretched dinner I say cheerfully: 'To-day, mylittle one, it is all for you!'"

Thus in many pretty ways she hid her mortifications. One fast-day, however, when our Reverend Mother ordered her some special food, Ifound her seasoning it with wormwood because it was too much toher taste. On another occasion I saw her drinking very slowly amost unpleasant medicine. "Make haste, " I said, "drink it off atonce!" "Oh, no!" she answered; "must I not profit of these smallopportunities for penance since the greater ones are forbidden me?"

Toward the end of her life I learned that, during her noviciate, one of our Sisters, when fastening the scapular for her, ran thelarge pin through her shoulder, and for hours she bore the painwith joy. On another occasion she gave me proof of her interiormortification. I had received a most interesting letter which wasread aloud at recreation, during her absence. In the evening sheexpressed the wish to read it, and I gave it to her. Later on, when she returned it, I begged her to tell me what she thought ofone of the points of the letter which I knew ought to have charmedher. She seemed rather confused, and after a pause she answered:"God asked of me the sacrifice of this letter because of theeagerness I displayed the other day . . . So I have not read it. "

* * * * * *

When speaking to her of the mortifications of the Saints, sheremarked: "It was well that Our Lord warned us: 'In My Father'sHouse there are many mansions, otherwise I would have toldyou. '[9] For, if every soul called to perfection were obliged toperform these austerities in order to enter Heaven, He would havetold us, and we should have willingly undertaken them. But He hasdeclared that, 'there are many mansions in His House. ' If thereare some for great souls, for the Fathers of the Desert and forMartyrs of penance, there must also be one for little children. And in that one a place is kept for us, if we but love Him dearlytogether with Our Father and the Spirit of Love. "

* * * * * *

"While in the world, I used, on waking, to think of all thepleasant or unpleasant things which might happen throughout theday, and if I foresaw nothing but worries I got up with a heavyheart. Now it is quite the reverse. I think of the pains and ofthe sufferings awaiting me, and I rise, feeling all the morecourageous and light of heart in proportion to the opportunities Iforesee of proving my love for Our Lord, and of gaining--mother ofsouls as I am--my children's livelihood. Then I kiss my crucifix, and, laying it gently on my pillow, I leave it there while Idress, and I say: 'My Jesus, Thou hast toiled and wept enoughduring Thy three-and-thirty years on this miserable earth. RestThee, to-day! It is my turn to suffer and to fight. '"

* * * * * *

One washing-day I was sauntering towards the laundry, and lookingat the flowers as I passed. Soeur Thérèse was following, andquickly overtook me: "Is that, " she said quietly, "how peoplehurry themselves when they have children, and are obliged to workto procure them food?"

* * * * * *

"Do you know which are my Sundays and feast-days? They are thedays on which God tries me the most. "

* * * * * *

I was distressed at my want of courage, and Soeur Thérèse said tome: "You are complaining of what should be your greatesthappiness. If you fought only when you felt eagerness, where wouldbe your merit? What does it matter, even if you are devoid ofcourage, provided you act as though you possessed it? If you feeltoo lazy to pick up a bit of thread, and yet do so for love ofJesus, you acquire more merit than for a much nobler action donein a moment of fervour. Instead of grieving, be glad that, byallowing you to feel your own weakness, Our Lord is furnishing youwith an opportunity of saving a greater number of souls. "

* * * * * *

I asked her whether Our Lord were not displeased at the sight ofmy many failings. This was her answer: "Be comforted, for He Whomyou have chosen as your Spouse has every imaginable perfection;but--dare I say it?--He has one great infirmity too--He is blind!And there is a science about which He knows nothing--addition!These two great defects, much to be deplored in an earthlybridegroom, do but make ours infinitely more lovable. Were itnecessary that He should be clear-sighted, and familiar with thescience of figures, do you not think that, confronted with ourmany sins, He would send us back to our nothingness? But His Lovefor us makes him actually blind. 

"If the greatest sinner on earth should repent at the moment ofhis death, and draw His last breath in an act of love, neither themany graces he had abused, nor the multiplied crimes he hadcommitted, would stand in his way. Our Lord would see nothing, count nothing, but the sinner's last prayer, and without delay Hewould receive him into the arms of His Mercy. 

"But, to make Him thus blind and to prevent Him doing the smallestsum of addition, we must approach Him through His Heart--on thatside He is vulnerable and defenceless. "

* * * * * *

I had grieved her, and had gone to ask her pardon: "If you butknew what I feel!" she exclaimed. "Never have I more clearlyunderstood the love with which Jesus receives us when we seek Hisforgiveness. If I, His poor little creature, feel so tenderlytowards you when you come back to me, what must pass through OurLord's Divine Heart when we return to Him? Far more quickly than Ihave just done will He blot out our sins from His memory. . . . Nay, He will even love us more tenderly than before we fell. "

* * * * * *

I had an immense dread of the judgments of God, and no argument ofSoeur Thérèse could remove it. One day I put to her the followingobjection: "It is often said to us that in God's sight the angelsthemselves are not pure. How, therefore, can you expect me to beotherwise than filled with fear?"

She replied: "There is but one means of compelling God not tojudge us, and it is--to appear before Him empty-handed. " "And howcan that be done?" "It is quite simple: lay nothing by, spend yourtreasures as you gain them. Were I to live to be eighty, I shouldalways be poor, because I cannot economise. All my earnings areimmediately spent on the ransom of souls. 

"Were I to await the hour of death to offer my trifling coins forvaluation, Our Lord would not fail to discover in them some basemetal, and they would certainly have to be refined in Purgatory. Is it not recorded of certain great Saints that, on appearingbefore the Tribunal of God, their hands laden with merit, theyhave yet been sent to that place of expiation, because in God'sEyes all our justice is unclean?"

"But, " I replied, "if God does not judge our good actions, He willjudge our bad ones. " "Do not say that! Our Lord is Justice itself, and if He does not judge our good actions, neither will He judgeour bad ones. It seems to me, that for Victims of Love there willbe no judgment. God will rather hasten to reward with eternaldelights His own Love which He will behold burning in theirhearts. "

"To enjoy such a privilege, would it suffice to repeat that Act ofOblation which you have composed?" "Oh, no! words do not suffice. To be a true Victim of Love we must surrender ourselves entirely. . . . _Love will consume us only in the measure of ourself-surrender. "_

* * * * * *

I was grieving bitterly over a fault I had committed. "Take yourCrucifix, " she said, "and kiss it. " I kissed the Feet. 

"Is that how a child kisses its father? Throw your arms at onceround His Neck and kiss His Face. " When I had done so, shecontinued: "That is not sufficient--He must return your caress. " Ihad to press the Crucifix to both my cheeks, whereupon she added:"Now, all is forgiven. "

* * * * * *

I told her one day that if I must be reproached I preferreddeserving it to being unjustly accused. "For my part, " shereplied, "I prefer to be charged unjustly, because, having nothingto reproach myself with, I offer gladly this little injustice toGod. Then, humbling myself, I think how easily I might havedeserved the reproach. The more you advance, the fewer thecombats; or rather, the more easy the victory, because the goodside of things will be more visible. Then your soul will soarabove creatures. As for me, I feel utterly indifferent to allaccusations because I have learned the hollowness of humanjudgment. "

She added further: "When misunderstood and judged unfavourably, what benefit do we derive from defending ourselves? Leave thingsas they are, and say nothing. It is so sweet to allow ourselves tobe judged anyhow, rightly or wrongly. 

"It is not written in the Gospel that Saint Mary Magdalen putforth excuses when charged by her sister with sitting idle at OurLord's Feet. She did not say: 'Martha, if you knew the happinessthat is mine and if you heard the words that I hear, you too wouldleave everything to share my joy and my repose. ' No, she preferredto keep silent. . . . Blessed silence which giveth such peace tothe soul!"

* * * * * *

At a moment of temptation and struggle I received this note: "'Thejust man shall correct me in mercy and shall reprove me; but letnot the oil of the sinner perfume my head. '[10] It is only by thejust that I can be either reproved or corrected, because all mySisters are pleasing to God. It is less bitter to be rebuked by asinner than by a just man; but through compassion for sinners, toobtain their conversion, I beseech Thee, O my God, to permit thatI may be well rebuked by those just souls who surround me. I askalso that the _oil of praise, _ so sweet to our nature, _may notperfume my head, _ that is to say, my mind, by making me believethat I possess virtues when I have merely performed a few goodactions. 

"Jesus! 'Thy Name is as oil poured out, '[11] and it is into thisdivine perfume that I desire wholly to plunge myself, far from thegaze of mankind. "

* * * * * *

"It is not playing the game to argue with a Sister that she is inthe wrong, even when it is true, because we are not answerable forher conduct. We must not be _Justices of the peace, _ but _Angelsof peace_ only. "

* * * * * *

"You give yourselves up too much to what you are doing, " she usedto say to us; "you worry about the future as though it were inyour hands. Are you much concerned at this moment as to what ishappening in other Carmelite convents, and whether the nuns thereare busy or otherwise? Does their work prevent you praying ormeditating? Well, just in the same way, you ought to detachyourselves from your own personal labours, conscientiouslyspending on them the time prescribed, but with perfect freedom ofheart. We read that the Israelites, while building the walls ofJerusalem, worked with one hand and held a sword in the other. [12]This is an image of what we should do: avoid being wholly absorbedin our work. "

* * * * * *

"One Sunday, " Thérèse relates, "I was going toward the chestnutavenue, full of rejoicing, for it was spring-time, and I wanted toenjoy nature's beauties. What a bitter disappointment! My dearchestnuts had been pruned, and the branches, already covered withbuds, now lay on the ground. On seeing this havoc, and thinkingthat three years must elapse before it could be repaired, my heartfelt very sore. But the grief did not last long. 'If I were inanother convent, ' I reflected, 'what would it matter to me if thechestnut-trees of the Carmel at Lisieux were entirely cut down?' Iwill not worry about things that pass. God shall be my all. I willtake my walks in the wooded groves of His Love, whereon none darelay hands. "

* * * * * *

A novice asked her Sisters to help her shake some blankets. Asthey were somewhat liable to tear because of their worn condition, she insisted, rather sharply, on their being handled with care. "What would you do, " said Thérèse to the impatient one, "if itwere not your duty to mend these blankets? There would be nothought of self in the matter, and if you did call attention tothe fact that they are easily torn, it would be done in quite animpersonal way. In all your actions, you should avoid the leasttrace of self-seeking. "

* * * * * *

Seeing one of our Sisters very much fatigued, I said to SoeurThérèse: "It grieves me to see people suffer, especially those whoare holy. " She instantly replied: "I do not feel as you do. Saintswho suffer never excite my pity. I know they have strength to beartheir sufferings, and that through them they are giving greatglory to God. But I compassionate greatly those who are notSaints, and who do not know how to profit by suffering. Theyindeed awake my pity. I would strain every nerve to help andcomfort them. "

* * * * * *

"Were I to live longer, it is the office of Infirmarian that wouldmost please me. I would not ask for it, but were it imposedthrough obedience, I should consider myself highly favoured. Ithink I should fulfill its duties with much affection, alwaysmindful of Our Lord's words: 'I was sick, and you visited Me. '[13]The infirmary bell should be for you as heavenly music, and youought purposely to pass by the windows of the sick that it mightbe easy for them to summon you. Consider yourself as a littleslave whom everyone has the right to command. Could you but seethe Angels who from the heights of Heaven watch your combats inthe arena! They are awaiting the end of the fight to crown you andcover you with flowers. You know that we claim to rank as _littleMartyrs_ . . . . But we must win our palms. 

"God does not despise these hidden struggles with ourselves, somuch richer in merit because they are unseen: 'The patient man isbetter than the valiant, and he that ruleth his spirit than hethat taketh cities. '[14] Through our little acts of charity, practised in the dark, as it were, we obtain the conversion of theheathen, help the missionaries, and gain for them plentiful alms, thus building both spiritual and material dwellings for OurEucharistic God. "

* * * * * *

I had seen Mother Prioress showing, as I thought, more confidenceand affection to one of our Sisters than she extended to me. Expecting to win sympathy, I told my trouble to Soeur Thérèse, andgreat was my surprise when she put me the question: "Do you thinkyou love our Mother very much?" "Certainly! otherwise I should beindifferent if others were preferred to me. "

"Well, I shall prove that you are absolutely mistaken, and that itis not our Mother that you love, but yourself. When we really loveothers, we rejoice at their happiness, and we make every sacrificeto procure it. Therefore if you had this true, disinterestedaffection, and loved our Mother for her own sake, you would beglad to see her find pleasure even at your expense; and since youthink she has less satisfaction in talking with you than withanother Sister, you ought not to grieve at being apparentlyneglected. "

* * * * * *

I was distressed at my many distractions during prayers: "I alsohave many, " she said, "but as soon as I am aware of them, I prayfor those people the thought of whom is diverting my attention, and in this way they reap benefit from my distractions. . . . Iaccept all for the love of God, even the wildest fancies thatcross my mind. "

* * * * * *

I was regretting a pin which I had been asked for, and which I hadfound most useful. "How rich you are, " said Thérèse, "you willnever be happy!"

* * * * * *

The grotto of the Holy Child was in her charge, and, knowing thatone of our Mothers greatly disliked perfumes, she never put anysweet-smelling flowers there, not even a tiny violet. This costher many a real sacrifice. One day, just as she had placed abeautiful artificial rose at the foot of the statue, the Mothercalled her. Soeur Thérèse, surmising that it was to bid her removethe rose, was anxious to spare her any humiliation. She thereforetook the flower to the good Sister, and, forestalling allobservations, said: "Look, Mother, how well nature is imitatednowadays: would you not think this rose had been freshly gatheredfrom the garden?"

* * * * * *

"There are moments, " she told us, "when we are so miserablewithin, that there is nothing for it but to get away fromourselves. At those times God does not oblige us to remain athome. He even permits our own company to become distasteful to usin order that we may leave it. Now I know no other means of exitsave through the doorway of charitable works, on a visit to Jesusand Mary. "

* * * * * *

"When I picture the Holy Family, the thought that does me mostgood is--the simplicity of their home-life. Our Lady and St. Joseph were well aware that Jesus was God, while at the same timegreat wonders were hidden from them, and--like us--they lived byfaith. You have heard those words of the Gospel: 'They understoodnot the word that He spoke unto them';[15] and those others noless mysterious: 'His Father and Mother were wondering at thosethings which were spoken concerning Him. '[16] They seemed to belearning something new, for this word 'wondering' implies acertain amount of surprise. "

* * * * * *

"There is a verse in the Divine Office which I recite each daywith reluctance: 'I have inclined my heart to do Thyjustifications for ever, because of the reward. '[17] I hasten toadd in my heart: 'My Jesus, Thou knowest I do not serve Thee forsake of reward, but solely out of love, and a desire to win Theesouls. "

* * * * * *

"In Heaven only shall we be in possession of the clear truth. Onearth, even in matters of Holy Scripture, our vision is dim. Itdistresses me to see the differences in its translations, and hadI been a Priest I would have learned Hebrew, so as to read theWord of God as He deigned to utter it in human speech. "

* * * * * *

Soeur Thérèse often spoke to me of a well-known toy with which shehad amused herself when a child. This was the kaleidoscope, shapedlike a small telescope, through which, as it is made to revolve, one perceives an endless variety of pretty-coloured figures. 

"This toy, " she said, "excited my admiration, and I wondered whatcould provide so charming a phenomenon, when one day, after alengthy examination, I found that it consisted simply of tiny bitsof paper and cloth scattered inside. A further examinationrevealed that there were three mirrors inside the tube, and theproblem was solved. It became for me the illustration of a greattruth. 

"So long as our actions, even the most trivial, remain withinLove's kaleidoscope, so long the Blessed Trinity, figured by thethree mirrors, imparts to them a wonderful brightness and beauty. The eye-piece is Jesus Christ, and He, looking from outsidethrough Himself into the kaleidoscope, finds perfect all ourworks. But, should we leave that ineffable abode of Love, He wouldsee but the rags and chaff of unclean and worthless deeds. "

* * * * * *

I told Soeur Thérèse of the strange phenomena produced bymagnetism on persons who surrender their will to the hypnotiser. It seemed to interest her greatly, and next day she said to me:"Your conversation yesterday did me so much good! How I long to behypnotised by Our Lord! It was my waking thought, and verily itwas sweet to surrender Him my will. I want Him to take possessionof my faculties in such wise that my acts may no more be mine, orhuman, but Divine--inspired and guided by the Spirit of Love. "

* * * * * *

Before my profession I received through my saintly Novice-mistressa very special grace. We had been washing all day. I was worn-outwith fatigue and harassed with spiritual worries. That night, before meditation, I wanted to speak to her, but she dismissed mewith the remark: "That is the bell for meditation, and I have nottime to console you; besides, I see plainly that it would beuseless trouble. For the present, God wishes you to suffer alone. "I followed her to meditation so discouraged that, for the firsttime, I doubted of my vocation. I should never be able to be aCarmelite. The life was too hard. 

