{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_16772/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_16772","id":"gutenberg_16772","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16772","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian saints -- France -- Lisieux -- Biography","Christianity","Lisieux (France) -- Biography","Th\u00e9r\u00e8se, de Lisieux, Saint, 1873-1897"],"text":"Produced by David McClamrock\n\n\n\n\n\nST. THERESE OF LISIEUX\n\nTHE STORY OF A SOUL (L'HISTOIRE D'UNE AME): THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF\nST. THERESE OF LISIEUX\n\nWITH ADDITIONAL WRITINGS AND SAYINGS OF ST. THERESE\n\n______________________________\n\nNOTE TO THIS ELECTRONIC EDITION\n\nThis electronic edition of the autobiography of St. Therese of\nLisieux (_The Story of a Soul_) includes much, but not all, of the\ncontent of _Soeur Therese of Lisieux_ (London: Burns, Oates &\nWashbourne, 1912; 8th ed., 1922), edited by Rev. T.N. Taylor. All\nthe translated writings and sayings of St. Therese contained in\nthat book are in this electronic edition, including the\nautobiography as well as \"Counsels and Reminiscences,\" letters,\nand selected poems. Also included are the preface by Cardinal\nBourne, the prologue relating Therese's parentage and birth, and\nthe epilogue describing her final illness, her death, and related\nevents. Not included are the illustrations, the list of\nillustrations, accounts of favors attributed to the intercession\nof St. Therese, documents related to her beatification, and some\nother material not written by her.\n\nFootnotes have been re-numbered sequentially in each chapter. They\nare presented at the end of each chapter, and some have been\nslightly modified for ease of reference. A few footnotes,\nreferring to page numbers in the original, have been modified or\nomitted. Citations to the Psalms, many of which were numbered\ndifferently in Catholic Bibles of St. Therese's time than they\ncommonly are today, have the \"new\" number in brackets next to the\n\"old\" number from the original--e.g., \"Psalm 22[23]:1-4.\" Footnote\nnumbers are shown in brackets, e.g., \"[1].\"\n\nThe original page headers, page numbering, disclaimer of any\nintention to anticipate the judgment of the Church in calling St.\nTherese a \"saint\" before her canonization, and other extraneous\nmatter, which were deemed suitable for a printed book in 1922 but\nnot for an e-book in 2005, are not here. The French \"oe\" ligature,\nin words such as \"soeur,\" is not available in the standard\nISO-8859-1 character set, and obviously is represented here by the\ntwo-letter combination \"oe.\" Italics are represented by\nunderscores at the beginning and end, _like this._ The first word\nof each chapter is not set in all caps as it was in the printed\nbook. A few obvious typographical errors have been corrected, with\nthe changes in brackets, e.g., \"[s]he\" for \"the\" in Chapter IX.\nAll else, including capitalization, punctuation, grammar, and\nBritish spelling, is intended to reflect the content of the eighth\nedition of _Soeur Therese of Lisieux._ If it does not, the fault\nis that of the transcriber (me, David McClamrock).\n\n______________________________\n\nSOEUR THERESE OF LISIEUX, THE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS\n\nA NEW AND COMPLETE TRANSLATION OF L'HISTOIRE D'UNE AME, WITH AN\nACCOUNT OF SOME FAVOURS ATTRIBUTED TO THE INTERCESSION OF SOEUR\nTHERESE\n\nEDITED BY T. N. TAYLOR: PRIEST OF THE ARCHDIOCESE OF GLASGOW:\nWITNESS BEFORE THE TRIBUNAL OF THE BEATIFICATION\n\nBURNS, OATES & WASHBOURNE LD.\n\nTWENTY-EIGHT ORCHARD STREET, LONDON, W., AND EIGHT TO TEN\nPATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E.C.\n\n______________________________\n\nNIHIL OBSTAT JOANNES N. STRASSMAIER, S.J. Censor Deputatus\n\nIMPRIMATUR EDMUNDUS Canonicus SURMONT Vicarius Generalis\n\nWESTMONASTERII, die nona Decembris, 1912.\n\n______________________________\n\nCONTENTS\n\n______________________________\n\nDEDICATION\n\nPREFACE BY H.E. CARDINAL BOURNE\n\nPROLOGUE: PARENTAGE AND BIRTH\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\n\nChapter   I. Earliest Memories\n    \"    II. A Catholic Household\n    \"   III. Pauline Enters the Carmel\n    \"    IV. First Communion and Confirmation\n    \"     V. Vocation of Therese\n    \"    VI. A Pilgrimage to Rome\n    \"   VII. The Little Flower Enters the Carmel\n    \"   VIII. Profession of Soeur Therese\n    \"    IX. The Night of the Soul\n    \"     X. The New Commandment\n    \"    XI. A Canticle of Love\n\nEPILOGUE: A VICTIM OF DIVINE LOVE\n\nCOUNSELS AND REMINISCENCES\n\nLETTERS OF SOEUR THERESE\n   To Celine\n   To Mother Agnes of Jesus\n   To Sister Mary of the Sacred Heart\n   To Sister Frances Teresa\n   To Marie Guerin\n   To Jeanne Guerin\n   To Missionaries\n\nPRAYERS OF SOEUR THERESE\n   Her Act of Oblation\n   A Morning Prayer\n   Act of Consecration to the Holy Face\n   Prayer in Honour of the Holy Child\n   Prayer to the Holy Child\n   Prayer to the Holy Face\n   Prayer in Honour of St. Joan of Arc\n   Prayer to Obtain Humility\n\nDAYS OF GRACE\n\nSELECTED POEMS\n   My Song of To-day\n   Memories\n   I Thirst for Love\n   To Scatter Flowers\n   Why I Love Thee, Mary\n\nSHOWER OF ROSES [omitted]\n\nPROCESS OF BEATIFICATION [omitted]\n\nLETTERS OF PIUS X AND OTHERS [omitted]\n\nINDULGENCED PRAYERS [omitted]\n\nSUPPLEMENT [omitted]\n\n______________________________\n\nTHIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE SERVANT OF GOD, SOEUR THERESE, IN\nTHANKSGIVING FOR GRACES OBTAINED, AND TO HER \"PETITE MERE,\" MOTHER\nAGNES OF JESUS, IN GRATEFUL MEMORY OF INNUMERABLE KINDNESSES\nEXTENDING OVER MANY YEARS\n\n______________________________\n\nPREFACE\n\nAs we become acquainted with the histories of those in whom, in\nlong succession, God has been pleased to show forth examples of\nholiness of life, it seems as if every phase of human existence\nhad in the history of the Church received its consecration as a\npower to bring men nearer to their Maker. But there is no limit to\nthe types of sanctity which the Creator is pleased to unfold\nbefore His Creatures. To many, on reading for the first time the\nstory of Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face, it\ncame almost as a shock to find a very youthful member of an\naustere Order, strictly retired from the world, engaged in hidden\nprayer and mortification, appearing before us to reveal to the\nwhole world the wonders of the close intimacy of friendship to\nwhich her Divine Spouse had been pleased to call her. Certainly\nthe way by which Soeur Therese was led is not the normal life of\nCarmel, nor hers the manner whereby most Carmelites are called to\naccomplish the wondrous apostolate of intercession to which their\nlives are given. But no less certain is it that, in her particular\ncase, her work for God and her apostolate were not to be confined\nbetween the walls of her religious home, or to be limited by her\nfew years on earth.\n\nIn the first place, we know that it was by obedience that the\nrecord of God's dealings with her soul were set down in writing.\nAnd again, the long tale of graces granted in such strange\nprofusion through her intercession is proof sufficient that it was\nnot without Divine permission and guidance that the history of her\nspecial and peculiar vocation has become the property of all\nCatholics in every land. It is for God to keep, and for Him to\nmake known the secrets of His Love for men. And in the case of\nSoeur Therese it has been His Will to divulge His secrets in most\ngenerous consideration for our needs.\n\nWhat are the hidden treasures which Our Divine Master thus reveals\nto us through His chosen little servant?\n\nIt is the old story of simplicity in God's service, of the perfect\naccomplishment of small recurring duties, of trustful confidence\nin Him who made and has redeemed and sanctified us. Humility,\nself-effacement, obedience, hiddenness, unfaltering charity, with\nall the self-control and constant effort that they imply, are\nwritten on every page of the history of this little Saint. And, as\nwe turn its pages, the lesson is borne in upon our souls that\nthere is no surer nor safer way of pleasing Our Father Who is in\nHeaven than by remaining ever as little children in His sight.\nDoubtless for many of her clients whose hearts are kindled as they\nread this book, Soeur Therese will obtain, as she has done so\noften in the past, wonderful gifts for health of soul and body.\nBut may she win for all of us without exception a deep and\nfruitful conviction of the unchanging truth, that unless we become\nas little children in the doing of our Heavenly Father's Will, we\ncannot enter into our Eternal Home.\n\nFRANCIS CARDINAL BOURNE, Archbishop of Westminster.\n\nFeast of the Presentation of Our Blessed Lady, 1912.\n\n______________________________\n\nPROLOGUE: THE PARENTAGE & BIRTH OF MARIE FRANCOISE THERESE MARTIN\n\nIn the month of September, 1843, a young man of twenty climbed the\nmountain of the Great St. Bernard. His eyes shone with a holy\nenthusiasm as the splendour of the Alps stirred to the depths his\nresponsive nature. Presently, accustomed as they were to discern\nGod's beauty in the beauty of His handiwork, they glistened with\ntears. He paused for a space, then, continuing his journey, soon\nreached the celebrated monastery that like a beacon on those\nheights darts afar its beams of faith and magnificent charity.\n\nThe Prior, struck by the frank and open countenance of his guest,\nwelcomed him with more than wonted hospitality. Louis Joseph\nStanislaus Martin was the pilgrim's name. He was born on August\n22, 1823, at Bordeaux, while his father, a brave and devout\nsoldier, was captain in the garrison there. \"God has predestined\nthis little one for Himself,\" said the saintly Bishop of Bordeaux\non the occasion of his baptism, and events have proved the truth\nof his words. From this town, by the banks of the Garonne, his\nparents went to Alencon in lower Normandy, and there in their new\nhome, as in their old one, Louis was the cherished Benjamin.\n\nIt was not the loveliness of Swiss lakes and mountains and skies\nthat had drawn the traveller from distant Alencon. He came to the\nmonastery--and his journey was chiefly on foot--to consecrate his\ndays to God. On learning his purpose the Prior questioned him upon\nhis knowledge of Latin, only to discover that the young aspirant\nhad not completed his course of studies in that language. \"I am\nindeed sorry, my child,\" said the venerable monk, \"since this is\nan essential condition, but you must not be disheartened. Go back\nto your own country, apply yourself diligently, and when you have\nended your studies we shall receive you with open arms.\"\n\nLouis was disappointed. He set out for home--for exile he would\nhave said--but ere long he saw clearly that his life was to be\ndedicated to God in another and equally fruitful way, and that the\nAlpine monastery was to be nothing more to him than a sweet memory.\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nA few years after the vain quest of Louis Martin, a similar scene\nwas enacted in Alencon itself. Accompanied by her mother, Zelie\nGuerin--an attractive and pious girl--presented herself at the\nConvent of the Sisters of Charity in the hope of gaining\nadmission. For years it had been her desire to share the Sisters'\nwork, but this was not to be. In the interview that followed, the\nSuperioress--guided by the Holy Ghost--decided unhesitatingly\nthat Zelie's vocation was not for the religious life. God wanted\nher in the world, and so she returned to her parents, and to the\ncompanionship of her elder sister and her younger brother. Shortly\nafterwards the gates of the Visitation Convent at Le Mans closed\nupon her beloved sister, and Zelie's thoughts turned to the\nSacrament of Holy Matrimony. \"O my God\"--she repeated constantly--\n\"since I am unworthy to be Thy Spouse, like my dear sister, I\nshall enter the married state to fulfill Thy Holy Will, and I\nbeseech Thee to make me the mother of many children, and to grant\nthat all of them may be dedicated to Thee.\"\n\nGod gave ear to her prayer, and His Finger was visible in the\ncircumstances which led to her becoming the wife of Louis Martin,\non July 12, 1858, in Alencon's lovely Church of Notre Dame. Like\nthe chaste Tobias, they were joined together in matrimony--\"solely\nfor the love of children, in whom God's Name might be blessed for\never and ever.\" Nine white flowers bloomed in this sacred garden.\nOf the nine, four were transplanted to Paradise ere their buds had\nquite unfolded, while five were gathered in God's walled gardens\nupon earth, one entering the Visitation Convent at Caen, the others the\nCarmel of Lisieux. From the cradle all were dedicated to Mary\nImmaculate, and all received her name: Marie Louise, Marie Pauline,\nMarie Leonie, Marie Helene, who died at the age of four and a half,\nMarie Joseph Louis, Marie Joseph Jean Baptiste, Marie Celine, Marie\nMelanie Therese, who died when three months old, and lastly, _Marie\nFrancoise Therese._\n\nThe two boys were the fruit of prayers and tears. After the birth\nof the four elder girls, their parents entreated St. Joseph to\nobtain for them the favour of a son who should become a priest and\na missionary. Marie Joseph soon was given them, and his pretty\nways appealed to all hearts, but only five months had run their\ncourse when Heaven demanded what it had lent. Then followed more\nurgent novenas.\n\nThe grandeur of the Priesthood, glorious upon earth, ineffable in\neternity, was so well understood by those Christian parents, that\ntheir hearts coveted it most dearly. At all costs the family must\nhave a Priest of the Lord, one who would be an apostle,\nperadventure a martyr. But, \"the thoughts of the Lord are not our\nthoughts, His ways are not our ways.\" Another little Joseph was\nborn, and with him hope once again grew strong. Alas! Nine months\nhad scarcely passed when he, too, fled from this world and joined\nhis angel brother.\n\nThey did not ask again. Yet, could the veil of the future have\nbeen lifted, their heavy hearts would, of a surety, have been\ncomforted. A child was to be vouchsafed them who would be a herald\nof Divine love, not to China alone, but to all the ends of the\nearth.\n\nNay, they themselves were destined to shine as apostles, and we\nread on one of the first pages of the Portuguese edition of the\nAutobiography, these significant words of an eminent Jesuit:\n\n\"To the Sacred Memory of Louis Joseph Stanislaus Martin and of\nZelie Guerin, the blessed parents of Sister Teresa of the Child\nJesus, for an example to all Christian parents.\"\n\nThey little dreamed of this future apostolate, nevertheless they\nmade ready their souls day by day to be God's own instruments in\nGod's good time. With most loving resignation they greeted the\nmany crosses which the Lord laid upon them--the Lord whose tender\nname of Father is truest in the dark hour of trial.\n\nEvery morning saw them at Mass; together they knelt at the Holy\nTable. They strictly observed the fasts and abstinences of the\nChurch, kept Sunday as a day of complete rest from work in spite\nof the remonstrance of friends, and found in pious reading their\nmost delightful recreation. They prayed in common--after the\ntouching example of Captain Martin, whose devout way of repeating\nthe _Our Father_ brought tears to all eyes. Thus the great\nChristian virtues flourished in their home. Wealth did not bring\nluxury in its train, and a strict simplicity was invariably\nobserved.\n\n\"How mistaken are the great majority of men!\" Madame Martin used\noften to say. \"If they are rich, they at once desire honours; and\nif these are obtained, they are still unhappy; for never can that\nheart be satisfied which seeks anything but God.\"\n\nHer whole ambition as a mother was directed to Heaven. \"Four of my\nchildren are already well settled in life,\" she once wrote; \"and\nthe others will go likewise to that Heavenly Kingdom--enriched\nwith greater merit because the combat will have been more\nprolonged.\"\n\nCharity in all its forms was a natural outlet to the piety of\nthese simple hearts. Husband and wife set aside each year a\nconsiderable portion of their earnings for the Propagation of the\nFaith; they relieved poor persons in distress, and ministered to\nthem with their own hands. On one occasion Monsieur Martin, like a\ngood Samaritan, was seen to raise a drunken man from the ground in\na busy thoroughfare, take his bag of tools, support him on his\narm, and lead him home. Another time when he saw, in a railway\nstation, a poor and starving epileptic without the means to return\nto his distant home, he was so touched with pity that he took off\nhis hat and, placing in it an alms, proceeded to beg from the\npassengers on behalf of the sufferer. Money poured in, and it was\nwith a heart brimming over with gratitude that the sick man\nblessed his benefactor.\n\nNever did he allow the meannesses of human respect to degrade his\nChristian dignity. In whatever company he might be, he always\nsaluted the Blessed Sacrament when passing a Church; and he never\nmet a priest without paying him a mark of respect. A word from his\nlips sufficed to silence whosoever dared blaspheme in his presence.\n\nIn reward for his virtues, God showered even temporal blessings on\nHis faithful servant. In 1871 he was able to give up his business\nas a jeweller, and retire to a house in the Rue St. Blaise. The\nmaking of point-lace, however, begun by Madame Martin, was still\ncarried on.\n\nIn that house the \"Little Flower of Jesus\" first saw the sunshine.\nAgain and again, in the pages of her Autobiography, she calls\nherself by this modest name of the _Little Flower,_ emblematic of\nher humility, her purity, her simplicity, and it may be added, of\nthe poetry of her soul. The reader will learn in the Epilogue how\nit was also used by one of her favourite martyr-saints--the now\nBlessed Theophane Venard. On the manuscript of her Autobiography\nshe set the title: _\"The Story of the Springtime of a little white\nFlower,\"_ and in truth such it was, for long ere the rigours of\nlife's winter came round, the Flower was blossoming in Paradise.\n\nIt was, however, in mid-winter, January 2, 1873, that this ninth\nchild of Louis Martin and Zelie Guerin was born. Marie and Pauline\nwere at home for the Christmas holidays from the Visitation\nConvent at Le Mans, and though there was, it is true, a slight\ndisappointment that the future priest was still denied them, it\nquickly passed, and the little one was regarded as a special gift\nfrom Heaven.  Later on, her beloved Father delighted in calling\nher his \"Little Queen,\" adding at times the high-sounding\ntitles--\"Of France and Navarre.\"\n\nThe Little Queen was indeed well received that winter's morning,\nand in the course of the day a poor waif rang timidly at the door\nof the happy home, and presented a paper bearing the following\nsimple stanza:\n\n\"Smile and swiftly grow; All beckons thee to joy, Sweet love, and\ntenderest care. Smile gladly at the dawn, Bud of an hour!--for\nthou Shalt be a stately rose.\"\n\nIt was a charming prophecy, for the bud unfolded its petals and\nbecame a rose--a rose of love--but not for long, \"for the space of\na morn!\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nOn January 4, she was carried to the Church of Notre Dame to\nreceive the Sacrament of Baptism; her eldest sister, Marie, was\nher godmother, and she was given the name of _Marie Francoise\nTherese._[1]\n\nAll was joy at first, but soon the tender bud drooped on its\ndelicate stem: little hope was held out--it must wither and die.\n\"You must pray to St. Francis de Sales,\" wrote her aunt from the\nconvent at Le Mans, \"and you must promise, if the child recovers,\nto call her by her second name, Frances.\" This was a sword-thrust\nfor the Mother. Leaning over the cradle of her Therese, she\nawaited the coming of the end, saying: \"Only when the last hope\nhas gone, will I promise to call her Frances.\"\n\nThe gentle St. Francis waived his claim in favour of the great\nReformer of the Carmelite Order: the child recovered, and so\nretained her sweet name of Therese. Sorrow, however, was mixed\nwith the Mother's joy, when it became necessary to send the babe\nto a foster-mother in the country. There the \"little rose-bud\"\ngrew in beauty, and after some months had gained strength\nsufficient to allow of her being brought back to Alencon. Her\nmemory of this short but happy time spent with her sainted Mother\nin the Rue St. Blaise was extraordinarily vivid. To-day a tablet\non the balcony of No. 42 informs the passers-by that here was born\na certain Carmelite, by name, Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and\nthe Holy Face. Fifteen years have gone since the meeting in Heaven\nof Madame Martin and her Carmelite child, and if the pilgrimage to\nwhere the Little Flower first saw the light of day, be not so\nlarge as that to the grave where her remains await their glorious\nresurrection, it may nevertheless be numbered in thousands. And to\nthe English-speaking pilgrim there is an added pleasure in the\nfact that her most notable convert, the first minister of the\nUnited Free Church of Scotland to enter the True Fold, performs,\nwith his convert wife, the courteous duties of host.\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nIt will not be amiss to say a brief word here on the brother and\nsister of Madame Martin. Her sister--in religion, Sister Marie\nDosithea--led a life so holy at Le Mans that she was cited by Dom\nGueranger, perhaps the most distinguished Benedictine of the\nnineteenth century, as the model of a perfect nun. By her own\nconfession, she had never been guilty from earliest childhood of\nthe smallest deliberate fault. She died on February 24, 1877. It\nwas in the convent made fragrant by such holiness that her niece\nPauline Martin, elder sister and \"little mother\" of Therese, and\nfor five years her Prioress at the Carmel, received her education.\nAnd if the Little Flower may have imbibed the liturgical spirit\nfrom her teachers, the daughters of St. Benedict in Lisieux, so\nthat she could say before her death: \"I do not think it is\npossible for anyone to have desired more than I to assist properly\nat choir and to recite perfectly the Divine Office\"--may it not be\nto the influences from Le Mans that may be traced something of the\nhoney-sweet spirit of St. Francis de Sales which pervades the\npages of the Autobiography?\n\nWith the brother of Zelie Guerin the reader will make acquaintance\nin the narrative of Therese. He was a chemist in Lisieux, and it\nwas there his daughter Jeanne Guerin married Dr. La Neele and his\nyounger child Marie entered the Carmel. Our foreign missionaries\nhad a warm friend in the uncle of Therese--for his charities he\nwas made godfather to an African King; and to the Catholic\nPress--that home missionary--he was ever most devoted. Founder, at\nLisieux, of the Nocturnal Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, and\na zealous member of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, he was\ncalled to his abundant reward on September 28, 1909. Verily the\nlamp of faith is not extinct in the land of the Norman.\n\nThe Father of Therese, after the death of his wife, likewise made\nhis home in the delightful town which lies amid the beautiful\napple orchards of the valley of the Touques. Lisieux is deeply\ninteresting by reason of its fine old churches of St. Jacques and\nSt. Pierre, and its wonderful specimens of quaint houses, some of\nwhich date from the twelfth century. In matters of faith it is\nneither fervent nor hostile, and in 1877 its inhabitants little\nthought that through their new citizen, Marie Francoise Therese\nMartin, their town would be rendered immortal.\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"The cell at Lisieux reminds us of the cell of the Blessed Gabriel\nat Isola. There is the same even tenor of way, the same\nmagnificant fidelity in little things, the same flames of divine\ncharity, consuming but concealed. Nazareth, with the simplicity of\nits Child, and the calm abysmal love of Mary and Joseph--Nazareth,\nadorable but imitable, gives the key to her spirit, and her\nAutobiography does but repeat the lessons of the thirty hidden\nyears.\"[2]\n\nAnd it repeats them with an unrivalled charm. \"This master of\nasceticism,\" writes a biographer[3] of St. Ignatius Loyola, \"loved\nthe garden and loved the flowers. In the balcony of his study he\nsat gazing on the stars: it was then Lainez heard him say: 'Oh,\nhow earth grows base to me when I look on Heaven!' . . . The like\nimaginative strain, so scorned of our petty day, inhered in all\nthe lofty souls of that age. Even the Saints of our day speak a\nless radiant language: and sanctity shows 'shorn of its rays'\nthrough the black fog of universal utilitarianism, the materiality\nwhich men have drawn into the very lungs of their souls.\"\n\nThis is not true of the sainted authoress of the chapters that\nfollow--\"less radiant,\" in the medium of a translation. In her\nown inimitable pages, as in those of a Campion or an Ignatius, a\nTeresa of Avila, or a John of the Cross--the Spirit of Poetry is\nthe handmaiden of Holiness. This new lover of flowers and student\nof the stars, this \"strewer of roses,\" has uplifted a million\nhearts from the \"base earth\" and \"black fog\" to the very throne of\nGod, and her mission is as yet but begun.\n\nThe pen of Soeur Therese herself must now take up the narrative.\nIt will do so in words that do not merely tell of love but set the\nheart on fire, and at the same time lay bare the workings of God\nin a soul that \"since the age of three never refused the Good God\nanything.\" The writing of this Autobiography was an act of\nobedience, and the Prioress who imposed the task sought, in all\nsimplicity, her own personal edification. But the fragrance of its\npages was such that she was advised to publish them to the world.\nShe did so in 1899 under the title of _L'Histoire d'une Ame._ An\nEnglish version by M. H. Dziewicki appeared in 1901.\n\nThis new translation relates more fully the story of the\nchildhood, girlhood, and brief convent days of Soeur Therese. It\ntells of her \"Roses,\" and sets forth again, in our world-wide\ntongue, her world-wide embassy--the ever ancient message of God's\nMerciful Love, the ever new _way_ to Him of \"confidence and\nself-surrender.\"\n\nThe Editor.\n______________________________\n\n[1] The baptismal entry, with its numerous signatures, is shown to\nvisitors, and a tablet in the baptistry of the beautiful Gothic\nchurch tells the pilgrim that here the \"Little Queen\" was made a\nchild of God. [Ed.]\n\n[2] _\"As Little Children\"_: the abridged life of Soeur Therese.\nPublished at the Orphans' Press, Rochdale.\n\n[3] Francis Thompson.\n\n______________________________\n\nTHE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SOEUR THERESE OF LISIEUX, ENTITLED BY\nHERSELF: \"THE STORY OF THE SPRINGTIME OF A LITTLE WHITE FLOWER\"\n\n______________________________\n\nCHAPTER I\nEARLIEST MEMORIES\n\nIt is to you, dear Mother, that I am about to confide the story of\nmy soul. When you asked me to write it, I feared the task might\nunsettle me, but since then Our Lord has deigned to make me\nunderstand that by simple obedience I shall please Him best. I\nbegin therefore to sing what must be my eternal song: \"the Mercies\nof the Lord.\"[1]\n\nBefore setting about my task I knelt before the statue of Our Lady\nwhich had given my family so many proofs of Our Heavenly Mother's\nloving care.[2] As I knelt I begged of that dear Mother to guide\nmy hand, and thus ensure that only what was pleasing to her should\nfind place here.\n\nThen opening the Gospels, my eyes fell on these words: \"Jesus,\ngoing up into a mountain, called unto Him whom He would\nHimself.\"[3]\n\nThey threw a clear light upon the mystery of my vocation and of my\nentire life, and above all upon the favours which Our Lord has\ngranted to my soul. He does not call those who are worthy, but\nthose whom He will. As St. Paul says: \"God will have mercy on whom\nHe will have mercy.[4] So then it is not of him that willeth, nor\nof him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy.\"[5]\n\nI often asked myself why God had preferences, why all souls did\nnot receive an equal measure of grace. I was filled with wonder\nwhen I saw extraordinary favours showered on great sinners like\nSt. Paul, St. Augustine, St. Mary Magdalen, and many others, whom\nHe forced, so to speak, to receive His grace. In reading the lives\nof the Saints I was surprised to see that there were certain\nprivileged souls, whom Our Lord favoured from the cradle to the\ngrave, allowing no obstacle in their path which might keep them\nfrom mounting towards Him, permitting no sin to soil the spotless\nbrightness of their baptismal robe. And again it puzzled me why so\nmany poor savages should die without having even heard the name of\nGod.\n\nOur Lord has deigned to explain this mystery to me. He showed me\nthe book of nature, and I understood that every flower created by\nHim is beautiful, that the brilliance of the rose and the\nwhiteness of the lily do not lessen the perfume of the violet or\nthe sweet simplicity of the daisy. I understood that if all the\nlowly flowers wished to be roses, nature would lose its springtide\nbeauty, and the fields would no longer be enamelled with lovely\nhues. And so it is in the world of souls, Our Lord's living\ngarden. He has been pleased to create great Saints who may be\ncompared to the lily and the rose, but He has also created lesser\nones, who must be content to be daisies or simple violets\nflowering at His Feet, and whose mission it is to gladden His\nDivine Eyes when He deigns to look down on them. And the more\ngladly they do His Will the greater is their perfection.\n\nI understood this also, that God's Love is made manifest as well\nin a simple soul which does not resist His grace as in one more\nhighly endowed. In fact, the characteristic of love being\nself-abasement, if all souls resembled the holy Doctors who have\nilluminated the Church, it seems that God in coming to them would\nnot stoop low enough. But He has created the little child, who\nknows nothing and can but utter feeble cries, and the poor savage\nwho has only the natural law to guide him, and it is to their\nhearts that He deigns to stoop. These are the field flowers whose\nsimplicity charms Him; and by His condescension to them Our\nSaviour shows His infinite greatness. As the sun shines both on\nthe cedar and on the floweret, so the Divine Sun illumines every\nsoul, great and small, and all correspond to His care--just as in\nnature the seasons are so disposed that on the appointed day the\nhumblest daisy shall unfold its petals.\n\nYou will wonder, dear Mother, to what all this is leading, for\ntill now I have said nothing that sounds like the story of my\nlife; but did you not tell me to write quite freely whatever came\ninto my mind? So, it will not be my life properly speaking, that\nyou will find in these pages, but my thoughts about the graces\nwhich it has pleased Our Lord to bestow on me.\n\nI am now at a time of life when I can look back on the past, for\nmy soul has been refined in the crucible of interior and exterior\ntrials. Now, like a flower after the storm, I can raise my head\nand see that the words of the Psalm are realised in me: \"The Lord\nis my Shepherd and I shall want nothing. He hath set me in a place\nof pasture. He hath brought me up on the water of refreshment. He\nhath converted my soul. He hath led me on the paths of justice for\nHis own Name's sake. For though I should walk in the midst of the\nshadow of death, I will fear no evils for Thou are with me.\"[6]\n\nYes, to me Our Lord has always been \"compassionate and merciful,\nlong-suffering and plenteous in mercy.\"[7]\n\nAnd so it gives me great joy, dear Mother, to come to you and sing\nHis unspeakable mercies. It is for you alone that I write the\nstory of the little flower gathered by Jesus. This thought will\nhelp me to speak freely, without troubling either about style or\nabout the many digressions that I shall make; for a Mother's heart\nalways understands her child, even when it can only lisp, and so I\nam sure of being understood and my meaning appreciated.\n\nIf a little flower could speak, it seems to me that it would tell\nus quite simply all that God has done for it, without hiding any\nof its gifts. It would not, under the pretext of humility, say\nthat it was not pretty, or that it had not a sweet scent, that the\nsun had withered its petals, or the storm bruised its stem, if it\nknew that such were not the case.