I had been kneeling for some minutes, when all at once, in themidst of this interior struggle--without having asked or evenwished for peace--I felt a sudden and extraordinary change ofsoul. I no longer knew myself. My vocation appeared to me bothlovely and lovable. I saw the sweetness and priceless value ofsuffering. All the privations and fatigues of the religious lifeappeared to me infinitely preferable to worldly pleasures, and Icame away from my meditation completely transformed. 

Next day I told my Mistress what had taken place, and, seeing shewas deeply touched, I begged to know the reason. "God is good, "she exclaimed. "Last evening you inspired me with such profoundpity that I prayed incessantly for you at the beginning ofmeditation. I besought Our Lord to bring you comfort, to changeyour dispositions, and show you the value of suffering. He hasindeed heard my prayers. "

* * * * * *

Being somewhat of a child in my ways, the Holy Child--to help mein the practice of virtue--inspired me with the thought of amusingmyself with Him, and I chose the game of _ninepins. _ I imaginedthem of all sizes and colours, representing the souls I wished toreach. The ball was--_love. _

In December, 1896, the novices received, for the benefit of theForeign Missions, various trifles towards a Christmas tree, and atthe bottom of the box containing them was a _top_--a rare thing ina Carmelite convent. My companions remarked: "What an uglything!--of what use will it be?" But I, who knew the game, caughthold of it, exclaiming: "Nay, what fun! it will spin a whole daywithout stopping if it be well whipped"; and thereupon I spun itaround to their great surprise. 

Soeur Thérèse was quietly watching us, and on Christmas night, after midnight Mass, I found in our cell the famous top, with adelightful letter addressed as follows:

_To My Beloved Little Spouse_

_Player of Ninepins on the Mountain of Carmel_

_Christmas Night, 1896. _

MY BELOVED LITTLE SPOUSE, --I am well pleased with thee! All theyear round thou hast amused Me by playing at _ninepins. _ I was sooverjoyed that the whole court of Angels was surprised andcharmed. Several little cherubs have asked me why I did not makethem children. Others wanted to know if the melody of theirinstruments were not more pleasing to me than thy joyous laughwhen a ninepin fell at the stroke of thy love-ball. My answer tothem was, that they must not regret they are not children, sinceone day they would play with thee in the meadows of Heaven. I toldthem also that thy smiles were certainly more sweet to Me thantheir harmonies, because these smiles were purchased by sufferingand forgetfulness of self. 

And now, my cherished Spouse, it is my turn to ask something ofthee. Thou wilt not refuse Me--thou lovest Me too much. Let uschange the game. Ninepins amuse me greatly, but at present Ishould like to play at spinning a top, and, if thou dost consent, thou shalt be the top. I give thee one as a model. Thou seest thatit is ugly to look at, and would be kicked aside by whosoever didnot know the game. But at the sight of it a child would leap forjoy and shout: "What fun! it will spin a whole day withoutstopping!"

Although thou too art not attractive, I--the little Jesus--lovethee, and beg of thee to keep always spinning to amuse Me. True, it needs a whip to make a top spin. Then let thy Sisters supplythe whip, and be thou most grateful to those who shall make theeturn fastest. When I shall have had plenty of fun, I will bringthee to join Me here, and our games shall be full of unalloyeddelight. --Thy little Brother, JESUS. 

* * * * * *

I had the habit of constantly crying about the merest trifles, andthis was a source of great pain to Soeur Thérèse. One day a brightidea occurred to her: taking a mussel-shell from her paintingtable, and, holding my hands lest I should prevent her, shegathered my tears in the shell, and soon they were turned intomerry laughter. 

"There, " she said, "from this onwards I permit you to cry as muchas you like on condition that it is into the shell!"

A week, however, before her death I spent a whole evening in tearsat the thought of her fast-approaching end. She knew it, and said:"You have been crying. Was it into the shell?" I was unable totell an untruth, and my answer grieved her. "I am going to die, "she continued, "and I shall not be at rest about you unless youpromise to follow faithfully my advice. I consider it of theutmost importance for the good of your soul. "

I promised what she asked, begging leave, however, as a favour, tobe allowed to cry at her death. "But, " she answered, "why cry atmy death? Those tears will certainly be useless. You will bebewailing my happiness! Still I have pity on your weakness, andfor the first few days you have leave to cry, though afterwardsyou must again take up the shell. "

It has cost me some heroic efforts, but I have been faithful. Ihave kept the shell at hand, and each time the wish to cryovercame me, I laid hold of the pitiless thing. However urgent thetears, the trouble of passing it from one eye to the other sodistracted my thoughts, that before very long this ingeniousmethod entirely cured me of my sensibility. 

* * * * * *

Owing to a fault which had caused Soeur Thérèse much pain, but ofwhich I had deeply repented, I intended to deprive myself of HolyCommunion. I wrote to her of my resolution, and this was herreply: "Little flower, most dear to Jesus, by this humiliationyour roots are feeding upon the earth. You must now open wide yourpetals, or rather lift high your head, so that the Manna of theAngels may, like a divine dew, come down to strengthen you andsupply all your wants. Good-night, poor little flower! Ask ofJesus that all the prayers offered for my cure may serve toincrease the fire which ought to consume me. "

* * * * * *

"At the moment of Communion I sometimes liken my soul to that of alittle child of three or four, whose hair has been ruffled andclothes soiled at play. This is a picture of what befalls me in mystruggling with souls. But Our Blessed Lady comes promptly to therescue, takes off _my soiled pinafore, _ and arranges my hair, adorning it with a pretty ribbon or a simple flower. . . . Then Iam quite nice, and able, without any shame, to seat myself at theBanquet of Angels. "

* * * * * *

In the infirmary we scarcely waited for the end of herthanksgiving before seeking her advice. At first, this somewhatdistressed her, and she would make gentle reproaches, but soon sheyielded to us, saying: "I must not wish for more rest than OurLord. When He withdrew into the desert after preaching, the crowdswould come and intrude upon His solitude. Come, then, to me asmuch as you like; I must die sword in hand--'the sword of theSpirit, which is the Word of God. '"[18]

* * * * * *

"Advise us, " we said to her, "how to profit by our spiritualinstructions. " "Go for guidance with great simplicity, notcounting too much on help which may fail you at any moment. Youwould then have to say with the Spouse in the Canticles: 'Thekeepers took away my cloak and wounded me; when I had a littlepassed by them, I found Him whom my soul loveth. '[19] If you askwith humility and with detachment after your Beloved, the_keepers_ will tell you. More often, you will find Jesus only whenyou have passed by all creatures. Many times have I repeated thisverse of the Spiritual Canticle of St. John of the Cross:

'Messengers, I pray, no more Between us send, who know not how Totell me what my spirit longs to know. For they Thy charms whoread--For ever telling of a thousand more--Make all my wounds tobleed, While deeper then before Doth an--I know not what!--myspirit grieve With stammerings vague, and of all life bereave. '"

* * * * * *

"If, supposing the impossible, God Himself could not see my goodactions, I would not be troubled. I love Him so much I would liketo give Him joy without His knowing who gave. When He sees thegift being made, He is, as it were, obliged to make areturn. . . . I should wish to spare Him the trouble. "

* * * * * *

"Had I been rich, I could never have seen a poor person hungrywithout giving him to eat. This is my way also in the spirituallife. There are many souls on the brink of hell, and as myearnings come to hand they are scattered among these sinners. Thetime has never yet been when I could say: 'Now I am going to workfor myself. '"

* * * * * *

"There are people who make the worst of everything. As for me, Ido just the contrary. I always see the good side of things, andeven if my portion be suffering, without a glimmer of solace, well, I make it my joy. "

* * * * * *

"Whatever has come from God's Hands has always pleased me, eventhose things which have seemed to me less good and less beautifulthan the gifts made to others. "

* * * * * *

"When staying with my aunt, while I was still a little girl, I wasgiven a certain book to read. In one of the stories great praisewas bestowed on a schoolmistress who by her tact escaped fromevery difficulty without hurting anyone's feelings. Her method ofsaying to one person: 'You are right, ' and to another: 'You arenot wrong, ' struck me particularly, and as I read I reflected thatI would not have acted in that way because we should always tellthe truth. And this I always do, though I grant it is much moredifficult. It would be far less trouble for us, when told of aworry, to cast the blame on the absent. Less trouble . . . Nevertheless I do just the contrary, and if I am disliked itcannot be helped. Let the novices not come to me if they do notwant to learn the truth. "

* * * * * *

"Before a reproof[20] bear fruit it must cost something and befree from the least trace of passion. Kindness must not degenerateinto weakness. When we have had good reason for finding fault, wemust leave it, and not allow ourselves to worry over having givenpain. To seek out the delinquent for the purpose of consoling her, is to do more harm than good. Left alone, she is compelled to lookbeyond creatures, and to turn to God; she is forced to see herfaults and to humble herself. Otherwise she would becomeaccustomed to expect consolation after a merited rebuke, and wouldact like a spoilt child who stamps and screams, knowing well thatby this means its mother will be forced to return and dry itstears. "

* * * * * *

"'Let the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God, be everin your mouth and in your hearts. '[21] If we find any oneparticular person disagreeable we should never be disheartened, much less cease our endeavour to reform that soul. We should wield_the sword of the Spirit, _ and so correct her faults. Thingsshould never be allowed to pass for the sake of our own ease. Wemust carry on the war even when there is no hope of victory. Success matters nothing, and we must fight on and never complain:'I shall gain nothing from that soul, she does not understand, there is nothing for it but to abandon her. ' That would be the actof a coward. We must do our duty to the very end. "

* * * * * *

"Formerly, if any of my friends were in trouble, and I did notsucceed in consoling them when they came to see me, I left theparlour quite heart-broken. Soon, however, Our Lord made meunderstand how incapable I was of bringing comfort to a soul, andfrom that day I no longer grieved when my visitors went awaydowncast. I confided to God the sufferings of those so dear to me, and I felt sure that He heard my prayer. At their next visit Ilearned that I was not mistaken. After this experience, I nolonger worry when I have involuntarily given pain. . . . I simplyask Our Lord to make amends. "

* * * * * *

"What do you think of all the graces that have been heaped uponyou?"--"I think 'the Spirit of God breatheth where He will. '"[22]

* * * * * *

"Mother, " she one day said to the Prioress, "were I unfaithful, were I to commit even the smallest infidelity, I feel that my soulwould be plunged into the most terrible anguish, and I should beunable to welcome death. "

Mother Prioress evinced surprise at hearing her speak in thisstrain, and she continued: "I am speaking of infidelity in thematter of pride. If, for example, I were to say: 'I have acquiredsuch or such a virtue and I can practise it'; or again: 'My God, Thou knowest I love Thee too much to dwell on one single thoughtagainst faith, ' straightway I should be assailed by the mostdangerous temptations and should certainly yield. To prevent thismisfortune I have but to say humbly and from my heart: 'My God, Ibeseech Thee not to let me be unfaithful. '

"I understand clearly how St. Peter fell. He placed too muchreliance on his own ardent nature, instead of leaning solely onthe Divine strength. Had he only said: 'Lord, give me strength tofollow Thee unto death!' the grace would not have been refused him. 

"How is it, Mother, that Our Lord, knowing what was about tohappen, did not say to him: 'Ask of Me the strength to do what isin thy mind?' I think His purpose was to give us a twofoldlesson--first: that He taught His Apostles nothing by His presencewhich He does not teach us through the inspirations of grace; andsecondly: that, having made choice of St. Peter to govern thewhole Church, wherein there are many sinners, He wished him totest in himself what man can do without God's help. This is whyJesus said to him before his fall: 'Thou being once convertedconfirm thy brethren';[23] that is, 'Tell them the story of thysin--show them by thy own experience, how necessary it is forsalvation to rely solely upon Me. '"

* * * * * *

I was much afflicted at seeing her ill, and I often exclaimed:"Life is so dreary!" "Life is not dreary"--she would immediatelysay; "on the contrary, it is most gay. Now if you said: 'Exile isdreary, ' I could understand. It is a mistake to call 'life' thatwhich must have an end. Such a word should be only used of thejoys of Heaven--joys that are unfading--and in this true meaninglife is not sad but gay--most gay. . . . "

Her own gaiety was a thing of delight. For several days she hadbeen much better, and we were saying to her: "We do not yet knowof what disease you will die. . . . " "But, " she answered, "I shalldie of death! Did not God tell Adam of what he would die when Hesaid to him: 'Thou shalt die of death'?"[24]

"Then death will come to fetch you?"--"No, not death, but the GoodGod. Death is not, as pictures tell us, a phantom, a horridspectre. The Catechism says that it is the separation of soul andbody--no more! Well, I do not fear a separation which will uniteme for ever to God. "

"Will the _Divine Thief, "_ some one asked, "soon come to steal Hislittle bunch of grapes?" "I see Him in the distance, and I takegood care not to cry out: 'Stop thief!' Rather, I call to Him:'This way, this way!'"

* * * * * *

Asked under what name we should pray to her in Heaven, sheanswered humbly: "Call me _Little Thérèse. "_

* * * * * *

I was telling her that the most beautiful angels, all robed inwhite, would bear her soul to Heaven: "Fancies like those, " sheanswered, "do not help me, and my soul can only feed upon truth. God and His Angels are pure spirits. No human eye can see them asthey really are. That is why I have never asked extraordinaryfavours. I prefer to await the Eternal Vision. "

"To console me at your death I have asked God to send me abeautiful dream. "--"That is a thing I would never do . . . Ask forconsolations. Since you wish to resemble me, you know what are myideas on this:

'Fear not, O Lord, that I shall waken Thee: I shall await in peacethe Heavenly Shore. '

"It is so sweet to serve God in the dark night and in the midst oftrial. After all, we have but this life in which to live by faith. "

* * * * * *

"I am happy at the thought of going to Heaven, but when I reflecton these words of Our Lord: 'I come quickly, and My reward is withMe, to render to every man according to his works, '[25] I thinkthat He will find my case a puzzle: I have no works. . . . Well, He will render unto me _according to His own works!"_

* * * * * *

"The chief plenary indulgence, which is within reach of everybody, and can be gained without the ordinary conditions, is that ofcharity--which 'covereth a multitude of sins. '"[26]

* * * * * *

"Surely you will not even pass through Purgatory. If such a thingshould happen, then certainly nobody goes straight toHeaven. "--"That gives me little thought. I shall be quite contentwith the Merciful God's decision. Should I go to Purgatory, Ishall--like the three Hebrew children in the furnace--walk amidthe flames singing the Canticle of Love. "

* * * * * *

"In Heaven you will be placed among the Seraphim. " "If so, I shallnot imitate them. At the sight of God _they cover themselves withtheir wings_[27]: I shall take good care not to hide myself withmine. "

* * * * * *

I showed her a picture which represented Joan of Arc beingcomforted in prison by her Voices, and she remarked: "I also amcomforted by an interior voice. From above, the Saints encourageme, saying: 'So long as thou art a captive in chains, thou canstnot fulfill thy mission, but later on, after thy death, will comethy day of triumph. '"

* * * * * *

"In Heaven, God will do all I desire, because on earth I havenever done my own will. "

* * * * * *

"You will look down upon us from Heaven, will you not?"--"No, Iwill come down. "

* * * * * *

Some months before the death of Soeur Thérèse, _The Life of St. Aloysius_ was being read in the refectory, and one of the Motherswas struck by the mutual and tender affection which existedbetween the young Saint and the aged Jesuit, Father Corbinelli. 

"You are little Aloysius, " she said to Thérèse, "and I am oldFather Corbinelli--be mindful of me when you enter Heaven. " "Wouldyou like me to fetch you thither soon, dear Mother?" "No, I havenot yet suffered enough. " "Nay, Mother, I tell you that you havesuffered quite enough. " To which Mother Hermance replied: "I darenot say Yes. . . . In so grave a matter I must have the sanctionof authority. " So the request was made to Mother Prioress, who, without attaching much importance to it, gave her sanction. 