\n\nThe Little Flower, that now tells her tale, rejoiced in having to\npublish the wholly undeserved favours bestowed upon her by Our\nLord. She knows that she had nothing in herself worthy of\nattracting Him: His Mercy alone showered blessings on her. He\nallowed her to grow in holy soil enriched with the odour of\npurity, and preceded by eight lilies of shining whiteness. In His\nLove He willed to preserve her from the poisoned breath of the\nworld--hardly had her petals unfolded when this good Master\ntransplanted her to the mountain of Carmel, Our Lady's chosen\ngarden.\n\nAnd now, dear Mother, having summed up in a few words all that\nGod's goodness has done for me, I will relate in detail the story\nof my childhood. I know that, though to others it may seem\nwearisome, your motherly heart will find pleasure in it. In the\nstory of my soul, up to the time of my entry into the Carmel,\nthere are three clearly marked periods: the first, in spite of its\nshortness, is by no means the least rich in memories.\n\nIt extends from the dawn of reason to the death of my dearly loved\nMother; in other words, till I was four years and eight months\nold. God, in His goodness, did me the favour of awakening my\nintelligence very early, and He has imprinted the recollections of\nmy childhood so deeply in my memory that past events seem to have\nhappened but yesterday. Without doubt He wished to make me know\nand appreciate the Mother He had given me. Alas! His Divine Hand\nsoon took her from me to crown her in Heaven.\n\nAll my life it has pleased Him to surround me with affection. My\nfirst recollections are of loving smiles and tender caresses; but\nif He made others love me so much, He made me love them too, for I\nwas of an affectionate nature.\n\nYou can hardly imagine how much I loved my Father and Mother, and,\nbeing very demonstrative, I showed my love in a thousand little\nways, though the means I employed make me smile now when I think\nof them.\n\nDear Mother, you have given me the letters which my Mother wrote\nat this time to Pauline, who was at school at the Visitation\nConvent at Le Mans. I remember perfectly the events they refer to,\nbut it will be easier for me simply to quote some passages, though\nthese charming letters, inspired by a Mother's love, are too often\nfull of my praises.\n\nIn proof of what I have said about my way of showing affection for\nmy parents, here is an example: \"Baby is the dearest little rogue;\nshe comes to kiss me, and at the same time wishes me to die. 'Oh,\nhow I wish you would die, dear Mamma,' she said, and when she was\nscolded she was quite astonished, and answered: 'But I want you to\ngo to Heaven, and you say we must die to go there'; and in her\noutburst of affection for her Father she wishes him to die too.\nThe dear little thing will hardly leave me, she follows me\neverywhere, but likes going into the garden best; when I am not\nthere she refuses to stay, and cries so much that they are obliged\nto bring her back. She will not even go upstairs alone without\ncalling me at each step, 'Mamma! Mamma!' and if I forget to answer\n'Yes, darling!' she waits where she is, and will not move.\"\n\nI was nearly three years old when my Mother wrote: \"Little Therese\nasked me the other day if she would go to Heaven. 'Yes, if you are\ngood,' I told her. 'Oh, Mamma,' she answered, 'then if I am not\ngood, shall I go to Hell? Well, you know what I will do--I shall\nfly to you in Heaven, and you will hold me tight in your arms, and\nhow could God take me away then?' I saw that she was convinced\nthat God could do nothing to her if she hid herself in my arms.\"\n\n\"Marie loves her little sister very much; indeed she is a child\nwho delights us all. She is extraordinarily outspoken, and it is\ncharming to see her run after me to confess her childish faults:\n'Mamma, I have pushed Celine; I slapped her once, but I'll not do\nit again.' The moment she has done anything mischievous, everyone\nmust know. Yesterday, without meaning to do so, she tore off a\nsmall piece of wall paper; you would have been sorry for her--she\nwanted to tell her father immediately. When he came home four\nhours later, everyone else had forgotten about it, but she ran at\nonce to Marie saying: 'Tell Papa that I tore the paper.' She\nwaited there like a criminal for sentence; but she thinks she is\nmore easily forgiven if she accuses herself.\"\n\nPapa's name fills me with many happy memories. Mamma laughingly\nsaid he always did whatever I wanted, but he answered: \"Well, why\nnot? She is the Queen!\" Then he would lift me on to his shoulder,\nand caress me in all sorts of ways. Yet I cannot say that he\nspoilt me. I remember one day while I was swinging he called out\nas he passed: \"Come and kiss me, little Queen.\" Contrary to my\nusual custom, I would not stir, and answered pertly: \"You must\ncome for it, Papa.\" He refused quite rightly, and went away. Marie\nwas there and scolded me, saying: \"How naughty to answer Papa like\nthat!\" Her reproof took effect; I got off the swing at once, and\nthe whole house resounded with my cries. I hurried upstairs, not\nwaiting this time to call Mamma at each step; my one thought was\nto find Papa and make my peace with him. I need not tell you that\nthis was soon done.\n\nI could not bear to think I had grieved my beloved parents, and I\nacknowledged my faults instantly, as this little anecdote, related\nby my Mother, will show: \"One morning before going downstairs I\nwanted to kiss Therese; she seemed to be fast asleep, and I did\nnot like to wake her, but Marie said: 'Mamma, I am sure she is\nonly pretending.' So I bent down to kiss her forehead, and\nimmediately she hid herself under the clothes, saying in the tone\nof a spoilt child: 'I don't want anyone to look at me.' I was not\npleased with her, and told her so. A minute or two afterwards I\nheard her crying, and was surprised to see her by my side. She had\ngot out of her cot by herself, and had come downstairs with bare\nfeet, stumbling over her long nightdress. Her little face was wet\nwith tears: 'Mamma,' she said, throwing herself on my knee, 'I am\nsorry for being naughty--forgive me!' Pardon was quickly granted;\nI took the little angel in my arms and pressed her to my heart,\nsmothering her with kisses.\"\n\nI remember also my great affection for my eldest sister Marie, who\nhad just left school. Without seeming to do so, I took in all that\nI saw and heard, and I think that I reflected on things then as I\ndo now. I listened attentively while she taught Celine, and was\nvery good and obedient, so as to obtain the privilege of being\nallowed in the room during lessons. She gave me many trifling\npresents which pleased me greatly. I was proud of my two big\nsisters; but as Pauline seemed so far away from us, I thought of\nher all day long. When I was only just learning to talk, and Mamma\nasked: \"What are you thinking about?\" my answer invariably was:\n\"Pauline.\" Sometimes I heard people saying that Pauline would be a\nnun, and, without quite knowing what it meant, I thought: \"I will\nbe a nun too.\" This is one of my first recollections, and I have\nnever changed my mind; so it was the example of this beloved\nsister which, from the age of two, drew me to the Divine Spouse of\nVirgins. My dearest Mother, what tender memories of Pauline I\ncould confide to you here! But it would take me too long.\n\nLeonie had also a very warm place in my heart; she loved me very\nmuch, and her love was returned. In the evening when she came home\nfrom school she used to take care of me while the others went out,\nand it seems to me I can still hear the sweet songs she sang to\nput me to sleep. I remember perfectly the day of her First\nCommunion, and I remember also her companion, the poor child whom\nmy Mother dressed, according to the touching custom of the\nwell-to-do families in Alencon. This child did not leave Leonie\nfor an instant on that happy day, and in the evening at the grand\ndinner she sat in the place of honour. Alas! I was too small to\nstay up for this feast, but I shared in it a little, thanks to\nPapa's goodness, for he came himself to bring his little Queen a\npiece of the iced cake.\n\nThe only one now left to speak of is Celine, the companion of my\nchildhood. My memories of her are so many that I do not know which\nto choose. We understood each other perfectly, but I was much more\nforward and lively, and far less ingenuous. Here is a letter which\nwill show you, dear Mother, how sweet was Celine, and how naughty\nTherese. I was then nearly three years old, and Celine six and a\nhalf. \"Celine is naturally inclined to be good; as to the little\npuss, Therese, one cannot tell how she will turn out, she is so\nyoung and heedless. She is a very intelligent child, but has not\nnearly so sweet a disposition as her sister, and her stubbornness\nis almost unconquerable. When she has said 'No,' nothing will make\nher change; one could leave her all day in the cellar without\ngetting her to say 'Yes.' She would sooner sleep there.\"\n\nI had another fault also, of which my Mother did not speak in her\nletters: it was self-love. Here are two instances:--One day, no\ndoubt wishing to see how far my pride would go, she smiled and\nsaid to me, \"Therese, if you will kiss the ground I will give you\na halfpenny.\" In those days a halfpenny was a fortune, and in\norder to gain it I had not far to stoop, for I was so tiny there\nwas not much distance between me and the ground; but my pride was\nup in arms, and holding myself very erect, I said, \"No, thank you,\nMamma, I would rather go without it.\"\n\nAnother time we were going into the country to see some friends.\nMamma told Marie to put on my prettiest frock, but not to let me\nhave bare arms. I did not say a word, and appeared as indifferent\nas children of that age should be, but I said to myself, \"I should\nhave looked much prettier with bare arms.\"\n\nWith such a disposition I feel sure that had I been brought up by\ncareless parents I should have become very wicked, and perhaps\nhave lost my soul. But Jesus watched over His little Spouse, and\nturned even her faults to advantage, for, being checked early in\nlife, they became a means of leading her towards perfection. For\ninstance, as I had great self-love and an innate love of good as\nwell, it was enough to tell me once: \"You must not do that,\" and I\nnever wanted to do it again. Having only good example before my\neyes, I naturally wished to follow it, and I see with pleasure in\nmy Mother's letters that as I grew older I began to be a greater\ncomfort. This is what she writes in 1876: \"Even Therese is anxious\nto make sacrifices. Marie has given her little sisters a string of\nbeads on purpose to count their acts of self-denial. They have\nreally spiritual, but very amusing, conversations together. Celine\nsaid the other day: 'How can God be in such a tiny Host?' Therese\nanswered: 'That is not strange, because God is Almighty!' 'And\nwhat does Almighty mean?' 'It means that He can do whatever He\nlikes.'\n\n\"But it is more amusing still to see Therese put her hand in her\npocket, time after time, to pull a bead along the string, whenever\nshe makes a little sacrifice. The children are inseparable, and\nare quite sufficient company for one another. Nurse has given\nTherese two bantams, and every day after dinner she and Celine sit\nby the fire and play with them.\n\n\"One morning Therese got out of her cot and climbed into Celine's.\nThe nurse went to fetch her to be dressed, and, when at last she\nfound her, the little thing said, hugging her sister very hard:\n'Oh, Louise! leave me here, don't you see that we are like the\nlittle white bantams, we can't be separated from one another.'\"\n\nIt is quite true that I could not be separated from Celine; I\nwould rather leave my dessert unfinished at table than let her go\nwithout me, and I would get down from my high chair when she did,\nand off we went to play together. On Sundays, as I was still too\nsmall to go to the long services, Mamma stayed at home to take\ncare of me. I was always very good, walking about on tip-toe; but\nas soon as I heard the door open there was a tremendous outburst\nof joy--I threw myself on my dear little sister, exclaiming: \"Oh,\nCeline! give me the blessed bread, quick!\"[8] One day she had not\nbrought any--what was to be done? I could not do without it, for I\ncalled this little feast my Mass. A bright idea struck me: \"You\nhave no blessed bread!--make some.\" Celine immediately opened the\ncupboard, took out the bread, cut a tiny bit off, and after saying\na Hail Mary quite solemnly over it, triumphantly presented it to\nme; and I, making the sign of the Cross, ate it with devotion,\nfancying it tasted exactly like the real blessed bread.\n\nOne day Leonie, thinking no doubt that she was too big to play\nwith dolls, brought us a basket filled with clothes, pretty pieces\nof stuff, and other trifles on which her doll was laid: \"Here,\ndears,\" she said, \"choose whatever you like.\" Celine looked at it,\nand took a woollen ball. After thinking about it for a minute, I\nput out my hand saying: \"I choose everything,\" and I carried off\nboth doll and basket without more ado.\n\nThis childish incident was a forecast, so to speak, of my whole\nlife. Later on, when the way of perfection was opened out before\nme, I realised that in order to become a Saint one must suffer\nmuch, always seek the most perfect path, and forget oneself. I\nalso understood that there are many degrees of holiness, that each\nsoul is free to respond to the calls of Our Lord, to do much or\nlittle for His Love--in a word, to choose amongst the sacrifices\nHe asks. And then also, as in the days of my childhood, I cried\nout: \"My God, I choose everything, I will not be a Saint by\nhalves, I am not afraid of suffering for Thee, I only fear one\nthing, and that is to do my own will. Accept the offering of my\nwill, for I choose all that Thou willest.\"\n\nBut, dear Mother, I am forgetting myself--I must not tell you yet\nof my girlhood, I am still speaking of the baby of three and four\nyears old.\n\nI remember a dream I had at that age which impressed itself very\ndeeply on my memory. I thought I was walking alone in the garden\nwhen, suddenly, I saw near the arbour two hideous little devils\ndancing with surprising agility on a barrel of lime, in spite of\nthe heavy irons attached to their feet. At first they cast fiery\nglances at me; then, as though suddenly terrified, I saw them, in\nthe twinkling of an eye, throw themselves down to the bottom of\nthe barrel, from which they came out somehow, only to run and hide\nthemselves in the laundry which opened into the garden. Finding\nthem such cowards, I wanted to know what they were going to do,\nand, overcoming my fears, I went to the window. The wretched\nlittle creatures were there, running about on the tables, not\nknowing how to hide themselves from my gaze. From time to time\nthey came nearer, peering through the windows with an uneasy air,\nthen, seeing that I was still there, they began to run about again\nlooking quite desperate. Of course this dream was nothing\nextraordinary; yet I think Our Lord made use of it to show me that\na soul in the state of grace has nothing to fear from the devil,\nwho is a coward, and will even fly from the gaze of a little child.\n\nDear Mother, how happy I was at that age! I was beginning to enjoy\nlife, and goodness itself seemed full of charms. Probably my\ncharacter was the same as it is now, for even then I had great\nself-command, and made a practice of never complaining when my\nthings were taken; even if I was unjustly accused, I preferred to\nkeep silence. There was no merit in this, for I did it naturally.\n\nHow quickly those sunny years of my childhood passed away, and\nwhat tender memories they have imprinted on my mind! I remember\nthe Sunday walks when my dear Mother always accompanied us; and I\ncan still feel the impression made on my childish heart at the\nsight of the fields bright with cornflowers, poppies, and\nmarguerites. Even at that age I loved far-stretching views, sunlit\nspaces and stately trees; in a word, all nature charmed me and\nlifted up my soul to Heaven.\n\nOften, during these walks, we met poor people. I was always chosen\nto give them an alms, which made me feel very happy. Sometimes, my\ndear Father, knowing the way was too long for his little Queen,\ntook me home. This was a cause of grief, and to console me Celine\nwould fill her basket with daisies, and give them to me on her\nreturn. Truly everything on earth smiled on me; I found flowers\nstrewn at every step, and my naturally happy disposition helped to\nmake life bright. But a new era was about to dawn.\n\nI was to be the Spouse of Our Lord at such an early age that it\nwas necessary I should suffer from my childhood. As the early\nspring flowers begin to come up under the snow and open at the\nfirst rays of the sun, so the Little Flower whose story I am\nwriting had to pass through the winter of trial and to have her\ntender cup filled with the dew of tears.\n______________________________\n\n[1] Ps. 88[89]:1.\n\n[2] This statue twice appeared as if endowed with life, in order\nto enlighten and console Mme. Martin, mother of Therese. A like\nfavour was granted to Therese herself, as will be seen in the\ncourse of the narrative.\n\n[3] Mark 3:13.\n\n[4] Cf. Exodus 33:19.\n\n[5] Cf. Rom. 9:16.\n\n[6] Cf. Ps. 22[23]:1-4.\n\n[7] Ps. 102[103]:8.\n\n[8] The custom still prevails in some parts of France of blessing\nbread at the Offertory of the Mass and then distributing it to the\nfaithful. It is known as _pain benit._ This blessing only takes\nplace at the Parochial Mass. [Ed.]\n\n______________________________\n\nCHAPTER II\nA CATHOLIC HOUSEHOLD\n\nAll the details of my Mother's illness are still fresh in my mind.\nI remember especially her last weeks on earth, when Celine and I\nfelt like poor little exiles. Every morning a friend came to fetch\nus, and we spent the day with her. Once, we had not had time to\nsay our prayers before starting, and on the way my little sister\nwhispered: \"Must we tell her that we have not said our prayers?\"\n\"Yes,\" I answered. So, very timidly, Celine confided our secret to\nher, and she exclaimed: \"Well, well, children, you shall say\nthem.\" Then she took us to a large room, and left us there. Celine\nlooked at me in amazement. I was equally astonished, and\nexclaimed: \"This is not like Mamma, she always said our prayers\nwith us.\" During the day, in spite of all efforts to amuse us, the\nthought of our dear Mother was constantly in our minds. I remember\nonce, when my sister had an apricot given to her, she leant\ntowards me and said: \"We will not eat it, I will give it to\nMamma.\" Alas! our beloved Mother was now too ill to eat any\nearthly fruit; she would never more be satisfied but by the glory\nof Heaven. There she would drink of the mysterious wine which\nJesus, at His Last Supper, promised to share with us in the\nKingdom of His Father.\n\nThe touching ceremony of Extreme Unction made a deep impression on\nme. I can still see the place where I knelt, and hear my poor\nFather's sobs.\n\nMy dear Mother died on August 28, 1877, in her forty-sixth year.\nThe day after her death my Father took me in his arms and said:\n\"Come and kiss your dear Mother for the last time.\" Without saying\na word I put my lips to her icy forehead. I do not remember having\ncried much, and I did not talk to anyone of all that filled my\nheart; I looked and listened in silence, and I saw many things\nthey would have hidden from me. Once I found myself close to the\ncoffin in the passage. I stood looking at it for a long time; I\nhad never seen one before, but I knew what it was. I was so small\nthat I had to lift up my head to see its whole length, and it\nseemed to me very big and very sad.\n\nFifteen years later I was again standing by another coffin, that\nof our holy Mother Genevieve,[1] and I was carried back to the\ndays of my childhood. Memories crowded upon me; it was the same\nlittle Therese who looked at it, but she had grown, and the coffin\nseemed small. She had not to lift up her head to it, now she only\nraised her eyes to contemplate Heaven which seemed to her very\nfull of joy, for trials had matured and strengthened her soul, so\nthat nothing on earth could make her grieve.\n\nOur Lord did not leave me wholly an orphan; on the day of my\nMother's funeral He gave me another mother, and allowed me to\nchoose her freely. We were all five together, looking at one\nanother sadly, when our nurse, overcome with emotion, said,\nturning to Celine and to me: \"Poor little dears, you no longer\nhave a Mother.\" Then Celine threw herself into Marie's arms,\ncrying: \"Well, you will be my Mother now.\" I was so accustomed to\nimitate Celine that I should undoubtedly have followed her\nexample, but I feared Pauline would be sad and feel herself left\nout if she too had not a little daughter. So, with a loving look,\nI hid my face on her breast saying in my turn: \"And Pauline will\nbe my Mother.\"\n\nThat day, as I have said, began the second period of my life. It\nwas the most sorrowful of all, especially after Pauline, my second\nMother, entered the Carmel; and it lasted from the time I was four\nyears old until I was fourteen, when I recovered much of my\nchildish gaiety, even though I understood more fully the serious\nside of life.\n\nI must tell you that after my Mother's death my naturally happy\ndisposition completely changed. Instead of being lively and\ndemonstrative as I had been, I became timid, shy, and extremely\nsensitive; a look was enough to make me burst into tears. I could\nnot bear to be noticed or to meet strangers, and was only at ease\nin my own family circle. There I was always cherished with the\nmost loving care; my Father's affectionate heart seemed endowed\nwith a mother's love, and my sisters were no less tender and\ndevoted. If Our Lord had not lavished so much love and sunshine on\nHis Little Flower, she never could have become acclimatised to\nthis earth. Still too weak to bear the storm, she needed warmth,\nrefreshing dew, and soft breezes, and these gifts were never\nwanting to her, even in the chilling seasons of trials.\n\nSoon after my Mother's death, Papa made up his mind to leave\nAlencon and live at Lisieux, so that we might be near our uncle,\nmy Mother's brother. He made this sacrifice in order that my young\nsisters should have the benefit of their aunt's guidance in their\nnew life, and that she might act as a mother towards them. I did\nnot feel any grief at leaving my native town: children love change\nand anything out of the common, and so I was pleased to come to\nLisieux. I remember the journey quite well, and our arrival in the\nevening at my uncle's house, and I can still see my little\ncousins, Jeanne and Marie, waiting on the doorstep with my aunt.\nHow touching was the affection all these dear ones showed us!\n\nThe next day they took us to our new home, _Les Buissonets,_[2]\nsituated in a quiet part of the town. I was charmed with the house\nmy Father had taken. The large upper window from which there was\nan extensive view, the flower garden in front, and the kitchen\ngarden at the back--all these seemed delightfully new to my\nchildish mind; and this happy home became the scene of many joys\nand of family gatherings which I can never forget. Elsewhere, as I\nsaid before, I felt an exile, I cried and fretted for my Mother;\nbut here my little heart expanded, and I smiled on life once more.\n\nWhen I woke there were my sisters ready to caress me, and I said\nmy prayers kneeling between them. Then Pauline gave me my reading\nlesson, and I remember that \"Heaven\" was the first word I could\nread alone. When lessons were over I went upstairs, where Papa was\ngenerally to be found, and how pleased I was when I had good marks\nto show. Every afternoon I went out for a walk with him, and we\npaid a visit to the Blessed Sacrament in one or other of the\nChurches. It was in this way that I first saw the Chapel of the\nCarmel: \"Look, little Queen,\" Papa said to me, \"behind that big\ngrating there are holy nuns who are always praying to Almighty\nGod.\" Little did I think that nine years later I should be amongst\nthem, that in this blessed Carmel I should receive so many graces.\n\nOn returning home I learnt my lessons, and then spent the rest of\nthe day playing in the garden near Papa. I never cared for dolls,\nbut one of my favourite amusements was making coloured mixtures\nwith seeds and the bark of trees. If the colours were pretty, I\nwould promptly offer them to Papa in a little cup and entice him\nto taste them; then my dearest Father would leave his work and\nsmilingly pretend to drink. I was very fond of flowers, and amused\nmyself by making little altars in holes which I happened to find\nin the middle of my garden wall. When finished I would run and\ncall Papa, and he seemed delighted with them. I should never stop\nif I told you of the thousand and one incidents of this kind that\nI can remember. How shall I make you understand the love that my\nFather lavished on his little Queen!\n\nThose were specially happy days for me when I went fishing with my\ndear \"King,\" as I used to call him. Sometimes I tried my hand with\na small rod of my own, but generally I preferred to sit on the\ngrass some distance away. Then my reflections became really deep,\nand, without knowing what meditation meant, my soul was absorbed\nin prayer. Far-off sounds reached me, the murmuring of the wind,\nsometimes a few uncertain notes of music from a military band in\nthe town a long way off; all this imparted a touch of melancholy\nto my thoughts. Earth seemed a place of exile, and I dreamed of\nHeaven.\n\nThe afternoon passed quickly away, and it was soon time to go\nhome, but before packing up I would eat the provisions I had\nbrought in a small basket. Somehow the slices of bread and jam,\nprepared by my sisters, looked different; they had seemed so\ntempting, and now they looked stale and uninviting. Even such a\ntrifle as this made the earth seem sadder, and I realised that\nonly in Heaven will there be unclouded joy.\n\nSpeaking of clouds, I remember how one day when we were out, the\nblue sky became overcast and a storm came on, accompanied by vivid\nlightning. I looked round on every side, so as to lose nothing of\nthe grand sight. A thunderbolt fell in a field close by, and, far\nfrom feeling the least bit afraid, I was delighted--it seemed that\nGod was so near. Papa was not so pleased, and put an end to my\nreverie, for already the tall grass and daisies, taller than I,\nwere sparkling with rain-drops, and we had to cross several fields\nto reach the road. In spite of his fishing tackle, he carried me\nin his arms while I looked down in the beautiful jewelled drops,\nalmost sorry that I could not be drenched by them.\n\nI do not think I have told you that in our daily walks at Lisieux,\nas in Alencon, I often used to give alms to the beggars. One day\nwe came upon a poor old man who dragged himself painfully along on\ncrutches. I went up to give him a penny. He looked sadly at me for\na long time, and then, shaking his head with a sorrowful smile, he\nrefused my alms. I cannot tell you what I felt; I had wished to\nhelp and comfort him, and instead of that, I had, perhaps, hurt\nhim and caused him pain. He must have guessed my thought, for I\nsaw him turn round and smile at me when we were some way off.\n\nJust then Papa bought me a cake. I wished very much to run after\nthe old man and give it to him, for I thought: \"Well, he did not\nwant money, but I am sure he would like to have a cake.\" I do not\nknow what held me back, and I felt so sad I could hardly keep from\ncrying; then I remembered having heard that one obtains all the\nfavours asked for on one's First Communion Day. This thought\nconsoled me immediately, and though I was only six years old at\nthe time, I said to myself: \"I will pray for my poor old man on\nthe day of my First Communion.\" Five years later I faithfully kept\nmy resolution. I have always thought that my childish prayer for\nthis suffering member of Christ has been blessed and rewarded.\n\nAs I grew older my love of God grew more and more. I often offered\nmy heart to Him, using the words my Mother had taught me, and I\ntried very hard to please Him in all my actions, taking great care\nnever to offend Him. And yet one day I committed a fault which I\nmust tell you here--it gives me a good opportunity of humbling\nmyself, though I believe I have grieved over it with perfect\ncontrition.\n\nIt was the month of May, 1878. My sisters decided that I was too\nsmall to go to the May devotions every evening, so I stayed at\nhome with the nurse and said my prayers with her before the little\naltar which I had arranged according to my own taste. Everything\nwas small--candlesticks, vases, and the rest; two wax vestas were\nquite sufficient to light it up properly. Sometimes Victoire, the\nmaid, gave me some little bits of real candle, but not often.\n\nOne evening, when we went to our prayers, I said to her: \"Will you\nbegin the _Memorare?_ I am going to light the candles.\" She tried\nto begin, and then looked at me and burst out laughing. Seeing my\nprecious vestas burning quickly away, I begged her once more to\nsay the _Memorare._ Again there was silence, broken only by bursts\nof laughter. All my natural good temper deserted me. I got up\nfeeling dreadfully angry, and, stamping my foot furiously, I cried\nout: \"Victoire, you naughty girl!\" She stopped laughing at once,\nand looked at me in utter astonishment, then showed me--too\nlate--the surprise she had in store hidden under her apron--two\npieces of candle. My tears of anger were soon changed into tears\nof sorrow; I was very much ashamed and grieved, and made a firm\nresolution never to act in such a way again.\n\nShortly after this I made my first confession.[3] It is a very\nsweet memory. Pauline had warned me: \"Therese, darling, it is not\nto a man but to God Himself that you are going to tell your sins.\"\nI was so persuaded of this that I asked her quite seriously if I\nshould not tell Father Ducellier that I loved him \"with my whole\nheart,\" as it was really God I was going to speak to in his person.\n\nWell instructed as to what I was to do, I entered the\nconfessional, and turning round to the priest, so as to see him\nbetter, I made my confession and received absolution in a spirit\nof lively faith--my sister having assured me that at this solemn\nmoment the tears of the Holy Child Jesus would purify my soul. I\nremember well that he exhorted me above all to a tender devotion\ntowards Our Lady, and I promised to redouble my love for her who\nalready filled so large a place in my heart. Then I passed him my\nRosary to be blessed, and came out of the Confessional more joyful\nand lighthearted than I had ever felt before. It was evening, and\nas soon as I got to a street lamp I stopped and took the newly\nblessed Rosary out of my pocket, turning it over and over. \"What\nare you looking at, Therese, dear?\" asked Pauline. \"I am seeing\nwhat a blessed Rosary looks like.\" This childish answer amused my\nsisters very much. I was deeply impressed by the graces I had\nreceived, and wished to go to confession again for all the big\nfeasts, for these confessions filled me with joy. The feasts! What\nprecious memories these simple words bring to me. I loved them;\nand my sisters knew so well how to explain the mysteries hidden in\neach one. Those days of earth became days of Heaven. Above all I\nloved the procession of the Blessed Sacrament: what a joy it was\nto strew flowers in God's path! But before scattering them on the\nground I threw them high in the air, and was never so happy as\nwhen I saw my rose-leaves touch the sacred Monstrance.\n\nAnd if the great feasts came but seldom, each week brought one\nvery dear to my heart, and that was Sunday. What a glorious day!\nThe Feast of God! The day of rest! First of all the whole family\nwent to High Mass, and I remember that before the sermon we had to\ncome down from our places, which were some way from the pulpit,\nand find seats in the nave. This was not always easy, but to\nlittle Therese and her Father everyone offered a place. My uncle\nwas delighted when he saw us come down; he called me his\n\"Sunbeam,\" and said that to see the venerable old man leading his\nlittle daughter by the hand was a sight which always filled him\nwith joy. I never troubled myself if people looked at me, I was\nonly occupied in listening attentively to the preacher. A sermon\non the Passion of our Blessed Lord was the first I understood, and\nit touched me deeply. I was then five and a half, and after that\ntime I was able to understand and appreciate all instructions. If\nSt. Teresa was mentioned, my Father would bend down and whisper to\nme: \"Listen attentively, little Queen, he is speaking of your holy\npatroness.