Now, on one of the last days of her life, Soeur Thérèse, scarcelyable to speak owing to her great weakness, received through theinfirmarian a bouquet of flowers. It had been gathered by MotherHermance, and was accompanied by an entreaty for one word ofaffection. The message: "Tell Mother Hermance of the Heart ofJesus that during Mass this morning I saw Father Corbinelli'sgrave close to that of little Aloysius. "

"That is well, " replied the good Mother, greatly touched; "tellSoeur Thérèse that I have understood. . . . " And from that momentshe felt convinced her death was near. It took place just one yearlater, and, according to the prediction of the "Little Aloysius, "the two graves lie side by side. 

* * * * * *

The last words penned by the hand of Soeur Thérèse were: "O Mary, were I Queen of Heaven, and wert thou Thérèse, I should wish to beThérèse, that I might see thee Queen of Heaven!"_____________________________

[1] Cf. Matt. 20:23. 

[2] Cf. Ps. 67[68]:28. 

[3] Cf. Prov. 1:4. 

[4] Judith 15:11. 

[5] Ecclus. 11:12, 13, 22, 23, 24. 

[6] Jer. 10:23. 

[7] Cf. Psalm 93[94]:18. 

[8] _Imit. , _ I, xvi. 4. 

[9] John 14:2. 

[10] Cf. Psalm 111[112]:5. 

[11] Cant. 1:2. 

[12] Cf. 2 Esdras 4:17. 

[13] Matt. 25:36. 

[14] Prov. 16:32. 

[15] Luke 2:50. 

[16] Luke 2:33. 

[17] Ps. 118[119]:112. 

[18] Ephes. 6:17. 

[19] Cf. Cant. 5:7, 3:4. 

[20] In this and the following "counsel" it should be rememberedthat it is a Novice-Mistress who is speaking. [Ed. ]

[21] Cf. Ephes. 6:17; Isaias 61:21. 

[22] Cf. John 3:8. 

[23] Luke 22:32. 

[24] Cf. Gen. 2:17. A play on the French: _Tu mourras de mort. _[Ed. ]

[25] Apoc. 22:12. 

[26] Prov. 10:12. 

[27] Cf. Isaias 6:2. 

_____________________________

LETTERS OF SOEUR THÉRÈSETHE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS

_____________________________

LETTERS OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE TO HER SISTER CÉLINE

I

J. M. J. T. 

May 8, 1888. 

DEAREST CÉLINE, --There are moments when I wonder whether I amreally and truly in the Carmel; sometimes I can scarcely believeit. What have I done for God that He should shower so many gracesupon me?

A whole month has passed since we parted; but why do I say parted?Even were the wide ocean between us, our souls would remain asone. And yet I know that not to have me is real suffering, and ifI listened to myself I should ask Jesus to let me bear the sadnessin your stead! I do not listen, as you see; I should be afraid ofbeing selfish in wishing for myself the better part--I mean thesuffering. You are right--life is often burdensome and bitter. Itis painful to begin a day of toil, especially when Jesus hidesHimself from our love. What is this sweet Friend about? Does Henot see our anguish and the burden that weighs us down? Why doesHe not come and comfort us?

Be not afraid. . . . He is here at hand. He is watching, and it isHe who begs from us this pain, these tears. . . . He needs themfor souls, for our souls, and He longs to give us a magnificentreward. I assure you that it costs Him dear to fill us withbitterness, but He knows that it is the only means of preparing usto know Him as He knows Himself, and to become ourselves Divine!Our soul is indeed great and our destiny glorious. Let us liftourselves above all things that pass, and hold ourselves far fromthe earth! Up above, the air is so pure. . . . Jesus may hideHimself, but we know that He is there. 

II

October 20, 1888. 

MY DEAREST SISTER, --Do not let your weakness make you unhappy. When, in the morning, we feel no courage or strength for thepractice of virtue, it is really a grace: it is the time to "laythe axe to the root of the tree, "[1] relying upon Jesus alone. Ifwe fall, an act of love will set all right, and Jesus smiles. Hehelps us without seeming to do so; and the tears which sinnerscause Him to shed are wiped away by our poor weak love. Love cando all things. The most impossible tasks seem to it easy andsweet. You know well that Our Lord does not look so much at thegreatness of our actions, nor even at their difficulty, as at thelove with which we do them. What, then, have we to fear?

You wish to become a Saint, and you ask me if this is notattempting too much. Céline, I will not tell you to aim at theseraphic holiness of the most privileged souls, but rather to be"perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect. "[2] You see that yourdream--that our dreams and our desires--are not fancies, sinceJesus Himself has laid their realisation upon us as a commandment. 

III

January, 1889. 

MY DEAR LITTLE CÉLINE, --Jesus offers you the cross, a very heavycross, and you are afraid of not being able to carry it withoutgiving way. Why? Our Beloved Himself fell three times on the wayto Calvary, and why should we not imitate our Spouse? What afavour from Jesus, and how He must love us to send us so great asorrow! Eternity itself will not be long enough to bless Him forit. He heaps his favours upon us as upon the greatest Saints. What, then, are His loving designs for our souls? That is a secretwhich will only be revealed to us in our Heavenly Home, on the daywhen "the Lord shall wipe away all our tears. "[3]

Now we have nothing more to hope for on earth--"the cool eveningsare passed"[4]--for us suffering alone remains! Ours is anenviable lot, and the Seraphim in Heaven are jealous of ourhappiness. 

The other day I came across this striking passage: "To be resignedand to be united to the will of God are not the same; there is thesame difference between them as that which exists between unionand unity; in union there are still two, in unity there is butone. "[5] Yes, let us be one with God even in this life; and forthis we should be more than resigned, we should embrace the Crosswith joy. 

IV

February 28, 1889. 

MY DEAR LITTLE SISTER, --Jesus is "a Spouse of blood. "[6] He wishesfor Himself all the blood of our hearts. You are right--it costsus dear to give Him what He asks. But what a joy that it doescost! It is happiness to bear our crosses, and to feel ourweakness in doing so. 

Céline, far from complaining to Our Lord of this cross which Hesends us, I cannot fathom the Infinite Love which had led Him totreat us in this way. Our dear Father must indeed be loved by Godto have so much suffering given to him. I know that by humiliationalone can Saints be made, and I also know that our trial is a mineof gold for us to turn to account. I, who am but a little grain ofsand, wish to set to work, though I have neither courage norstrength. Now this very want of power will make my task easier, for I wish to work for love. Our martyrdom is beginning . . . Letus go forth to suffer together, dear sister, and let us offer oursufferings to Jesus for the salvation of souls. 

V

March 12, 1899. 

. . . I must forget this world. Here everything wearies me--I findonly one joy, that of suffering, and this joy, which is not one ofsense, is above all joy. Life is passing, and eternity is drawingnear. Soon we shall live the very life of God. After we have beenfilled at the source of all bitterness, our thirst will bequenched at the very Fountain of all sweetness. 

"The figure of this world passeth away"[7]--soon we shall see newskies--a more radiant sun will light with its splendour crystalseas and infinite horizons. We shall no longer be prisoners in aland of exile, all will have passed away, and with our HeavenlySpouse we shall sail upon boundless seas. Now, "our harps arehanging on the willows which grow by the rivers of Babylon, "[8]but in the day of our deliverance what harmonies will they notgive forth, how joyfully shall we make all their strings vibrate!Now, "we shed tears as we remember Sion, for how can we sing thesongs of the Lord in a land of exile?"[9] The burden of our songis suffering. Jesus offers us a chalice of great bitterness. Letus not withdraw our lips from it, but suffer in peace. He who says_peace_ does not say _joy, _ or at least sensible joy: to suffer inpeace it is enough to will heartily all that Our Lord wills. Donot think we can find love without suffering, for our natureremains and must be taken into account; but it puts greattreasures within our reach. Suffering is indeed our verylivelihood, and is so precious that Jesus came down upon earth onpurpose to possess it. We should like to suffer generously andnobly; we should like never to fall. What an illusion! What doesit matter to me if I fall at every moment! In that way I realisemy weakness, and I gain thereby. My God, Thou seest how little Iam good for, when Thou dost carry me in Thy Arms; and if Thouleavest me alone, well, it is because it pleases Thee to see melie on the ground. Then why should I be troubled?

If you are willing to bear in peace the trial of not being pleasedwith yourself, you will be offering the Divine Master a home inyour heart. It is true that you will suffer, because you will belike a stranger to your own house; but do not be afraid--thepoorer you are, the more Jesus will love you. I know that He isbetter pleased to see you stumbling in the night upon a stonyroad, than walking in the full light of day upon a path carpetedwith flowers, because these flowers might hinder your advance. 

VI

July 14, 1889. 

MY DARLING SISTER, --I am ever with you in spirit. Yes, it is veryhard to live upon this earth, but to-morrow, in a brief hour, weshall be at rest. O my God, what shall we then see? What is thislife which will have no end? Our Lord will be the soul of oursoul. O unsearchable mystery! "Eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man what things God hathprepared for them that love Him. "[10] And all this will comesoon--very soon--if we love Jesus ardently. It seems to me thatGod has no need of years to perfect His labour of love in a soul. One ray from His Heart can in an instant make His flower blossomforth, never to fade. . . . Céline, during the fleeting momentsthat remain to us, let us save souls! I feel that Our Spouse asksus for souls--above all, for the souls of Priests. . . . It is HeWho bids me tell you this. 

There is but one thing to be done here below: to love Jesus, andto save souls for Him that He may be more loved. We must not letslip the smallest opportunity of giving Him joy. We must refuseHim nothing. He is in such need of love. 

We are His chosen lilies. He dwells as a King in our midst--Helets us share the honours of His Royalty--His Divine Blood bedewsour petals--and His Thorns as they wound us spread abroad theperfume of our love. 

VII

October 22, 1889. 

MY DEAREST CÉLINE, --I send you a picture of the Holy Face. Thecontemplation of this Divine subject seems to me to belong in aspecial way to my little sister, truly the sister of my soul. Mayshe be another Veronica, and wipe away all the Blood and Tears ofJesus, her only Love! May she give Him souls! May she force herway through the soldiers--that is, the world--to come close to Hisside. . . . Happy will she be when she sees in Heaven the value ofthat mysterious draught with which she quenched the thirst of herHeavenly Spouse; when she sees His Lips, once parched with burningthirst, speaking to her the one eternal word--love, and the thankswhich shall have no end. . . . 

Good-bye, dear little Veronica;[11] to-morrow, no doubt, yourBeloved will ask some new sacrifice, a fresh relief for His thirst. . . But "let us go and die with Him!"

VIII

July 18, 1890. 

MY DEAR LITTLE SISTER, --I send you a passage from Isaias whichwill comfort you. Long ago the Prophet's soul was filled with thethought of the hidden beauties of the Divine Face, as our soulsare now. Many a century has passed since then. It makes me wonderwhat is Time. Time is but a mirage, a dream. Already God sees usin glory, and rejoices in our everlasting bliss. How much good Iderive from this thought! I understand now why He allows us tosuffer. 

Since Our Beloved has "trodden the wine-press alone, "[12] thewine-press from which He gives us to drink--on our side let us notrefuse to be clothed in blood-stained garments, or to tread outfor Jesus a new wine which may quench His thirst! When "He looksaround Him, " He will not be able to say now that "He isalone"[13]--we shall be there to help Him. 

"His look as it were hidden. "[14] Alas! it is so even to this day, and no one understands His Tears. "Open to Me, My Sister, MySpouse, " he says to us, "for My Head is full of dew and My Locksof the drops of the night. "[15] Thus Jesus complains to our soulswhen He is deserted and forgotten . . . _To be forgotten. _ It isthis, I think, which gives Him most pain. 

And our dear Father!--it is heartrending, but how can we repinesince Our Lord Himself was looked upon "as one struck by God andafflicted"?[16] In this great sorrow we should forget ourselves, and pray for Priests--our lives must be entirely devoted to them. Our Divine Master makes me feel more and more that this is what Heasks of you and me. 

IX

September 23, 1890. 

O Céline, how can I tell you all that is happening within me? Whata wound I have received! And yet I feel it is inflicted by aloving Hand, by a Hand divinely jealous. 

All was ready for my espousals;[17] but do you not think thatsomething was still wanting to the feast? It is true, Jesus hadalready enriched me with many jewels, but no doubt there was oneof incomparable beauty still missing; this priceless diamond Hehas given me to-day . . . Papa will not be here to-morrow! Céline, I confess that I have cried bitterly. . . . I am still crying sothat I can scarcely hold my pen. 

You know how intensely I longed to see our dearest Father again;but now I feel that it is God's Will that he should not be at myfeast. God has allowed it simply to try our love. Jesus wishes meto be an orphan . . . To be alone, with Him alone, so that He mayunite Himself more closely to me. He wishes, too, to give me backin Heaven this joy so lawfully desired, but which He has denied mehere on earth. 

To-day's trial is one of those sorrows that are difficult tounderstand: a joy was set before us, one most natural and easy ofattainment. We stretched forth our hands . . . And the coveted joywas withdrawn. But it is not the hand of man which has done thisthing--it is God's work. Céline, understand your Thérèse, and letus accept cheerfully the thorn which is offered us. To-morrow'sfeast will be one of tears, but I feel that Jesus will be greatlyconsoled. . . . 

X

October 14, 1890. 

MY DARLING SISTER, --I know quite well all you are suffering. Iknow your anguish, and I share it. Oh! If I could but impart toyou the peace which Jesus has put into my soul amid my most bittertears. Be comforted--all passes away. Our life of yesterday isspent; death too will come and go, and then we shall rejoice inlife, true life, for countless ages, for evermore. Meanwhile letus make of our heart a garden of delights where Our sweet Saviourmay come and take His rest. Let us plant only lilies there, andsing with St. John of the Cross:

"There I remained in deep oblivion, My head reposing upon Him Ilove, Lost to myself and all! I cast my cares away And let them, heedless, mid the lilies lie. "[18]

XI

April 26, 1891. 

MY DEAR LITTLE SISTER, --Three years ago our hearts had not yetbeen bruised, and life was one glad smile. Then Jesus looked downupon us, and all things were changed into an ocean of tears . . . But likewise into an ocean of grace and of love. God has takenfrom us him whom we loved so tenderly--was it not that we might beable to say more truly than ever: "Our Father Who art in heaven"?How consoling is this divine word, and what vast horizons it opensbefore us!

My darling Céline, you who asked me so many questions when we werelittle, I wonder how it was you never asked: "Why has God not mademe an Angel?" Well, I am going to tell you. Our Lord wishes tohave His Court here on earth, as He has in Heaven; He wishes forangel-martyrs and angel-apostles; and if He has not made you anAngel in Heaven, it is because He wishes you to be an Angel ofearth, so that you may be able to suffer for His Love. 

Dearest sister, the shadows will soon disappear, the rays of theEternal Sun will thaw the hoar frost of winter. . . . A littlelonger, and we shall be in our true country, and our childhood'sjoys--those Sunday evenings, those outpourings of the heart--willbe given back to us for ever!

XII

August 15, 1892. 

MY DEAR LITTLE SISTER, --To write to you to-day I am obliged tosteal a little time from Our Lord. He will forgive, because it isof Him that we are going to speak together. The vast solitudes andenchanting views which unfold themselves before you ought touplift your soul. I do not see those things, and I content myselfby saying with St. John of the Cross in his Spiritual Canticle:

In Christ I have the mountains, The quiet, wooded valleys. 

Lately I have been thinking what I could undertake for thesalvation of souls, and these simple words of the Gospel havegiven me light. Pointing to the fields of ripe corn, Jesus oncesaid to His disciples: "Lift up your eyes and see the fields, forthey are already white with the harvest";[19] and again: "Theharvest indeed is great, but the labourers are few; pray yetherefore the Lord of the harvest that He send forthlabourers. "[20]

Here is a mystery indeed! Is not Jesus all-powerful? Do notcreatures belong to Him who hade them? Why does He deign to say:"Pray ye the Lord of the harvest that He send forth labourers"? Itis because His Love for us is so unsearchable, so tender, that Hewishes us to share in all He does. The Creator of the Universeawaits the prayer of a poor little soul to save a multitude ofother souls, ransomed, like her, at the price of His Blood. 