\" I really did listen attentively, but I must own I\nlooked at Papa more than at the preacher, for I read many things\nin his face. Sometimes his eyes were filled with tears which he\nstrove in vain to keep back; and as he listened to the eternal\ntruths he seemed no longer of this earth, his soul was absorbed in\nthe thought of another world. Alas! Many long and sorrowful years\nhad to pass before Heaven was to be opened to him, and Our Lord\nwith His Own Divine Hand was to wipe away the bitter tears of His\nfaithful servant.\n\nTo go back to the description of our Sundays. This happy day which\npassed so quickly had also its touch of melancholy; my happiness\nwas full till Compline, but after that a feeling of sadness took\npossession of me. I thought of the morrow when one had to begin\nagain the daily life of work and lessons, and my heart, feeling\nlike an exile on this earth, longed for the repose of Heaven--the\nnever ending Sabbath of our true Home. Every Sunday my aunt\ninvited us in turns to spend the evening with her. I was always\nglad when mine came, and it was a pleasure to listen to my uncle's\nconversation. His talk was serious, but it interested me, and he\nlittle knew that I paid such attention; but my joy was not unmixed\nwith fear when he took me on his knee and sang \"Bluebeard\" in his\ndeep voice.\n\nAbout eight o'clock Papa would come to fetch me. I remember that I\nused to look up at the stars with inexpressible delight. Orion's\nbelt fascinated me especially, for I saw in it a likeness to the\nletter \"T.\" \"Look, Papa,\" I would cry, \"my name is written in\nHeaven!\" Then, not wishing to see this dull earth any longer, I\nasked him to lead me, and with my head thrown back, I gazed\nunweariedly at the starry skies.\n\nI could tell you much about our winter evenings at home. After a\ngame of draughts my sisters read aloud Dom Gueranger's _Liturgical\nYear,_ and then a few pages of some other interesting and\ninstructive book. While this was going on I established myself on\nPapa's knee, and when the reading was done he used to sing\nsoothing snatches of melody in his beautiful voice, as if to lull\nme to sleep, and I would lay my head on his breast while he rocked\nme gently to and fro.\n\nLater on we went upstairs for night prayers, and there again my\nplace was beside my beloved Father, and I had only to look at him\nto know how the Saints pray. Pauline put me to bed, and I\ninvariably asked her: \"Have I been good to-day? Is God pleased\nwith me? Will the Angels watch over me?\" The answer was always\n\"Yes,\" otherwise I should have spent the whole night in tears.\nAfter these questions my sisters kissed me, and little Therese was\nleft alone in the dark.\n\nI look on it as a real grace that from childhood I was taught to\novercome my fears. Sometimes in the evening Pauline would send me\nto fetch something from a distant room; she would take no refusal,\nand she was quite right, for otherwise I should have become very\nnervous, whereas now it is difficult to frighten me. I wonder\nsometimes how my little Mother was able to bring me up with so\nmuch tenderness, and yet without spoiling me, for she did not pass\nover the least fault. It is true she never scolded me without\ncause, and I knew well she would never change her mind when once a\nthing was decided upon.\n\nTo this dearly loved sister I confided my most intimate thoughts;\nshe cleared up all my doubts. One day I expressed surprise that\nGod does not give an equal amount of glory to all the elect in\nHeaven--I was afraid that they would not all be quite happy. She\nsent me to fetch Papa's big tumbler, and put it beside my tiny\nthimble, then, filling both with water, she asked me which seemed\nthe fuller. I replied that one was as full as the other--it was\nimpossible to pour more water into either of them, for they could\nnot hold it. In this way Pauline made it clear to me that in\nHeaven the least of the Blessed does not envy the happiness of the\ngreatest; and so, by bringing the highest mysteries down to the\nlevel of my understanding, she gave my soul the food it needed.\n\nJoyfully each year I welcomed the prize day. Though I was the only\ncompetitor, justice was none the less strictly observed, and I\nnever received rewards unless they were well merited. My heart\nused to beat with excitement when I heard the decisions, and in\npresence of the whole family received prizes from Papa's hands. It\nwas to me like a picture of the Judgment Day!\n\nSeeing Papa so cheerful, no suspicion of the terrible trials which\nawaited him crossed my mind; but one day God showed me, in an\nextraordinary vision, a vivid picture of the trouble to come. My\nFather was away on a journey, and could not return as early as\nusual. It was about two or three o'clock in the afternoon; the sun\nwas shining brightly, and all the world seemed gay. I was alone at\nthe window, looking on to the kitchen garden, my mind full of\ncheerful thoughts, when I saw before me, in front of the\nwash-house, a man dressed exactly like Papa, of the same height\nand appearance, but more bent and aged. I say _aged,_ to describe\nhis general appearance, for I did not see his face as his head was\ncovered with a thick veil. He advanced slowly, with measured step,\nalong my little garden; at that instant a feeling of supernatural\nfear seized me, and I called out loudly in a trembling voice:\n\"Papa, Papa!\" The mysterious person seemed not to hear, he\ncontinued his walk without even turning, and went towards a clump\nof firs which grew in the middle of the garden. I expected to see\nhim reappear at the other side of the big trees, but the prophetic\nvision had vanished.\n\nIt was all over in a moment, but it was a moment which impressed\nitself so deeply on my memory that even now, after so many years,\nthe remembrance of it is as vivid as the vision itself.\n\nMy sisters were all together in an adjoining room. Hearing me call\n\"Papa!\" they were frightened themselves, but Marie, hiding her\nfeelings, ran to me and said: \"Why are you calling Papa, when he\nis at Alencon?\" I told her what I had seen, and to reassure me\nthey said that Nurse must have covered her head with her apron on\npurpose to frighten me. Victoire, however, when questioned,\ndeclared she had not left the kitchen--besides, the truth was too\ndeeply impressed on my mind: I had seen a man, and that man was\nexactly like my Father. We all went to look behind the clump of\ntrees, and, finding nothing, my sisters told me to think no more\nabout it. Ah, that was not in my power! Often and often my\nimagination brought before me this mysterious vision, often and\noften I tried to raise the veil which hid its true meaning, and\ndeep down in my heart I had a conviction that some day it would be\nfully revealed to me. And you know all, dear Mother. You know that\nit was really my Father whom God showed me, bent by age, and\nbearing on his venerable face and his white head the symbol of his\nterrible trial.[4]\n\nAs the Adorable Face of Jesus was veiled during His Passion, so it\nwas fitting that the face of His humble servant should be veiled\nduring the days of his humiliation, in order that it might shine\nwith greater brilliancy in Heaven. How I admire God's ways! He\nshowed us this precious cross beforehand, as a father shows his\nchildren the glorious future he is preparing for them--a future\nwhich will bring them an inheritance of priceless treasures.\n\nBut a thought comes into my mind: \"Why did God give this light to\na child who, if she had understood it, would have died of grief?\"\n\"Why?\" Here is one of those incomprehensible mysteries which we\nshall only understand in Heaven, where they will be the subject of\nour eternal admiration. My God, how good Thou art! How well dost\nThou suit the trial to our strength!\n\nAt that time I had not courage even to think that Papa could die,\nwithout being terrified. One day he was standing on a high\nstep-ladder, and as I was close by he called out: \"Move away,\nlittle Queen; if I fall I shall crush you.\" Instantly I felt an\ninward shock, and, going still nearer to the ladder, I thought:\n\"At least if Papa falls I shall not have the pain of seeing him\ndie, for I shall die with him.\" I could never say how much I loved\nhim. I admired everything he did. When he explained his ideas on\nserious matters, as if I were a big girl, I answered him naively:\n\"It is quite certain, Papa, that if you spoke like that to the\ngreat men who govern the country they would take you and make you\nKing. Then France would be happier than it was ever been; but you\nwould be unhappy, because that is the lot of kings; besides you\nwould no longer be my King alone, so I am glad that they do not\nknow you.\"\n\nWhen I was six or seven years old I saw the sea for the first\ntime. The sight made a deep impression on me, I could not take my\neyes off it. Its majesty, and the roar of the waves, all spoke to\nmy soul of the greatness and power of God. I remember, when we\nwere on the beach, a man and woman looked at me for a long time,\nthen, asking Papa if I was his child, they remarked that I was a\nvery pretty little girl. Papa at once made a sign to them not to\nflatter me; I was delighted to hear what they said, for I did not\nthink I was pretty. My sisters were most careful never to talk\nbefore me in such a way as to spoil my simplicity and childish\ninnocence; and, because I believed so implicitly in them, I\nattached little importance to the admiration of these people and\nthought no more about it.\n\nThat evening at the hour when the sun seems to sink into the vast\nocean, leaving behind it a trail of glory, I sat with Pauline on a\nbare rock, and gazed for long on this golden furrow which she told\nme was an image of grace illumining the way of faithful souls here\nbelow. Then I pictured my soul as a tiny barque, with a graceful\nwhite sail, in the midst of the furrow, and I resolved never to\nlet it withdraw from the sight of Jesus, so that it might sail\npeacefully and quickly towards the Heavenly Shore.\n______________________________\n\n[1] This holy nun had been professed at the Carmel of Poitiers,\nand was sent from there to make the foundation at Lisieux in 1838.\nHer memory is held in benediction in both these convents; in the\nsight of God she constantly practised the most heroic virtue, and\non December 5, 1891, crowned a life of good works by a holy death.\nShe was then eighty-six years of age.\n\n[2] This house, an object of deep interest to the clients of Soeur\nTherese, is much frequented by pilgrims to Lisieux. [Ed.]\n\n[3] This first confession was made in the beautiful church of St.\nPierre, formerly the cathedral of Lisieux. [Ed.]\n\n[4] It seems advisable, on account of the vague allusions which\noccur here and elsewhere, to state what happened to M. Louis\nMartin. At the age of sixty-six, having already had several\npartial attacks, he was struck with general paralysis, and his\nmind gave way altogether.\n\n______________________________\n\nCHAPTER III\nPAULINE ENTERS THE CARMEL\n\nI was eight and a half when Leonie left school, and I took her\nplace at the Benedictine Abbey in Lisieux. The girls of my class\nwere all older than myself; one of them was fourteen, and, though\nnot clever, she knew how to impose on the little ones. Seeing me\nso young, nearly always first in class, and a favourite with all\nthe nuns, she was jealous, and used to pay me out in a thousand\nways. Naturally timid and sensitive, I did not know how to defend\nmyself, and could only cry in silence. Celine and my elder sisters\ndid not know of my grief, and, not being advanced enough in virtue\nto rise above these troubles, I suffered considerably.\n\nEvery evening I went home, and then my spirits rose. I would climb\non to Papa's knee, telling him what marks I had, and his caresses\nmade me forget all my troubles. With what delight I announced the\nresult of my first essay, for I won the maximum number of marks.\nIn reward I received a silver coin which I put in my money box for\nthe poor, and nearly every Thursday I was able to increase the\nfund.\n\nIndeed, to be spoilt was a real necessity for me. The Little\nFlower had need to strike its tender roots deeper and deeper into\nthe dearly loved garden of home, for nowhere else could it find\nthe nourishment it required. Thursday was a holiday, but it was\nnot like the holidays I had under Pauline, which I generally spent\nupstairs with Papa. Not knowing how to play like other children, I\nfelt myself a dull companion. I tried my best to do as the others\ndid, but without success.\n\nAfter Celine, who was, so to say, indispensable to me, I sought\nthe company of my little cousin Marie, because she left me free to\nchoose the games I liked best. We were already closely united in\nheart and will, as if God were showing us in advance how one day\nin the Carmel we should embrace the same religious life.[1]\n\nVery often, at my uncle's house, we used to play at being two\naustere hermits, with only a poor hut, a little patch of corn, and\na garden in which to grow a few vegetables. Our life was to be\nspent in continual contemplation, one praying while the other\nengaged in active duties. All was done with religious gravity and\ndecorum. If we went out, the make-believe continued even in the\nstreet; the two hermits would say the Rosary, using their fingers\nto count on, so as not to display their devotion before those who\nmight scoff. One day, however, the hermit Therese forgot\nherself--before eating a cake, given her for lunch, she made a\nlarge Sign of the Cross, and some worldly folk did not repress a\nsmile.\n\nWe were so bent on always doing the same thing that sometimes we\ncarried it too far. Endeavouring one evening, on our way home from\nschool, to imitate the modest demeanour of the hermits, I said to\nMarie: \"Lead me, I am going to shut my eyes.\" \"So am I,\" she\nanswered. Being on the pavement we were in no fear of vehicles,\nand for a short while all went well, and we enjoyed walking with\nour eyes shut; but presently we both fell over some boxes standing\nat a shop door and knocked them down. The shopkeeper came out in a\nrage to replace them, but the would-be blind pair picked\nthemselves up and ran off as fast as they could, with eyes wide\nopen. Then the hermits had to listen to a well-deserved scolding\nfrom Jeanne, the maid, who seemed as vexed as the shopkeeper.\n\nI have not yet told you how Celine and I altered when we came to\nLisieux. She had now become the little romp, full of mischief,\nwhile Therese had turned into a very quiet little girl, far too\nmuch inclined to tears. I needed a champion, and who can say how\ncourageously my dear little sister played that part. We used to\nenjoy making each other little presents, for, at that age, the\nsimplicity of our hearts was unspoiled. Like the spring flowers\nthey unfolded, glad to receive the morning dew, while the same\nsoft breezes swayed their petals. Yes, our joys were mutual. I\nfelt this especially on the happy day of Celine's First Communion;\nI was only seven years old, and had not yet begun school at the\nAbbey. How sweet is the remembrance of her preparation! Every\nevening during its last weeks my sisters talked to her of the\ngreat event. I listened, eager to prepare myself too, and my heart\nswelled with grief when I was told to go away because I was still\ntoo young. I thought that four years was not too long to spend in\nmaking ready to receive Our dear Lord. One evening I heard someone\nsay to my happy little sister: \"From the time of your First\nCommunion you must begin an entirely new life.\" At once I made a\nresolution not to wait till the time of my First Communion, but to\nbegin with Celine. During her retreat she remained as a boarder at\nthe Abbey, and it seemed to me she was away a long time; but at\nlast the happy day came. What a delightful impression it has left\non my mind--it was like a foretaste of my own First Communion! How\nmany graces I received that day! I look on it as one of the most\nbeautiful of my life.\n\nI have gone back a little in order to recall these happy memories;\nbut now I must tell you of the mournful parting which crushed my\nheart when Our Lord took from me my little Mother whom I loved so\ndearly. I told her once that I would like to go away with her to a\nfar-off desert; she replied that it was her wish too, but that she\nwas waiting till I was big enough to set out. This impossible\npromise I took in earnest, and what was my grief when I heard\nPauline talking to Marie about soon entering the Carmel! I did not\nknow the Carmel; but I knew that she was leaving me to enter a\nconvent, and that she would not wait for me.\n\nHow can I describe the anguish I suffered! In a flash I saw life\nspread out before me as it really is, full of sufferings and\nfrequent partings, and I shed bitter tears. At that time I did not\nknow the joy of sacrifice; I was weak--so weak that I look on it\nas a great grace that I was able to bear such a trial, one\nseemingly so much beyond my strength--and yet live. I shall never\nforget how tenderly my little Mother consoled me, while explaining\nthe religious life. Then one evening, when I was thinking over the\npicture she had drawn, I felt that the Carmel was the desert where\nGod wished me also to hide. I felt this so strongly that I had not\nthe least doubt about it; nor was it a childish dream, but the\ncertainty of a Divine Call. This impression, which I cannot\nproperly describe, left me with a feeling of great inward peace.\n\nNext day I confided my desires to Pauline. They seemed to her as a\nproof of God's Will, and she promised to take me soon to the\nCarmel, to see the Mother Prioress and to tell her my secret. This\nsolemn visit was fixed for a certain Sunday, and great was my\nembarrassment on hearing that my cousin Marie--who was still young\nenough to be allowed to see the Carmelites--was to come with us.[2]\n\nI had to contrive a means of being alone with the Reverend Mother,\nand this is what I planned. I told Marie, that, as we were to have\nthe great privilege of seeing her, we must be very good and\npolite, and tell her our little secrets, and in order to do that,\nwe must go out of the room in turns. Though she did not quite like\nit, because she had no secrets to confide, Marie took me at my\nword, and so I was able to be alone with you, dear Mother. You\nlistened to my great disclosure, and believed in my vocation, but\nyou told me that postulants were not received at the age of nine,\nand that I must wait till I was sixteen. In spite of my ardent\ndesire to enter with Pauline and make my First Communion on her\nclothing day, I had to be resigned.\n\nAt last the 2nd of October came--a day of tears, but also of\nblessings, when Our Lord gathered the first of His flowers, the\nchosen flower who, later on, was to become the Mother of her\nsisters.[3] Whilst Papa, with my uncle and Marie, climbed the\nmountain of Carmel to offer his first sacrifice, my aunt took me\nto Mass, with my sisters and cousins. We were bathed in tears, and\npeople gazed at us in astonishment when we entered the church, but\nthat did not stop our crying. I even wondered how the sun could go\non shining. Perhaps, dear Mother, you think I exaggerate my grief\na little. I confess that this parting ought not to have upset me\nso much, but my soul was yet far from mature, and I had to pass\nthrough many trials before reaching the haven of peace, before\ntasting the delicious fruits of perfect love and of complete\nabandonment to God's Will.\n\nIn the afternoon of that October day, 1882, behind the grating of\nthe Carmel, I saw my beloved Pauline, now become Sister Agnes of\nJesus. Oh, how much I suffered in that parlour! As I am writing\nthe story of my soul, it seems to me that I ought to tell you\neverything. Well, I acknowledge that I hardly counted the first\npains of this parting, in comparison with those which followed. I,\nwho had been accustomed to talk with my little Mother of all that\nwas in my heart, could now scarcely snatch two or three minutes\nwith her at the end of the family visits; even these short minutes\nwere passed in tears, and I went away with my heart torn with\ngrief.\n\nI did not realise that it was impossible to give us each half an\nhour, and that of course Papa and Marie must have the largest\nshare. I could not understand all this, and I said from the depths\nof my heart: \"Pauline is lost to me.\"\n\nThis suffering so affected me that I soon became seriously ill.\nThe illness was undoubtedly the work of the devil, who, in his\nfury at this first entry into the Carmel, tried to avenge himself\non me for the great harm my family was to do him in the future.\nHowever, he little knew that the Queen of Heaven was watching\nfaithfully over her Little Flower, that she was smiling upon it\nfrom on high, ready to still the tempest just when the delicate\nand fragile stalk was in danger of being broken once and for all.\nAt the close of the year 1882 I began to suffer from constant\nheadaches; they were bearable, however, and did not prevent me\nfrom continuing my studies. This lasted till the Easter of 1883.\nJust then Papa went to Paris with my elder sisters, and confided\nCeline and me to the care of our uncle and aunt. One evening I was\nalone with my uncle, and he talked so tenderly of my Mother and of\nbygone days that I was deeply moved and began to cry. My\nsensitiveness touched him too; he was surprised that one of my age\nshould feel as I did. So he determined to do all he could to\ndivert my mind during the holidays.\n\nBut God had decided otherwise. That very evening my headache\nbecame acute, and I was seized with a strange shivering which\nlasted all night. My aunt, like a real mother, never left me for a\nmoment; all through my illness she lavished on me the most tender\nand devoted care. You may imagine my poor Father's grief when he\nreturned from Paris to find me in this hopeless state; he thought\nI was going to die, but Our Lord might have said to him: \"This\nsickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God.\"[4]\n\nYes, God was glorified by means of this trial, by the wonderful\nresignation of my Father and sisters. And to Marie especially what\nsuffering it brought, and how grateful I am to this dear sister!\nShe seemed to divine my wants by instinct, for a mother's heart is\nmore knowing than the science of the most skilful doctors.\n\nAnd now Pauline's clothing day was drawing near; but, fearing to\ndistress me, no one dared mention it in my presence, since it was\ntaken for granted that I should not be well enough to be there.\nDeep down in my heart, however, I firmly believed that God would\ngive me the consolation of seeing dear Pauline on that day. I was\nquite sure that this feast would be unclouded; I knew that Our\nLord would not try His Spouse by depriving her of my presence, she\nhad already suffered so much on account of my illness. And so it\nturned out. I was there, able to embrace my dear little Mother, to\nsit on her knee, and, hiding myself under her veil, to receive her\nloving caresses. I was able to feast my eyes upon her--she looked\nso lovely in her veil and mantle of white. Truly it was a day of\nhappiness in the midst of heavy trials; but this day, or rather\nthis hour, passed only too quickly, and soon we were in the\ncarriage which was to take us away from the Carmel. On reaching\nhome I was made to lie down, though I did not feel at all tired;\nbut next day I had a serious relapse, and became so ill that,\nhumanly speaking, there was no hope of any recovery.\n\nI do not know how to describe this extraordinary illness. I said\nthings which I had never thought of; I acted as though I were\nforced to act in spite of myself; I seemed nearly always to be\ndelirious; and yet I feel certain that I was never, for a minute,\ndeprived of my reason. Sometimes I remained in a state of extreme\nexhaustion for hours together, unable to make the least movement,\nand yet, in spite of this extraordinary torpor, hearing the least\nwhisper. I remember it still. And what fears the devil inspired! I\nwas afraid of everything; my bed seemed to be surrounded by\nfrightful precipices; nails in the wall took the terrifying\nappearance of long fingers, shrivelled and blackened with fire,\nmaking me cry out in terror. One day, while Papa stood looking at\nme in silence, the hat in his hand was suddenly transformed into\nsome horrible shape, and I was so frightened that he went away\nsobbing.\n\nBut if God allowed the devil to approach me in this open way,\nAngels too were sent to console and strengthen me. Marie never\nleft me, and never showed the least trace of weariness in spite of\nall the trouble I gave her--for I could not rest when she was\naway. During meals, when Victoire took care of me, I never ceased\ncalling tearfully \"Marie! Marie!\" When she wanted to go out, it\nwas only if she were going to Mass or to see Pauline that I kept\nquiet. As for Leonie and my little Celine, they could not do\nenough for me. On Sundays they shut themselves up for hours with a\npoor child who seemed almost to have lost her reason. My own dear\nsisters, how much I made you suffer! My uncle and aunt were also\ndevoted to me. My aunt came to see me every day, and brought me\nmany little gifts. I could never tell you how my love for these\ndear ones increased during this illness. I understood better than\never what Papa had so often told us: \"Always remember, children,\nthat your uncle and aunt have devoted themselves to you in a way\nthat is quite exceptional.\" In his old age he experienced this\nhimself, and now he must bless and protect those who lavished upon\nhim such affectionate care.[5]\n\nWhen my sufferings grew less, my great delight was to weave\ngarlands of daisies and forget-me-nots for Our Lady's statue. We\nwere in the beautiful month of May, when all nature is clothed\nwith the flowers of spring; the Little Flower alone drooped, and\nseemed as though it had withered for ever. Yet she too had a\nshining sun, the miraculous statue of the Queen of Heaven. How\noften did not the Little Flower turn towards this glorious Sun!\n\nOne day Papa came into my room in the deepest distress, and I\nwatched him go up to Marie and give her some money, bidding her\nwrite to Paris, and have a novena of Masses said at the shrine of\nOur Lady of Victories,[6] to obtain the cure of his poor little\nQueen. How touching were his faith and love! How much I longed to\nget up and tell him I was cured! Alas! my wishes could not work a\nmiracle, and it needed one to restore me to health. Yes, it needed\na great miracle, and this was wrought by Our Lady of Victories\nherself.\n\nOne Sunday, during the novena, Marie went into the garden, leaving\nme with Leonie, who was reading by the window. After a short time\nI began to call: \"Marie! Marie!\" very softly. Leonie, accustomed\nto hear me fret like this, took no notice, so I called louder,\nuntil Marie came back to me. I saw her come into the room quite\nwell, but, for the first time, I failed to recognise her. I looked\nall round and glanced anxiously into the garden, still calling:\n\"Marie! Marie!\" Her anguish was perhaps greater than mine, and\nthat was unutterable. At last, after many fruitless efforts to\nmake me recognise her, she whispered a few words to Leonie, and\nwent away pale and trembling. Leonie presently carried me to the\nwindow. There I saw the garden, and Marie walking up and down, but\nstill I did not recognise her; she came forward, smiling, and held\nout her arms to me calling tenderly: \"Therese, dear little\nTherese!\" This last effort failing, she came in again and knelt in\ntears at the foot of my bed; turning towards the statue of Our\nLady, she entreated her with the fervour of a mother who begs the\nlife of her child and will not be refused. Leonie and Celine\njoined her, and that cry of faith forced the gates of Heaven. I\ntoo, finding no help on earth and nearly dead with pain, turned to\nmy Heavenly Mother, begging her from the bottom of my heart to\nhave pity on me. Suddenly the statue seemed to come to life and\ngrow beautiful, with a divine beauty that I shall never find words\nto describe. The expression of Our Lady's face was ineffably\nsweet, tender, and compassionate; but what touched me to the very\ndepths of my soul was her gracious smile. Then, all my pain\nvanished, two big tears started to my eyes and fell silently. . . .\n\nThey were indeed tears of unmixed heavenly joy. \"Our Blessed Lady\nhas come to me, she has smiled at me. How happy I am, but I shall\ntell no one, or my happiness will leave me!\" Such were my\nthoughts. Looking around, I recognised Marie; she seemed very much\novercome, and looked lovingly at me, as though she guessed that I\nhad just received a great grace.\n\nIndeed her prayers had gained me this unspeakable favour--a smile\nfrom the Blessed Virgin! When she saw me with my eyes fixed on the\nstatue, she said to herself: \"Therese is cured!\" And it was true.\nThe Little Flower had come to life again--a bright ray from its\nglorious Sun had warmed and set it free for ever from its cruel\nenemy. \"The dark winter is past, the rain is over and gone,\"[7]\nand Our Lady's Little Flower gathered such strength that five\nyears later it opened wide its petals on the fertile mountain of\nCarmel.\n\nAs I said before, Marie was convinced that Our Blessed Lady, while\nrestoring my bodily health, had granted me some hidden grace. So,\nwhen I was alone with her, I could not resist her tender and\npressing inquiries. I was so astonished to find my secret already\nknown, without my having said a word, that I told her everything.\nAlas! as I had foreseen, my joy was turned into bitterness. For\nfour years the remembrance of this grace was a cause of real pain\nto me, and it was only in the blessed sanctuary of Our Lady of\nVictories, at my Mother's feet, that I once again found peace.\nThere it was restored to me in all its fulness, as I will tell you\nlater.\n\nThis is how my joy was changed into sadness. When Marie had heard\nthe childish, but perfectly sincere, account of the grace I had\nreceived, she begged my leave to tell them at the Carmel, and I\ndid not like to refuse her. My first visit there after my illness\nwas full of joy at seeing Pauline clothed in the habit of Our Lady\nof Carmel. It was a happy time for us both, we had so much to say,\nwe had both suffered so much. My heart was so full that I could\nhardly speak.\n\nYou were there, dear Mother, and plainly showed your affection for\nme; I saw several other Sisters too, and you must remember how\nthey questioned me about my cure. Some asked if Our Lady was\nholding the Infant Jesus in her arms, others if the Angels were\nwith her, and so on. All these questions distressed and grieved\nme, and I could only make one answer: \"Our Lady looked very\nbeautiful; I saw her come towards me and smile.\" But noticing that\nthe nuns thought something quite different had happened from what\nI had told them, I began to persuade myself that I had been guilty\nof an untruth.\n\nIf only I had kept my secret I should have kept my happiness also.\nBut Our Lady allowed this trouble to befall me for the good of my\nsoul; perhaps without it vanity would have crept into my heart,\nwhereas now I was humbled, and I looked on myself with feelings of\ncontempt. My God, Thou alone knowest all that I suffered!\n______________________________\n\n[1] Marie Guerin entered the Carmel at Lisieux on August 15, 1895,\nand took the name of Sister Mary of the Eucharist. She died on\nApril 14, 1905, aged thirty-four.\n\n[2] With the Carmelites the grating is only opened for near\nrelatives and very young children. [Ed.]\n\n[3] \"Pauline\" has several times been Prioress of the Carmel of\nLisieux, and in 1909 again succeeded to that office on the death\nof the young and saintly Mother Mary of St. Angelus of the Child\nJesus. [Ed.]\n\n[4] John 11:4.\n\n[5] Mme. Guerin died holily on February 13, 1900, aged fifty-two.\nDuring her illness Therese assisted her in an extraordinary way,\nseveral times making her presence felt. Monsieur Guerin, having\nfor many years used his pen in defence of the Church, and his\nfortune in the support of good works, died a beautiful death on\nSeptember 28, 1909, in his sixty-ninth year. [Ed.]\n\n[6] It was in this small church--once deserted and to-day perhaps\nthe most frequented in Paris--that the saintly Abbe Desgenettes\nwas inspired by Our Lady, in 1836, to establish the Confraternity\nof the Immaculate Heart of Mary for the conversion of sinners.\n[Ed.]\n\n[7] Cant. 2:11.