Our vocation is not to go forth and reap in Our Father's fields. Jesus does not say to us: "Look down and reap the harvest. " Ourmission is even more sublime. "Lift up your eyes and see, " saithour Divine Master, "see how in Heaven there are empty thrones. Itis for you to fill them. . . . You are as Moses praying on themountain, so ask Me for labourers and they shall be sent. I onlyawait a prayer, a sigh! Is not the apostolate of prayer--so tospeak--higher than that of the spoken word? It is for us by prayerto train workers who will spread the glad tidings of the Gospeland who will save countless souls--the souls to whom we shall bethe spiritual Mothers. What, then, have we to envy in the Priestsof the Lord?

XIII

MY DARLING SISTER, --The affection of our childhood days haschanged into a closest union of mind and heart. Jesus has drawn usto Him together, for are you not already His? He has put the worldbeneath our feet. Like Zaccheus we have climbed into a tree tobehold Him--mysterious tree, raising us high above all things, from whence we can say: "All is mine, all is for me: the Earth andthe Heavens are mine, God Himself is mine, and the Mother of myGod is for me. "[21]

Speaking of that Blessed Mother, I must tell you of one of mysimple ways. Sometimes I find myself saying to her: "DearestMother, it seems to me that I am happier than you. I have you formy Mother, and you have no Blessed Virgin to love. . . . It istrue, you are the Mother of Jesus, but you have given Him to me;and He, from the Cross, has given you to be our Mother--thus weare richer than you! Long ago, in your humility, you wished tobecome the little handmaid of the Mother of God; and I--poorlittle creature--am not your handmaid but your child! You are theMother of Jesus, and you are also _mine!"_

Our greatness in Jesus is verily marvellous, my Céline. He hasunveiled for us many a mystery by making us climb the mysticaltree of which I spoke above. And now what science is He going toteach? Have we not learned all things from Him?

"Make haste to come down, for this day I must abide in thyhouse. "[22] Jesus bids us come down. Where, then, must we go? TheJews asked Him: "Master, where dwellest thou?"[23] And Heanswered, "The foxes have holes and the birds of the air nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay His Head. "[24] If we areto be the dwelling-place of Jesus, we must come down even tothis--we must be so poor that we have not where to lay our heads. 

This grace of light has been given to me during my retreat. OurLord desires that we should receive Him into our hearts, and nodoubt they are empty of creatures. Alas! mine is not empty ofself; that is why He bids me come down. And I shall come down evento the very ground, that Jesus may find within my heart aresting-place for His Divine Head, and may feel that there atleast He is loved and understood. 

XIV

April 25, 1893. 

MY LITTLE CÉLINE, --I must come and disclose the desires of Jesuswith regard to your soul. Remember that He did not say: "I am theflower of the gardens, a carefully-tended Rose"; but, "I am theFlower of the fields and the Lily of the valleys. "[25] Well, youmust be always as a drop of dew hidden in the heart of thisbeautiful Lily of the valley. 

The dew-drop--what could be simpler, what more pure? It is not thechild of the clouds; it is born beneath the starry sky, andsurvives but a night. When the sun darts forth its ardent rays, the delicate pearls adorning each blade of grass quickly pass intothe lightest of vapour. . . . There is the portrait of my littleCéline! She is a drop of dew, an offspring of Heaven--her trueHome. Through the night of this life she must hide herself in the_Field-flower's_ golden cup; no eye must discover her abode. 

Happy dewdrop, known to God alone, think not of the rushingtorrents of this world! Envy not even the crystal stream whichwinds among the meadows. The ripple of its waters is sweet indeed, but it can be heard by creatures. Besides, the Field-flower couldnever contain it in its cup. One must be so little to draw near toJesus, and few are the souls that aspire to be little and unknown. "Are not the river and the brook, " they urge, "of more use than adewdrop? Of what avail is it? Its only purpose is to refresh forone moment some poor little field-flower. "

Ah! They little know the true _Flower of the field. _ Did they knowHim they would understand better Our Lord's reproach to Martha. Our Beloved needs neither our brilliant deeds nor our beautifulthoughts. Were He in search of lofty ideas, has He not His Angels, whose knowledge infinitely surpasses that of the greatest geniusof earth? Neither intellect nor other talents has He come to seekamong us. . . . He has become the _Flower of the field_ to showhow much He loves simplicity. 

_The Lily of the valley_ asks but a single dewdrop, which for onenight shall rest in its cup, hidden from all human eyes. But whenthe shadows shall begin to fade, when the _Flower of the field_shall have become the _Sun of Justice, _[26] then the dewdrop--thehumble sharer of His exile--will rise up to Him as love's vapour. He will shed on her a ray of His light, and before the whole courtof Heaven she will shine eternally like a precious pearl, adazzling mirror of the Divine Sun. 

XV

August 2, 1893. 

MY DEAR CÉLINE, --What you write fills me with joy; you are makingyour way by a royal road. The Spouse in the Canticles, unable tofind her Beloved in the time of repose, went forth to seek Him inthe city. But in vain . . . It was only without the walls shefound Him. It is not in the sweetness of repose that Jesus wouldhave us discover His Adorable Presence. He hides Himself andshrouds Himself in darkness. True, this was not His way with themultitude, for we read that all the people were carried away assoon as He spoke to them. 

The weaker souls He charmed by His divine eloquence with the aimof strengthening them against the day of temptation and trial, butHis faithful friends were few that day when "He was silent"[27] inthe presence of His judges. Sweet melody to my heart is thatsilence of the Divine Master!

He would have us give Him alms as to a poor man, and putsHimself--so to speak--at our mercy. He will take nothing that isnot cheerfully given, and the veriest trifle is precious in HisDivine Eyes. He stretches forth His Hand to receive a little love, that in the radiant day of the Judgment He may speak to us thoseineffably sweet words: "Come, ye blessed of My Father, for I washungry and you gave Me to drink, I was a stranger and you took Mein, I was sick and you visited Me, I was in prison and you came toMe. "[28]

Dearest Céline, let us rejoice in the lot that is ours! Let usgive and give again, and give royally, never forgetting that OurBeloved is a hidden Treasure which few souls know how to find. Nowto discover that which is hidden we must needs hide ourselves inthe hiding-place. Let our life, then, be one of concealment. Theauthor of the _Imitation_ tells us:

"If thou would'st know and learn something to the purpose, love tobe unknown, and to be esteemed as nothing . . . [29] Havingforsaken all things, a man should forsake himself. . . [30] Letthis man glory in this and another in that, but thou for thy partrejoice neither in this nor in that, but in the contempt ofthyself. "[31]

XVI

MY DEAR CÉLINE, --You tell me that my letters do good to you. I amindeed glad, but I assure you that I am under no misapprehension:"Unless the Lord build the house, they labour in vain who buildit. "[32] The greatest eloquence cannot call forth a single act oflove without that grace which touches the heart. 

Think of a beautiful peach with its delicate tint of rose, withits flavour so sweet that no human skill could invent such nectar. Tell me, Céline, is it for the peach's own sake that God createdthat colour so fair to the eye, that velvety covering so soft tothe touch? Is it for itself that He made it so sweet? Nay, it isfor us; the only thing that is all its own and is essential to itsbeing, is the stone; it possesses nothing beyond. 

Thus also it pleases Jesus to lavish His gifts on certain souls inorder to draw yet others to Himself; in His Mercy He humbles theminwardly and gently compels them to recognise their nothingnessand His Almighty Power. Now this sentiment of humility is like akernel of grace which God hastens to develop against that blessedday, when, clothed with an imperishable beauty, they will beplaced, without danger, on the banqueting-table of Paradise. Dearlittle sister, sweet echo of my soul, Thérèse is far from theheights of fervour at this moment; but when I am in this state ofspiritual dryness, unable to pray, or to practise virtue, I lookfor little opportunities, for the smallest trifles, to please myJesus: a smile or a kind word, for instance, when I would wish tobe silent, or to show that I am bored. If no such occasion offer, I try at least to say over and over again that I love Him. This isnot hard, and it keeps alive the fire in my heart. Even should thefire of love seem dead, I would still throw my tiny straws on theashes, and I am confident it would light up again. 

It is true I am not always faithful, but I never lose courage. Ileave myself in the Arms of Our Lord. He teaches me to draw profitfrom everything, from the good and from the bad which He finds inme. [33] He teaches me to speculate in the Bank of Love, or ratherit is He Who speculates for me, without telling me how He doesit--that is His affair, not mine. I have but to surrender myselfwholly to Him, to do so without reserve, without even thesatisfaction of knowing what it is all bringing to me. . . . Afterall, I am not the prodigal child, and Jesus need not trouble abouta feast for me, _because I am always with Him. _[34]

I have read in the Gospel that the Good Shepherd leaves thefaithful ones of His flock in the desert to hasten after the lostsheep. This confidence touches me deeply. You see He is sure ofthem. How could they stray away? They are prisoners of Love. Inlike manner does the Beloved Shepherd of our souls deprive us ofthe sweets of His Presence, to give His consolations to sinners;or if He lead us to Mount Thabor it is but for one brief moment. . . The pasture land is nearly always in the valleys, "it istherethat He takes His rest at mid-day. "[35]

XVII

October 20, 1893. 

MY DEAR SISTER, --I find in the Canticle of Canticles this passagewhich may be fitly applied to you: "What dost thou see in thybeloved but a band of musicians in an armed camp?"[36] Throughsuffering, your life has in truth become a battle-field, and theremust be a band of musicians, so you shall be the little harp ofJesus. But no concert is complete without singing, and if Jesusplays, must not Céline make melody with her voice? When the musicis plaintive, she will sing the songs of exile; when the music isgay, she will lilt the airs of her Heavenly Home. . . . 

Whatever may happen, all earthly events, be they happy or sad, will be but distant sounds, unable to awake a vibration from theharp of Jesus. He reserves to Himself alone the right of lightlytouching its strings. 

I cannot think without delight of that sweet saint, Cecilia. Whatan example she gives us! In the midst of a pagan world, in thevery heart of danger, at the moment when she was to be united to aman whose love was so utterly of earth, it seems to me as if sheshould have wept and trembled with fear. But instead, "during themusic of the marriage-feast Cecilia kept singing in herheart. "[37] What perfect resignation! No doubt she heard othermelodies than those of this world; her Divine Spouse too wassinging, and the Angels repeated in chorus the refrain ofBethlehem's blessed night: "Glory to God in the highest, and onearth peace to men of goodwill. "[38]

The Glory of God! St. Cecilia understood it well, and longed forit with all her heart. She guessed that her Jesus was thirstingfor souls . . . And that is why her whole desire was to bring toHim quickly the soul of the young Roman, whose only thought was ofhuman glory. This wise Virgin will make of him a Martyr, andmultitudes will follow in his footsteps. She knows no fear: theAngels in their song made promise of peace. She knows that thePrince of Peace is bound to protect her, to guard her virginity, and to make her recompense. . . . "Oh, how beautiful is the chastegeneration!"[39]

Dearest sister, I hardly know what I write; I let my pen followthe dictates of my heart. You tell me that you feel your weakness, but that is a grace. It is Our Lord Who sows the seeds of distrustof self in your soul. Do not be afraid! If you do not fail to giveHim pleasure in small things, he will be obliged to help you ingreat ones. 

The Apostles laboured long without Him, they toiled a whole nightand caught no fish. Their labours were not inacceptable to him, but He wished to prove that He is the Giver of all things. So anact of humility was asked of the Apostles, and Our loving Lordcalled to them: "Children, have you anything to eat?"[40] St. Peter, avowing his helplessness, cried out: "Lord, we havelaboured all the night, and have taken nothing. "[41] It is enough, the Heart of Jesus is touched. . . . Had the Apostle caught somesmall fish, perhaps our Divine Master would not have worked amiracle; but he had caught _nothing, _ and so through the power andgoodness of God his nets were soon filled with great fishes. Suchis Our Lord's way. He gives as God--with divine largesse--but Heinsists on humility of heart. 

XVIII

July 7, 1894. 

MY DEAR LITTLE SISTER, --I do not know if you are still in the sameframe of mind as when you last wrote to me; I presume that youare, and I answer with this passage of the Canticle of Canticles, which explains so well the state of a soul in utter dryness, asoul which cannot find joy or consolation in anything: "I wentdown into the garden of nut-trees to see the fruits of thevalleys, and to look if the vineyard had flourished, and thepomegranates were in bud. I no longer knew where I was: my soulwas troubled because of the chariots of Aminadab. "[42]

There is the true picture of our souls. Often we go down in thefertile valleys where our heart loves to find its nourishment; andthe vast fields of Holy Scripture, which have so often opened toyield us richest treasures, now seem but an arid and waterlesswaste. We no longer even know where we stand. In place of peaceand light, all is sorrow and darkness. But, like the Spouse in theCanticles, we know the cause of this trial: "My soul was troubledbecause of the chariots of Aminadab. " We are not as yet in ourtrue country, and as gold is tired in the fire so must our soulsbe purified by temptation. We sometimes think we are abandoned. Alas! _the chariots_--that is to say, the idle clamours whichbeset and disturb us--are they within the soul or without? Wecannot tell, but Jesus knows; He sees all our grief, and in thenight, on a sudden, His Voice is heard: "Return, return, OSulamitess: return, return, that we may behold thee. "[43]

O gracious call! We dared no longer even look upon ourselves, thesight filled us with horror, and Jesus calls us that He may lookupon us at leisure. He wills to see us; He comes, and with Himcome the other two Persons of the Adorable Trinity to takepossession of our soul. 

Our Lord had promised this, when, with unspeakable tenderness, Hehad said of old: "If anyone love Me he will keep My word, and MyFather will love him, and We will come to him, and will make Ourabode with him. "[44] To keep the word of Jesus, then, is onecondition of our happiness, the proof of our love for Him; andthis word seems to me to be His very Self, for He calls Himselfthe Uncreated _Word_ of the Father. 

In the same Gospel of St. John He makes the sublime prayer:"Sanctify them by Thy word, Thy word is truth. "[45] And in anotherpassage Jesus teaches us that He is "the Way and the Truth and theLife. "[46] We know, then, what is this word which must be kept; wecannot say, like Pilate: "What is truth?"[47] We possess theTruth, for our Beloved dwells in our hearts. 

Often _this Beloved is to us a bundle of myrrh. _[48] We share thechalice of His sufferings; but how sweet it will be to us one dayto hear these gentle words: "You are they who have continued withMe in My temptations, and I dispose to you, as My Father hathdisposed to Me, a kingdom. "[49]

XIX

August 19, 1894. 

This is perhaps the last time that I need have recourse to writingin order to talk to you, my dear little sister. God in Hisgoodness has granted my dearest wish. Come, and we will suffertogether . . . Then Jesus will take one of us, and the others willremain in exile yet a little longer. Now, listen well to what I amgoing to say: God will never, never separate us; and if I diebefore you, do not think that I shall be far away--never shall wehave been more closely united. You must not be grieved at mychildish prophecy. I am not ill, I have an iron constitution; butthe Lord can break iron as if it were clay. 

Our dear Father makes his presence felt in a way which touches medeeply. After a death lasting for five long years, what joy tofind him as he used to be, nay, more a father than ever! How wellhe is going to repay you for the care you so generously bestowedon him! You were his Angel, now he will be yours. He has only beenone month in heaven, and already, through the power of hisintercession, all your plans are succeeding. It is easy for himnow to arrange matters for us, and he has had less to suffer onCéline's account than he had for his poor little Queen. 

For a long time you have been asking me for news about thenoviciate, especially about my work, and now I am going to satisfyyou. In my dealings with the novices I am like a setter on thescent of game. The rôle gives me much anxiety because it so veryexacting. You shall decide for yourself if this be not the case. All day long, from morn till night, I am in pursuit of game. Mother Prioress and the Novice Mistress play the part ofsportsmen--but sportsmen are too big to be creeping through thecover, whereas a little dog can push its way in anywhere . . . Andthen its scent is so keen! I keep a close watch upon my littlerabbits; I do not want to do them any harm, but I tell themgently: "You must keep your fur glossy, and must not lookfoolishly about as does a rabbit of the warren. " In fact, I try tomake them such as the Hunter of Souls would have them, simplelittle creatures that go on browsing heedless of everything else. 

I laugh now, but seriously I am quite convinced that one of theserabbits--you know which one I mean--is worth a hundred times morethan the setter; it has run through many a danger, and I own that, had I been in its place, I should have long since been lost forever in the great forest of the world. 