\n\n______________________________\n\nCHAPTER IV\nFIRST COMMUNION AND CONFIRMATION\n\nWhile describing this visit to the Carmel, my thoughts are carried\nback to the first one which I paid after Pauline entered. On the\nmorning of that happy day, I wondered what name would be given to\nme later on. I knew that there was already a Sister Teresa of\nJesus; nevertheless, my beautiful name of Therese could not be\ntaken from me. Suddenly I thought of the Child Jesus whom I loved\nso dearly, and I felt how much I should like to be called Teresa\nof the Child Jesus. I was careful not to tell you of my wish, dear\nMother, yet you said to me, in the middle of our conversation:\n\"When you come to us, little one, you will be called 'Teresa of\nthe Child Jesus.'\" My joy was great indeed. This happy coincidence\nof thought seemed a special favour from the Holy Child.\n\nSo far I have not said anything about my love for pictures and\nbooks, and yet I owe some of the happiest and strongest\nimpressions which have encouraged me in the practice of virtue to\nthe beautiful pictures Pauline used to show me. Everything was\nforgotten while looking at them. For instance, \"The Little Flower\nof the Divine Prisoner\" suggested so many thoughts that I would\nremain gazing at it in a kind of ecstasy. I offered myself to Our\nLord to be His Little Flower; I longed to console Him, to draw as\nnear as possible to the Tabernacle, to be looked on, cared for,\nand gathered by Him.\n\nAs I was of no use at games, I should have preferred to spend all\nmy time in reading. Happily for me, I had visible guardian angels\nto guide me in this matter; they chose books suitable to my age,\nwhich interested me and at the same time provided food for my\nthoughts and affections. I was only allowed a limited time for\nthis favourite recreation, and it became an occasion of much\nself-sacrifice, for as soon as the time had elapsed I made it my\nduty to stop instantly, even in the middle of a most interesting\npassage.\n\nAs to the impressions produced on me by these books, I must\nfrankly own that, in reading certain tales of chivalry, I did not\nalways understand the realities of life. And so, in my admiration\nof the patriotic deeds of the heroines of France, especially of\nthe Venerable Joan of Arc, I longed to do what they had done.\nAbout this time I received what I have looked on as one of the\ngreatest graces of my life, for, at that age, I was not favoured\nwith lights from Heaven, as I am now.\n\nOur Lord made me understand that the only true glory is that which\nlasts for ever; and that to attain it there is no necessity to do\nbrilliant deeds, but rather to hide from the eyes of others, and\neven from oneself, so that \"the left hand knows not what the right\nhand does.\"[1] Then, as I reflected that I was born for great\nthings, and sought the means to attain them, it was made known to\nme interiorly that my personal glory would never reveal itself\nbefore the eyes of men, but that it would consist in becoming a\nSaint.\n\nThis aspiration may very well appear rash, seeing how imperfect I\nwas, and am, even now, after so many years of religious life; yet\nI still feel the same daring confidence that one day I shall\nbecome a great Saint. I am not trusting in my own merits, for I\nhave none; but I trust in Him Who is Virtue and Holiness itself.\nIt is He alone Who, pleased with my feeble efforts, will raise me\nto Himself, and, by clothing me with His merits, make me a Saint.\nAt that time I did not realise that to become one it is necessary\nto suffer a great deal; but God soon disclosed this secret to me\nby means of the trials I have related.\n\nI must now continue my story where I left off. Three months after\nmy cure Papa took me away for a change. It was a very pleasant\ntime, and I began to see something of the world. All around me was\njoy and gladness; I was petted, made much of, admired--in fact,\nfor a whole fortnight my path was strewn with flowers. The Wise\nMan is right when he says: \"The bewitching of vanity overturneth\nthe innocent mind.\"[2] At ten years of age the heart is easily\nfascinated, and I confess that in my case this kind of life had\nits charms. Alas! the world knows well how to combine its\npleasures with the service of God. How little it thinks of death!\nAnd yet death has come to many people I knew then, young, rich,\nand happy. I recall to mind the delightful places where they\nlived, and ask myself where they are now, and what profit they\nderive to-day from the beautiful houses and grounds where I saw\nthem enjoying all the good things of this life, and I reflect that\n\"All is vanity besides loving God and serving Him alone.\"[3]\n\nPerhaps Our Lord wished me to know something of the world before\nHe paid His first visit to my soul, so that I might choose more\ndeliberately the way in which I was to follow Him.\n\nI shall always remember my First Communion Day as one of unclouded\nhappiness. It seems to me that I could not have been better\nprepared. Do you remember, dear Mother, the charming little book\nyou gave me three months before the great day? I found in it a\nhelpful method which prepared me gradually and thoroughly. It is\ntrue I had been thinking about my First Communion for a long time,\nbut, as your precious manuscript told me, I must stir up in my\nheart fresh transports of love and fill it anew with flowers. So,\neach day I made a number of little sacrifices and acts of love,\nwhich were to be changed into so many flowers: now violets,\nanother time roses, then cornflowers, daisies, or\nforget-me-nots--in a word, all nature's blossoms were to form in\nme a cradle for the Holy Child.\n\nI had Marie, too, who took Pauline's place. Every evening I spent\na long time with her, listening eagerly to all she said. How\ndelightfully she talked to me! I felt myself set on fire by her\nnoble, generous spirit. As the warriors of old trained their\nchildren in the profession of arms, so she trained me for the\nbattle of life, and roused my ardour by pointing to the victor's\nglorious palm. She spoke, too, of the imperishable riches which\nare so easy to amass each day, and of the folly of trampling them\nunder foot when one has but to stoop and gather them. When she\ntalked so eloquently, I was sorry that I was the only one to\nlisten to her teaching, for, in my simplicity, it seemed to me\nthat the greatest sinners would be converted if they but heard\nher, and that, forsaking the perishable riches of this world, they\nwould seek none but the riches of Heaven.\n\nI should have liked at this time to practise mental prayer, but\nMarie, finding me sufficiently devout, only let me say my vocal\nprayers. A mistress at the Abbey asked me once what I did on\nholidays, when I stayed at home. I answered timidly: \"I often hide\nmyself in a corner of my room where I can shut myself in with the\nbed curtains, and then I think.\" \"But what do you think about?\"\nsaid the good nun, laughing. \"I think about the Good God, about\nthe shortness of life, and about eternity: in a word, I _think.\"_\nMy mistress did not forget this, and later on she used to remind\nme of the time when I thought, asking me if I still _thought._\n. . . Now, I know that I was really praying, while my Divine\nMaster\ngently instructed me.\n\nThe three months' preparation for First Communion passed quickly\nby; it was soon time for me to begin my retreat, and, during it, I\nstayed at the Abbey. Oh, what a blessed retreat it was! I do not\nthink that one can experience such joy except in a religious\nhouse; there, with only a few children, it is easy for each one to\nreceive special attention. I write this in a spirit of filial\ngratitude; our mistresses at the Abbey showed us a true motherly\naffection. I do not know why, but I saw plainly that they watched\nover me more carefully than they did over the others.\n\nEvery night the first mistress, carrying her little lamp, opened\nmy bed curtains softly, and kissed me tenderly on the forehead.\nShe showed me such affection that, touched by her kindness, I said\none night: \"Mother, I love you so much that I am going to tell you\na great secret.\" Then I took from under my pillow the precious\nlittle book you had given me, and showed it to her, my eyes\nsparkling with pleasure. She opened it with care, and, looking\nthrough it attentively, told me how privileged I was. In fact,\nseveral times during the retreat, the truth came home to me that\nvery few motherless children of my age are as lovingly cared for as I\nwas then. I listened most attentively to the instructions given us by\nFather Domin, and wrote careful notes on them, but I did not put down\nany of my own thoughts, as I knew I should remember them quite well. And\nso it proved.\n\nHow happy I was to attend Divine Office as the nuns did! I was\neasily distinguished from my companions by a large crucifix, which\nLeonie had given me, and which, like the missionaries, I carried\nin my belt. They thought I was trying to imitate my Carmelite\nsister, and indeed my thoughts did often turn lovingly to her. I\nknew she was in retreat too, not that Jesus might give Himself to\nher, but that she might give herself entirely to Jesus, and this\non the same day as I made my First Communion. The time of quiet\nwaiting was therefore doubly dear to me.\n\nAt last there dawned the most beautiful day of all the days of my\nlife. How perfectly I remember even the smallest details of those\nsacred hours! the joyful awakening, the reverent and tender\nembraces of my mistresses and older companions, the room filled\nwith snow-white frocks, where each child was dressed in turn, and,\nabove all, our entrance into the chapel and the melody of the\nmorning hymn: \"O Altar of God, where the Angels are hovering.\"\n\nBut I would not and I could not tell you all. Some things lose\ntheir fragrance when exposed to the air, and so, too, one's inmost\nthoughts cannot be translated into earthly words without instantly\nlosing their deep and heavenly meaning. How sweet was the first\nembrace of Jesus! It was indeed an embrace of love. I felt that I\nwas loved, and I said: \"I love Thee, and I give myself to Thee for\never.\" Jesus asked nothing of me, and claimed no sacrifice; for a\nlong time He and little Therese had known and understood one\nanother. That day our meeting was more than simple recognition, it\nwas perfect union. We were no longer two. Therese had disappeared\nlike a drop of water lost in the immensity of the ocean; Jesus\nalone remained--He was the Master, the King! Had not Therese asked\nHim to take away her liberty which frightened her? She felt\nherself so weak and frail, that she wished to be for ever united\nto the Divine Strength.\n\nAnd then my joy became so intense, so deep, that it could not be\nrestrained; tears of happiness welled up and overflowed. My\ncompanions were astonished, and asked each other afterwards: \"Why\ndid she cry? Had she anything on her conscience? No, it is because\nneither her Mother nor her dearly loved Carmelite sister is here.\"\nAnd no one understood that all the joy of Heaven had come down\ninto one heart, and that this heart, exiled, weak, and mortal as\nit was, could not contain it without tears.\n\nHow could my Mother's absence grieve me on my First Communion Day?\nAs Heaven itself dwelt in my soul, in receiving a visit from Our\nDivine Lord I received one from my dear Mother too. Nor was I\ncrying on account of Pauline's absence, for we were even more\nclosely united than before. No, I repeat it--joy alone, a joy too\ndeep for words, overflowed within me.\n\nDuring the afternoon I read the act of consecration to Our Lady,\nfor myself and my companions. I was chosen probably because I had\nbeen deprived of my earthly Mother while still so young. With all\nmy heart I consecrated myself to the Blessed Virgin Mary, and\nasked her to watch over me. She seemed to look lovingly on her\nLittle Flower and to smile at her again, and I thought of the\nvisible smile which had once cured me, and of all I owed her. Had\nshe not herself, on the morning of that 8th of May, placed in the\ngarden of my soul her Son Jesus--\"the Flower of the field and the\nLily of the valleys\"?[4]\n\nOn the evening of this happy day Papa and I went to the Carmel,\nand I saw Pauline, now become the Spouse of Christ. She wore a\nwhite veil like mine and a crown of roses. My joy was unclouded,\nfor I hoped soon to join her, and at her side to wait for Heaven.\n\nI was pleased with the feast prepared for me at home, and was\ndelighted with the beautiful watch given to me by Papa. My\nhappiness was perfect, and nothing troubled the inward peace of my\nsoul. Night came, and so ended that beautiful day. Even the\nbrightest days are followed by darkness; one alone will know no\nsetting, the day of the First and Eternal Communion in our true\nHome. Somehow the next day seemed sorrowful. The pretty clothes\nand the presents I had received could not satisfy me. Henceforth\nOur Lord alone could fill my heart, and all I longed for was the\nblissful moment when I should receive Him again.\n\nI made my second Communion on Ascension Day, and had the happiness\nof kneeling at the rails between Papa and Marie. My tears flowed\nwith inexpressible sweetness; I kept repeating those words of St.\nPaul: \"I live now, not I; but Christ liveth in me.\"[5] After this\nsecond visit of Our Lord I longed for nothing else but to receive\nHim. Alas! the feasts seemed so far apart. . . .\n\nOn the eve of these happy days Marie helped me to prepare, as she\nhad done for my First Communion. I remember once she spoke of\nsuffering, and said that in all probability, instead of making me\nwalk by this road, God, in His goodness, would carry me always\nlike a little child. Her words came into my mind next day after my\nCommunion; my heart became inflamed with an ardent desire for\nsuffering, and I felt convinced that many crosses were in store\nfor me. Then my soul was flooded with such consolation as I have\nnever since experienced. Suffering became attractive, and I found\nin it charms which held me spellbound, though as yet I did not\nappreciate them to the full.\n\nI had one other great wish; it was to love God only, and to find\nmy joy in Him alone. During my thanksgiving after Holy Communion I\noften repeated this passage from the _Imitation of Christ:_ \"O my\nGod, who art unspeakable sweetness, turn for me into bitterness\nall the consolations of earth.\"[6] These words rose to my lips\nquite naturally; I said them like a child, who, without well\nunderstanding, repeats what a friend may suggest. Later on I will\ntell you, dear Mother, how Our Lord has been pleased to fulfill my\ndesire, how He, and He alone, has always been my joy; but if I\nwere to speak of it now I should have to pass on to my girlhood,\nand there is still much to tell you of my early days.\n\nSoon after my First Communion I went into retreat again, before\nbeing confirmed. I prepared myself with the greatest care for the\ncoming of the Holy Ghost; I could not understand anyone not doing\nso before receiving this Sacrament of Love. As the ceremony could\nnot take place on the day fixed, I had the consolation of\nremaining somewhat longer in retreat. How happy I felt! Like the\nApostles, I looked with joy for the promised Comforter, gladdened\nby the thought that I should soon be a perfect Christan, and have\nthe holy Cross, the symbol of this wondrous Sacrament, traced upon\nmy forehead for eternity. I did not feel the mighty wind of the\nfirst Pentecost, but rather the gentle breeze which the prophet\nElias heard on Mount Horeb. On that day I received the gift of\nfortitude in suffering--a gift I needed sorely, for the martyrdom\nof my soul was soon to begin.\n\nWhen these delightful feasts, which can never be forgotten, were\nover, I had to resume my life as a day scholar, at the Abbey. I\nmade good progress with my lessons, and remembered easily the\nsense of what I read, but I had the greatest difficulty in\nlearning by heart; only at catechism were my efforts crowned with\nsuccess. The Chaplain called me his little \"Doctor of\nTheology,\"[7] no doubt because of my name, Therese.\n\nDuring recreation I often gave myself up to serious thoughts,\nwhile from a distance I watched my companions at play. This was my\nfavourite occupation, but I had another which gave me real\npleasure. I would search carefully for any poor little birds that\nhad fallen dead under the big trees, and I then buried them with\ngreat ceremony, all in the same cemetery, in a special grass plot.\nSometimes I told stories to my companions, and often even the big\ngirls came to listen; but soon our mistress, very rightly, brought\nmy career as an orator to an end, saying she wanted us to exercise\nour bodies and not our brains. At this time I chose as friends two\nlittle girls of my own age; but how shallow are the hearts of\ncreatures! One of them had to stay at home for some months; while\nshe was away I thought about her very often, and on her return I\nshowed how pleased I was. However, all I got was a glance of\nindifference--my friendship was not appreciated. I felt this very\nkeenly, and I no longer sought an affection which had proved so\ninconstant. Nevertheless I still love my little school friend, and\ncontinue to pray for her, for God has given me a faithful heart,\nand when once I love, I love for ever.\n\nObserving that some of the girls were very devoted to one or other\nof the mistresses, I tried to imitate them, but I never succeeded\nin winning special favour. O happy failure, from how many evils\nhave you saved me! I am most thankful to Our Lord that He let me\nfind only bitterness in earthly friendships. With a heart like\nmine, I should have been taken captive and had my wings clipped,\nand how then should I have been able to \"fly away and be at\nrest\"?[8]\n\nHow can a heart given up to human affections be closely united to\nGod? It seems to me that it is impossible. I have seen so many\nsouls, allured by this false light, fly right into it like poor\nmoths, and burn their wings, and then return, wounded, to Our\nLord, the Divine fire which burns and does not consume. I know\nwell Our Lord saw that I was too weak to be exposed to temptation,\nfor, without doubt, had the deceitful light of created love\ndazzled my eyes, I should have been entirely consumed. Where\nstrong souls find joy and practise detachment faithfully, I only\nfound bitterness. No merit, then, is due to me for not having\ngiven up to these frail ties, since I was only preserved from them\nby the Mercy of God. I fully realised that without Him I should\nhave fallen as low as St. Mary Magdalen, and the Divine Master's\nwords re-echoed sweetly in my soul. Yes, I know that \"To whom less\nis forgiven he loveth less,\"[9] but I know too that Our Lord has\nforgiven me more than St. Mary Magdalen. Here is an example which\nwill, at any rate, show you some of my thoughts.\n\nLet us suppose that the son of a very clever doctor, stumbling\nover a stone on the road, falls and breaks his leg. His father\nhastens to him, lifts him lovingly, and binds up the fractured\nlimb, putting forth all his skill. The son, when cured, displays\nthe utmost gratitude, and he has excellent reason for doing so.\nBut let us take another supposition.\n\nThe father, aware that a dangerous stone lies in his son's path,\nis beforehand with the danger and removes it, unseen by anyone.\nThe son, thus tenderly cared for, not knowing of the mishap from\nwhich his father's hand has saved him, naturally will not show him\nany gratitude, and will love him less than if he had cured him of\na grievous wound. But suppose he heard the whole truth, would he\nnot in that case love him still more? Well now, I am this child,\nthe object of the foreseeing love of a Father \"Who did not send\nHis son to call the just, but sinners.\"[10] He wishes me to love\nHim, because He has forgiven me, not much, but everything. Without\nwaiting for me to love Him much, as St. Mary Magdalen did, He has\nmade me understand how He has loved me with an ineffable love and\nforethought, so that now my love may know no bounds.\n\nI had often heard it said, both in retreats and elsewhere, that He\nis more deeply loved by repentant souls than by those who have not\nlost their baptismal innocence. Ah! If I could but give the lie to\nthose words. . . .\n\nBut I have wandered so far from my subject that I hardly know\nwhere to begin again. It was during the retreat before my second\nCommunion that I was attacked by the terrible disease of scruples.\nOne must have passed through this martyrdom to understand it. It\nwould be quite impossible for me to tell you what I suffered for\nnearly two years. All my thoughts and actions, even the simplest,\nwere a source of trouble and anguish to me; I had no peace till I\nhad told Marie everything, and this was most painful, since I\nimagined I was obliged to tell absolutely all my thoughts, even\nthe most extravagant. As soon as I had unburdened myself I felt a\nmomentary peace, but it passed like a flash, and my martyrdom\nbegan again. Many an occasion for patience did I provide for my\ndear sister.\n\nThat year we spent a fortnight of our holidays at the sea-side. My\naunt, who always showed us such motherly care, treated us to all\npossible pleasures--donkey rides, shrimping, and the rest. She\neven spoiled us in the matter of clothes. I remember one day she\ngave me some pale blue ribbon; although I was twelve and a half, I\nwas still such a child that I quite enjoyed tying it in my hair.\nBut this childish pleasure seemed sinful to me, and I had so many\nscruples that I had to go to Confession, even at Trouville.\n\nWhile I was there I had an experience which did me good. My cousin\nMarie often suffered from sick headaches. On these occasions my\naunt used to fondle her and coax her with the most endearing\nnames, but the only response was continual tears and the unceasing\ncry: \"My head aches!\" I had a headache nearly every day, though I\ndid not say so; but one evening I thought I would imitate Marie.\nSo I sat down in an armchair in a corner of the room, and set to\nwork to cry. My aunt, as well as my cousin Jeanne, to whom I was\nvery devoted, hastened to me to know what was the matter. I\nanswered like Marie: \"My head aches.\" It would seem that\ncomplaining was not in my line; no one would believe that a\nheadache was the reason of my tears. Instead of petting me as\nusual, my aunt spoke to me seriously. Even Jeanne reproached me,\nvery kindly it is true, and was grieved at my want of simplicity\nand trust in my aunt. She thought I had a big scruple, and was not\ngiving the real reason of my tears. At last, getting nothing for\nmy pains, I made up my mind not to imitate other people any more.\nI thought of the fable of the ass and the little dog; I was the\nass, who, seeing that the little dog got all the petting, put his\nclumsy hoof on the table to try and secure his share. If I did not\nhave a beating like the poor beast, at any rate I got what I\ndeserved--a severe lesson, which cured me once for all of the\ndesire to attract attention.\n\nI must go back now to the subject of my scruples. They made me so\nill that I was obliged to leave school when I was thirteen. In\norder to continue my education, Papa took me several times a week\nto a lady who was an excellent teacher. Her lessons served the\ndouble purpose of instructing me and making me associate with\nother people.\n\nVisitors were often shown into the old-fashioned room where I sat\nwith my books and exercises. As far as possible my teacher's\nmother carried on the conversation, but still I did not learn much\nwhile it lasted. Seemingly absorbed in my book, I could hear many\nthings it would have been better for me not to hear. One lady said\nI had beautiful hair; another asked, as she left, who was that\npretty little girl. Such remarks, the more flattering because I\nwas not meant to hear them, gave me a feeling of pleasure which\nshowed plainly that I was full of self-love.\n\nI am very sorry for souls who lose themselves in this way. It is\nso easy to go astray in the seductive paths of the world. Without\ndoubt, for a soul somewhat advanced in virtue, the sweetness\noffered by the world is mingled with bitterness, and the immense\nvoid of its desires cannot be filled by the flattery of a moment;\nbut I repeat, if my heart had not been lifted up towards God from\nthe first moment of consciousness, if the world had smiled on me\nfrom the beginning of my life, what should I have become? Dearest\nMother, with what a grateful heart do I sing \"the Mercies of the\nLord!\" Has He not, according to the words of Holy Wisdom, \"taken\nme away from the world lest wickedness should alter my\nunderstanding, or deceit beguile my soul?\"[11]\n\nMeanwhile I resolved to consecrate myself in a special way to Our\nBlessed Lady, and I begged to be enrolled among the Children of\nMary.[12] To gain this favour I had to go twice a week to the\nConvent, and I must confess this cost me something, I was so shy.\nThere was no question of the affection I felt towards my\nmistresses, but, as I said before, I had no special friend among\nthem, with whom I could have spent many hours like other old\npupils. So I worked in silence till the end of the lesson, and\nthen, as no one took any notice of me, I went to the tribune in\nthe Chapel till Papa came to fetch me home. Here, during this\nsilent visit, I found my one consolation--for was not Jesus my\nonly Friend? To Him alone could I open my heart; all conversation\nwith creatures, even on holy subjects, wearied me. It is true that\nin these periods of loneliness I sometimes felt sad, and I used\noften to console myself by repeating this line of a beautiful poem\nPapa had taught me: \"Time is thy barque, and not thy\ndwelling-place.\"\n\nYoung as I was, these words restored my courage, and even now, in\nspite of having outgrown many pious impressions of childhood, the\nsymbol of a ship always delights me and helps me to bear the exile\nof this life. Does not the Wise Man tell us--\"Life is like a ship\nthat passeth through the waves: when it is gone by, the trace\nthereof cannot be found\"?[13]\n\nWhen my thoughts run on in this way, my soul loses itself as it\nwere in the infinite; I seem already to touch the Heavenly Shore\nand to receive Our Lord's embrace. I fancy I can see Our Blessed\nLady coming to meet me, with my Father and Mother, my little\nbrothers and sisters; and I picture myself enjoying true family\njoys for all eternity.\n\nBut before reaching Our Father's Home in Heaven, I had to go\nthrough many partings on this earth. The year in which I was made\na Child of Mary, Our Lady took from me my sister Marie, the only\nsupport of my soul,[14] my oracle and inseparable companion since\nthe departure of Pauline. As soon as I knew of her decision, I\nmade up my mind to take no further pleasure in anything here\nbelow. I could not tell you how many tears I shed. But at this\ntime I was much given to crying, not only over big things, but\nover trifling ones too. For instance: I was very anxious to\nadvance in virtue, but I went about it in a strange way. I was not\naccustomed to wait on myself; Celine always arranged our room, and\nI never did any household work. Sometimes, in order to please Our\nLord, I used to make my bed, or, if she were out in the evening,\nto bring in her plants and seedlings. As I said before, it was\nsimply to please Our Lord that I did these things, and so I ought\nnot to have expected any thanks from creatures. But, alas! I did\nexpect them, and, if unfortunately Celine did not seem surprised\nand grateful for my little services, I was not pleased, and tears\nrose to my eyes.\n\nAgain, if by accident I offended anyone, instead of taking it in\nthe right way, I fretted till I made myself ill, thus making my\nfault worse, instead of mending it; and when I began to realise my\nfoolishness, I would cry for having cried.\n\nIn fact, I made troubles out of everything. Now, things are quite\ndifferent. God in His goodness has given me grace not to be cast\ndown by any passing difficulty. When I think of what I used to be,\nmy heart overflows with gratitude. The graces I have received have\nchanged me so completely, that I am scarcely the same person.\n\nAfter Marie entered the Carmel, and I no longer had her to listen\nto my scruples, I turned towards Heaven and confided them to the\nfour little angels who had already gone before me, for I thought\nthat these innocent souls, who had never known sorrow or fear,\nought to have pity on their poor little suffering sister. I talked\nto them with childish simplicity, telling them that, as I was the\nyoungest of the family, I had always been the most petted and\nloved by my parents and sisters; that if they had remained on\nearth they would no doubt have given me the same proofs of their\naffection. The fact that they had gone to Heaven seemed no reason\nwhy they should forget me--on the contrary, as they were able to\ndraw form the treasury of Heaven, they ought to obtain for me the\ngrace of peace, and prove that they still knew how to love me.\n\nThe answer was not long in coming; soon my soul was flooded with\nthe sweetest peace. I knew that I was loved, not only on earth but\nalso in Heaven. From that time my devotion for these little\nbrothers and sisters increased; I loved to talk to them and tell\nthem of all the sorrows of this exile, and of my wish to join them\nsoon in our Eternal Home.\n______________________________\n\n[1] Cf. Matt. 6:3.\n\n[2] Wisdom 4:12.\n\n[3] _Imit.,_ I, ch. i. 3.\n\n[4] Cant. 2:1.\n\n[5] Gal. 2:20.\n\n[6] _Imit.,_ III, ch. xxvi. 3.\n\n[7] St. Teresa, who reformed the Carmelite Order, and died in\n1582, is sometimes called the Doctor of Mystical Theology, because\nof her luminous writings on the relations of the soul with God in\nprayer. [Ed.]\n\n[8] Ps. 54[55]:7.\n\n[9] Luke 7:47.\n\n[10] Luke 5:32.\n\n[11] Cf. Wisdom 4:11.\n\n[12] It was on May 31, 1886, that she became a Sodalist of Our\nLady. [Ed.]\n\n[13] Wisdom 5:10.\n\n[14] Marie entered the Carmel of Lisieux on October 15, 1886,\ntaking the name of Sister Mary of the Sacred Heart.\n\n______________________________\n\n\nCHAPTER V VOCATION OF THERESE\n\nI was far from meriting all the graces which Our Lord showered on\nme. I had a constant and ardent desire to advance in virtue, but\noften my actions were spoilt by imperfections. My extreme\nsensitiveness made me almost unbearable. All arguments were\nuseless. I simply could not correct myself of this miserable\nfault. How, then, could I hope soon to be admitted to the Carmel?\nA miracle on a small scale was needed to give me strength of\ncharacter all at once, and God worked this long-desired miracle on\nChristmas Day, 1886.\n\nOn that blessed night the sweet Infant Jesus, scarce an hour old,\nfilled the darkness of my soul with floods of light. By becoming\nweak and little, for love of me, He made me strong and brave; He\nput His own weapons into my hands, so that I went from victory to\nvictory, beginning, if I may say so, \"to run as a giant.\"[1] The\nfountain of my tears was dried up, and from that time they flowed\nneither easily nor often.\n\nNow I will tell you, dear Mother, how I received this inestimable\ngrace of complete conversion. I knew that when we reached home\nafter Midnight Mass I should find my shoes in the chimney-corner,\nfilled with presents, just as when I was a little child, which\nproves that my sisters still treated me as a baby. Papa, too,\nliked to watch my enjoyment and hear my cries of delight at each\nfresh surprise that came from the magic shoes, and his pleasure\nadded to mine. But the time had come when Our Lord wished to free\nme from childhood's failings, and even withdraw me from its\ninnocent pleasures. On this occasion, instead of indulging me as\nhe generally did, Papa seemed vexed, and on my way upstairs I\nheard him say: \"Really all this is too babyish for a big girl like\nTherese, and I hope it is the last year it will happen.\" His words\ncut me to the quick. Celine, knowing how sensitive I was,\nwhispered: \"Don't go downstairs just yet--wait a little, you would\ncry too much if you looked at your presents before Papa.\" But\nTherese was no longer the same--Jesus had changed her heart.\n\nChoking back my tears, I ran down to the dining-room, and, though\nmy heart beat fast, I picked up my shoes, and gaily pulled out all\nthe things, looking as happy as a queen. Papa laughed, and did not\nshow any trace of displeasure, and Celine thought she must be\ndreaming. But happily it was a reality; little Therese had\nregained, once for all, the strength of mind which she had lost at\nthe age of four and a half.\n\nOn this night of grace, the third period of my life began--the\nmost beautiful of all, the one most filled with heavenly favours.\nIn an instant Our Lord, satisfied with my good will, accomplished\nthe work I had not been able to do during all these years. Like\nthe Apostle I could say: \"Master, we have laboured all night, and\nhave taken nothing.