XX

I am so glad, dearest Céline, that you do not feel any particularattraction at the thought of entering the Carmel. This is really amark of Our Lord's favour, and shows that He looks for a gift fromyour hands. He knows that it is so much sweeter to give than toreceive. What happiness to suffer for Him Who loves us even untofolly, and to pass for fools in the eyes of the world! We judgeothers by ourselves, and, as the world will not hearken to reason, it calls us unreasonable too. 

We may console ourselves, we are not the first. Folly was the onlycrime with which Herod could reproach Our Lord . . . And, afterall, Herod was right. Yes, indeed, it was folly to come and seekthe poor hearts of mortal men to make them thrones for Him, theKing of Glory, Who sitteth above the Cherubim! Was He notsupremely happy in the company of His Father and the Holy Spiritof Love? Why, then, come down on earth to seek sinners and make ofthem His closest friends? Nay, our folly could never exceed His, and our deeds are quite within the bounds of reason. The world mayleave us alone. I repeat, it is the world that is _insane, _because it heeds not what Jesus has done and suffered to save itfrom eternal damnation. 

We are neither idlers nor spendthrifts. Our Divine Master hastaken our defence upon Himself. Remember the scene in the house ofLazarus: Martha was serving, while Mary had no thought of food butonly of how she could please her Beloved. And "she broke heralabaster box, and poured out upon her Saviour's Head the preciousspikenard, [50] and the house was filled with the odour of theointment. "[51]

The Apostles murmured against Magdalen. This still happens, for sodo men murmur against us. Even some fervent Catholics think ourways are exaggerated, and that--with Martha--we ought to wait uponJesus, instead of pouring out on Him the odorous ointment of ourlives. Yet what does it matter if these ointment-jars--ourlives--be broken, since Our Lord is consoled, and the world inspite of itself is forced to inhale the perfumes they give forth?It has much need of these perfumes to purify the unwholesome airit breathes. 

For a while only, good-bye, dearest sister. Your barque is near toport. The breezes filling its sails are the zephyrs ofLove--breezes that speed more swiftly than the lightning-flash. Good-bye! in a few days we shall be together within these Carmelwalls . . . And in the after days together in Paradise. Did notJesus say during His Passion: "Hereafter you shall see the Son ofMan sitting on the right hand of the power of God and coming inthe clouds of heaven"?[52] . . . We shall be there!

THÉRÈSE. _____________________________

[1] Matt. 3:10. 

[2] Matt. 5:48. 

[3] Apoc. 21:4. 

[4] St. John of the Cross. 

[5] Mme. Swetchine. 

[6] Exodus 4:25. 

[7] I Cor. 7:31. 

[8] Cf. Ps. 136:2. 

[9] Cf. Ps. 136:1, 4. 

[10] I Cor. 2:9. 

[11] It is remarkable that Soeur Thérèse applied this name to hersister Céline, who, under her inspiration, was later to reproduceso faithfully the true likeness of Our Lord, from the Holy WindingSheet of Turin. [Ed. ] [Remainder of long footnote, discussing thislikeness, its reproduction, and related matters, omitted from thiselectronic edition. ]

[12] Isa. 63:3. 

[13] Cf. Isa. 63:5. 

[14] Isa. 53:3. 

[15] Cant. 5:2. 

[16] Is. 53:4. 

[17] Soeur Thérèse received the veil on September 24, 1890. 

[18] St. John of the Cross: _The Night of the Soul, _ 8th stanza. 

[19] John 4:35. 

[20] Matt. 9:37, 38. 

[21] St. John of the Cross. 

[22] Luke 19:5. 

[23] John 1:38. 

[24] Luke 9:58. 

[25] Cant. 2:1. 

[26] Malachias 4:2. 

[27] Matt. 26:23. 

[28] Matt. 25:34-36. 

[29] _Imit. , _ Bk. I, ch. Ii. 3. 

[30] _Ib. , _ Bk. II, ch. Xi. 4. 

[31] _Ib. , _ Bk. III, ch. Xlix. 7. 

[32] Ps. 126[127]:1. 

[33] St. John of the Cross. 

[34] Cf. Luke 15:31. 

[35] Cant. 1:6. 

[36] Cf. Cant. 7:1. 

[37] Office of St. Cecilia. 

[38] Luke 2:14. 

[39] Wisdom 4:1. 

[40] John 21:5. 

[41] Luke 5:5. Soeur Thérèse joins in one the two miraculousdraughts of fishes. [Ed. ]

[42] Cf. Cant. 6:10, 11. 

[43] Cant. 6:12. 

[44] John 14:23. 

[45] Cf. John 17:17. 

[46] John 14:6. 

[47] John 18:38. 

[48] Cf. Cant. 1:12. 

[49] Luke 22:28, 29. 

[50] Cf. Mark 14:3. 

[51] John 12:3. 

[52] Matt. 26:64. 

_____________________________

LETTERS TO MOTHER AGNES OF JESUS

Selections

I

(Written in 1887, shortly before Thérèse entered the Carmel. )

MY DARLING LITTLE MOTHER, --You are right when you tell me thatevery cup must contain its drop of gall. I find that trials are agreat help towards detachment from the things of earth: they makeone look higher than this world. Nothing here can satisfy, and wecan find rest only in holding ourselves ready to do God's will. 

My frail barque has great difficulty in reaching port. I sightedit long since, and still I find myself afar off. Yet Jesus steersthis little barque, and I am sure that on His appointed day itwill come safely to the blessed haven of the Carmel. O Pauline!when Jesus shall have vouchsafed me this grace, I wish to givemyself entirely to Him, to suffer always for Him, to live for Himalone. I do not fear His rod, for even when the smart is keenestwe feel that it is His sweet Hand which strikes. 

It is such joy to think that for each pain cheerfully borne weshall love God more through eternity. Happy should I be if at thehour of my death I could offer Jesus a single soul. There would beone soul less in hell, and one more to bless God in Heaven. 

II

(Written during her retreat before receiving the habit. )

January, 1889. 

Dryness and drowsiness--such is the state of my soul in itsintercourse with Jesus! But since my Beloved wishes to sleep Ishall not prevent Him. I am only too happy that He does not treatme as a stranger, but rather in a homely way. He riddles his"little ball" with pin-pricks that hurt indeed, though when theycome from the Hand of this loving Friend, the pain is allsweetness, so gentle in His touch. How different the hand of man!

Yet I am happy, most happy to suffer! If Jesus Himself does notpierce me, He guides the hand which does. Mother! If you knew howutterly indifferent to earthly things I desire to be, and of howlittle concern to me are all the beauties of creation. I should bewretched were I to possess them. My heart seems so vast when Ithink of the goods of earth--all of them together unable to fillit. But by the side of Jesus how small does it appear! He is fullgood to me--this God who soon will be my Spouse. He is divinelylovable for not permitting me to be the captive of any passingjoy. He knows well that if He sent me but a shadow of earthlyhappiness I should cling to it with all the intense ardour of myheart, and He refuses even this shadow . . . He prefers to leaveme in darkness, rather than afford me a false glimmer which wouldnot be Himself. 

I do not wish creatures to have one atom of my love. I wish togive all to Jesus, since He makes me understand that He alone isperfect happiness. All!--all shall be for Him! And even when Ihave nothing, as is the case to-night, I will give Him thisnothing . . . 

III

1889. 

. . . . . . . 

I have a longing for those heart-wounds, those pin-pricks whichinflict so much pain. I know of no ecstasy to which I do notprefer sacrifice. There I find happiness, and there alone. Theslender reed has no fear of being broken, for it is planted besidethe waters of Love. When, therefore, it bends before the gale, itgathers strength in the refreshing stream, and longs for yetanother storm to pass and sway its head. My very weakness makes mestrong. No harm can come to me since, in whatever happens, I seeonly the tender Hand of Jesus . . . Besides, no suffering is toobig a price to pay for the glorious palm. 

IV

(Written during her retreat before profession. )

September, 1890. 

MY DEAREST MOTHER, --Your little hermit must give you an account ofher journey. Before starting, my Beloved asked me in what land Iwished to travel, and what road I wished to take. I told him thatI had only one desire, that of reaching the summit of the_Mountain of Love. _

Thereupon roads innumerable spread before my gaze, but so many ofthese were perfect that I felt incapable of choosing any of my ownfree will. Then I said to my Divine Guide: "Thou knowest wherelies the goal of my desire, and for Whose sake I would climb theMountain. Thou knowest Who possesses the love of my heart. For Himonly I set out on this journey; lead me therefore by the paths ofHis choosing: my joy shall be full if only He is pleased. "

And Our Lord took me by the hand, and led me through anunderground passage where it is neither hot nor cold, where thesun shines not, and where neither wind nor rain can enter--a placewhere I see nothing but a half-veiled light, the light that gleamsfrom the downcast Eyes of the Face of Jesus. 

My Spouse speaks not a word, and I say nothing save that I loveHim more than myself; and in the depths of my heart I know this istrue, for I am more His than mine. I cannot see that we areadvancing toward our journey's goal since we travel by asubterranean way; and yet, without knowing how, it seems to methat we are nearing the summit of the Mountain. 

I give thanks to my Jesus for making me walk in darkness, and inthis darkness I enjoy profound peace. Willingly do I consent toremain through all my religious life in this gloomy passage intowhich He has led me. I desire only that my darkness may obtainlight for sinners. I am content, nay, full of joy, to be withoutall consolation. I should be ashamed if my love were like that ofthose earthly brides who are ever looking for gifts from theirbridegrooms, or seeking to catch the loving smile which fills themwith delight. 

Thérèse, the little Spouse of Jesus, loves Him for Himself; sheonly looks on the Face of her Beloved to catch a glimpse of theTears which delight her with their secret charm. She longs to wipeaway those Tears, or to gather them up like priceless diamondswith which to adorn her bridal dress. _Jesus!_ . . . _Oh! I wouldso love Him! Love Him as He has never yet been loved!_ . . . 

At all cost I must win the palm of St. Agnes; if it cannot be minethrough blood, I must win it by Love. 

V

1891. 

Love can take the place of a long life. Jesus does not considertime, for He is Eternal. He only looks at the love. My littleMother, beg Him to bestow it upon me in full measure. I do notdesire that thrill of love which I can feel; if Jesus feel itsthrill, then that is enough for me. It is so sweet to love Him, tomake Him loved. Ask Him to take me to Him on my profession-day, ifby living on I should ever offend Him, because I wish to bearunsullied to Heaven the white robe of my second Baptism. [1] NowJesus can grant me the grace never to offend Him more, or rathernever to commit any faults but those which do not offend Him orgive Him pain; faults which serve but to humble me and strengthenmy love. There is no one to lean on apart from Jesus. He alonefaileth not, and it is exceeding joy to think that He can neverchange. 

VI

1891. 

MY DEAREST LITTLE MOTHER, --Your letter has done me such good. Thesentence: "Let us refrain from saying a word which could raise usin the eyes of others, " has indeed enlightened my soul. Yes, wemust keep all for Jesus with jealous care. It is so good to workfor Him alone. How it fills the heart with joy, and lends wings tothe soul! Ask of Jesus that Thérèse--His _grain of sand_--may saveHim a multitude of souls in a short space of time, so that she maythe sooner behold His Adorable Face. 

VII

1892. 

Here is the dream of this "grain of sand": Love Jesus alone, andnaught else beside! The grain of sand is so small that if itwished to open its heart to any other but Jesus, there would nolonger be room for this Beloved. 

What happiness to be so entirely hidden that no one gives us athought--to be unknown even to those with whom we live! My littleMother, I long to be unknown to everyone of God's creatures! Ihave never desired glory amongst men, and if their contempt usedto attract my heart, I have realized that even this is tooglorious for me, and I thirst to be forgotten. 

The Glory of Jesus--this is my sole ambition. I abandon my gloryto Him; and if He seem to forget me, well, He is free to do sosince I am no longer my own, but His. He will weary sooner ofmaking me wait than I shall of waiting. 

VIII

[One day when Soeur Thérèse was suffering acutely fromfeverishness, one of the Sisters urged her to help in a difficultpiece of painting. For a moment Thérèse's countenance betrayed aninward struggle, which did not escape the notice of Mother Agnesof Jesus. That same evening Thérèse wrote her the followingletter. ]

May 28, 1897. 

MY DEAREST MOTHER, --I have just been shedding sweet tears--tearsof repentance, but still more of thankfulness and love. To-day Ishowed you the treasure of my patience, and how virtuous I am--Iwho preach so well to others! I am glad that you have seen my wantof perfection. You did not scold me, and yet I deserved it. But atall times your gentleness speaks to me more forcibly than wouldsevere words. To me you are the image of God's Mercy. 

Sister N. , on the contrary, is more often the image of God'sseverity. Well, I have just met her, and, instead of passing mecoldly by, she embraced me and said: "Poor little Sister, I am sosorry . . . I do not want to tire you; it was wrong of me to askyour help; leave the work alone. " In my heart I felt perfectsorrow, and I was much surprised to escape all blame. I know shemust really deem me imperfect. She spoke in this way because shethinks I am soon to die. However that may be, I have heard nothingbut kind and tender words from her; and so I consider her mostkind, and myself an unamiable creatures. 

When I returned to our cell, I was wondering what Jesus thought, when all at once I remembered His words to the woman taken inadultery: "Hath no man condemned thee?"[2] With tears in my eyes, I answered Him: "No one, Lord, . . . Neither my little Mother--theimage of Thy Mercy--nor Sister N. , the image of Thy Justice. Ifeel that I can go in peace, because neither wilt Thou condemn me. "

I confess I am much happier because of my weakness thanif--sustained by grace--I had been a model of patience. It does meso much good to see that Jesus is always sweet and tender towardsme. Truly it is enough to make me die of grateful love. 

My little Mother, you will understand how this evening the vesselof God's Mercy has overflowed for your child. . . . _Even now Iknow it! Yea, all my hopes will be fulfilled_ . . . 

VERILY THE LORD WILL WORK WONDERS FOR ME, AND THEY WILL INFINITELYSURPASS MY BOUNDLESS DESIRES. _____________________________

[1] Soeur Thérèse here alludes to the probable opinion oftheologians that--as in Baptism--all stain of sin is removed andall temporal punishment for sin remitted, by the vows taken on theday of religious profession. [Ed. ]

[2] John 8:10. 

_____________________________

LETTERS TO SISTER MARY OF THE SACRED HEART

I

February 21, 1888. 

MY DEAR MARIE, --You cannot think what a lovely present Papa mademe last week; I believe if I gave you a hundred or even a thousandguesses you would never find out what it was. Well, my dear Fatherbought me a new-born lamb, all white and fleecy. He said thatbefore I entered the Carmel he wanted me to have this pleasure. Wewere all delighted, especially Céline. What touched me more thananything was Papa's thoughtfulness. Besides, a lamb is symbolic, and it made me think of Pauline. 

So far, so good, but now for the sequel. We were already buildingcastles in the air, and expected that in two or three days thelamb would be frisking round us. But the pretty creature died thatsame afternoon. Poor little thing, scarcely was it born when itsuffered and died. It looked so gentle and innocent that Célinemade a sketch of it, and then we laid it in a grave dug by Papa. It appeared to be asleep. I did not want the earth to be itscovering, so we put snow upon our pet, and all was over. 

You do not know, dearest Godmother, how this little creature'sdeath has made me reflect. Clearly we must not become attached toanything, no matter how innocent, because it will slip from ourgrasp when least expected; nothing but the eternal can content us. 

II

(Written during her retreat before receiving the habit. )

January 8, 1889. 

Your little _Lamb_--as you love to call me, dearest sister--wouldborrow from you some strength and courage. I cannot speak to OurLord, and He is silent too. Pray that my retreat may be pleasingto the Heart of Him Who alone reads the secrets of the soul. 

Life is full of sacrifice, it is true, but why seek happinesshere? For life is but "a night to be spent in a wretched inn, " asour holy Mother St. Teresa says. I assure you my heart thirstsardently for happiness, but I see clearly that no creature canquench that thirst. On the contrary, the oftener I would drinkfrom these seductive waters the more burning will my thirstbecome. I know a source where "they that drink shall yetthirst, "[1] but with a delicious thirst, a thirst one can alwaysallay. . . . That source is the suffering known to Jesus only. 

III

August 14, 1889. 

You ask for a word from your little Lamb. But what shall I say? Isit not you who have taught me? Remember those days when I sat uponyour knee, and you talked to me of Heaven. 

I can still hear you say: "Look at those who want to become rich, and see how they toil to obtain money. Now, my little Thérèse, through every moment of the day and with far less trouble, we canlay up riches in Heaven. Diamonds are so plentiful, we can gatherthem together as with a rake, and we do this by performing all ouractions for the love of God. " Then I would leave you, my heartoverflowing with joy, and fully bent on amassing great wealth. 

Time has flown since those happy hours spent together in our dearnest. Jesus has visited us, and has found us worthy to be tried inthe crucible of suffering. God has said that on the last day "Hewill wipe away all tears from our eyes, "[2] and no doubt the moretears there are to dry, the greater will be the happiness. 

Pray to-morrow for the little one who owes you her upbringing, andwho, without you, might never have come to the Carmel. 

IV

(During her retreat before profession)

September 4, 1890. 

The heavenly music falls but faintly on the ear of your child, andit has been a dreary journey towards her Bridal Day. It is trueher Betrothed has led her through fertile lands and gorgeousscenery, but the dark night has prevented her admiring, much lessrevelling in, the beauty all around. Perhaps you think thisgrieved her. Oh, no! she is happy to follow her Betrothed for Hisown sake, and not for the sake of His gifts. He is so ravishinglybeautiful, even when silent--even when concealed. Weary of earthlyconsolation, your little child wishes for her Beloved alone. Ibelieve that the work of Jesus during this retreat has been todetach me from everything but Himself. My only comfort is theexceeding strength and peace that is mine. Besides, I hope to bejust what He wills I should be, and in this lies all my happiness. 

Did you but know how great is my joy at giving pleasure to Jesusthrough being utterly deprived of all joy! . . . . Truly this isthe very refinement of all joy--joy we do not feel. 

V

September 7, 1890. 

To-morrow I shall be the Spouse of Jesus, of Him Whose "look wasas it were hidden and despised. "[3] What a future this allianceopens up! How can I thank Him, how render myself less unworthy ofso great a favour?

I thirst after Heaven, that blessed abode where our love for Jesuswill be without bounds. True, we must pass through suffering andtears to reach that home, but I wish to suffer all that my Belovedis pleased to send me; I wish to let Him do as He wills with His"little ball. " You tell me, dearest Godmother, that my Holy Childis beautifully adorned for my wedding-day;[4] perhaps, however, you wonder why I have not put new rose-coloured candles. The oldones appeal to me more because they were lighted for the firsttime on my clothing-day. They were then fresh and of rosy hue. Papa had given them to me; he was there, and all was joyful. Butnow their tint has faded. Are there yet any rose-coloured joys onearth for your little Thérèse? No, for her there are only heavenlyjoys; joys where the hollowness of all things gives place to theUncreated Reality. 

VI

MY DEAREST SISTER, --I do not find it difficult to answeryou. . . . How can you ask me if it be possible for you to loveGod as I love Him! My desire for martyrdom is as nothing; it isnot to that I owe the boundless confidence that fills my heart. Such desires might be described as spiritual riches, which are_the unjust mammon, _[5] when one is complacent in them as insomething great. . . . These aspirations are a consolation Jesussometimes grants to weak souls like mine--and there are manysuch! But when He withholds this consolation, it is a specialgrace. Remember these words of a holy monk: "The martyrssuffered with joy, and the King of Martyrs in sorrow. " Did notJesus cry out: "My father, remove this chalice from Me"?[6] Donot think, then, that my desires are a proof of my love. IndeedI know well that it is certainly not these desires which makeGod take pleasure in my soul. What does please Him is to find melove my littleness, my poverty: it is the blind trust which Ihave in His Mercy. . . . There is my sole treasure, dearestGodmother, and why should it not be yours?

Are you not ready to suffer all that God wills? Assuredly; and soif you wish to know joy and to love suffering, you are reallyseeking your own consolation, because once we love, all sufferingdisappears. Verily, if we were to go together to martyrdom, youwould gain great merit, and I should have none, unless it pleasedOur Lord to change my dispositions. 

Dear sister, do you not understand that to love Jesus and to beHis Victim of Love, the more weak and wretched we are the bettermaterial do we make for this consuming and transfiguring Love?. . . The simple desire to be a Victim suffices, but we must alsoconsent to ever remain poor and helpless, and here lies thedifficulty: "Where shall we find one that is truly poor in spirit?We must seek him afar off, " says the author of the _Imitation. _[7]He does not say that we must search among great souls, but "afaroff"--that is to say, in abasement and in nothingness. Let usremain far from all that dazzles, loving our littleness, andcontent to have no joy. Then we shall be truly poor in spirit, andJesus will come to seek us however far off we may be, andtransform us into flames of Love. . . . I long to make youunderstand what I feel. Confidence alone must lead us toLove. . . . Does not fear lead to the thought of the strict justicethat is threatened to sinners? But that is not the justice Jesuswill show to such as love Him. 

God would not vouchsafe you the desire to be the Victim of HisMerciful Love, were this not a favour in store--or rather alreadygranted, since you are wholly surrendered unto Him and long to beconsumed by Him, and God never inspires a longing which He cannotfulfill. 

The road lies clear, and along it we must run together. I feelthat Jesus wishes to bestow on us the same graces; He wishes togrant us both a free entrance into His Heavenly Kingdom. DearestGodmother, you would like to hear still more of the secrets whichJesus confides to your child, but human speech cannot tell whatthe human heart itself can scarcely conceive. Besides, Jesusconfides His secrets to you likewise. This I know, for you it waswho taught me to listen to His Divine teaching. On the day of myBaptism you promised in my name that I would serve Him alone. Youwere the Angel who led me and guided me in my days of exile andoffered me to Our Lord. As a child loves its mother, I love you;in Heaven only will you realise the gratitude with which my heartis full to overflowing. 

Your little daughter, Teresa of the Child Jesus. _____________________________

[1] Eccles. 24:29. 

[2] Apoc. 21:4. 

[3] Isa. 53:3. 

[4] She alludes to the Statue of the Holy Child in the cloister, which was under her own special care. [Ed. ]

[5] Luke 16:2. 

[6] Luke 22:42. 

[7] Cf. _Imit. , _ II, xi. 4. 

_____________________________

LETTERS TO SISTER FRANCES TERESA[1]

I

August 13, 1893. 

DEAR LITTLE SISTER, --At last your desires are satisfied. Like thedove sent forth from the ark, you have been unable to find a spoton earth whereon to rest, and have long been on the wing seekingto re-enter the blessed abode where your heart had for ever fixedits home. Jesus has kept you waiting, but at last, touched by theplaintive cry of His dove, He has put forth His Divine Hand, and, taking hold of it, has set it in His Heart--that sanctuary of HisLove. 

It is quite a spiritual joy, this joy of mine. For I shall neverlook upon you again, never hear your voice as I outpour my heartinto yours. Yet I know that earth is but a halting-place to us whojourney towards a Heavenly Home. What matter if the routes wefollow lie apart? Our goal is the same--that Heaven where we shallmeet, no more to be separated. There we shall taste for ever thesweets of our earthly home. We shall have much to tell one anotherwhen this exile is ended. Speech here below is so inadequate, buta single glance will be enough for perfect understanding in ourhome beyond; and I believe that our happiness will be greater thanif we had never been parted here. 

Meanwhile we must live by sacrifice. Without it there would be nomerit in the religious life. As someone told us in a conference:"The reason why the forest oak raises its head so high is because, hemmed in on all sides, it wastes no sap in putting forth branchesunderneath, but towers aloft. Thus in the religious life the soul, hedged in all around by the rule and by the practice of communitylife, of necessity finds there a means of lifting a high headtowards Heaven. "

Dearest sister, pray for your little Thérèse that she may drawprofit from her exile on earth and from the plentiful meansgranted her of meriting Heaven. 

II

January, 1895. 

DEAR LITTLE SISTER, --How fruitful for Heaven has been the yearthat is gone! . . . Our dear Father has seen that which the eye ofman cannot see, he has heard the minstrelsy of the angels . . . Now his heart understands, and his soul enjoys "the things whichGod hath prepared for those who love Him. "[2] . . . Our turn willcome, and it is full sweet to think our sails are set towards theEternal Shore. 

Do you not find, as I do, that our beloved Father's death hasdrawn us nearer to Heaven? More than half of our loved onesalready enjoy the Vision of God, and the five who remain in exilewill follow soon. This thought of the shortness of life gives mecourage, and helps me to put up with the weariness of the journey. What matters a little toil upon earth? We pass . . . "We have nothere a lasting city. "[3]

Think of your Thérèse during this month consecrated to the InfantJesus, and beg of Him that she may always remain a very littlechild. I will offer the same prayer for you, because I know yourdesires, and that humility is your favourite virtue. 

Which Thérèse will be the more fervent? . . . She who will be themore humble, the more closely united to Jesus, and the morefaithful in making love the mainspring of every action. We mustnot let slip one single occasion of sacrifice, everything has suchvalue in the religious life . . . Pick up a pin from a motive oflove, and you may thereby convert a soul. Jesus alone can make ourdeeds of such worth, so let us love Him with every fibre of ourheart. 

III

July 12, 1896. 

MY DEAR LITTLE LÉONIE, --I should have answered your letter lastSunday if it had been given to me, but you know that, being theyoungest, I run the risk of not seeing letters for someconsiderable time after my sisters, and occasionally not at all. Ionly read yours on Friday, so forgive my delay. 

You are right--Jesus is content with a tender look or a sigh oflove. For my part, I find it quite easy to practise perfection, now that I realise it only means making Jesus captive through HisHeart. Look at a little child who has just vexed its mother, either by giving way to temper or by disobedience. If it hides ina corner and is sulky, or if it cries for fear of being punished, its mother will certainly not forgive the fault. But should it runto her with its little arms outstreteched, and say; "Kiss me, Mother; I will not do it again!" what mother would not straightwayclasp her child lovingly to her heart, and forget all it had done?. . . She knows quite well that her little one will repeat thefault--no matter, her darling will escape all punishment so longas it makes appeal to her heart. 

Even when the law of fear was in force, before Our Lord's coming, the prophet Isaias said--speaking in the name of the King ofHeaven: "Can a woman forget her babe? . . . And if she shouldforget, yet will I not forget thee. "[4] What a touching promise!We who live under the law of Love, shall we not profit by theloving advances made by our Spouse? How can anybody fear Him Whoallows Himself to be made captive "with one hair of our neck"?[5]

Let us learn to keep Him prisoner--this God, the Divine Beggar oflove. By telling us that a single hair can work this wonder, Heshows us that the smallest actions done for His Love are thosewhich charm His Heart. If it were necessary to do great things, weshould be deserving of pity, but we are happy beyond measure, because Jesus lets Himself be led captive by the smallest action. . . . With you, dear Léonie, little sacrifices are never lacking. Is not your life made up of them? I rejoice to see you in presenceof such wealth, especially when I remember that you know how tomake profit thereby, not only for yourself but likewise for poorsinners. It is so sweet to help Jesus to save the souls which Hehas ransomed at the price of His Precious Blood, and which onlyawait our help to keep them from the abyss. 

It seems to me that if our sacrifices take Jesus captive, our joysmake Him prisoner too. All that is needful to attain this end is, that instead of giving ourselves over to selfish happiness, weoffer to our Spouse the little joys He scatters in our path, tocharm our hearts and draw them towards Him. 

You ask for news of my health. Well, my cough has quitedisappeared. Does that please you? It will not prevent Our Lordfrom taking me to Himself whensoever He wishes. And I need notprepare for that journey, since my whole endeavour is to remain asa little child. Jesus Himself must pay all its expenses, as wellas the price of my admission to Heaven. 

Good-bye, dearest one, pray to Him without fail for the last andleast of your sisters. 

IV

July 17, 1897. 

MY DEAR LÉONIE, --I am so pleased to be able to write to you again. Some days ago I thought I should never again have thisconsolation, but it seems God wishes to prolong somewhat the timeof my exile. This does not trouble me--I would not enter Heavenone moment sooner through my own will. The only real happiness onearth is to strive always to think "how goodly is the chalice"[6]that Jesus give us. Yours is indeed a goodly one, dear Léonie. Ifyou wish to be a Saint--and it will not be hard--keep only one endin view: give pleasure to Jesus, and bind yourself more closely toHim. 

Good-bye, my dear sister, I should wish the thought of my enteringHeaven to fill you with joy, because I shall then be better ableto give you proof of my tender love. In the Heart of our HeavenlySpouse we shall live His very life, and through eternity I shallremain, Your very little sister, TERESA OF THE CHILD JESUS. _____________________________

[1] Nearly all the letters written by Soeur Thérèse to her sisterLéonie are lost. These few have been recovered. It will beremembered that Léonie entered the Convent of the Visitation atCaen. See note, page 113. 

[2] Cf. I Cor. 2:9. 

[3] Heb. 13:14. 

[4] Isa. 49:15. 

[5] Cant. 4:9. 

[6] Ps. 22[23]:5. 

_____________________________

LETTERS TO HER COUSIN MARIE GUÉRIN

I

1888. 

Before you confided in me, [1] I felt you were suffering, and myheart was one with yours. Since you have the humility to askadvice of your little Thérèse, this is what she thinks: you havegrieved me greatly by abstaining from Holy Communion, because youhave grieved Our Lord. The devil must be very cunning to deceive asoul in this way. Do you not know, dear Marie, that by acting thusyou help him to accomplish his end? The treacherous creature knowsquite well that when a soul is striving to belong wholly to God hecannot cause her to sin, so he merely tries to persuade her thatshe has sinned. This is a considerable gain, but not enough tosatisfy his hatred, so he aims at something more, and tries toshut out Jesus from a tabernacle which Jesus covets. Unable toenter this sanctuary himself, he wishes that at least it remainempty and without its God. Alas, what will become of that poorlittle heart? When the devil has succeeded in keeping a soul fromHoly Communion he has gained all his ends . . . While Jesusweeps! . . . 

Remember, little Marie, that this sweet Jesus is there in theTabernacle expressly for you and you alone. Remember that He burnswith the desire to enter your heart. Do not listen to satan. Laughhim to scorn, and go without fear to receive Jesus, the God ofpeace and of love. 

"Thérèse thinks all this"--you say--"because she does not know mydifficulties. " She does know, and knows them well; she understandseverything, and she tells you confidently that you can go withoutfear to receive your only true Friend. She, too, has passedthrough the martyrdom of scruples, but Jesus gave her the grace toreceive the Blessed Sacrament always, even when she imagined shehad committed great sins. I assure you I have found that this isthe only means of ridding oneself of the devil. When he sees thathe is losing his time he leaves us in peace. 

In truth it is impossible that a heart which can only find rest incontemplation of the Tabernacle--and yours is such, you tellme--could so far offend Our Lord as not to be able to receive Him. . . What does offend Jesus, what wounds Him to the Heart, iswant of confidence. 

Pray much that the best portion of your life may not beovershadowed by idle fears. We have only life's brief moments tospend for the Glory of God, and well does satan know it. This iswhy he employs every ruse to make us consume them in uselesslabour. Dear sister, go often to Holy Communion, go veryoften--that is your one remedy. 

II

1894

You are like some little village maiden who, when sought inmarriage by a mighty king would not dare to accept him, on theplea that she is not rich enough, and is strange to the ways of acourt. But does not her royal lover know better than she does, theextent of her poverty and ignorance?

Marie, though you are nothing, do not forget that Jesus is All. You have only to lose your own nothingness in that Infinite All, and thenceforth to think only of that All who alone is worthy ofyour love. 

You tell me you wish to see the fruit of your efforts. That isexactly what Jesus would hide from you. He likes to contemplate byHimself these little fruits of our virtue. They console Him. 

You are quite wrong, Marie, if you think that Thérèse walkseagerly along the way of Sacrifice: her weakness is still verygreat, and every day some new and wholesome experience brings thishome more clearly. Yet Jesus delights to teach her how to _gloryin her infirmities. _[2] It is a great grace, and I pray Him togive it to you, for with it come peace and tranquillity of heart. When we see our misery we do not like to look at ourselves butonly upon our Beloved. 

You ask me for a method of obtaining perfection. I know ofLove--and Love only! Our hearts are made for this alone. SometimesI endeavour to find some other word for love; but in a land ofexile "words which have a beginning and an end"[3] are quiteunable to render adequately the emotions of the soul, and so wemust keep to the one simple word--LOVE. 