\"[2]\n\nMore merciful to me even than to His beloved disciples, Our Lord\nHimself took the net, cast it, and drew it out full of fishes. He\nmade me a fisher of men. Love and a spirit of self-forgetfulness\ntook possession of me, and from that time I was perfectly happy.\n\nOne Sunday, closing my book at the end of Mass, a picture of Our\nLord on the Cross half slipped out, showing only one of His Divine\nHands, pierced and bleeding. I felt an indescribable thrill such\nas I had never felt before. My heart was torn with grief to see\nthat Precious Blood falling to the ground, and no one caring to\ntreasure It as It fell, and I resolved to remain continually in\nspirit at the foot of the Cross, that I might receive the Divine\nDew of Salvation and pour it forth upon souls. From that day the\ncry of my dying Saviour--\"I thirst!\"--sounded incessantly in my\nheart, and kindled therein a burning zeal hitherto unknown to me.\nMy one desire was to give my Beloved to drink; I felt myself\nconsumed with thirst for souls, and I longed at any cost to snatch\nsinners from the everlasting flames of hell.\n\nIn order still further to enkindle my ardour, Our Divine Master\nsoon proved to me how pleasing to him was my desire. Just then I\nheard much talk of a notorious criminal, Pranzini, who was\nsentenced to death for several shocking murders, and, as he was\nquite impenitent, everyone feared he would be eternally lost. How\nI longed to avert this irreparable calamity! In order to do so I\nemployed all the spiritual means I could think of, and, knowing\nthat my own efforts were unavailing, I offered for his pardon the\ninfinite merits of Our Saviour and the treasures of Holy Church.\n\nNeed I say that in the depths of my heart I felt certain my\nrequest would be granted? But, that I might gain courage to\npersevere in the quest for souls, I said in all simplicity: \"My\nGod, I am quite sure that Thou wilt pardon this unhappy Pranzini.\nI should still think so if he did not confess his sins or give any\nsign of sorrow, because I have such confidence in Thy unbounded\nMercy; but this is my first sinner, and therefore I beg for just\none sign of repentance to reassure me.\" My prayer was granted to\nthe letter. My Father never allowed us to read the papers, but I\ndid not think there was any disobedience in looking at the part\nabout Pranzini. The day after his execution I hastily opened the\npaper, _La Croix,_ and what did I see? Tears betrayed my emotion;\nI was obliged to run out of the room. Pranzini had mounted the\nscaffold without confessing or receiving absolution, and the\nexecutioners were already dragging him towards the fatal block,\nwhen all at once, apparently in answer to a sudden inspiration, he\nturned round, seized the crucifix which the Priest was offering to\nhim, and kissed Our Lord's Sacred Wounds three times. . . . I had\nobtained the sign I asked for, and to me it was especially sweet.\nWas it not when I saw the Precious Blood flowing from the Wounds\nof Jesus that the thirst for souls first took possession of me? I\nwished to give them to drink of the Blood of the Immaculate Lamb\nthat It might wash away their stains, and the lips of \"my first\nborn\" had been pressed to these Divine Wounds. What a wonderful\nanswer!\n\nAfter receiving this grace my desire for the salvation of souls\nincreased day by day. I seemed to hear Our Lord whispering to me,\nas He did to the Samaritan woman: \"Give me to drink!\"[3] It was\nindeed an exchange of love: upon souls I poured forth the Precious\nBlood of Jesus, and to Jesus I offered these souls refreshed with\nthe Dew of Calvary. In this way I thought to quench His Thirst;\nbut the more I gave Him to drink, so much the more did the thirst\nof my own poor soul increase, and I accepted it as the most\ndelightful recompense.\n\nIn a short time God, in His goodness, had lifted me out of the\nnarrow sphere in which I lived. The great step was taken; but,\nalas! I had still a long road to travel. Now that I was free from\nscruples and morbid sensitiveness, my mind developed. I had always\nloved what was noble and beautiful, and about this time I was\nseized with a passionate desire for learning. Not content with\nlessons from my teachers, I took up certain subjects by myself,\nand learnt more in a few months than I had in my whole school\nlife. Was not this ardour--\"vanity and vexation of spirit\"?[4] For\nme, with my impetuous nature, this was one of the most dangerous\ntimes of my life, but Our Lord fulfilled in me those words of\nEzechiel's prophecy: \"Behold thy time was the time of lovers: and\nI spread my garment over thee. And I swore to thee, and I entered\ninto a covenant with thee, saith the Lord God, and thou becamest\nMine. And I washed thee with water, and I anointed thee with oil.\nI clothed thee with fine garments, and put a chain about thy neck.\nThou didst eat fine flour and honey and oil, and wast made\nexceedingly beautiful, and wast advanced to be a queen.\"[5]\n\nYes, Our Lord has done all this for me. I might take each word of\nthat striking passage and show how it has been completely realised\nin me, but the graces of which I have already told you are\nsufficient proof. So I will only speak now of the food with which\nmy Divine Master abundantly provided me. For a long time I had\nnourished my spiritual life with the \"fine flour\" contained in the\n_Imitation of Christ._ It was the only book which did me good, for\nI had not yet found the treasures hidden in the Holy Gospels. I\nalways had it with me, to the amusement of my people at home. My\naunt used often to open it, and make me repeat by heart the first\nchapter she chanced to light upon.\n\nSeeing my great thirst for knowledge, God was pleased, when I was\nfourteen, to add to the \"fine flour,\" \"honey\" and \"oil\" in\nabundance.\n\nThis \"honey\" and \"oil\" I found in the conferences of Father\nArminjon on _The End of this World and the Mysteries of the World\nto Come._ While reading this book my soul was flooded with a\nhappiness quite supernatural. I experienced a foretaste of what\nGod has prepared for those who love Him; and, seeing that eternal\nrewards are so much in excess of the petty sacrifices of this\nlife, I yearned to love Our Lord, to love Him passionately, and to\ngive Him countless proofs of affection while this was still in my\npower.\n\nCeline had become the most intimate sharer of my thoughts,\nespecially since Christmas. Our Lord, Who wished to make us\nadvance in virtue together, drew us to one another by ties\nstronger than blood. He made us sisters in spirit as well as in\nthe flesh. The words of our Holy Father, St. John of the Cross,\nwere realised in us:\n\n        Treading within Thy Footsteps\n        Young maidens lightly run upon the way.\n        From the spark's contact,\n        And the spiced wine,\n        They give forth aspirations of a balm divine.\n\nIt was lightly indeed that we followed in the footsteps of Our\nSaviour. The burning sparks which He cast into our souls, the\nstrong wine which He gave us to drink, made us lose sight of all\nearthly things, and we breathed forth sighs of love.\n\nVery sweet is the memory of our intercourse. Every evening we went\nup to our attic window together and gazed at the starry depths of\nthe sky, and I think very precious graces were bestowed on us\nthen. As the _Imitation_ says: \"God communicates Himself sometimes\namid great light, at other times sweetly in signs and figures.\"[6]\n\nIn this way He deigned to manifest Himself to our hearts; but how\nslight and transparent was the veil! Doubt was no longer possible;\nalready Faith and Hope had given place to Love, which made us find\nHim whom we sought, even on this earth. When He found us\nalone--\"He gave us His kiss, and now no one may despise us.\"[7]\n\nThese divine impressions could not but bear fruit. The practice of\nvirtue gradually became sweet and natural to me. At first my looks\nbetrayed the effort, but, little by little, self-sacrifice seemed\nto come more easily and without hesitation. Our Lord has said: \"To\neveryone that hath shall be given, and he shall abound.\"[8]\n\nEach grace faithfully received brought many others. He gave\nHimself to me in Holy Communion oftener than I should have dared\nto hope. I had made it my practice to go to Communion as often as\nmy confessor allowed me, but never to ask for leave to go more\nfrequently. Now, however, I should act differently, for I am\nconvinced that a soul ought to disclose to her director the\nlonging she has to receive her God. He does not come down from\nHeaven each day in order to remain in a golden ciborium, but to\nfind another Heaven--the Heaven of our souls in which He takes\nsuch delight.\n\nOur Lord, Who knew my desire, inspired my confessor to allow me to\ngo to Communion several times a week, and this permission, coming\nas it did straight from Him, filled me with joy.\n\nIn those days I did not dare to speak of my inner feelings; the\nroad which I trod was so direct, so clear, that I did not feel the\nneed of any guide but Jesus. I compared directors to mirrors who\nfaithfully reflect Our Saviour to the souls under their care, and\nI thought that in my case He did not use an intermediary but acted\ndirectly.\n\nWhen a gardener gives special attention to a fruit which he wishes\nto ripen early, he does so, not with a view to leaving it on the\ntree, but in order to place it on a well-spread table. Our Lord\nlavished His favours on His Little Flower in the same way. He\nwishes His Mercies to shine forth in me--He Who, while on earth,\ncried out in a transport of joy: \"I bless Thee, O Father, because\nThou hast hidden these things from the wise and prudent and hast\nrevealed them to little ones.\"[9]\n\nAnd because I was small and frail, He bent down to me and\ninstructed me sweetly in the secrets of His love. As St. John of\nthe Cross says in his \"Canticle of the Soul\":\n\n        On that happy night\n        In secret I went forth, beheld by none,\n        And seeing naught;\n        Having no light nor guide\n        Excepting that which burned within my heart,\n\n        Which lit my way\n        More safely than the glare of noon-day sun\n        To where, expectant,\n        He waited for me Who doth know me well,\n        Where none appeared but He.\n\nThis place was Carmel, but before I could \"sit down under His\nShadow Whom I desired,\"[10] I had to pass through many trials. And\nyet the Divine Call was becoming so insistent that, had it been\nnecessary for me to go through fire, I would have thrown myself\ninto it to follow my Divine Master.\n\nPauline[11] was the only one who encouraged me in my vocation;\nMarie thought I was too young, and you, dear Mother, no doubt to\nprove me, tried to restrain my ardour. From the start I\nencountered nothing but difficulties. Then, too, I dared not speak\nof it to Celine, and this silence pained me deeply; it was so hard\nto have a secret she did not share.\n\nHowever, this dear sister soon found out my intention, and, far\nfrom wishing to keep me back, she accepted the sacrifice with\nwonderful courage. As she also wished to be a nun, she ought to\nhave been given the first opportunity; but, imitating the martyrs\nof old, who used joyfully to embrace those chosen to go before\nthem into the arena, she allowed me to leave her, and took my\ntroubles as much to heart as if it were a question of her own\nvocation. From Celine, then, I had nothing to fear, but I did not\nknow how to set about telling Papa. How could his little Queen\ntalk of leaving him when he had already parted with his two eldest\ndaughters? Moreover, this year he had been stricken with a serious\nattack of paralysis, and though he recovered quickly we were full\nof anxiety for the future.\n\nWhat struggles I went through before I could make up my mind to\nspeak! But I had to act decisively; I was now fourteen and a half,\nand in six months' time the blessed feast of Christmas would be\nhere. I had resolved to enter the Carmel at the same hour at which\na year before I had received the grace of conversion.\n\nI chose the feast of Pentecost on which to make my great\ndisclosure. All day I was praying for light from the Holy Ghost,\nand begging the Apostles to pray for me, to inspire me with the\nwords I ought to use. Were they not the very ones to help a timid\nchild whom God destines to become an apostle of apostles by prayer\nand sacrifice?\n\nIn the afternoon, when Vespers were over, I found the opportunity\nI wanted. My Father was sitting in the garden, his hands clasped,\nadmiring the wonders of nature. The rays of the setting sun gilded\nthe tops of the tall trees, and the birds chanted their evening\nprayer.\n\nHis beautiful face wore a heavenly expression--I could feel that\nhis soul was full of peace. Without a word, I sat down by his\nside, my eyes already wet with tears. He looked at me with\nindescribable tenderness, and, pressing me to his heart, said:\n\"What is it, little Queen? Tell me everything.\" Then, in order to\nhide his own emotion, he rose and walked slowly up and down, still\nholding me close to him.\n\nThrough my tears I spoke of the Carmel and of my great wish to\nenter soon. He, too, wept, but did not say a word to turn me from\nmy vocation; he only told me that I was very young to make such a\ngrave decision, and as I insisted, and fully explained my reasons,\nmy noble and generous Father was soon convinced. We walked about\nfor a long time; my heart was lightened, and Papa no longer shed\ntears. He spoke to me as Saints speak, and showed me some flowers\ngrowing in the low stone wall. Picking one of them, he gave it to\nme, and explained the loving care with which God had made it\nspring up and grow till now.\n\nI fancied myself listening to my own story, so close was the\nresemblance between the little flower and little Therese. I\nreceived this floweret as a relic, and noticed that in gathering\nit my Father had pulled it up by the roots without breaking them;\nit seemed destined to live on, but in other and more fertile soil.\nPapa had just done the same for me. He allowed me to leave the\nsweet valley, where I had passed the first years of my life, for\nthe mountain of Carmel. I fastened my little white flower to a\npicture of Our Lady of Victories--the Blessed Virgin smiles on\nit, and the Infant Jesus seems to hold it in His Hand. It is there\nstill, but the stalk is broken close to the root. God doubtless\nwishes me to understand that He will soon break all the earthly\nties of His Little Flower and will not leave her to wither on this\nearth.\n\nHaving obtained my Father's consent, I thought I could now fly to\nthe Carmel without hindrance. Far from it! When I told my uncle of\nmy project, he declared that to enter such a severe Order at the\nage of fifteen seemed to him against all common sense, and that it\nwould be doing a wrong to religion to let a child embrace such a\nlife. He added that he should oppose it in every way possible, and\nthat nothing short of a miracle would make him change his mind.\n\nI could see that all arguments were useless, so I left him, my\nheart weighed down by profound sadness. My only consolation was\nprayer. I entreated Our Lord to work this miracle for me because\nthus only could I respond to His appeal. Some time went by, and my\nuncle did not seem even to remember our conversation, though I\nlearnt later that it had been constantly in his thoughts.\n\nBefore allowing a ray of hope to shine on my soul, Our Lord\ndeigned to send me another most painful trial which lasted for\nthree days. Never had I understood so well the bitter grief of Our\nLady and St. Joseph when they were searching the streets of\nJerusalem for the Divine Child. I seemed to be in a frightful\ndesert, or rather, my soul was like a frail skiff, without a\npilot, at the mercy of the stormy waves. I knew that Jesus was\nthere asleep in my little boat, but how could I see Him while the\nnight was so dark? If the storm had really broken, a flash of\nlightning would perhaps have pierced the clouds that hung over me:\neven though it were but a passing ray, it would have enabled me to\ncatch a momentary glimpse of the Beloved of my heart--but this was\ndenied me. Instead, it was night, dark night, utter desolation,\ndeath! Like my Divine Master in the Agony in the Garden, I felt\nthat I was alone, and found no comfort on earth or in Heaven.\n\nNature itself seemed to share my bitter sadness, for during these\nthree days there was not a ray of sunshine and the rain fell in\ntorrents. I have noticed again and again that in all the important\nevents of my life nature has reflected my feelings. When I wept,\nthe skies wept with me; when I rejoiced, no cloud darkened the\nblue of the heavens. On the fourth day, a Saturday, I went to see\nmy uncle. What was my surprise when I found his attitude towards\nme entirely changed! He invited me into his study, a privilege I\nhad not asked for; then, after gently reproaching me for being a\nlittle constrained with him, he told me that the miracle of which\nhe had spoken was no longer needed. He had prayed God to guide his\nheart aright, and his prayer had been heard. I felt as if I hardly\nknew him, he seemed so different. He embraced me with fatherly\naffection, saying with much feeling: \"Go in peace, my dear child,\nyou are a privileged little flower which Our Lord wishes to\ngather. I will put no obstacle in the way.\"\n\nJoyfully I went home. . . . The clouds had quite disappeared from\nthe sky, and in my soul also dark night was over. Jesus had\nawakened to gladden my heart. I no longer heard the roar of the\nwaves. Instead of the bitter wind of trial, a light breeze swelled\nmy sail, and I fancied myself safe in port. Alas! more than one\nstorm was yet to rise, sometimes even making me fear that I should\nbe driven, without hope of return, from the shore which I longed\nto reach.\n\nI had obtained my uncle's consent, only to be told by you, dear\nMother, that the Superior of the Carmelites would not allow me to\nenter till I was twenty-one. No one had dreamt of this serious\nopposition, the hardest of all to overcome. And yet, without\nlosing courage, I went with Papa to lay my request before him. He\nreceived me very coldly, and could not be induced to change his\nmind. We left him at last with a very decided \"No.\" \"Of course,\"\nhe added, \"I am only the Bishop's delegate; if he allows you to\nenter, I shall have nothing more to say.\"\n\nWhen we came out of the Presbytery again, it was raining in\ntorrents, and my soul, too, was overcast with heavy clouds. Papa\ndid not know how to console me, but he promised, if I wished, to\ntake me to Bayeux to see the Bishop, and to this I eagerly\nconsented.\n\nMany things happened, however, before we were able to go. To all\nappearances my life seemed to continue as formerly. I went on\nstudying, and, what is more important, I went on growing in the\nlove of God. Now and then I experienced what were indeed raptures\nof love.\n\nOne evening, not knowing in what words to tell Our Lord how much I\nloved him, and how much I wished that He was served and honoured\neverywhere, I thought sorrowfully that from the depths of hell\nthere does not go up to Him one single act of love. Then, from my\ninmost heart, I cried out that I would gladly be cast into that\nplace of torment and blasphemy so that He might be eternally loved\neven there. This could not be for His Glory, since He only wishes\nour happiness, but love feels the need of saying foolish things.\nIf I spoke in this way, it was not that I did not long to go to\nHeaven, but for me Heaven was nothing else than Love, and in my\nardour I felt that nothing could separate me from the Divine Being\nWho held me captive.\n\nAbout this time Our Lord gave me the consolation of an intimate\nknowledge of the souls of children. I gained it in this way.\nDuring the illness of a poor woman, I interested myself in her two\nlittle girls, the elder of whom was not yet six. It was a real\npleasure to see how simply they believed all that I told them.\nBaptism does indeed plant deeply in our souls the theological\nvirtues, since from early childhood the hope of heavenly reward is\nstrong enough to make us practise self-denial. When I wanted my\ntwo little girls to be specially kind to one another, instead of\npromising them toys and sweets, I talked to them about the eternal\nrecompense the Holy Child Jesus would give to good children. The\nelder one, who was coming to the use of reason, used to look quite\npleased and asked me charming questions about the little Jesus and\nHis beautiful Heaven. She promised me faithfully always to give in\nto her little sister, adding that all through her life she would\nnever forget what I had taught her. I used to compare these\ninnocent souls to soft wax, ready to receive any impression--evil,\nalas! as well as good, and I understood the words of Our Lord: \"It\nwere better to be thrown into the sea than to scandalise one of\nthese little ones.\"[12]\n\nHow many souls might attain to great sanctity if only they were\ndirected aright from the first! I know God has not need of anyone\nto help Him in His work of sanctification, but as He allows a\nclever gardener to cultivate rare and delicate plants, giving him\nthe skill to accomplish it, while reserving to Himself the right\nof making them grow, so does He wish to be helped in the\ncultivation of souls. What would happen if an ignorant gardener\ndid not graft his trees in the right way? if he did not understand\nthe nature of each, and wished, for instance, to make roses grow\non peach trees?\n\nThis reminds me that I used to have among my birds a canary which\nsang beautifully, and also a little linnet taken from the nest, of\nwhich I was very fond. This poor little prisoner, deprived of the\nteaching it should have received from its parents, and hearing the\njoyous trills of the canary from morning to night, tried hard to\nimitate them. A difficult task indeed for a linnet! It was\ndelightful to follow the efforts of the poor little thing; his\nsweet voice found great difficulty in accommodating itself to the\nvibrant notes of his master, but he succeeded in time, and, to my\ngreat surprise, his song became exactly like the song of the\ncanary.\n\nOh, dear Mother, you know who taught me to sing from the days of\nmy earliest childhood! You know the voices which drew me on. And\nnow I trust that one day, in spite of my weakness, I may sing for\never the Canticle of Love, the harmonious notes of which I have\noften heard sweetly sounding here below.\n\nBut where am I? These thoughts have carried me too far, and I must\nresume the history of my vocation.\n\nOn October 31, 1887, alone with Papa, I started for Bayeux, my\nheart full of hope, but also excited at the idea of presenting\nmyself at the Bishop's house. For the first time in my life, I was\ngoing to pay a visit without any of my sisters, and this to a\nBishop. I, who had never yet had to speak except to answer\nquestions addressed to me, would have to explain and enlarge on my\nreasons for begging to enter the Carmel, and so give proofs of the\ngenuineness of my vocation.\n\nIt cost me a great effort to overcome my shyness sufficiently to\ndo this. But it is true that Love knows no such word as\n\"impossible,\" for it deems \"all things possible, all things\nallowed.\" Nothing whatsoever but the love of Jesus could have made\nme face these difficulties and others which followed, for I had to\npurchase my happiness by heavy trials. Now, it is true, I think I\nbought it very cheaply, and I would willingly bear a thousand\ntimes more bitter suffering to gain it, if it were not already\nmine.\n\nWhen we reached the Bishop's house, the floodgates of Heaven\nseemed open once more. The Vicar-General, Father Reverony, who had\nsettled the date of our coming, received us very kindly, though he\nlooked a little surprised, and seeing tears in my eyes said:\n\"Those diamonds must not be shown to His Lordship!\" We were led\nthrough large reception-rooms which made me feel how small I was,\nand I wondered what I should dare say. The Bishop was walking in a\ncorridor with two Priests. I saw the Vicar-General speak a few\nwords to him, then they came into the room where we were waiting.\nThere were three large armchairs in front of the fireplace, where\na bright fire blazed.\n\nAs his Lordship entered, my Father and I knelt for his blessing;\nthen he made us sit down. Father Reverony offered me the armchair\nin the middle. I excused myself politely, but he insisted, telling\nme to show if I knew how to obey. I did so without any more\nhesitation, and was mortified to see him take an ordinary chair\nwhile I was buried in an enormous seat that would comfortably have\nheld four children like me--more comfortably in fact, for I was\nfar from being at ease. I hoped that Papa was going to do all the\ntalking, but he told me to explain the reason of our visit. I did\nso as eloquently as I could, though I knew well that one word from\nthe Superior would have carried more weight than all my reasons,\nwhile his opposition told strongly against me. The Bishop asked\nhow long I had wanted to enter the Carmel. \"A very long time, my\nLord!\" \"Come!\" said the Vicar-General, laughing, \"it cannot be as\nlong as fifteen years.\" \"That is true,\" I answered, \"but it is not\nmuch less, for I have wished to give myself to God from the time I\nwas three.\" The Bishop, no doubt to please Papa, tried to explain\nthat I ought to remain some time longer with him; but, to his\ngreat surprise and edification, my Father took my part, adding\nrespectfully that we were going to Rome with the diocesan\npilgrimage, and that I should not hesitate to speak to the Holy\nFather if I could not obtain permission before then. However, it\nwas decided that, previous to giving an answer, an interview with\nthe Superior was absolutely necessary. This was particularly\nunpleasant hearing, for I knew his declared and determined\nopposition; and, in spite of the advice not to allow the Bishop to\nsee any diamonds, I not only showed them but let them fall. He\nseemed touched, and caressed me fondly. I was afterwards told he\nhad never treated any child so kindly.\n\n\"All is not lost, little one,\" he said, \"but I am very glad that\nyou are going to Rome with your good Father; you will thus\nstrengthen your vocation. Instead of weeping, you ought to\nrejoice. I am going to Lisieux next week, and I will talk to the\nSuperior about you. You shall certainly have my answer when you\nare in Italy.\" His Lordship then took us to the garden, and was\nmuch interested when Papa told him that, to make myself look\nolder, I had put up my hair for the first time that very morning.\nThis was not forgotten, for I know that even now, whenever the\nBishop tells anyone about his \"little daughter,\" he always repeats\nthe story about her hair. I must say I should prefer my little\nsecret to have been kept. As he took us to the door, the\nVicar-General remarked that such a thing had never been seen--a\nfather as anxious to give his child to God as the child was to\noffer herself.\n\nWe had to return to Lisieux without a favourable answer. It seemed\nto me as though my future were shattered for ever; the nearer I\ndrew to the goal, the greater my difficulties became. But all the\ntime I felt deep down in my heart a wondrous peace, because I knew\nthat I was only seeking the Will of my Lord.\n______________________________\n\n[1] Cf. Psalm 18[19]:5.\n\n[2] Luke 5:5.\n\n[3] John 4:7.\n\n[4] Eccl. 1:14.\n\n[5] Ezechiel 16:8, 9, 13.\n\n[6] Cf. _Imit.,_ III, ch. xliii. 4.\n\n[7] Cf. Cant. 8:1.\n\n[8] Luke 19:26.\n\n[9] Cf. Luke 10:21.\n\n[10] Cant. 2:3.\n\n[11] Sister Agnes of Jesus.\n\n[12] Cf. Matt. 18:6.\n\n______________________________\n\nCHAPTER VI\nA PILGRIMAGE TO ROME\n\nThree days after the journey to Bayeux, I started on a much longer\none--to the Eternal City. This journey taught me the vanity of\nall that passes away. Nevertheless I saw splendid monuments; I\nstudied the countless wonders of art and religion; and better than\nall, I trod the very ground the Holy Apostles had trodden--the\nground watered by the blood of martyrs--and my soul grew by\ncontact with these holy things.\n\nI was delighted to go to Rome; but I could quite understand people\ncrediting Papa with the hope that in this way I should be brought\nto change my mind about the religious life. It might certainly\nhave upset a vocation that was not very strong.\n\nTo begin with, Celine and I found ourselves in the company of many\ndistinguished people. In fact, there were scarcely any others in\nthe pilgrimage; but, far from being dazzled thereby, titles seemed\nto us but a \"vapour of smoke,\"[1] and I understood the words of\nthe _Imitation:_ \"Be not solicitous for the shadow of a great\nname.\"[2] I understood that true greatness is not found in a name\nbut in the soul. The Prophet Isaias tells us: \"The Lord shall call\nHis servants by another name,\"[3] and we read in St. John: \"To him\nthat overcometh I will give a white counter, and on the counter a\nnew name written which no man knoweth but he that receiveth\nit.\"[4] In Heaven, therefore, we shall know our titles of\nnobility, and \"then shall every man have praise from God,\"[5] and\nhe who on earth chose to be poorest and least known for love of\nhis Saviour, he will be the first, the noblest, and the richest.\n\nThe second thing I learnt had to do with Priests. Up to this time\nI had not understood the chief aim of the Carmelite Reform. To\npray for sinners delighted me; to pray for Priests, whose souls\nseemed pure as crystal, that indeed astonished me. But in Italy I\nrealised my vocation, and even so long a journey was a small price\nto pay for such valuable knowledge. During that month I met with\nmany holy Priests, and yet I saw that even though the sublime\ndignity of Priesthood raises them higher than the Angels, they are\nstill but weak and imperfect men. And so if holy Priests, whom Our\nLord in the Gospel calls the salt of the earth, have need of our\nprayers, what must we think of the lukewarm? Has not Our Lord\nsaid: \"If the salt lose its savour wherewith shall it be\nsalted?\"[6] Oh, dear Mother, how beautiful is our vocation! We\nCarmelites are called to preserve \"the salt of the earth.\" We\noffer our prayers and sacrifices for the apostles of the Lord; we\nourselves ought to be their apostles, while they, by word and\nexample, are preaching the Gospel to our brethren. Have we not a\nglorious mission to fulfill? But I must say no more, for I feel\nthat on this subject my pen would run on for ever.\n\nNow let me describe my journey in some detail. At three o'clock in\nthe morning of November 4, we passed through the silent streets.\nLisieux still lay shrouded in the darkness of night. I felt that I\nwas going out into the unknown, and that great things were\nawaiting me in Rome. When we reached Paris, Papa took us to see\nall the sights. For me there was but one--Our Lady of Victories. I\ncan never tell you what I felt at her shrine; the graces Our Lady\ngranted me were like those of my First Communion Day. I was filled\nwith peace and happiness. In this holy spot the Blessed Virgin, my\nMother, told me plainly that it was really she who had smiled on\nme and cured me. With intense fervour I entreated her to keep me\nalways, and to realise my heart's desire by hiding me under her\nspotless mantle, and I also asked her to remove from me every\noccasion of sin.\n\nI was well aware that during this journey I should come across\nthings that might disturb me; knowing nothing of evil, I feared I\nmight discover it. As yet I had not experienced that \"to the pure\nall things are pure,\"[7] that a simple and upright soul does not\nsee evil in anything, because evil only exists in impure hearts\nand not in inanimate objects. I prayed specially to St. Joseph to\nwatch over me; from my childhood, devotion to him has been\ninterwoven with my love for our Blessed Lady. Every day I said the\nprayer beginning: \"St. Joseph, Father and Protector of Virgins\"\n. . . so I felt I was well protected and quite safe from danger.\n\nWe left Paris on November 7, after our solemn Consecration to the\nSacred Heart in the Basilica of Montmartre.[8] Each compartment of\nthe train was named after a Saint, and the selection was made in\nhonour of some Priest occupying it--his own patron or that of his\nparish being chosen. But in the presence of all the pilgrims our\ncompartment was named after St. Martin! My Father, deeply touched\nby this compliment, went at once to thank Mgr. Legoux,\nVicar-General of Coutances and director of the pilgrimage. From\nthis onwards he was often called \"Monsieur Saint Martin.