But on whom shall our poor hearts lavish this love, and who willbe worthy of this treasure? Is there anyone who will understand itand--above all--is there anyone who will be able to repay? Marie, Jesus alone understands love: He alone can give back all--yea, infinitely more than the utmost we can give. _____________________________

[1] The allusion is to the scruples from which Marie suffered. Having read this letter--which is a strong plea for FrequentCommunion--Pope Pius X declared it "most opportune. " Thérèse wasbut fifteen when she wrote it. [Ed. ]

[2] 2 Cor. 11:5. 

[3] St. Augustine. 

_____________________________

LETTER TO HER COUSIN, JEANNE GUÉRIN (MADAME LA NÉELE)

August, 1895. 

It is a very great sacrifice that God has asked of you, my dearJeanne, in calling your little Marie to the Carmel; but rememberthat He has promised a hundredfold to anyone who for His Love hathleft father or mother or _sister. _[1] Now, for love of Jesus, youhave not hesitated to part with a sister dearer to you than wordscan say, and therefore He is bound to keep His promise. I knowthat these words are generally applied to those who enter thereligious life, but my heart tells me they were spoken, too, forthose whose generosity is such that they will sacrifice to Godeven the loved ones they hold dearer than life itself. _____________________________

[1] Mark 10:30. 

_____________________________

LETTERS TO HER BROTHER MISSIONARIES

I

1895. 

Our Divine Lord asks no sacrifice beyond our strength. At times, it is true, He makes us taste to the full the bitterness of thechalice He puts to our lips. And when He demands the sacrifice ofall that is dearest on earth, it is impossible without a veryspecial grace not to cry out as He did during His Agony in theGarden: "My Father, let this chalice pass from me!" But we musthasten to add: "Yet not as I will, but as Thou wilt. "[1] It is soconsoling to think that Jesus, "the Strong God, "[2] has felt allour weaknesses and shuddered at the sight of the bitterchalice--that very chalice He had so ardently desired. 

Your lot is indeed a beautiful one, since Our Lord has chosen itfor you, and has first touched with His own Lips the cup which Heholds out to yours. A Saint has said: "The greatest honour God canbestow upon a soul is not to give to it great things, but to askof it great things. " Jesus treats you as a privileged child. It isHis wish you should begin your mission even now, [3] and save soulsthrough the Cross. Was it not by suffering and death that Heransomed the world? I know that you aspire to the happiness oflaying down your life for Him; but the martyrdom of the heart isnot less fruitful than the shedding of blood, and this martyrdomis already yours. Have I not, then, good reason to say that yourlot is a beautiful one--worthy an apostle of Christ?

II

1896. 

Let us work together for the salvation of souls! We have but theone day of this life to save them, and so give to Our Lord a proofof our love. To-morrow will be Eternity, then Jesus will rewardyou a hundredfold for the sweet joys you have given up for Him. Heknows the extent of your sacrifice. He knows that the sufferingsof those you hold dear increase your own; but He has suffered thissame martyrdom for our salvation. He, too, left His Mother; Hebeheld that sinless Virgin standing at the foot of the Cross, herheart pierced through with a sword of sorrow, and I hope he willconsole your own dear mother. . . . I beg Him most earnestly to doso. 

Ah! If the Divine Master would permit those you are about to leavefor His Love but one glimpse of the glory in store, and the vastretinue of souls that will escort you to Heaven, already theywould be repaid for the great sacrifice that is at hand. 

III

February 24, 1896. 

Please say this little prayer for me each day; it sums up all mydesires:

"Merciful Father, in the name of Thy sweet Jesus, of the BlessedVirgin, and all the Saints, I beg Thee to consume my sister withThy spirit of love, and to grant her the grace to make Theegreatly loved. "

If Our Lord takes me soon to Himself, I ask you still to continuethis prayer, because my longing will be the same in Heaven as uponearth: _to love Jesus and to make Him loved. _

IV

. . . . . . . 

All I desire is God's Holy Will, and if in Heaven I could nolonger work for His glory, I should prefer exile to Home. 

V

June 21, 1897

You may well sing of the Mercies of God! They shine forth in youwith splendour. You love St. Augustine and St. Mary Magdalen, those souls to whom many sins were forgiven because they lovedmuch. I love them too; I love their sorrow, and especially theiraudacious love. When I see Mary Magdalen come forth before allSimon's guests to wash with her tears her Master's Feet--thoseFeet that for the first time she touches--I feel her heart hasfathomed that abyss of love and mercy, the Heart of Jesus; and Ifeel, too, that not only was He willing to forgive, but evenliberally to dispense the favours of a Divine and intimatefriendship, and to raise her to the loftiest heights of prayer. 

My Brother, since I also have been given to understand the Love ofthe Heart of Jesus, I confess that all fear has been driven frommine. The remembrance of my faults humbles me; and it helps menever to rely upon my own strength--which is but weakness--butmore than all, it speaks to me of mercy and of love. When a soulwith childlike trust casts her faults into Love's all-devouringfurnace, how shall they escape being utterly consumed?

I know that many Saints have passed their lives in the practice ofamazing penance for the sake of expiating their sins. But what ofthat? "In my Father's house there are many mansions. "[4] These arethe words of Jesus, and therefore I follow the path He marks outfor me; I try to be nowise concerned about myself and what Jesusdeigns to accomplish in my soul. 

VI

1897. 

On this earth where everything changes, one thing alone does neverchange--our Heavenly King's treatment of His friends. From the dayHe raised the standard of the Cross, in its shadow all must fightand win. "The life of every missionary abounds in crosses, " saidThéophane Vénard. And again: "True happiness consists insuffering, and in order to live we must die. "

Rejoice, my Brother, that the first efforts of your Apostolate arestamped with the seal of the Cross. Far more by suffering and bypersecution than by eloquent discourses does Jesus wish to buildup His Kingdom. 

You are still--you tell me--a little child who cannot speak. Neither could Father Mazel, who was ordained with you, and yet hehas already won the palm . . . Far beyond our thoughts are thethoughts of God! When I learnt that this young missionary had diedbefore he had set foot on the field of his labours, I felt myselfdrawn to invoke him. I seemed to see him amidst the gloriousMartyr choir. No doubt, in the eyes of men he does not merit thetitle of Martyr, but in the eyes of God this inglorious death isno less precious than the sacrifice of him who lays down his lifefor the Faith. 

Though one must be exceeding pure before appearing in the sight ofthe All-Holy God, still I know that He is infinitely just, andthis very Justice which terrifies so many souls is the source ofall my confidence and joy. Justice is not only stern severitytowards the guilty; it takes account of the good intention, andgives to virtue its reward. Indeed I hope as much from the Justiceof God as from His Mercy. It is because He is just, that "He iscompassionate and merciful, longsuffering, and plenteous in mercy. For He knoweth our frame, He remembereth that we are dust. As afather hath compassion on his children, so hath the Lordcompassion on us. "[5]

O my Brother, after these beautiful and consoling words of theRoyal Prophet, how can we doubt God's power to open the gates ofHis Kingdom to His children who have loved Him unto perfectsacrifice, who have not only left home and country so as to makeHim known and loved, but even long to lay down their lives forHim? . . . Jesus said truly there is no greater love than this. Nor will He be outdone in generosity. How could He cleanse in theflames of Purgatory souls consumed with the fire of Divine Love?

I have used many words to express my thought, and yet I fear Ihave failed. What I wish to convey is, that in my opinion allmissionaries are Martyrs by will and desire, and not even oneshould pass through the purifying flames. 

This, then, is what I think about the Justice of God; my own wayis all confidence and love, and I cannot understand those soulswho are afraid of so affectionate a Friend. Sometimes, when I readbooks in which perfection is put before us with the goalobstructed by a thousand obstacles, my poor little head is quicklyfatigued. I close the learned treatise, which tires my brain anddries up my heart, and I turn to the Sacred Scriptures. Then allbecomes clear and lightsome--a single word opens out infinitevistas, perfection appears easy, and I see that it is enough toacknowledge our nothingness, and like children surrender ourselvesinto the Arms of the Good God. Leaving to great and lofty mindsthe beautiful books which I cannot understand, still less put inpractice, I rejoice in my littleness because "only little childrenand those who are like them shall be admitted to the Heavenlybanquet. "[6] Fortunately--"there are many mansions in my Father'sHouse":[7] if there were only those--to me--incomprehensiblemansions with their baffling roads, I should certainly never enterthere . . . 

VII

July 13, 1897. 

Your soul is too great to cling to the consolations of earth, andeven now its abode should be in Heaven, for it is written: "Whereyour treasure is, there will your heart be also. "[8] Is not Jesusyour only treasure? Now that He is in Heaven, it is there yourheart should dwell. This sweet Saviour has long since forgottenyour infidelities. He sees only your longing after perfection, andthe sight makes glad His Heart. 

Stay no longer at His Feet, I beseech you, but follow this firstimpulse to throw yourself into His Arms. Your place is there, andI see clearly--more clearly than in your former letters--that allother heavenly route is barred to you save the way your littlesister treads. 

I hold with you when you say that the Heart of Jesus is moregrieved by the thousand little imperfections of His friends thanby the faults, even grave, which His enemies commit. Yet it seemsto me, dear Brother, it is only when those who are His own arehabitually guilty of want of thought, and neglect to seek Hispardon, that He can say: "These Wounds which you see in the midstof My Hands, I have received in the house of those who loveMe. "[9] But His Heart thrills with you when He had to deal withall those who truly love, and who after each little fault come tofling themselves into His Arms imploring forgiveness. He says toHis Angels what the prodigal's father said to his servants: "Put aring upon his finger, and let us rejoice. "[10] O Brother! Verilythe Divine Heart's Goodness and Merciful Love are little known! Itis true that to enjoy these treasures we must humble ourselves, must confess our nothingness . . . And here is where many a souldraws back. 

VIII

1897. 

What attracts me towards our Heavenly Home is the Master'scall--the hope of loving Him at last to the fulfilling of all mydesire--the thought that I shall be able to win Him the love of amultitude of souls, who will bless Him through all eternity. 

I have never asked God that I might die young--that to me were acowardly prayer; but from my childhood He has deigned to inspireme with a strong conviction that my life would be a short one. 

I feel we must tread the same road to Heaven--the road ofsuffering and love. When I myself have reached the port, I willteach you how best to sail the world's tempestuous sea--with theself-abandonment of a child well aware of a father's love, and ofhis vigilance in the hour of danger. 

I long so much to make you understand the expectant love of theHeart of Jesus. Your last letter has made my own heart thrillsweetly. I learnt how closely your soul is sister to mine, sinceGod calls that soul to mount to Himself by the _lift of love, _without climbing the steep stairway of fear. I am not surprisedyou find it hard to be familiar with Jesus--one cannot become soin a day; but this I do know, I shall aid you much more to treadthis beautiful path when I lay aside the burden of this perishablebody. Ere long you will exclaim with St. Augustine: "Love is mylodestone!"

IX

July 26, 1897. 

When you read these few lines I shall perhaps be no more. I knownot the future; yet I can confidently say that my Spouse is at thedoor. It would need a miracle to keep me in exile, and I do notthink that Jesus will work that miracle--He does nothing that isof no avail. 

Brother, I am so happy to die! Yes, happy . . . Not because Ishall be free from suffering: on the contrary, suffering combinedwith love seems the one thing worthy of desire in this vale oftears; but happy to die because far more than on earth I shallhelp the souls I hold dear. 

Jesus has always treated me as a spoilt child. . . . It is truethat His Cross has been with me from the cradle, but for thatCross He has given me a passionate love . . . 

X

August 14, 1897. 

I am about to go before God, and I understand now more than everthat one thing only is needful--to work for Him alone, and donothing for self or creatures. Jesus wishes to own your heartcompletely. Before this can be, you will have much to suffer . . . But oh! what joy when comes the happy hour of going Home! I shallnot die--I do but enter into Life . . . And whatsoever I cannottell you here upon earth I will make you understand from theheights of Heaven. . . . _____________________________

[1] Matt. 26:39. 

[2] Isa. 9:6. 

[3] This letter and the following are addressed to a Seminarist. [Ed. ]

[4] John 14:2. 

[5] Ps. 102[103]:8, 14, 13. 

[6] Cf. Matt. 19:14. 

[7] John 14:2. 

[8] Luke 12:34. 

[9] Cf. Zach. 13:6. 

[10] Cf. Luke 15:22. 

_____________________________

PRAYERS OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE, THE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS

_____________________________

AN ACT OF OBLATION AS A VICTIM OF DIVINE LOVE

_This Prayer was found after the death of Sister Teresa of theChild Jesus and of the Holy Face in the copy of the Gospels whichshe carried night and day close to her heart. _

O my God, O Most Blessed Trinity, I desire to love Thee and tomake Thee loved--to labour for the glory of Holy Church by savingsouls here upon earth and by delivering those suffering inPurgatory. I desire to fulfill perfectly Thy Holy Will, and toreach the degree of glory Thou hast prepared for me in ThyKingdom. In a word, I wish to be holy, but, knowing how helpless Iam, I beseech Thee, my God, to be Thyself my holiness. 

Since Thou hast loved me so much as to give me Thy Only-BegottenSon to be my Saviour and my Spouse, the infinite treasures of Hismerits are mine. Gladly do I offer them to Thee, and I beg of Theeto behold me only through the Eyes of Jesus, and in His Heartaflame with love. Moreover, I offer Thee all the merits of theSaints both of Heaven and of earth, together with their acts oflove, and those of the holy Angels. Lastly, I offer Thee, OBlessed Trinity, the love and the merits of the Blessed Virgin, mydearest Mother--to her I commit this Oblation, praying her topresent it to Thee. 

During the days of His life on earth her Divine Son, my sweetSpouse, spake these words: "If you ask the Father anything in MyName, He will give it you. "[1] Therefore I am certain Thou wiltfulfill my longing. O my God, I know that the more Thou wishest tobestow, the more Thou dost make us desire. In my heart I feelboundless desires, and I confidently beseech Thee to takepossession of my soul. I cannot receive Thee in Holy Communion asoften as I should wish; but, O Lord, art Thou not all-powerful?Abide in me as Thou dost in the Tabernacle--never abandon ThyLittle Victim. I long to console Thee for ungrateful sinners, andI implore Thee to take from me all liberty to sin. If throughweakness I should chance to fall, may a glance from Thine Eyesstraightway cleanse my soul, and consume all my imperfections--asfire transforms all things into itself. 

I thank Thee, O my God, for all the graces Thou hast granted me:especially for having purified me in the crucible of suffering. Atthe Day of Judgment I shall gaze on Thee with joy, as Thou bearestThy sceptre of the Cross. And since Thou hast deigned to give methis precious Cross as my portion, I hope to be like unto Thee inParadise and to behold the Sacred Wounds of Thy Passion shine onmy glorified body. 

After earth's exile I trust to possess Thee in the Home of ourFather; but I do not seek to lay up treasures in Heaven. I wish tolabour for Thy Love alone--with the sole aim of pleasing Thee, ofconsoling Thy Sacred Heart, and of saving souls who will love Theethrough eternity. 

When comes the evening of life, I shall stand before Thee withempty hands, because I do not ask Thee, my God, to take account ofmy works. All our works of justice are blemished in Thine Eyes. Iwish therefore to be robed with Thine own Justice, and to receivefrom Thy Love the everlasting gift of Thyself. I desire no otherThrone, no other Crown but Thee, O my Beloved!

In Thy sight time is naught--"one day is a thousand years. "[2]Thou canst in a single instant prepare me to appear before Thee. 

* * * * * * *

In order that my life may be one Act of perfect Love, I offermyself as a Victim of Holocaust to Thy Merciful Love, imploringThee to consume me unceasingly, and to allow the floods ofinfinite tenderness gathered up in Thee to overflow into my soul, that so I may become a very martyr of Thy Love, O my God! May thismartyrdom, after having prepared me to appear in Thy Presence, free me from this life at the last, and may my soul take itsflight--without delay--into the eternal embrace of Thy MercifulLove!

* * * * * * *

O my Beloved, I desire at every beat of my heart to renew thisOblation an infinite number of times, "till the shadowsretire, "[3] and everlastingly I can tell Thee my love face to face. 

MARY FRANCES TERESA OF THE CHILD JESUS AND OF THE HOLY FACE. 

The ninth of June, Feast of the Most Blessed Trinity, In the yearof grace, 1895. 

A MORNING PRAYER

O my God! I offer Thee all my actions of this day for theintentions and for the glory of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Idesire to sanctify every beat of my heart, my every thought, mysimplest works, by uniting them to Its infinite merits; and I wishto make reparation for my sins by casting them into the furnace ofIts Merciful Love. 