\"\n\nFather Reverony watched my behaviour closely. I could tell that he\nwas doing so; at table, if I were not opposite to him, he would\nlean forward to look at me and listen to what I was saying. I\nthink he must have been satisfied with his investigations, for,\ntowards the end of the journey, he seemed more favourably\ndisposed. I say towards the end, for in Rome he was far from being\nmy advocate, as I will tell you presently. Still I would not have\nit thought he deceived me in any way by falling short of the good\nwill he had shown at Bayeux. On the contrary, I am sure that he\nalways felt kindly towards me, and that if he opposed my wishes it\nwas only to put me to the test.\n\nOn our way into Italy we passed through Switzerland, with its high\nmountains, their snowy peaks lost in the clouds, its rushing\ntorrents, and its deep valleys filled with giant ferns and purple\nheather. Great good was wrought in my soul by these beauties of\nnature so abundantly scattered abroad. They lifted it to Him Who\nhad been pleased to lavish such masterpieces upon this transient\nearth.\n\nSometimes we were high up the mountain side, while at our feet an\nunfathomable abyss seemed ready to engulf us. A little later we\nwere passing through a charming village with its cottages and\ngraceful belfry, above which light fleecy clouds floated lazily.\nFarther on a great lake with its blue waters, so calm and clear,\nwould blend with the glowing splendour of the setting sun. I\ncannot tell you how deeply I was impressed with this scenery so\nfull of poetry and grandeur. It was a foretaste of the wonders of\nHeaven. Then the thought of religious life would come before me,\nas it really is, with its constraints and its little daily\nsacrifices made in secret. I understood how easily one might\nbecome wrapped in self and forget the sublime end of one's\nvocation, and I thought: \"Later on, when the time of trial comes,\nwhen I am enclosed in the Carmel and shall only be able to see a\nlittle bit of sky, I will remember this day and it will encourage\nme. I will make light of my own small interests by thinking of the\ngreatness and majesty of God; I will love Him alone, and will not\nbe so foolish as to attach myself to the fleeting trifles of this\nworld, now that my heart has had a glimpse of what is reserved for\nthose who love Him.\"\n\nAfter having contemplated the works of God, I turned next to\nadmire those of His creatures. Milan was the first Italian town we\nvisited, and we carefully studied its Cathedral of white marble,\nadorned with countless statues. Celine and I left the timid ones,\nwho hid their faces in fear after climbing to the first stage,\nand, following the bolder pilgrims, we reached the top, from\nwhence we viewed the city below. When we came down we started on\nthe first of our expeditions; these lasted the whole month of the\npilgrimage, and quite cured me of a desire to be always lazily\nriding in a carriage.\n\nThe \"Campo Santo\"[9] charmed us. The whole vast enclosure is\ncovered with marble statues, so exquisitely carved as to be\nlife-like, and placed with an apparent negligence that only\nenhances their charm. You feel almost tempted to console the\nimaginary personages that surround you, their expression so\nexactly portrays a calm and Christian sorrow. And what works of\nart! Here is a child putting flowers on its father's grave--one\nforgets how solid is marble--the delicate petals appear to slip\nthrough its fingers. Sometimes the light veils of the widows, and\nthe ribbons of the young girls, seem floating on the breeze.\n\nWe could not find words to express our admiration, but an old\ngentleman who followed us everywhere--regretting no doubt his\ninability to share our sentiments--said in a tone of ill-temper:\n\"Oh, what enthusiasts these French people are!\" and yet he also\nwas French. I think the poor man would have done better to stay at\nhome. Instead of enjoying the journey he was always grumbling:\nnothing pleased him, neither cities, hotels, people, nor anything\nelse. My Father, whose disposition was the exact opposite, was\nquite content, no matter what happened, and tried to cheer our\nfriend, offering him his place in the carriage or elsewhere, and\nwith his wonted goodness encouraging him to look on the bright\nside of things. But nothing could cheer him. How many different\nkinds of people we saw and how interesting it is to study the\nworld when one is just about to leave it!\n\nIn Venice the scene changed completely. Instead of the bustle of a\nlarge city, silence reigned, broken only by the lapping of the\nwaters and the cries of the gondoliers as they plied their oars;\nit is a city full of charm but full of sadness. Even the Palace of\nthe Doges, splendid though it be, is sad; we walked through halls\nwhose vaulted roofs have long since ceased to re-echo the voices\nof the governors in their sentences of life and death. Its dark\ndungeons are no longer a living tomb for unfortunate prisoners to\npine within.\n\nWhile visiting these dreadful prisons I fancied myself in the\ntimes of the martyrs, and gladly would I have chosen this sombre\nabode for my dwelling if there had been any question of confessing\nmy faith. Presently the guide's voice roused me from my reverie,\nand I crossed the \"Bridge of Sighs,\" so called because of the\nsighs uttered by the wretched prisoners as they passed from their\ndungeons to sentence and to death. After leaving Venice we visited\nPadua and there venerated the relic of St. Anthony's tongue; then\nBologna, where St. Catherine's body rests. Her face still bears\nthe impress of the kiss bestowed on her by the Infant Jesus.\n\nI was indeed happy when on the way to Loreto. Our Lady had chosen\nan ideal spot in which to place her Holy House. Everything is\npoor, simple, and primitive; the women still wear the graceful\ndress of the country and have not, as in the large towns, adopted\nthe modern Paris fashions. I found Loreto enchanting. And what\nshall I say of the Holy House? I was overwhelmed with emotion when\nI realised that I was under the very roof that had sheltered the\nHoly Family. I gazed on the same walls Our Lord had looked on. I\ntrod the ground once moistened with the sweat of St. Joseph's\ntoil, and saw the little chamber of the Annunciation, where the\nBlessed Virgin Mary held Jesus in her arms after she had borne Him\nthere in her virginal womb. I even put my Rosary into the little\nporringer used by the Divine Child. How sweet those memories!\n\nBut our greatest joy was to receive Jesus in His own House, and\nthus become His living temple in the very place which He had\nhonoured by His Divine Presence. According to Roman custom the\nBlessed Sacrament is reserved at one Altar in each Church, and\nthere only is it given to the faithful. At Loreto this Altar was\nin the Basilica--which is built round the Holy House, enclosing it\nas a precious stone might be enclosed in a casket of white marble.\nThe exterior mattered little to us, it was in the _diamond_ itself\nthat we wished to receive the Bread of Angels. My Father, with his\nhabitual gentleness, followed the other pilgrims, but his\ndaughters, less easily satisfied, went towards the Holy House.\n\nGod favoured us, for a Priest was on the point of celebrating\nMass; we told him of our great wish, and he immediately asked for\ntwo hosts, which he placed on the paten. You may picture, dear\nMother, the ecstatic happiness of that Communion; no words can\ndescribe it. What will be our joy when we communicate eternally in\nthe dwelling of the King of Heaven? It will be undimmed by the\ngrief of parting, and will know no end. His House will be ours for\nall eternity, and there will be no need to covet fragments from\nthe walls hallowed by the Divine Presence. He will not give us His\nearthly Home--He only shows it to us to make us love poverty and\nthe hidden life. What He has in store for us is the Palace of His\nGlory, where we shall no longer see Him veiled under the form of a\nchild or the appearance of bread, but as He is, in the brightness\nof His Infinite Beauty.\n\nNow I am going to tell you about Rome--Rome, where I thought to\nfind comfort and where I found the cross. It was night when we\narrived. I was asleep, and was awakened by the porters calling:\n\"Roma!\" The pilgrims caught up the cry and repeated: \"Roma, Roma!\"\nThen I knew that it was not a dream, I was really in Rome!\n\nOur first day, and perhaps the most enjoyable, was spent outside\nthe walls. There, everything retains its stamp of antiquity,\nwhilst in Rome, with its hotels and shops, one might fancy oneself\nin Paris. This drive in the Roman Campagna has left a specially\ndelightful impression on my mind.\n\nHow shall I describe the feelings which thrilled me when I gazed\non the Coliseum? At last I saw the arena where so many Martyrs had\nshed their blood for Christ. My first impulse was to kiss the\nground sanctified by their glorious combats. But what a\ndisappointment! The soil has been raised, and the real arena is\nnow buried at the depth of about twenty-six feet.\n\nAs the result of excavations the centre is nothing but a mass of\nrubbish, and an insurmountable barrier guards the entrance; in any\ncase no one dare penetrate into the midst of these dangerous\nruins. But was it possible to be in Rome and not go down to the\nreal Coliseum? No, indeed! And I no longer listened to the guide's\nexplanations: one thought only filled my mind--I must reach the\narena.\n\nWe are told in the Gospel that St. Mary Magdalen remained close to\nthe Sepulchre and stooped down constantly to look in; she was\nrewarded by seeing two Angels. So, like her, I kept stooping down\nand I saw, not two Angels, but what I was in search of. I uttered\na cry of joy and called out to my sister: \"Come, follow me, we\nshall be able to get through.\" We hurried on at once, scrambling\nover the ruins which crumbled under our feet. Papa, aghast at our\nboldness, called out to us, but we did not hear.\n\nAs the warriors of old felt their courage grow in face of peril,\nso our joy increased in proportion to the fatigue and danger we\nhad to face to attain the object of our desires. Celine, more\nforeseeing than I, had listened to the guide. She remembered that\nhe had pointed out a particular stone marked with a cross, and had\ntold us it was the place where the Martyrs had fought the good\nfight. She set to work to find it, and having done so we threw\nourselves on our knees on this sacred ground. Our souls united in\none and the same prayer. My heart beat violently when I pressed my\nlips to the dust reddened with the blood of the early Christians.\nI begged for the grace to be a martyr for Jesus, and I felt in the\ndepths of my heart that my prayer was heard. All this took but a\nshort time. After collecting some stones we approached the walls\nonce more to face the danger. We were so happy that Papa had not\nthe heart to scold us, and I could see that he was proud of our\ncourage.\n\nFrom the Coliseum we went to the Catacombs, and there Celine and I\nlaid ourselves down in what had once been the tomb of St. Cecilia,\nand took some of the earth sanctified by her holy remains. Before\nour journey to Rome I had not felt any special devotion to St.\nCecilia, but on visiting the house where she was martyred, and\nhearing her proclaimed \"Queen of harmony\"--because of the sweet\nsong she sang in her heart to her Divine Spouse--I felt more than\ndevotion towards her, it was real love as for a friend. She became\nmy chosen patroness, and the keeper of all my secrets; her\nabandonment to God and her boundless confidence delighted me\nbeyond measure. They were so great that they enabled her to make\nsouls pure which had never till then desired aught but earthly\npleasures.\n\nSt. Cecilia is like the Spouse in the Canticles. I find in her the\nScriptural \"choir in an armed camp.\"[10] Her life was one\nmelodious song in the midst of the greatest trials; and this is\nnot strange, because we read that \"the Book of the Holy Gospels\nlay ever on her heart,\"[11] while in her heart reposed the Spouse\nof Virgins.\n\nOur visit to the Church of St. Agnes was also very delightful. I\ntried, but without success, to obtain a relic to take back to my\nlittle Mother, Sister Agnes of Jesus. Men refused me, but God\nHimself came to my aid: a little bit of red marble, from an\nancient mosaic dating back to the time of the sweet martyr, fell\nas my feet. Was this not touching? St. Agnes herself gave me a\nkeepsake from her house.\n\nWe spent six days in visiting the great wonders in Rome, and on\nthe seventh saw the greatest of all--Leo XIII. I longed for, yet\ndreaded, that day, for on it depended my vocation. I had received\nno answer from the Bishop of Bayeux, and so the Holy Father's\npermission was my one and only hope. But in order to obtain this\npermission I had first to ask it. The mere thought made me\ntremble, for I must dare speak to the Pope, and that, in presence\nof many Cardinals, Archbishops, and Bishops!\n\nOn Sunday morning, November 20, we went to the Vatican, and were\ntaken to the Pope's private chapel. At eight o'clock we assisted\nat his Mass, during which his fervent piety, worthy of the Vicar\nof Christ, gave evidence that he was in truth the \"Holy Father.\"\n\nThe Gospel for that day contained these touching words: \"Fear not,\nlittle flock, for it hath pleased your Father to give you a\nKingdom.\"[12] My heart was filled with perfect confidence. No, I\nwould not fear, I would trust that the Kingdom of the Carmel would\nsoon be mine. I did not think of those other words of Our Lord: \"I\ndispose to you, as my Father hath disposed to Me, a Kingdom.\"[13]\nThat is to say, I will give you crosses and trials, and thus will\nyou become worthy to possess My Kingdom. _If you desire to sit on\nHis right hand you must drink the chalice which He has drunk\nHimself._[14] \"Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and\nso to enter into His glory?\"[15]\n\nA Mass of thanksgiving followed, and then the audience began. Leo\nXIII, whose cassock and cape were of white, was seated on a raised\nchair, and round him were grouped various dignitaries of the\nchurch. According to custom each visitor knelt in turn and kissed,\nfirst the foot and next the hand of the venerable Pontiff, and\nfinally received his blessing; then two of the Noble Guard signed\nto the pilgrim that he must rise and pass on to the adjoining room\nto make way for those who followed.\n\nNo one uttered a word, but I was firmly determined to speak, when\nsuddenly the Vicar-General of Bayeux, Father Reverony, who was\nstanding at the Pope's right hand, told us in a loud voice that he\nabsolutely forbade anyone to address the Holy Father. My heart\nbeat fast. I turned to Celine, mutely inquiring what I should do.\n\"Speak!\" she said.\n\nThe next moment I found myself on my knees before the Holy Father.\nI kissed his foot and he held out his hand; then raising my eyes,\nwhich were filled with tears, I said entreatingly: \"Holy Father, I\nhave a great favour to ask you.\" At once he bent towards me till\nhis face almost touched mine, and his piercing black eyes seemed\nto read my very soul. \"Holy Father,\" I repeated, \"in honour of\nyour jubilee, will you allow me to enter the Carmel when I am\nfifteen?\"\n\nThe Vicar-General, surprised and displeased, said quickly: \"Holy\nFather, this is a child who desires to become a Carmelite, but the\nSuperiors of the Carmel are looking into the matter.\" \"Well, my\nchild,\" said His Holiness, \"do whatever the Superiors decide.\"\nClasping my hands and resting them on his knee, I made a final\neffort: \"Holy Father, if only you say 'yes,' everyone else would\nagree.\"\n\nHe looked at me fixedly and said clearly and emphatically: \"Well,\nwell! You will enter if it is God's Will.\" I was going to speak\nagain, when the Noble Guards motioned to me. As I paid little\nattention they came forward, the Vicar-General with them, for I\nwas still kneeling before the Pope with my hands resting on his\nknee. Just as I was forced to rise, the dear Holy Father gently\nplaced his hand on my lips, then lifted it to bless me, letting\nhis eyes follow me for quite a long time.\n\nMy Father was much distressed to find me coming from the audience\nin tears; he had passed out before me, and so did not know\nanything about my request. The Vicar-General had shown him unusual\nkindness, presenting him to Leo XIII as the father of two\nCarmelites. The Sovereign Pontiff, as a special sign of\nbenevolence, had placed his hand on his head, thus appearing in\nthe name of Christ Himself to mark him with a mysterious seal. But\nnow that this father of _four_ Carmelites is in Heaven, it is no\nlonger the hand of Christ's Vicar which rests on his brow,\nprophesying his martyrdom: it is the hand of the Spouse of\nVirgins, of the King of Heaven; and this Divine Hand will never be\ntaken away from the head which it has blessed.\n\nThis trial was indeed a heavy one, but I must admit that in spite\nof my tears I felt a deep inward peace, for I had made every\neffort in my power to respond to the appeal of my Divine Master.\nThis peace, however, dwelt in the depths of my soul--on the\nsurface all was bitterness; and Jesus was silent--absent it would\nseem, for nothing revealed that He was there.\n\nOn that day, too, the sun dared not shine, and the beautiful blue\nsky of Italy, hidden by dark clouds, mingled its tears with mine.\nAll was at an end. My journey had no further charm for me since it\nhad failed in its object. It is true the Holy Father's words: \"You\nwill enter if it is God's Will,\" should have consoled me, they\nwere indeed a prophecy. In spite of all these obstacles, what God\nin His goodness willed, has come to pass. He has not allowed His\ncreatures to do what they will but only what He wills. Sometime\nbefore this took place I had offered myself to the Child Jesus to\nbe His little plaything. I told Him not to treat me like one of\nthose precious toys which children only look at and dare not\ntouch, but to treat me like a little ball of no value, that could\nbe thrown on the ground, kicked about, pierced, left in a corner,\nor pressed to His Heart just as it might please Him. In a word I\nwished to amuse the Holy child and to let Him play with me as He\nfancied. Here indeed He was answering my prayer. In Rome Jesus\npierced His little plaything. He wanted to see what was inside\n. . . and when satisfied, He let it drop and went to sleep. What\nwas\nHe doing during His sweet slumber, and what became of the ball\nthus cast on one side? He dreamed that He was still at play, that\nHe took it up or threw it down, that He rolled it far away, but at\nlast He pressed it to His Heart, nor did He allow it again to slip\nfrom His tiny Hand. Dear Mother, you can imagine the sadness of\nthe little ball lying neglected on the ground! And yet it\ncontinued to hope against hope.\n\nAfter our audience my Father went to call on Brother Simeon--the\nfounder and director of St. Joseph's College--and there he met\nFather Reverony. He reproached him gently for not having helped me\nin my difficult task, and told the whole story to Brother Simeon.\nThe good old man listened with much interest and even made notes,\nsaying with evident feeling: \"This kind of thing is not seen in\nItaly.\"\n\nThe next day we started for Naples and Pompeii. Vesuvius did us\nthe honour of emitting from its crater a thick volume of smoke,\naccompanied by numerous loud reports. The traces of the\ndevastation of Pompeii are terrifying. They show forth the power\nof God: \"He looketh upon the earth, and maketh it tremble; He\ntoucheth the mountains and they smoke.\"\n\nI should like to have wandered alone among its ruins, meditating\non the instability of human things, but such solitude was not to\nbe thought of.\n\nAt Naples we made an expedition to the monastery of San Martino;\nit crowns a high hill overlooking the whole city. On the way back\nthe horses took the bit in their teeth, and it is solely to our\nGuardian Angels that I attribute our safe return to the splendid\nhotel. This word \"splendid\" is not too strong to describe it; in\nfact during the whole journey we stayed only at the most expansive\nhotels. I had never been surrounded by such luxury, but it is\nindeed a true saying that riches do not make happiness. I should\nhave been a thousand times more contented under a thatched room,\nwith the hope of entering the Carmel, than I was amid marble\nstaircases, gilded ceilings, and silken hangings, with my heart\nfull of sorrow.\n\nI realised thoroughly that joy is not found in the things which\nsurround us, but lives only in the soul. One could possess it as\nwell in an obscure prison as in the palace of a king. And so now I\nam happier at the Carmel, in the midst of trials within and\nwithout, than I was in the world where I had everything I wanted,\nand, above all, the joys of a happy home.\n\nAlthough I felt heavy of heart, outwardly I was as usual, for I\nthought no one had any knowledge of my petition to the Pope. I was\nmistaken. One day, when the other pilgrims had gone to the\nrefreshment-room and Celine and I were alone, Mgr. Legoux came to\nthe door of the carriage. He looked at me attentively and smiling\nsaid: \"Well, and how is our little Carmelite?\" This showed me that\nmy secret was known to all the pilgrims, and I gathered it, too,\nfrom their kindly looks; but happily no one spoke to me on the\nsubject.\n\nAt Assisi I had a little adventure. While visiting the places\nsanctified by the virtues of St. Francis and St. Clare I lost the\nbuckle of my belt in the monastery. It took me some time to find\nand put it back in place, and when I reached the door all the\ncarriages had started except one; that belonged to the\nVicar-General of Bayeux! Should I run after those which were no\nlonger in sight and so perhaps miss the train, or should I beg for\na seat in the carriage of Father Reverony? I decided that this was\nthe wiser plan.\n\nI tried to hide my extreme embarrassment and explained things. He\nwas placed in a difficulty himself, for all the seats were\noccupied, but one of the party promptly gave me his place and sat\nby the driver. I felt like a squirrel caught in a snare. I was ill\nat ease in the midst of these great people, and I had to sit face\nto face with the most formidable of all. He was exceedingly kind,\nhowever, and now and then interrupted his conversation to talk to\nme about the Carmel and promise that he would do all in his power\nto realise my desire of entering at fifteen. This meeting was like\nbalm to my wounds, though it did not prevent me from suffering. I\nhad now lost all trust in creatures and could only lean on God\nHimself.\n\nAnd yet my distress did not hinder me from taking a deep interest\nin the holy places we visited. In Florence we saw the shrine of\nSt. Mary Magdalen of Pazzi, in the choir of the Carmelite Church.\nAll the pilgrims wanted to touch the Saint's tomb with their\nRosaries, but my hand was the only one small enough to pass\nthrough the grating. So I was deputed for this important and\nlengthy task, and I did it with pride.\n\nIt was not the first time I had obtained special favours. One day,\nat _Santa Croce,_ in Rome, we venerated the relics of the True\nCross, together with two of the Thorns, and one of the Sacred\nNails. I wanted to examine them closely, so I remained behind, and\nwhen the monk in charge was going to replace them on the Altar, I\nasked if I might touch the precious treasures. He said I might do\nso, but was doubtful if I should succeed; however, I put my little\nfinger into one of the openings of the reliquary and was able to\ntouch the Sacred Nail once hallowed by the Blood of Our Saviour.\nYou see I behaved towards Him like a child who thinks it may do as\nit pleases and looks on its Father's treasures as its own.\n\nHaving passed through Pisa and Genoa we came back to France by one\nof the loveliest routes. At times we were close to the sea, and\none day during a storm it seemed as though the waves would reach\nthe train. Farther on we travelled through plains covered with\norange trees, olives, and feathery palms, while at night the\nnumerous seaports twinkled with lights, and stars came out in the\ndeep blue sky. But I watched the fairy picture fade away from my\neyes without any regret--my heart was set elsewhere.\n\nMy Father proposed to take me to Jerusalem, but in spite of the\nnatural wish I had to visit the places sanctified by Our Lord's\nFootsteps, I was weary of earthly pilgrimages and only longed for\nthe beauties of Heaven. In order to win these beauties for souls I\nwanted to become a prisoner as quickly as possible. I felt that I\nmust suffer and struggle still more before the gates of my blessed\nprison would open; yet my trust in God did not grow less, and I\nstill hoped to enter at Christmas.\n\nWe had hardly reached home when I paid a visit to the Carmel. You\nmust remember well that interview, dear Mother. I left myself\nentirely in your hands, for I had exhausted all my resources. You\ntold me to write to the Bishop and remind him of his promise. I\nobeyed at once, and as soon as my letter was posted I felt I\nshould obtain the coveted permission without any delay. Alas! each\nday brought fresh disappointments. The beautiful feast of\nChristmas dawned; still Jesus slept. He left His little ball on\nthe ground without even glancing that way.\n\nThis was indeed a sore trial, but Our Lord, Whose Heart is always\nwatching, taught me that He granted miracles to those whose faith\nis small as a grain of mustard seed, in the hope of strengthening\nthis slender faith; whilst for His intimate friends, for His\nMother, He did not work miracles till He had proved their faith.\nDid He not permit Lazarus to die even though Mary and Martha had\nsent word that he was sick? And at the marriage feast of Cana,\nwhen Our Lady asked her Divine Son to aid the master of the house,\ndid He not answer that His hour had not yet come? But after the\ntrial what a reward! Water is changed into wine, and Lazarus rises\nfrom the dead. In this way did my Beloved act with His little\nTherese; after He had tried her for a long time He granted all her\ndesires.\n\nFor my New Year's gift of 1888, Jesus again gave me His Cross. You\ntold me, dear Mother, that you had had the Bishop's answer since\nDecember 28, the feast of Holy Innocents; that he authorised my\nimmediate entry into the Carmel, but that nevertheless you had\ndecided not to open its doors till after Lent. I could not\nrestrain my tears at the thought of such a long delay. This trial\naffected me in a special manner, for I felt my earthly ties were\nsevered, and yet the Ark in its turn refused to admit the poor\nlittle dove.\n\nHow did these three months pass? They were fruitful in sufferings\nand still more so in other graces. At first the thought came into\nmy mind that I would not put any extra restraint on myself, I\nwould lead a life somewhat less strictly ordered than was my\ncustom. But Our Lord made me understand the benefit I might derive\nfrom this time He had granted me, and I then resolved to give\nmyself up to a more serious and mortified life. When I say\nmortified, I do not mean that I imitated the penances of the\nSaints; far from resembling those beautiful souls who have\npractised all sorts of mortifications from their infancy, I made\nmine consist in simply checking my inclinations, keeping back an\nimpatient answer, doing little services to those around me without\nsetting store thereby, and a hundred other things of the kind. By\npractising these trifles I prepared myself to become the Spouse of\nJesus, and I can never tell you, Mother, how much the added delay\nhelped me to grow in abandonment, in humility, and in other\nvirtues.\n______________________________\n\n[1] Joel 2:19.\n\n[2] _Imitation of Christ,_ III, xxiv. 2.\n\n[3] Isa. 65:15.\n\n[4] Apoc. 2:17.\n\n[5] 1 Cor. 4:5.\n\n[6] Matt. 5:13.\n\n[7] Tit. 1:15.\n\n[8] Montmartre--the \"Mount of Martyrs\"--is the hill whereon St.\nDenis, apostle and bishop of Paris, was martyred with his two\ncompanions in the third century. It was a famous place of\npilgrimage in medieval times, and here St. Ignatius and the first\nJesuits took their vows. Under the presidency of Marshal MacMahon,\nthe erection of the well-known Basilica was voted in 1873 by the\nFrench Chamber of Deputies as a national act of reparation to the\nSacred Heart. [Ed.]\n\n[9] Cemetery.\n\n[10] Cf. Cant. 7:1.\n\n[11] Office of St. Cecilia.\n\n[12] Luke 12:32.\n\n[13] Luke 22:29.\n\n[14] Cf. Matt. 20:22.\n\n[15] Luke 24:26.\n\n______________________________\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\nTHE LITTLE FLOWER ENTERS THE CARMEL\n\nMonday, April 9, 1888, being the Feast of the Annunciation,\ntransferred from Passiontide, was the day chosen for me to enter\nthe Carmel. On the evening before, we were gathered around the\ntable where I was to take my place for the last time. These\nfarewells are in themselves heartrending, and just when I would\nhave liked to be forgotten I received the tenderest expressions of\naffection, as if to increase the pain of parting.\n\nThe next morning, after a last look at the happy home of my\nchildhood, I set out for the Carmel, where we all heard Mass. At\nthe moment of Communion, when Jesus had entered our hearts, I\nheard sobs on all sides. I did not shed a tear, but as I led the\nway to the cloister door my heart beat so violently that I\nwondered if I were going to die. Oh, the agony of that moment! One\nmust have experienced it in order to understand. I embraced all my\ndear ones and knelt for my Father's blessing. He, too, knelt down\nand blessed me through his tears. It was a sight to gladden the\nAngels, this old man giving his child to God while she was yet in\nthe springtime of life. At length the doors of the Carmel closed\nupon me. . . . I found a welcome in your arms, dear Mother, and\nreceived the embraces of another family, whose devotedness and\nlove is not dreamt of by the outside world.\n\nAt last my desires were realised, and I cannot describe the deep\nsweet peace which filled my soul. This peace has remained with me\nduring the eight and a half years of my life here, and has never\nleft me even amid the greatest trials.\n\nEverything in the Convent delighted me, especially our little\ncell.[1] I fancied myself transported to the desert. I repeat that\nmy happiness was calm and peaceful--not even the lightest breeze\nruffled the tranquil waters on which my little barque sailed; no\ncloud darkened the blue sky. I felt fully recompensed for all I\nhad gone through, and I kept saying: \"Now I am here for ever.\"\nMine was no passing joy, it did not fade like first illusions.\nFrom illusions God in His Mercy has ever preserved me. I found the\nreligious life just what I expected, and sacrifice was never a\nmatter of surprise. Yet you know well that from the beginning my\nways was strewn with thorns rather than with roses.\n\nIn the first place, my soul had for its daily food the bread of\nspiritual dryness. Then, too, dear Mother, Our Lord allowed you,\nunconsciously, to treat me very severely. You found fault with me\nwhenever you met me. I remember once I had left a cobweb in the\ncloister, and you said to me before the whole community: \"It is\neasy to see that our cloisters are swept by a child of fifteen. It\nis disgraceful! Go and sweep away that cobweb, and be more careful\nin future.\"\n\nOn the rare occasions when I spent an hour with you for spiritual\ndirection, you seemed to be scolding me nearly all the time, and\nwhat pained me most of all was that I did not see how to correct\nmy faults: for instance, my slow ways and want of thoroughness in\nmy duties, faults which you were careful to point out.\n\nOne day it occurred to me that you would certainly prefer me to\nspend my free time in work instead of in prayer, as was my custom;\nso I plied my needle industriously without even raising my eyes.\nNo one ever knew of this, as I wished to be faithful to Our Lord\nand do things solely for Him to see.\n\nWhen I was a postulant our Mistress used to send me every\nafternoon at half-past four to weed the garden. This was a real\npenance, the more so, dear Mother, because I was almost sure to\nmeet you on the way, and once you remarked: \"Really, this child\ndoes absolutely nothing. What are we to think of a novice who must\nhave a walk every day?\" And yet, dear Mother, how grateful I am to\nyou for giving me such a sound and valuable training. It was an\ninestimable grace. What should I have become, if, as the world\noutside believed, I had been but the pet of the Community?\nPerhaps, instead of seeing Our Lord in the person of my superiors,\nI should only have considered the creature, and my heart, which\nhad been so carefully guarded in the world, would have been\nensnared by human affection in the cloister. Happily, your\nmotherly prudence saved me from such a disaster.