O my God! I ask of Thee for myself and for those whom I hold dear, the grace to fulfil perfectly Thy Holy Will, to accept for love ofThee the joys and sorrows of this passing life, so that we may oneday be united together in Heaven for all Eternity. Amen. 

AN ACT OF CONSECRATION TO THE HOLY FACE

Written for the Novices

O Adorable Face of Jesus, since Thou hast deigned to make specialchoice of our souls, in order to give Thyself to them, we come toconsecrate these souls to Thee. We seem, O Jesus, to hear Theesay: "Open to Me, My Sisters, My Spouses, for My Face is wet withthe dew, and My Locks with the drops of the night. "[4] Our soulsunderstand Thy language of love; we desire to wipe Thy sweet Face, and to console Thee for the contempt of the wicked. In their eyesThou art still "as it were hidden . . . They esteem Thee an objectof reproach. "[5]

O Blessed Face, more lovely than the lilies and the roses of thespring, Thou art not hidden from us. The tears which dim ThineEyes are as precious pearls which we delight to gather, and, through their infinite value, to purchase the souls of ourbrethren. 

From Thy Adorable Lips we have heard Thy loving plaint: "Ithirst. " Since we know that this thirst which consumes Thee is athirst for love, to quench it we would wish to possess an infinitelove. 

Dear Spouse of our souls, if we could love with the love of allhearts, that love would be Thine. . . . Give us, O Lord, thislove! Then come to thy Spouses and satisfy Thy Thirst. 

And give to us souls, dear Lord . . . We thirst for souls!--Aboveall for the souls of Apostles and Martyrs . . . That through themwe may inflame all poor sinners with love of Thee. 

O Adorable Face, we shall succeed in winning this grace from Thee!Unmindful of our exile, "by the rivers of Babylon, " we will singin Thine Ears the sweetest of melodies. Since Thou art the trueand only Home of our souls, _our songs shall not be sung in astrange land. _[6] O Beloved Face of Jesus, while we await theEternal Day when we shall gaze upon Thine Infinite Glory, our onlydesire is to delight Thy Divine Eyes by keeping our faces hiddentoo, so that no one on earth may recognize us . . . Dear Jesus, Heaven for us is Thy Hidden Face!

VARIOUS PRAYERS

_"If you ask the Father anything in My Name, He will give ityou. "_-- John 16:23. 

O Eternal Father, Thy Only-Begotten Son, the dear Child Jesus, belongs to me since Thou hast given Him. I offer Thee the infinitemerits of His Divine Childhood, and I beseech Thee in His Name toopen the gates of Heaven to a countless host of little ones whowill for ever follow this Divine Lamb. 

_"Just as the King's image is a talisman through which anythingmay be purchased in his Kingdom, so through My Adorable Face--thatpriceless coin of my Humanity--you will obtain all you desire. "_ Our Lord to Sister Mary of St. Peter. [7]

Eternal Father, since Thou hast given me for my inheritance theAdorable Face of Thy Divine Son, I offer that Face to Thee, and Ibeg Thee, in exchange for this _coin_ of infinite value, to forgetthe ingratitude of those souls who are consecrated to Thee, and topardon all poor sinners. 

PRAYER TO THE HOLY CHILD

O Jesus, dear Holy Child, my only treasure, I abandon myself toThy every whim. I seek no other joy than that of calling forth Thysweet Smile. Vouchsafe to me the graces and the virtues of ThyHoly Childhood, so that on the day of my birth into Heaven theAngels and Saints may recognise in Thy Spouse: _Teresa of theChild Jesus. _

PRAYER TO THE HOLY FACE

O Adorable Face of Jesus, sole beauty which ravisheth my heart, vouchsafe to impress on my soul Thy Divine Likeness, so that itmay not be possible for Thee to look at Thy Spouse withoutbeholding Thyself. O my Beloved, for love of Thee I am content notto see here on earth the sweetness of Thy Glance, nor to feel theineffable Kiss of Thy Sacred Lips, but I beg of Thee to inflame mewith Thy Love, so that it may consume me quickly, and that soon_Teresa of the Holy Face_ may behold Thy glorious Countenance inHeaven. 

PRAYER

_Inspired by the sight of a statue of The Blessed Joan of Arc_

O Lord God of Hosts, who hast said in Thy Gospel: "I am not cometo bring peace but a sword, "[8] arm me for the combat. I burn todo battle for Thy Glory, but I pray Thee to enliven mycourage. . . . Then with holy David I shall be able to exclaim:"Thou alone art my shield; it is Thou, O Lord Who teachest myhands to fight. "[9]

O my Beloved, I know the warfare in which I am to engage; it isnot on the open field I shall fight. . . . I am a prisoner heldcaptive by Thy Love; of my own free will I have riveted thefetters which bind me to Thee, and cut me off for ever from theworld. My sword is Love! with it--like Joan of Arc--"I will drivethe strangers from the land, and I will have Thee proclaimedKing"--over the Kingdom of souls. 

Of a truth Thou hast no need of so weak an instrument as I, butJoan, thy chaste and valiant Spouse, has said: "We must do battlebefore God gives the victory. " O my Jesus! I will do battle, then, for Thy love, until the evening of my life. As Thou didst not willto enjoy rest upon earth, I wish to follow Thy example; and thenthis promise which came from thy Sacred Lips will be fulfilled inme: "If any man minister to me, let him follow Me, and where I amthere also shall My servant be, and . . . Him will My Fatherhonour. "[10] To be with Thee, to be in Thee, that is my onedesire; this promise of fulfilment, which Thou dost give, helps meto bear with my exile as I wait the joyous Eternal Day when Ishall see Thee face to face. 

PRAYER TO OBTAIN HUMILITY

_Written for a Novice_

O JESUS! When Thou wast a wayfarer upon earth, Thou didstsay:--"Learn of Me, for I am Meek and Humble of Heart, and youshall find rest to your souls. "[11] O Almighty King of Heaven! mysoul indeed finds rest in seeing Thee condescend to wash the feetof Thy Apostles--"having taken the form of a slave. "[12] I recallthe words Thou didst utter to teach me the practice of humility:"I have given you an example, that as I have done to you, so youdo also. The servant is not greater than his Lord . . . If youknow these things, you shall be blessed if you do them. "[13] Iunderstand, dear Lord, these words which come from Thy Meek andHumble Heart, and I wish to put them in practice with the help ofThy grace. 

I desire to humble myself in all sincerity, and to submit my willto that of my Sisters, without ever contradicting them, andwithout questioning whether they have the right to command. Noone, O my Beloved! had that right over Thee, and yet Thou didstobey not only the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph, but even Thyexecutioners. And now, in the Holy Eucharist, I see Thee completeThy self-abasement. O Divine King of Glory, with wondroushumility, Thou dost submit Thyself to all Thy Priests, without anydistinction between those who love Thee and those who, alas! arelukewarm or cold in Thy service. They may advance or delay thehour of the Holy Sacrifice: Thou art always ready to come downfrom Heaven at their call. 

O my Beloved, under the white Eucharistic Veil Thou dost indeedappear to me Meek and Humble of Heart! To teach me humility, Thoucanst not further abase Thyself, and so I wish to respond to ThyLove, by putting myself in the lowest place, by sharing Thyhumiliations, so that I may "have part with Thee"[14] in theKingdom of Heaven. 

I implore Thee, dear Jesus, to send me a humiliation whensoever Itry to set myself above others. 

And yet, dear Lord, Thou knowest my weakness. Each morning Iresolve to be humble, and in the evening I recognise that I haveoften been guilty of pride. The sight of these faults tempts me todiscouragement; yet I know that discouragement is itself but aform of pride. I wish, therefore, O my God, to build all my trustupon Thee. As Thou canst do all things, deign to implant in mysoul this virtue which I desire, and to obtain it from ThyInfinite Mercy, I will often say to Thee: "Jesus, Meek and Humbleof Heart, make my heart like unto Thine. "_____________________________

[1] John 16:23. 

[2] Ps. 39[40]:4. 

[3] Cant. 4:6. 

[4] Cf. Cant. 5:2. 

[5] Cf. Isa. 53:3. 

[6] Cf. Ps. 136[137]:4. 

[7] Sister Mary of St. Peter entered the Carmel of Tours in 1840. Three years later she had the first of a series of revelationsconcerning devotion to the Holy Face as a means of reparation forblasphemy. See _Life of Léon Papin-Dupont, _ known as "The Holy Manof Tours. "

[8] Matt. 10:34. 

[9] Cf. Ps. 143[144]:1, 2. 

[10] John 12:26. 

[11] Matt. 11:29. 

[12] Phil. 2:7. 

[13] John 13:15-17. 

[14] Cf. John 13:8. 

_____________________________

MOTTO OF THE LITTLE FLOWER

From St. John of the Cross

"LOVE IS REPAID BY LOVE ALONE"

_____________________________

"MY DAYS OF GRACE"

Birthday . . . . January 2, 1873Baptism . . . . January 4, 1873The Smile of Our Lady . May 10, 1883First Communion . . May 8, 1884Confirmation . . . June 14, 1884Conversion. . . . December 25, 1886Audience with Leo XIII. November 20, 1887Entry into the Carmel . April 9, 1888Clothing . . . . January 10, 1889Profession. . . . September 8, 1890Taking of the Veil. . September 24, 1890Act of Oblation . . June 9, 1895

[ENTRY INTO HEAVEN--September 30, 1897]

_____________________________

SELECTED POEMS OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE, THE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS

MY SONG OF TO-DAY

Oh! how I love Thee, Jesus! my soul aspires to Thee-- And yet for one day only my simple prayer I pray!Come reign within my heart, smile tenderly on me, To-day, dear Lord, to-day!

But if I dare take thought of what the morrow brings, It fills my fickle heart with dreary, dull dismay;I crave, indeed, my God, the Cross and sufferings, But only for to-day!

O sweetest Star of Heaven! O Virgin, spotless, blest, Shining with Jesus' light, guiding to Him my way!Mother! beneath thy veil let my tired spirit rest, For this brief passing day!

Soon shall I fly afar among the holy choirs, Then shall be mine the joy that knoweth no decay;And then my lips shall sing, to Heaven's angelic lyres, The eternal, glad To-day!

June, 1894. 

MEMORIES

Selected Stanzas

"I find in my Beloved the mountains, the lonely and woodedvales, the distant isles, the murmur of the waters, the softwhisper of the zephyrs . . . The quiet night with its sisterthe dawn, the perfect solitude--all that delights and allthat fires our love. "--St. John of the Cross. 

I hold full sweet your memory, My childhood days, so glad, so free. To keep my innocence, dear Lord, for Thee, Thy Love came to me night and day, Alway. . . . . . . . 

I loved the swallows' graceful flight, The turtle doves' low chant at night, The pleasant sound of insects gay and bright, The grassy vale where doth belong Their song. . . . . . . . 

I loved the glow-worm on the sod;The countless stars, so near to God, But most I loved, in all the sky abroad, The shining moon of silver bright, At night. . . . . . . . 

The grass is withered in its bed;The flowers within my hands are dead. Would that my weary feet, Jesu! might treadThy Heavenly Fields, and I might be With Thee!. . . . . . . 

My rainbow in the rain-washed skies--Horizon where my suns arise--My isle in far-off seas--pearl I most prize--Sweet spring and butterflies--I see In Thee!. . . . . . . 

In Thee I have the springs, the rills, The mignonette, the daffodils, The Eglantine, the harebell on the hills, The trembling poplar, sighing low And slow. . . . . . . . 

The lovely lake, the valley fairAnd lonely in the lambent air, The ocean touched with silver everywhere--In Thee their treasures, all combined, I find. . . . . . . . 

I go to chant, with Angel-throngs, The homage that to Thee belongs. Soon let me fly away, to join their songs!Oh, let me die of love, I pray, One day!. . . . . . . 

I hear, e'en I, Thy last and least, The music from Thy Heavenly Feast;There, deign receive me as Thy loving guestAnd, to my harp, let me but sing, My King!. . . . . . . 

Unto the Saints I shall be near, To Mary, and those once treasured here. Life is all past, and dried is every tear;To me my home again is given-- In Heaven. 

April 28, 1895. 

I THIRST FOR LOVE

In wondrous Love, Thou didst come down from Heaven To immolate Thyself, O Christ, for me;So, in my turn, my love to Thee is given-- I wish to suffer and to die for Thee. 

Thou, Lord, didst speak this truth benign: "To die for one loved tenderly, Of greatest love on earth is sign"; And now, such love is mine-- Such love for Thee!

Do Thou abide with me, O Pilgrim blest! Behind the hill fast sinks the dying day. Helped by Thy Cross, I mount the rocky crest; Oh, come, to guide me on my Heavenward Way. 

To be like Thee is my desire; Thy Voice finds echo in my soul. Suffering I crave! Thy words of fire Lift me above earth's mire, And sin's control. 

Chanting Thy victories, gloriously sublime, The Seraphim--all Heaven--cry to me, That even Thou, to conquer sin and crime, Upon this earth a sufferer needs must be. 

For me upon life's dreary way What scorn, what anguish, Thou didst bear!Let me but hide me day by day, Be least of all, alway, Thy lot to share. 

Ah, Christ! Thy great example teaches me Myself to humble, honours to despise. A little one--as Thou--I choose to be, Forgetting self, so I may charm Thine Eyes. 

My peace I find in solitude, Nor ask I more, dear Lord, than this:Be Thou my sole beatitude, And ever--in Thee--renewed My joy, my bliss!

Thou, the great God Whom earth and Heaven adore, Thou dwell'st a prisoner for me night and day;And every hour I hear Thy Voice implore: "I thirst--I thirst--I thirst--for love alway!"

I, too, Thy prisoner am I; I, too, cry ever unto TheeThine own divine and tender cry: "I thirst!" Oh, let me die Of love for Thee. 

For love of Thee I thirst! fulfil my hope; Augment in me Thine own celestial flame!For love of Thee I thirst! too scant earth's scope: The glorious Vision of Thy Face I claim!

My long, slow martyrdom of fire Still more and more consumeth me. Thou art my joy, my one desire, Jesu! may I expire Of love for Thee. 

April 30, 1896. 

TO SCATTER FLOWERS

O Jesus! O my Love! each eve I come to fling My springtide roses sweet before Thy Cross divine;By their plucked petals fair, my hands so gladly bring, I long to dry Thine every tear!

To scatter flowers!--that means each sacrifice: My lightest sighs and pains, my heaviest, saddest hours, My hopes, my joys, my prayers--I will not count the price-- Behold my flowers!

With deep untold delight Thy beauty fills my soul, Would I might light this love in hearts of all who live!For this, my fairest flowers, all things in my control, How fondly, gladly would I give!

To scatter flowers!--behold my chosen sword For saving sinners' souls and filling Heaven's bowers:The victory is mine--yea, I disarm Thee, Lord, With these my flowers!

The petals in their flight caress Thy Holy Face; They tell Thee that my heart is Thine, and Thine alone. Thou knowest what these leaves are saying in my place: On me Thou smilest from Thy Throne. 

To scatter flowers!--that means, to speak of Thee-- My only pleasure here, where tears fill all the hours;But soon, with Angel Hosts, my spirit shall be free To scatter flowers. 

June 28, 1896. 

WHY I LOVE THEE, MARY!

Last Poem written by Soeur Thérèse

Concluding Stanzas

Henceforth thy shelter in thy woe was John's most humble dwelling; The son of Zebedee replaced the Son Whom Heaven adored. Naught else the Gospels tell us of thy life, in grace excelling; It is the last they say of thee, sweet Mother of my Lord!

But oh! I think that silence means that, high in Heaven's Glory, When time is past, and to their House thy children safe arecome, The Eternal Word, my Mother dear, Himself will tell thy story, To charm our souls--thy children's souls--in our Eternal Home. 

Soon I shall hear that harmony, that blissful, wondrous singing; Soon, unto Heaven that waits for us, my soul shall swiftly fly. O thou who cam'st to smile on me at dawn of life's beginning! Come once again to smile on me . . . Mother! the night is nigh. 

I fear no more thy majesty, so far removed above me, For I have suffered sore with thee: now hear me, Mother mild!Oh, let me tell thee face to face, dear Mary! how I love thee; And say to thee for evermore: I am Thy little child. 

May 1897. 

NOTE. --The above poems are reprinted from the translation of theLittle Flower's poems made by Susan L. Emery, of Dorchester, Mass. , U. S. A. , and published by the Carmel of Boston. [Ed. ]