\n\nAnd not only in this matter, but in other and more bitter trials,\nI can truly say that Suffering opened her arms to me from the\nfirst, and I took her to my heart. In the solemn examination\nbefore my profession I declared--as was customary--the reason of\nmy entry into the Carmel: \"I have come to save souls, and\nespecially to pray for Priests.\" One cannot attain the end without\nadopting the means, and as Our Lord made me understand that it was\nby the Cross He would give me souls, the more crosses I met with,\nthe stronger grew my attraction to suffering. For five years this\nway was mine, but I alone knew it; this was precisely the flower I\nwished to offer to Jesus, a hidden flower which keeps its perfume\nonly for Heaven.\n\nTwo months after my entry Father Pichon was surprised at the\nworkings of grace in my soul; he thought my piety childlike and my\npath an easy one. My conversation with this good Father would have\nbrought me great comfort, had it not been for the extreme\ndifficulty I found in opening my heart. Nevertheless I made a\ngeneral confession, and after it he said to me: \"Before God, the\nBlessed Virgin, and Angels, and all the Saints, I declare that you\nhave never committed a mortal sin. Thank God for the favours He\nhas so freely bestowed on you without any merit on your part.\"\n\nWithout any merit on my part! That was not difficult to believe.\nFully conscious of my weakness and imperfection, my heart\noverflowed with gratitude. I had distressed myself, fearing I\nmight have stained my baptismal robe, and this assurance, coming\nas it did from the lips of a director, a man of wisdom and\nholiness, such as our Mother St. Teresa desired, seemed to come\nfrom God Himself. Father Pichon added: \"May Our Lord always be\nyour Superior and your Novice Master!\" And indeed He ever was, and\nlikewise my Director. In saying this I do not mean to imply that I\nwas not communicative with my superiors; far from being reserved,\nI always tried to be as an open book.\n\nOur Mistress was a true saint, the perfect type of the first\nCarmelites, and I seldom left her side, for she had to teach me\nhow to work. Her kindness was beyond words, I loved and\nappreciated her, and yet my soul did not expand. I could not\nexplain myself, words failed me, and so the time of spiritual\ndirection became a veritable martyrdom.\n\nOne of the older nuns seemed to understand what I felt, for she\nonce said to me during recreation: \"I should think, child, you\nhave not much to tell your superiors.\" \"Why do you think that,\ndear Mother?\" I asked. \"Because your soul is very simple; but when\nyou are perfect you will become more simple still. The nearer one\napproaches God, the simpler one becomes.\"\n\nThis good Mother was right. Nevertheless the great difficulty I\nfound in opening my heart, though it came from simplicity, was a\ngenuine trial. Now, however, without having lost my simplicity, I\nam able to express my thoughts with the greatest ease.\n\nI have already said that Our Lord Himself had acted as my\nSpiritual Guide. Hardly had Father Pichon become my director when\nhis Superiors sent him to Canada. I was only able to hear from him\nonce in the year, so now the Little Flower which had been\ntransplanted to the mountain of Carmel quickly turned to the\nDirector of Directors, and unfolded itself under the shadow of His\nCross, having for refreshing dew His Tears, His Precious Blood,\nand for radiant sun His Adorable Face.\n\nUntil then I had not appreciated the beauties of the Holy Face; it\nwas my dear Mother, Agnes of Jesus, who unveiled them to me. As\nshe had been the first of her sisters to enter the Carmel, so she\nwas the first to penetrate the mysteries of love hidden in the\nFace of Our Divine Spouse. Then she showed them to me and I\nunderstood better than ever, in what true glory consists. He whose\n\"Kingdom is not of this world\"[2] taught me that the only royalty\nto be coveted lies in being \"unknown and esteemed as naught,\"[3]\nand in the joy of self-abasement. And I wished that my face, like\nthe Face of Jesus, \"should be, as it were, hidden and\ndespised,\"[4] so that no one on earth should esteem me. I thirsted\nto suffer and to be forgotten.\n\nMost merciful has been the way by which the Divine Master has ever\nled me. He has never inspired me with any desire and left it\nunsatisfied, and that is why I have always found His bitter\nchalice full of sweetness.\n\nAt the end of May, Marie, our eldest, was professed, and Therese,\nthe Benjamin, had the privilege of crowning her with roses on the\nday of her mystical espousals. After this happy feast trials again\ncame upon us. Ever since his first attack of paralysis we realised\nthat my Father was very easily tired. During our journey to Rome I\noften noticed that he seemed exhausted and in pain. But, above\nall, I remarked his progress in the path of holiness; he had\nsucceeded in obtaining a complete mastery over the impetuosity of\nhis natural disposition, and earthly things were unable to ruffle\nhis calm. Let me give you an instance.\n\nDuring our pilgrimage we were in the train for days and nights\ntogether, and to wile away the time our companions played cards,\nand occasionally grew very noisy. One day they asked us to join\nthem, but we refused, saying we knew little about the game; we did\nnot find the time long--only too short, indeed, to enjoy the\nbeautiful views which opened before us. Presently their annoyance\nbecame evident, and then dear Papa began quietly to defend us,\npointing out that as we were on pilgrimage, more of our time might\nbe given to prayer.\n\nOne of the players, forgetting the respect due to age, called out\nthoughtlessly: \"Thank God, Pharisees are rare!\" My Father did not\nanswer a word, he even seemed pleased; and later on he found an\nopportunity of shaking hands with this man, and of speaking so\npleasantly that the latter must have thought his rude words had\neither not been heard, or at least were forgotten.\n\nHis habit of forgiveness did not date from this day; my Mother and\nall who knew him bore witness that no uncharitable word ever\npassed his lips.\n\nHis faith and generosity were likewise equal to any trial. This is\nhow he announced my departure to one of his friends: \"Therese, my\nlittle Queen, entered the Carmel yesterday. God alone could ask\nsuch a sacrifice; but He helps me so mightily that even in the\nmidst of tears my heart is overflowing with joy.\"\n\nThis faithful servant must needs receive a reward worthy of his\nvirtues, and he himself claimed that reward. You remember the\ninterview when he said to us: \"Children, I have just come back\nfrom Alencon, and there, in the Church of Notre Dame, I received\nsuch graces and consolations that I made this prayer: 'My God, it\nis too much, yes, I am too happy; I shall not get to Heaven like\nthis, I wish to suffer something for Thee--and I offered myself as\na'\"--the word _victim_ died on his lips. He dared not pronounce it\nbefore us, but we understood. You know, dear Mother, the story of\nour trial; I need not recall its sorrowful details.\n\nAnd now my clothing day drew near. Contrary to all expectations,\nmy Father had recovered from a second attack, and the Bishop fixed\nthe ceremony for January 10. The time of waiting had been long\nindeed, but now what a beautiful feast! Nothing was wanting, not\neven snow.\n\nDo you remember my telling you, dear Mother, how fond I am of\nsnow? While I was still quite small, its whiteness entranced me.\nWhy had I such a fancy for snow? Perhaps it was because, being a\nlittle winter flower, my eyes first saw the earth clad in its\nbeautiful white mantle. So, on my clothing day, I wished to see it\ndecked, like myself, in spotless white. The weather was so mild\nthat it might have been spring, and I no longer dared hope for\nsnow. The morning of the feast brought no change and I gave up my\nchildish desire, as impossible to be realised. My Father came to\nmeet me at the enclosure door, his eyes full of tears, and\npressing me to his heart exclaimed: \"Ah! Here is my little Queen!\"\nThen, giving me his arm, we made our solemn entry into the public\nChapel. This was his day of triumph, his last feast on earth; now\nhis sacrifice was complete, and his children belonged to God.[5]\nCeline had already confided to him that later on she also wished\nto leave the world for the Carmel. On hearing this he was beside\nhimself with joy: \"Let us go before the Blessed Sacrament,\" he\nsaid, \"and thank God for all the graces He has granted us and the\nhonour He has paid me in choosing His Spouses from my household.\nGod has indeed done me great honour in asking for my children. If\nI possessed anything better I would hasten to offer it to Him.\"\nThat something better was himself, \"and God received him as a\nvictim of holocaust; He tried him as gold in the furnace, and\nfound him worthy of Himself.\"[6]\n\nAfter the ceremony in the Chapel I re-entered the Convent and the\nBishop intoned the _Te Deum._ One of the Priests observed to him\nthat this hymn of thanksgiving was only sung at professions, but,\nonce begun, it was continued to the end. Was it not right that\nthis feast should be complete, since in it all other joyful days\nwere reunited?\n\nThe instant I set foot in the enclosure again my eyes fell on the\nstatue of the Child Jesus smiling on me amid the flowers and\nlights; then, turning towards the quadrangle, I saw that, in spite\nof the mildness of the weather, it was covered with snow. What a\ndelicate attention on the part of Jesus! Gratifying the least wish\nof His little Spouse, He even sent her this. Where is the creature\nso mighty that he can make one flake of it fall to please his\nbeloved?\n\nEveryone was amazed, and since then many people, hearing of my\ndesire, have described this event as \"the little miracle\" of my\nclothing day, and thought it strange I should be so fond of snow.\nSo much the better, it shows still more the wonderful\ncondescension of the Spouse of Virgins--of Him Who loves lilies\nwhite as the snow. After the ceremony the Bishop entered. He gave\nme many proofs of his fatherly tenderness, and, in presence of all\nthe Priests, spoke of my visit to Bayeux and the journey to Rome;\nnor did he forget to tell them how I had put up my hair before\nvisiting him. Then, laying his hand on my head, he blessed me\naffectionately. My mind dwelt with ineffable sweetness on the\ncaresses Our Lord will soon lavish upon me before all the Saints,\nand this consoling thought was a foretaste of Heaven. I have just\nsaid that January 10 was a day of triumph for my dear Father. I\nliken it to the feast of the entry of Christ into Jerusalem, on\nPalm Sunday. As in the case of Our Divine Master, his day of\ntriumph was followed by long days of sorrow; and, even as the\nagony of Jesus pierced the heart of His divine Mother, so our\nhearts were deeply wounded by the humiliations and sufferings of\nhim, whom we loved best on earth. . . . I remember that in the\nmonth of June 1888, when we were fearing another stroke of\nparalysis, I surprised our Novice Mistress by saying: \"I am\nsuffering a great deal, Mother, yet I feel I can suffer still\nmore.\" I did not then foresee the trial awaiting us. I did not\nknow that on February 12, one month after my clothing day, our\nbeloved Father would drink so deeply of such a bitter chalice. I\nno longer said I could suffer more, words cannot express our\ngrief; nor shall I attempt to describe it here.\n\nIn Heaven, we shall enjoy dwelling on these dark days of exile.\nYet the three years of my Father's martyrdom seem to me the\nsweetest and most fruitful of our lives. I would not exchange them\nfor the most sublime ecstasies, and my heart cries out in\ngratitude for such a priceless treasure: \"We have rejoiced for the\ndays wherein Thou hast afflicted us.\"[7] Precious and sweet was\nthis bitter cross, and our hearts only breathed out sighs of\ngrateful love. We no longer walked--we ran, we flew along the path\nof perfection.\n\nLeonie and Celine, though living in the world, were no longer of\nthe world. The letters they wrote were full of the most edifying\nresignation. And what talks I had with Celine! Far from separating\nus, the grating of the Carmel united us more closely: the same\nthoughts, the same desires, the same love for Our Lord and for\nsouls, made our very life. Not a word concerning things of earth\nentered into our conversation; but, just as in former days we\nlifted longing eyes to Heaven, so now our hearts strained after\nthe joys beyond time and space, and, for the sake of an eternal\nhappiness, we chose to suffer and be despised here below.\n\nThough my suffering seemed to have reached its height, yet my\nattraction thereto did not grow less, and soon my soul shared in\nthe trials my heart had to bear. My spiritual aridity increased,\nand I found no comfort either in Heaven or on earth; yet, amid\nthese waters of tribulation that I had so thirsted for, I was the\nhappiest of mortals.\n\nThus passed the time of my betrothal, too long a time for me. At\nthe end of the year you told me, dear Mother, that I must not yet\nthink of my profession, as our Ecclesiastical Superior expressly\nforbade it. I had therefore to wait for eight months more. At\nfirst I found it very difficult to be resigned to such a\nsacrifice, but divine light penetrated my soul before long.\n\nAt this time I was using for my meditations Surin's _Foundations\nof the Spiritual life._ One day during prayer, it was brought home\nto me that my too eager desire to take my vows was mingled with\nmuch self-love; as I belonged to Our Lord and was His little\nplaything to console and please Him, it was for me to do His Will,\nnot for Him to do mine. I also understood that a bride would not\nbe pleasing to the bridegroom on her wedding day were she not\nmagnificently attired. But, what had I made ready? So I said to\nOur Lord: \"I do not ask Thee to hasten the day of my profession, I\nwill wait as long as Thou pleasest, only I cannot bear that\nthrough any fault of mine my union with Thee should be delayed; I\nwill set to work and carefully prepare a wedding-dress enriched\nwith diamonds and precious stones, and, when Thou findest it\nsufficiently rich, I am sure that nothing will keep Thee from\naccepting me as Thy Spouse.\"\n\nI took up the task with renewed zest. Since my clothing day I had\nreceived abundant lights on religious perfection, chiefly\nconcerning the vow of poverty. Whilst I was a postulant I liked to\nhave nice things to use and to find everything needful ready to\nhand. Jesus bore with me patiently, for He gives His light little\nby little. At the beginning of my spiritual life, about the age of\nfourteen, I used to ask myself how, in days to come, I should more\nclearly understand the true meaning of perfection. I imagined I\nthen understood it completely, but I soon came to realise that the\nmore one advances along this path the farther one seems from the\ngoal, and now I am resigned to be always imperfect, and I even\nfind joy therein.\n\nTo return to the lessons which Our Lord taught me. One evening\nafter Compline I searched in vain for our lamp on the shelves\nwhere they are kept, and, as it was the time of the \"Great\nSilence,\" I could not recover it. I guessed rightly that a Sister,\nbelieving it to be her own, had taken it; but just on that evening\nI had counted much on doing some work, and was I to spend a whole\nhour in the dark on account of this mistake? Without the interior\nlight of grace I should undoubtedly have pitied myself, but, with\nthat light, I felt happy instead of aggrieved, and reflected that\npoverty consists in being deprived not only of what is convenient,\nbut of what is necessary. And, in this exterior darkness, I found\nmy soul illumined by a brightness that was divine.\n\nAt this time I was seized with a craving for whatever was ugly and\ninconvenient; and was thus quite pleased when a pretty little jug\nwas taken from our cell and a large chipped one put in its place.\nI also tried hard not to make excuses, but I found this very\ndifficult, especially with our Mistress; from her I did not like\nto hide anything.\n\nMy first victory was not a great one, but it cost me a good deal.\nA small jar, left behind a window, was found broken. No one knew\nwho had put it there, but our Mistress was displeased, and,\nthinking I was to blame in leaving it about, told me I was very\nuntidy and must be more careful in future. Without answering, I\nkissed the ground and promised to be more observant. I was so\nlittle advanced in virtue that these small sacrifices cost me\ndear, and I had to console myself with the thought that at the day\nof Judgment all would be known.\n\nAbove all I endeavoured to practise little hidden acts of virtue;\nthus I took pleasure in folding the mantles forgotten by the\nSisters, and I sought for every possible occasion of helping them.\nOne of God's gifts was a great attraction towards penance, but I\nwas not permitted to satisfy it; the only mortification allowed me\nconsisted in mortifying my self-love, and this did me far more\ngood than bodily penance would have done.\n\nHowever, Our Lady helped me with my wedding-dress, and, as soon as\nit was finished, every obstacle vanished and my profession was\nfixed for September 8, 1890.\n\nAll that I have set down in these few words would take many pages\nto relate; but those pages will never be read on earth. . . .\n______________________________\n\n[1] Nuns, in the spirit of poverty, avoid using the word _my,_ as\ndenoting private possessions; so, later on, \"our lamp,\" \"our\nhandkerchief,\" will occur. [Ed.]\n\n[2] John 18:36.\n\n[3] _Imit.,_ I, ii. 3.\n\n[4] Is. 53:3.\n\n[5] Leonie, having entered an order too severe for her delicate\nhealth, had been obliged to return home to her Father. Later she\nbecame a Visitation nun at Caen, and took the name of Sister\nFrances Teresa.\n\n[6] Cf. Wisdom 3:5,6.\n\n[7] Ps. 89[90]:15.\n\n______________________________\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII PROFESSION OF SOEUR THERESE\n\nNeed I tell you, dear Mother, about the retreat before my\nprofession? Far from receiving consolation, I went through it in a\nstate of utter dryness and as if abandoned by God. Jesus, as was\nHis wont, slept in my little barque. How rarely do souls suffer\nHim to sleep in peace! This Good Master is so wearied with\ncontinually making fresh advances that He eagerly avails Himself\nof the repose I offer Him, and, no doubt, He will sleep on until\nmy great and everlasting retreat; but, instead of being grieved at\nthis, I am glad.\n\nIn truth I am no Saint, as this frame of mind well shows. I ought\nnot to rejoice in my dryness of soul, but rather attribute it to\nmy want of fervour and fidelity. That I fall asleep so often\nduring meditation, and thanksgiving after Communion, should\ndistress me. Well, I am not distressed. I reflect that little\nchildren are equally dear to their parents whether they are asleep\nor awake; that, in order to perform operations, doctors put their\npatients to sleep; and finally that \"The Lord knoweth our frame,\nHe remembereth that we are but dust.\"[1] Yet, apparently barren as\nwas my retreat--and those which followed have been no less so--I\nunconsciously received many interior lights on the best means of\npleasing God, and practising virtue. I have often observed that\nOur Lord will not give me any store of provisions, but nourishes\nme each moment with food that is ever new; I find it within me\nwithout knowing how it has come there. I simply believe that it is\nJesus Himself hidden in my poor heart, who is secretly at work,\ninspiring me with what He wishes me to do as each occasion arises.\n\nShortly before my profession I received the Holy Father's\nblessing, through the hands of Brother Simeon; and this precious\nBlessing undoubtedly helped me through the most terrible storm of\nmy whole life.\n\nOn the eve of the great day, instead of being filled with the\ncustomary sweetness, my vocation suddenly seemed to me as unreal\nas a dream. The devil--for it was he--made me feel sure that I was\nwholly unsuited for life in the Carmel, and that I was deceiving\nmy superiors by entering on a way to which I was not called. The\ndarkness was so bewildering that I understood but one thing--I had\nno religious vocation, and must return to the world. I cannot\ndescribe the agony I endured. What was I to do in such a\ndifficulty? I chose the right course, deciding to tell my Novice\nMistress of the temptation without delay. I sent for her to come\nout of choir, and though full of confusion, I confessed the state\nof my soul. Fortunately she saw more clearly than I did, and\nreassured me completely by laughing frankly at my story. The devil\nwas put to instant flight by my humble avowal; what he wanted was\nto keep me from speaking, and thus draw me into his snares. But it\nwas my turn now to ensnare him, for, to make my humiliation more\ncomplete, I also told you everything, dear Mother, and your\nconsoling words dispelled my last fears.\n\nOn the morning of September 8, a wave of peace flooded my soul,\nand, in \"that peace which surpasseth all understanding,\"[2] I\npronounced my holy vows.\n\nMany were the graces I asked. I felt myself truly a queen and took\nadvantage of my title to obtain every favour from the King for His\nungrateful subjects. No one was forgotten. I wished that every\nsinner on earth might be converted; that on that day Purgatory\nshould set its captives free; and I bore upon my heart this letter\ncontaining what I desired for myself:\n\n\"O Jesus, my Divine Spouse, grant that my baptismal robe may never\nbe sullied. Take me from this world rather than let me stain my\nsoul by committing the least wilful fault. May I never seek or\nfind aught but Thee alone! May all creatures be nothing to me and\nI nothing to them! May no earthly thing disturb my peace!\n\n\"O Jesus, I ask but Peace. . . . Peace, and above all, Love. . . .\nLove--without limit. Jesus, I ask that for Thy sake I may die a\nMartyr; give me martyrdom of soul or body. Or rather give me both\nthe one and the other.\n\n\"Grant that I may fulfill my engagements in all their perfection;\nthat no one may think of me; that I may be trodden under foot,\nforgotten, as a little grain of sand. I offer myself to Thee, O my\nBeloved, that Thou mayest ever perfectly accomplish in me Thy Holy\nWill, without let or hindrance from creatures.\"\n\nWhen at the close of this glorious day I laid my crown of roses,\naccording to custom, at Our Lady's feet, it was without regret. I\nfelt that time would never lessen my happiness.\n\nIt was the Nativity of Mary. What a beautiful feast on which to\nbecome the Spouse of Jesus! It was the _little_ new-born Holy\nVirgin who presented her _little_ Flower to the _little_ Jesus.\nThat day everything was little except the graces I\nreceived--except my peace and joy in gazing upon the beautiful\nstar-lit sky at night, and in thinking that soon I should fly away\nto Heaven and be united to my Divine Spouse amid eternal bliss.\n\nOn September 24 took place the ceremony of my receiving the veil.\nThis feast was indeed _veiled_ in tears. Papa was too ill to come\nand bless his little Queen; at the last minute Mgr. Hugonin, who\nshould have presided, was unable to do so, and, for other reasons\nalso, the day was a painful one. And yet amid it all, my soul was\nprofoundly at peace. That day it pleased Our Lord that I should\nnot be able to restrain my tears, and those tears were not\nunderstood. It is true I had borne far harder trials without\nshedding a tear; but then I had been helped by special graces,\nwhilst on this day Jesus left me to myself, and I soon showed my\nweakness.\n\nEight days after I had taken the veil my cousin, Jeanne Guerin,\nwas married to Dr. La Neele. When she came to see us afterwards\nand I heard of all the little attentions she lavished on her\nhusband, my heart thrilled and I thought: \"It shall never be said\nthat a woman in the world does more for her husband than I do for\nJesus, my Beloved.\" And, filled with fresh ardour, I set myself\nmore earnestly than ever to please my Heavenly Spouse, the King of\nKings, Who had deigned to honour me by a divine alliance.\n\nHaving seen the letter announcing the marriage, I amused myself by\ncomposing the following invitation, which I read to the novices in\norder to bring home to them what had struck me so forcibly--that\nthe glory of all earthly unions is as nothing compared to the\ntitles of a Spouse of Our Divine Lord.\n\n\"God Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth, Sovereign Ruler of the\nUniverse, and the Glorious Virgin Mary, Queen of the Heavenly\nCourt, announce to you the Spiritual Espousals of their August\nSon, Jesus, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, with little Therese\nMartin, now Princess and Lady of His Kingdoms of the Holy\nChildhood and the Passion, assigned to her as a dowry, by her\nDivine Spouse, from which Kingdoms she holds her titles of\nnobility--_of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face._ It was not\npossible to invite you to the Wedding Feast which took place on\nthe Mountain of Carmel, September 8, 1890--the Heavenly Court was\nalone admitted--but you are requested to be present at the Wedding\nFeast which will take place to-morrow, the day of Eternity, when\nJesus, the Son of God, will come in the clouds of Heaven, in the\nsplendour of His Majesty, to judge the living and the dead.\n\n\"The hour being still uncertain, you are asked to hold yourselves\nin readiness and watch.\"[3]\n\nAnd now, Mother, what more shall I say? It was through your hands\nthat I gave myself to Our Lord, and you have known me from\nchildhood--need I write my secrets? Forgive me if I cut short the\nstory of my religious life.\n\nDuring the general retreat following my profession I received\ngreat graces. As a rule I find preached retreats most trying, but\nthis one was quite an exception. I anticipated so much suffering\nthat I prepared myself by a fervent novena. It was said that the\ngood Priest understood better how to convert sinners than to\ndirect the souls of nuns. Well then, I must be a great sinner, for\nGod made use of this holy religious to bring me much consolation.\nAt that time I had all kinds of interior trials which I found it\nimpossible to explain to anyone; suddenly, I was able to lay open\nmy whole soul. The Father understood me in a marvellous way; he\nseemed to divine my state, and launched me full sail upon that\nocean of confidence and love in which I had longed to advance, but\nso far had not dared. He told me that my faults did not pain the\nGood God, and added: \"At this moment I hold His place, and I\nassure you from Him that He is well pleased with your soul.\" How\nhappy these consoling words made me! I had never been told before\nthat it was possible for faults not to pain the Sacred Heart; this\nassurance filled me with joy and helped me to bear with patience\nthe exile of this life. It was also the echo of my inmost\nthoughts. In truth I had long known that the Lord is more tender\nthan a mother, and I have sounded the depths of more than one\nmother's heart. I know that a mother is ever ready to forgive her\nchild's small thoughtless faults. How often have I not had this\nsweet experience! No reproach could have touched me more than one\nsingle kiss from my Mother. My nature is such that fear makes me\nshrink, while, under love's sweet rule, I not only advance--I fly.\n\nTwo months after this happy retreat our Venerable Foundress,\nMother Genevieve of St. Teresa, quitted our little convent to\nenter the Heavenly Carmel. Before speaking of my impressions at\nthe time of her death, I should like to tell you what a joy it was\nto have lived for some years with a soul whose holiness was not\ninimitable, but lay in the practice of simple and hidden virtues.\nMore than once she was to me a source of great consolation.\n\nOne Sunday I went to the infirmary to pay her a visit, but, as two\nof the older nuns were there, I was retiring quietly, when she\ncalled me and said, with something of inspiration in her manner:\n\"Wait, my child, I have just a word for you; you are always asking\nme for a spiritual bouquet, well, to-day I give you this one:\nServe the Lord in peace and in joy. Remember that Our God is the\nGod of peace.\"\n\nI thanked her quite simply and went out of the room. I was moved\nalmost to tears, and was convinced that God had revealed to her\nthe state of my soul. That day I had been sorely tried, almost to\nsadness. Such was the darkness that I no longer knew if I were\nbeloved of God, and so, dear Mother, you can understand what light\nand consolation succeeded this gloom.\n\nThe following Sunday I asked her whether she had received any\nrevelation about me, but she assured me that she had not, and this\nonly made me admire her the more, for it showed how intimately\nJesus lived in her soul and directed her words and actions. Such\nholiness seems to me the most true, the most holy; it is the\nholiness I desire, for it is free from all illusion.\n\nOn the day when this revered Mother ended her exile, I received a\nvery special grace. It was the first time I had assisted at a\ndeath-bed, yet though the sight enchanted me by its beauty, my two\nhours of watching had made me very drowsy. I was grieved at this,\nbut, at the moment her soul took its flight to Heaven, my feelings\nwere completely changed. In an instant I was filled with an\nindescribable joy and fervour, as if the soul of our blessed\nFoundress made me share in the happiness she already enjoyed--for\nI am quite convinced she went straight to Heaven. I had said to\nher some time previously: \"You will not go to Purgatory, dear\nMother.\" \"I hope not,\" she answered sweetly. Certainly God would\nnot disappoint a hope so full of humility; and the proof that He\ndid not, lies in the many favours we have received.\n\nThe Sisters hastened to claim something belonging to our beloved\nMother, and you know what a precious relic is mine. During her\nagony I had noticed a tear glistening like a beautiful diamond.\nThat tear, the last she shed on this earth, did not fall, I still\nsaw it shining when her body was exposed in the choir. When\nevening came, I made bold to approach unseen, with a little piece\nof linen, and I now have the happiness of possessing the last tear\nof a Saint.\n\nI attach no importance to my dreams, and indeed, they seldom have\nany special meaning, though I do often wonder how it is that, as I\nthink of God all the day, my mind does not dwell on Him more in my\nsleep. Generally I dream of the woods and the flowers, the brooks\nand the sea, and nearly always of pretty children; or I chase\nbirds and butterflies such as I have never seen. But, if my dreams\nare sometimes poetical, they are never mystical.\n\nHowever, one night after Mother Genevieve's death, I had a more\nconsoling one. I thought I saw her giving to each of us something\nthat had belonged to herself. When my turn came, her hands were\nempty, and I was afraid I was not to receive anything; but she\nlooked at me lovingly, and said three times: \"To you I leave my\nheart.\"\n\nAbout a month after that seraphic death, towards the close of the\nyear 1891, an epidemic of influenza raged in the Community; I only\nhad it slightly and was able to be about with two other Sisters.\nIt is impossible to imagine the heartrending state of our Carmel\nthroughout those days of sorrow. The worst sufferers were nursed\nby those who could hardly drag themselves about; death was all\naround us, and, when a Sister had breathed her last, we had to\nleave her instantly.\n\nMy nineteenth birthday was saddened by the death of Mother\nSub-Prioress; I assisted with the infirmarian during her agony,\nand two more deaths quickly followed. I now had to do the Sacristy\nwork single-handed, and I wonder sometimes how I was equal to it\nall.\n\nOne morning, when it was time to rise, I had a presentiment that\nSister Magdalen was no more. The dormitory was quite in darkness,\nno one was leaving her cell. I decided, however, to go in to\nSister Magdalen, and I found her dressed, but lying dead on her\nbed. I was not in the least afraid, and running to the Sacristy I\nquickly brought a blessed candle, and placed on her head a wreath\nof roses. Amid all this desolation I felt the Hand of God and knew\nthat His Heart was watching over us. Our dear Sisters left this\nlife for a happier one without any struggle; an expression of\nheavenly joy shone on their faces, and they seemed only to be\nenjoying a pleasant sleep. During all these long and trying weeks\nI had the unspeakable consolation of receiving Holy Communion\nevery day. How sweet it was! For a long time Jesus treated me as a\nspoilt child, for a longer time than His more faithful Spouses. He\ncame to me daily for several months after the influenza had\nceased, a privilege not granted to the Community. I had not asked\nthis favour, but I was unspeakably happy to be united day after\nday to my Beloved.\n\nGreat was my joy in being allowed to touch the Sacred Vessels and\nprepare the Altar linen on which Our Lord was to be laid. I felt\nthat I must increase in fervour, and I often recalled those words\naddressed to deacons at their ordination: \"Be you holy, you who\ncarry the Vessels of the Lord.\"\n\nWhat can I tell you, dear Mother, about my thanksgivings after\nCommunion? There is no time when I taste less consolation. But\nthis is what I should expect. I desire to receive Our Lord, not\nfor my own satisfaction, but simply to give Him pleasure.\n\nI picture my soul as a piece of waste ground and beg Our Blessed\nLady to take away my imperfections--which are as heaps of\nrubbish--and to build upon it a splendid tabernacle worthy of\nHeaven, and adorn it with her own adornments. Then I invite all\nthe Angels and Saints to come and sing canticles of love, and it\nseems to me that Jesus is well pleased to see Himself received so\ngrandly, and I share in His joy. But all this does not prevent\ndistractions and drowsiness from troubling me, and not\nunfrequently I resolve to continue my thanksgiving throughout the\nday, since I made it so badly in choir.\n\nYou see, dear Mother, that my way is not the way of fear; I can\nalways make myself happy, and profit by my imperfections, and Our\nLord Himself encourages me in this path. Once, contrary to my\nusual custom, I felt troubled when I approached the Holy Table.\nFor several days there had not been a sufficient number of Hosts,\nand I had only received a small part of one; this morning I\nfoolishly thought: \"If the same thing happens to-day, I shall\nimagine that Jesus does not care to come into my heart.\" I\napproached the rails. What a joy awaited me! The Priest hesitated\na moment, then gave me two entire Hosts. Was this not a sweet\nresponse?\n\nI have much to be thankful for. I will tell you quite openly what\nthe Lord has done for me. He has shown unto me the same mercy as\nunto King Solomon. All my desires have been satisfied; not only my\ndesires of perfection, but even those of which I understood the\nvanity, in theory, if not in practice. I had always looked on\nSister Agnes of Jesus as my model, and I wished to be like her in\neverything. She used to paint exquisite miniatures and write\nbeautiful poems, and this inspired me with a desire to learn to\npaint,[4] and express my thoughts in verse, that I might do some\ngood to those around me. But I would not ask for these natural\ngifts, and my desire remained hidden in my heart.\n\nJesus, too, had hidden Himself in this poor little heart, and He\nwas pleased to show me once more the vanity of all that passes. To\nthe great astonishment of the Community, I succeeded in painting\nseveral pictures and in writing poems which have been a help to\ncertain souls. And just as Solomon, \"turning to all the works\nwhich his hand had wrought, and to the labours wherein he had\nlaboured in vain, saw in all things vanity and vexation of\nmind,\"[5] so experience showed me that the sole happiness of earth\nconsists in lying hidden, and remaining in total ignorance of\ncreated things. I understood that without love even the most\nbrilliant deeds count for nothing. These gifts, which Our Lord\nlavished upon me, far from doing me any harm, drew me towards Him;\nI saw that He alone is unchangeable, He alone can fill the vast\nabyss of my desires.\n\nTalking of my desires, I must tell you about others of quite a\ndifferent kind, which the Divine Master has also been pleased to\ngrant: childish desires, like the wish for snow on my clothing\nday. You know, dear Mother, how fond I am of flowers. When I made\nmyself a prisoner at the age of fifteen, I gave up for ever the\ndelights of rambling through meadows bright with the treasures of\nspring. Well, I never possessed so many flowers as I have had\nsince entering the Carmel. In the world young men present their\nbetrothed with beautiful bouquets, and Jesus did not forget me.\nFor His Altar I received, in abundance, all the flowers I loved\nbest: cornflowers, poppies, marguerites--one little friend only\nwas missing, the purple vetch. I longed to see it again, and at\nlast it came to gladden me and show that, in the least as in the\ngreatest, God gives a hundred-fold, even in this life, to those\nwho have left all for His Love.\n\nBut one desire, the dearest of all, and for many reasons the most\ndifficult, remained unfulfilled. It was to see Celine enter the\nCarmel of Lisieux. However, I had made a sacrifice of my longing,\nand committed to God alone the future of my loved sister. I was\nwilling she should be sent to far distant lands if it must be so;\nbut I wanted above all things to see her like myself, the Spouse\nof Jesus. I suffered deeply, aware that she was exposed in the\nworld to dangers I had never even known. My affection for her was\nmaternal rather than sisterly, and I was filled with solicitude\nfor the welfare of her soul.\n\nShe was to go one evening with my aunt and cousins to a dance. I\nknow not why, but I felt more anxious than usual, and I shed many\ntears, imploring Our Lord to hinder her dancing. And this was just\nwhat happened; for He did not suffer His little Spouse to dance\nthat evening, although as a rule she did so most gracefully. And,\nto the astonishment of everyone, her partner, too, found that he\nwas only able to walk gravely up and down with Mademoiselle. The\npoor young man slipped away in confusion, and did not dare appear\nagain that evening. This unique occurrence increased my confidence\nin Our Lord, and showed me clearly that He had already set His\nseal on my sister's brow.\n\nOn July 29, 1894, God called my saintly and much-tried Father to\nHimself. For the last two years of his life he was completely\nparalysed; so my uncle took him into his house and surrounded him\nwith the tenderest care. He became quite helpless and was only\nable to visit us once during the whole course of his illness. It\nwas a sad interview. At the moment of parting, as we said\ngood-bye, he raised his eyes, and pointing upwards said in a voice\nfull of tears: \"In Heaven!\"\n\nNow that he was with God, the last ties which kept his consoling\nAngel in the world were broken. Angels do not remain on this\nearth; when they have accomplished their mission, they return\ninstantly to Heaven. That is why they have wings. Celine tried\ntherefore to fly to the Carmel; but the obstacles seemed\ninsurmountable. One day, when matters were going from bad to\nworse, I said to Our Lord after Holy Communion: \"Thou knowest,\ndear Jesus, how earnestly I have desired that the trials my Father\nendured should serve as his purgatory. I long to know if my wish\nis granted. I do not ask Thee to speak to me, I only want a sign.\nThou knowest how much opposed is Sister N. to Celine's entering;\nif she withdraw her opposition, I shall regard it as an answer\nfrom Thee, and in this way I shall know that my Father went\nstraight to Heaven.\"\n\nGod, Who holds in His Hand the hearts of His creatures, and\ninclines them as He will, deigned in His infinite mercy and\nineffable condescension to change that Sister's mind. She was the\nfirst person I met after my thanksgiving, and, with tears in her\neyes, she spoke of Celine's entrance, which she now ardently\ndesired. Shortly afterwards the Bishop set every obstacle aside,\nand then you were able, dear Mother, without any hesitation, to\nopen our doors to the poor little exile.[6]\n\nNow I have no desire left, unless it be to love Jesus even unto\nfolly! It is Love alone that draws me. I no longer wish either for\nsuffering or death, yet both are precious to me. Long did I call\nupon them as the messengers of joy. I have suffered much, and I\nhave thought my barque near indeed to the Everlasting Shore. From\nearliest childhood I have imagined that the Little Flower would be\ngathered in its springtime; now, the spirit of self-abandonment\nalone is my guide. I have no other compass, and know not how to\nask anything with eagerness, save the perfect accomplishment of\nGod's designs upon my soul. I can say these words of the Canticle\nof our Father, St. John of the Cross:\n\n\"I drank deep in the cellar of my Friend, And, coming forth again,\nKnew naught of all this plain, And lost the flock I erst was wont\nto tend. My soul and all its wealth I gave to be His Own; No more\nI tend my flock, all other work is done, And all my exercise is\nLove alone.\"[7]\n\nOr rather:\n\n\"Love hath so wrought in me Since I have known its sway, That all\nwithin me, whether good or ill, It makes subservient to the end it\nseeks, And soon transforms my soul into itself.\"[8]\n\nFull sweet is the way of Love. It is true one may fall and be\nunfaithful to grace; but Love, knowing how to profit by\neverything, quickly consumes whatever is displeasing to Jesus,\nleaving in the heart only a deep and humble peace. I have obtained\nmany spiritual lights through the works of St. John of the Cross.\nWhen I was seventeen and eighteen they were my only food; but,\nlater on, and even now, all spiritual authors leave me cold and\ndry. However beautiful and touching a book may be, my heart does\nnot respond, and I read without understanding, or, if I\nunderstand, I cannot meditate. In my helplessness the Holy\nScriptures and the _Imitation_ are of the greatest assistance; in\nthem I find a hidden manna, genuine and pure. But it is from the\nGospels that I find most help in the time of prayer; from them I\ndraw all that I need for my poor soul. I am always discovering in\nthem new lights and hidden mysterious meanings. I know and I have\nexperienced that \"the Kingdom of God is within us.\"[9] Our Lord\nhas no need of books or teachers to instruct our souls. He, the\nTeacher of Teachers, instructs us without any noise of words. I\nhave never heard Him speak, yet I know He is within me. He is\nthere, always guiding and inspiring me; and just when I need them,\nlights, hitherto unseen, break in. This is not as a rule during my\nprayers, but in the midst of my daily duties. Sometimes, however,\nas this evening, at the close of a meditation spent in utter\ndryness, a word of comfort is given to me: \"Here is the Master I\ngive thee, He will teach thee all that thou shouldst do. I wish\nthee to read in the Book of Life in which is contained the science\nof love. . . .\"[10]\n\nThe Science of Love! How sweetly do these words echo in my soul!\nThat science alone do I desire. Having given all my substance for\nit, like the Spouse in the Canticles, \"I think that I have given\nnothing.\"[11] After so many graces, may I not sing with the\nPsalmist that \"the Lord is good, that His Mercy endureth for\never\"?[12]\n\nIt seems to me that if everyone were to receive such favours God\nwould be feared by none, but loved to excess; that no one would\never commit the least wilful fault--and this through love, not\nfear.\n\nYet all souls cannot be alike. It is necessary that they should\ndiffer from one another in order that each Divine Perfection may\nreceive its special honour. To me, He has given His Infinite\nMercy, and it is in this ineffable mirror that I contemplate his\nother attributes. Therein all appear to me radiant with Love. His\nJustice, even more perhaps than the rest, seems to me to be\nclothed with Love. What joy to think that Our Lord is just, that\nis to say, that He takes our weakness into account, that He knows\nperfectly the frailty of our nature! Of what, then, need I be\nafraid?\n\nWill not the God of Infinite Justice, Who deigns so lovingly to\npardon the sins of the Prodigal Son, be also just to me \"who am\nalways with Him\"?[13]\n\nIn the year 1895 I received the grace to understand, more than\never, how much Jesus desires to be loved. Thinking one day of\nthose who offer themselves as victims to the Justice of God, in\norder to turn aside the punishment reserved for sinners by taking\nit upon themselves, I felt this offering to be noble and generous,\nbut was very far from feeling myself drawn to make it. \"O my\nDivine Master,\" I cried from the bottom of my heart, \"shall Thy\nJustice alone receive victims of holocaust? Has not Thy Merciful\nLove also need thereof? On all sides it is ignored, rejected . . .\nthe hearts on which Thou wouldst lavish it turn to creatures,\nthere to seek their happiness in the miserable satisfaction of a\nmoment, instead of casting themselves into Thine Arms, into the\nunfathomable furnace of Thine Infinite Love.\n\n\"O my God! must Thy Love which is disdained lie hidden in Thy\nHeart? Methinks, if Thou shouldst find souls offering themselves\nas victims of holocaust to Thy Love, Thou wouldst consume them\nrapidly; Thou wouldst be well pleased to suffer the flames of\ninfinite tenderness to escape that are imprisoned in Thy Heart.\n\n\"If Thy Justice--which is of earth--must needs be satisfied, how\nmuch more must Thy Merciful Love desire to inflame souls, since\n_\"Thy mercy reacheth even to the Heavens\"_?[14] O Jesus! Let me be\nthat happy victim--consume Thy holocaust with the Fire of Divine\nLove!\"\n\nDear Mother, you know the love, or rather the oceans of grace\nwhich flooded my soul immediately after I made that Act of\nOblation on June 9, 1895. From that day I have been penetrated and\nsurrounded with love. Every moment this Merciful Love renews me\nand purifies me, leaving in my soul no trace of sin. I cannot fear\nPurgatory; I know I do not merit to enter, even, into that place\nof expiation with the Holy Souls, but I also know that the fire of\nLove is more sanctifying than the fire of Purgatory. I know that\nJesus could not wish useless suffering for us, and He would not\ninspire me with the desires I feel, were He not willing to fulfill\nthem.\n______________________________\n\n[1] Psalm 102[103]:14.\n\n[2] Phil. 4:7.\n\n[3] This letter, the style of which may seem strange to English\nears, is modelled closely on the formal and quaint letters whereby\nFrench parents of the better class announce to their friends the\nmarriage of their children. Such letters of _\"faire-part\"_ are\nissued in the name of relatives to the third or fourth degree.\n[Ed.]\n\n[4] Therese had kept this wish hidden in her heart from the days\nof her childhood, and later in life she made the following\nconfidence: \"I was ten the day Papa told Celine that she was to\nbegin painting lessons. I felt quite envious. Then he turned to me\nand said: 'Well, little Queen, would you like to learn painting\ntoo?' I was going to say: 'Yes, indeed I should,' when Marie\nremarked that I had not the same taste for it as Celine. She\ncarried her point, and I said nothing, thinking it was a splendid\nopportunity to make a big sacrifice for Our Lord; I was so anxious\nto learn, that even now I wonder how I was able to keep silence.\"\n\n[5] Eccl. 2:11.\n\n[6] Celine entered the Convent on September 14, 1894, and took the\nname of Sister Genevieve of St. Teresa.\n\n[7] Spiritual Canticle: Stanzas 18 and 20.\n\n[8] Hymn to the Deity.\n\n[9] Luke 17:21.\n\n[10] Revelation of Our Lord to Bd. Margaret Mary.\n\n[11] Cant. 8:7.\n\n[12] Psalm 103[104]:1.\n\n[13] Luke 15:31.\n\n[14] Cf. Psalm 35[36]:6.\n\n______________________________\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\nTHE NIGHT OF THE SOUL\n\nDear Mother, I thought I had written enough, and now you wish for\nmore details of my religious life. I will not argue, but I cannot\nhelp smiling when I have to tell you things that you know quite as\nwell as I do. Nevertheless, I will obey. I do not ask what use\nthis manuscript can be to any one, I assure you that even were you\nto burn it before my eyes, without having read it, I should not\nmind in the least.\n\nThe opinion is not uncommon in the Community that you have always\nindulged me, ever since I entered the Convent; however, \"Man seeth\nthose things that appear, but the Lord beholdeth the heart.\"[1]\nDear Mother, once again I thank you for not having spared me.\nJesus knew well that His Little Flower needed the life-giving\nwater of humiliation--it was too weak to take root otherwise, and\nto you it owes so great a blessing. But for some months, the\nDivine Master has entirely changed His method of cultivating His\nLittle Flower. Finding no doubt that it has been sufficiently\nwatered, He now allows it to expand under the warm rays of a\nbrilliant sun. He smiles on it, and this favour also comes through\nyou, dear Mother, but far from doing it harm, those smiles make\nthe Little Flower grow in a wondrous way. Deep down in its heart\nit treasures those precious drops of dew--the mortifications of\nother days--and they remind it that it is small and frail. Even\nwere all creatures to draw near to admire and flatter it, that\nwould not add a shade of idle satisfaction to the true joy which\nthrills it, on realising that in God's Eyes it is but a poor,\nworthless thing, and nothing more.\n\nWhen I say that I am indifferent to praise, I am not speaking,\ndear Mother, of the love and confidence you show me; on the\ncontrary I am deeply touched thereby, but I feel that I have now\nnothing to fear, and I can listen to those praises unperturbed,\nattributing to God all that is good in me. If it please Him to\nmake me appear better than I am, it is nothing to me, He can act\nas He will. My God, how many ways dost Thou lead souls! We read of\nSaints who left absolutely nothing at their death, not the least\nthing by which to remember them, not even a single line of\nwriting; and there are others like our holy Mother, St. Teresa,\nwho have enriched the Church with their sublime teaching, and have\nnot hesitated to reveal \"the secrets of the King,\"[2] that He may\nbe better known and better loved.\n\nWhich of these two ways is more pleasing to Our Lord? It seems to\nme that they are equally so.\n\nAll those beloved by God have followed the inspiration of the Holy\nGhost, who commanded the prophets to write: \"Tell the just man\nthat all is well.\"[3] Yes, all is well when one seeks only the\nMaster's Will, and so I, poor Little Flower, obey my Jesus when I\ntry to please you, who represent him here on earth.\n\nYou know it has ever been my desire to become a Saint, but I have\nalways felt, in comparing myself with the Saints, that I am as far\nremoved from them as the grain of sand, which the passer-by\ntramples underfoot, is remote from the mountain whose summit is\nlost in the clouds.\n\nInstead of being discouraged, I concluded that God would not\ninspire desires which could not be realised, and that I may aspire\nto sanctity in spite of my littleness. For me to become great is\nimpossible. I must bear with myself and my many imperfections; but\nI will seek out a means of getting to Heaven by a little way--very\nshort and very straight, a little way that is wholly new. We live\nin an age of inventions; nowadays the rich need not trouble to\nclimb the stairs, they have lifts instead. Well, I mean to try and\nfind a lift by which I may be raised unto God, for I am too tiny\nto climb the steep stairway of perfection. I have sought to find\nin Holy Scripture some suggestion as to what this lift might be\nwhich I so much desired, and I read these words uttered by the\nEternal Wisdom Itself: \"Whosoever is a little one, let him come to\nMe.\"[4] Then I drew near to God, feeling sure that I had\ndiscovered what I sought; but wishing to know further what He\nwould do to the little one, I continued my search and this is what\nI found: \"You shall be carried at the breasts and upon the knees;\nas one whom the mother caresseth, so will I comfort you.\"[5]\n\nNever have I been consoled by words more tender and sweet. Thine\nArms, then, O Jesus, are the lift which must raise me up even unto\nHeaven. To get there I need not grow; on the contrary, I must\nremain little, I must become still less. O my God, thou hast gone\nbeyond my expectation, and I . . . \"I will sing Thy mercies! Thou\nhast taught me, O Lord, from my youth and till now I have declared\nThy wonderful works, and thus unto old age and grey hairs.\"[6]\n\nWhat will this old age be for me? It seems to me that it could as\nwell be now as later: two thousand years are no more in the Eyes\nof the Lord than twenty years . . . than a single day! But do not\nthink, dear Mother, that your child is anxious to leave you, and\ndeems it a greater grace to die in the morning rather than in the\nevening of life; to please Jesus is what [s]he really values and\ndesires above all things. Now that He seems to come near and draw\nher to His Heavenly Home, she is glad; she has understood that God\nhas need of no one to do good upon earth, still less of her than\nof others. Meantime I know your will, dear Mother. You wish me to\ncarry out, at your side, a work which is both sweet and easy,[7]\nand this work I shall complete in Heaven. You have said to me, as\nOur Lord said to St. Peter: \"Feed my lambs.\" I am amazed, for I\nfeel that I am so little. I have entreated you to feed your little\nlambs yourself and to keep me among them. You have complied in\npart with my reasonable wish, and have called me their companion,\nrather than their mistress, telling me nevertheless to lead them\nthrough fertile and shady pastures, to point out where the grass\nis sweetest and best, and warn them against the brilliant but\npoisonous flowers, which they must never touch except to crush\nunder foot.\n\nHow is it, dear Mother, that my youth and inexperience have not\nfrightened you? Are you not afraid that I shall let your lambs\nstray afar? In acting as you have done, perhaps you remembered\nthat Our Lord is often pleased to give wisdom to little ones.\n\nOn this earth it is rare indeed to find souls who do not measure\nGod's Omnipotence by their own narrow thoughts. The world is\nalways ready to admit exceptions everywhere here below. God alone\nis denied this liberty. It has long been the custom among men to\nreckon experience by age, for in his youth the holy King David\nsang to His Lord: \"I am young and despised,\"[8] but in the same\nPsalm he does not fear to say: \"I have had understanding above old\nmen, because I have sought Thy commandments, Thy word is a lamp to\nmy feet, and a light to my paths; I have sworn, and I am\ndetermined, to keep the judgments of Thy Justice.\"[9]\n\nAnd you did not even consider it imprudent to assure me one day,\nthat the Divine Master had enlightened my soul and given me the\nexperience of years. I am too little now to be guilty of vanity; I\nam likewise too little to endeavour to prove my humility by\nfine-sounding words. I prefer to own in all simplicity that \"He\nthat is mighty hath done great things to me\"--[10] and the\ngreatest is that He has shown me my littleness and how incapable I\nam of anything good.\n\nMy soul has known trials of many kinds. I have suffered much on\nthis earth. In my childhood I suffered with sadness, but now I\nfind sweetness in all things. Anyone but you, dear Mother, who\nknow me thoroughly, would smile at reading these pages, for has\never a soul seemed less tried than mine? But if the martyrdom\nwhich I have endured for the past year were made known, how\nastonished everyone would be! Since it is your wish I will try to\ndescribe it, but there are no words really to explain these\nthings. The words will always fall short of the reality.\n\nDuring Lent last year I felt much better than ever and continued\nso until Holy Week, in spite of the fast which I observed in all\nits rigour. But in the early hours of Good Friday, Jesus gave me\nto hope that I should soon join Him in His beautiful Home. How\nsweet is this memory!\n\nI could not obtain permission to remain watching at the Altar of\nRepose throughout the Thursday night, and I returned to our cell\nat midnight. Scarcely was my head laid on the pillow when I felt a\nhot stream rise to my lips. I thought I was going to die, and my\nheart nearly broke with joy. But as I had already put out our\nlamp, I mortified my curiosity until the morning and slept in\npeace. At five o'clock, when it was time to get up, I remembered\nat once that I had some good news to learn, and going to the\nwindow I found, as I had expected, that our handkerchief was\nsoaked with blood. Dearest Mother, what hope was mine! I was\nfirmly convinced that on this anniversary of His Death, my Beloved\nhad allowed me to hear His first call, like a sweet, distant\nmurmur, heralding His joyful approach.\n\nI assisted at Prime and Chapter most fervently, and then I\nhastened to cast myself at my Mother's knees and confide to her my\nhappiness. I did not feel the least pain, so I easily obtained\npermission to finish Lent as I had begun, and on this Good Friday\nI shared in all the austerities of the Carmel without any\nrelaxation. Never had these austerities seemed sweeter to me; the\nhope of soon entering Heaven transported me with joy.\n\nStill full of joy, I returned to our cell on the evening of that\nhappy day, and was quietly falling asleep, when my sweet Jesus\ngave me the same sign as on the previous night, of my speedy\nentrance to Eternal Life. I felt such a clear and lively Faith\nthat the thought of Heaven was my sole delight. I could not\nbelieve it possible for men to be utterly devoid of Faith, and I\nwas convinced that those who deny the existence of another world\nreally lie in their hearts.\n\nBut during the Paschal days, so full of light, our Lord made me\nunderstand that there really are in truth souls bereft of Faith\nand Hope, who, through abuse of grace, lose these precious\ntreasures, the only source of pure and lasting joy. He allowed my\nsoul to be overwhelmed with darkness, and the thought of Heaven,\nwhich had consoled me from my earliest childhood, now became a\nsubject of conflict and torture. This trial did not last merely\nfor days or weeks; I have been suffering for months, and I still\nawait deliverance. I wish I could express what I feel, but it is\nbeyond me. One must have passed through this dark tunnel to\nunderstand its blackness. However, I will try to explain it by\nmeans of a comparison.\n\nLet me suppose that I had been born in a land of thick fogs, and\nhad never seen the beauties of nature, or a single ray of\nsunshine, although I had heard of these wonders from my early\nyouth, and knew that the country wherein I dwelt was not my real\nhome--there was another land, unto which I should always look\nforward. Now this is not a fable, invented by an inhabitant of the\nland of fogs, it is the solemn truth, for the King of that sunlit\ncountry dwelt for three and thirty years in the land of darkness,\nand alas!--the darkness did not understand that He was the Light\nof the World._[11]\n\nBut, dear Lord, Thy child has understood Thou art the Light\nDivine; she asks Thy pardon for her unbelieving brethren, and is\nwilling to eat the bread of sorrow as long as Thou mayest wish.\nFor love of Thee she will sit at that table of bitterness where\nthese poor sinners take their food, and she will not stir from it\nuntil Thou givest the sign. But may she not say in her own name,\nand the name of her guilty brethren: \"O God, be merciful to us\nsinners!\"[12] Send us away justified. May all those on whom Faith\ndoes not shine see the light at last! O my God, if that table\nwhich they profane can be purified by one that loves Thee, I am\nwilling to remain there alone to eat the bread of tears, until it\nshall please Thee to bring me to Thy Kingdom of Light: the only\nfavour I ask is, that I may never give Thee cause for offence.\n\nFrom the time of my childhood I felt that one day I should be set\nfree from this land of darkness. I believed it, not only because I\nhad been told so by others, but my heart's most secret and deepest\nlongings assured me that there was in store for me another and\nmore beautiful country--an abiding dwelling-place. I was like\nChristopher Columbus, whose genius anticipated the discovery of\nthe New World. And suddenly the mists about me have penetrated my\nvery soul and have enveloped me so completely that I cannot even\npicture to myself this promised country . . . all has faded away.\nWhen my heart, weary of the surrounding darkness, tries to find\nsome rest in the thought of a life to come, my anguish increases.\nIt seems to me that out of the darkness I hear the mocking voice\nof the unbeliever: \"You dream of a land of light and fragrance,\nyou dream that the Creator of these wonders will be yours for\never, you think one day to escape from these mists where you now\nlanguish. Nay, rejoice in death, which will give you, not what you\nhope for, but a night darker still, the night of utter\nnothingness!\" . . .\n\nDear Mother, this description of what I suffer is as far removed\nfrom reality as the first rough outline is from the model, but I\nfear that to write more were to blaspheme . . . even now I may\nhave said too much. May God forgive me! He knows that I try to\nlive by Faith, though it does not afford me the least consolation.\nI have made more acts of Faith in this last year than during all\nthe rest of my life.\n\nEach time that my enemy would provoke me to combat, I behave as a\ngallant soldier. I know that a duel is an act of cowardice, and\nso, without once looking him in the face, I turn my back on the\nfoe, then I hasten to my Saviour, and vow that I am ready to shed\nmy blood in witness of my belief in Heaven. I tell him, if only He\nwill deign to open it to poor unbelievers, I am content to\nsacrifice all pleasure in the thought of it as long as I live. And\nin spite of this trial, which robs me of all comfort, I still can\nsay: \"Thou hast given me, O Lord, delight in all Thou dost.\"[13]\nFor what joy can be greater than to suffer for Thy Love? The more\nthe suffering is and the less it appears before men, the more is\nit to Thy Honour and Glory. Even if--but I know it to be\nimpossible--Thou shouldst not deign to heed my sufferings, I\nshould still be happy to bear them, in the hope that by my tears I\nmight perhaps prevent or atone for one sin against Faith.\n\nNo doubt, dear Mother, you will think I exaggerate somewhat _the\nnight of my soul._ If you judge by the poems I have composed this\nyear, it must seem as though I have been flooded with\nconsolations, like a child for whom the veil of Faith is almost\nrent asunder. And yet it is not a veil--it is a wall which rises\nto the very heavens and shuts out the starry sky.\n\nWhen I sing of the happiness of Heaven and the eternal possession\nof God, I do not feel any joy therein, for I sing only of what I\nwish to believe. Sometimes, I confess, a little ray of sunshine\nillumines my dark night, and I enjoy peace for an instant, but\nlater, the remembrance of this ray of light, instead of consoling\nme, makes the blackness thicker still.\n\nAnd yet never have I felt so deeply how sweet and merciful is the\nLord. He did not send me this heavy cross when it might have\ndiscouraged me, but at a time when I was able to bear it. Now it\nsimply takes from me all natural satisfaction I might feel in my\nlonging for Heaven.\n\nDear Mother, it seems to me that at present there is nothing to\nimpede my upward flight, for I have no longer any desire save to\nlove Him till I die. I am free; I fear nothing now, not even what\nI dreaded more than anything else, a long illness which would make\nme a burden to the Community. Should it please the Good God, I am\nquite content to have my bodily and mental sufferings prolonged\nfor years. I do not fear a long life; I do not shrink from the\nstruggle. The Lord is the rock upon which I stand--\"Who teacheth\nmy hands to fight, and my fingers to war. He is my Protector and I\nhave hoped in Him.\"[14] I have never asked God to let me die\nyoung, It is true I have always thought I should do so, but it is\na favour I have not tried to obtain.\n\nOur Lord is often content with the wish to do something for His\nGlory, and you know the immensity of my desires. You know also\nthat Jesus has offered me more than one bitter chalice through my\ndearly loved sisters. The holy King David was right when he sang:\n\"Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell\ntogether in unity.\"[15] But such unity can only exist upon earth\nin the midst of sacrifice. It was not in order to be with my\nsisters that I came to this holy Carmel; on the contrary, I knew\nwell that in curbing my natural affection I should have much to\nsuffer.\n\nHow can it be said that it is more perfect to separate oneself\nfrom home and friends? Has anyone ever reproached brothers who\nfight side by side, or together win the martyr's palm? It is true,\nno doubt, they encourage each other; but it is also true that the\nmartyrdom of each is a martyrdom to them all.\n\nAnd so it is in the religious life; theologians call it a\nmartyrdom. A heart given to God loses nothing of its natural\naffection--on the contrary, this affection grows stronger by\nbecoming purer and more spiritual. It is with this love, dear\nMother, that I love you and my sisters. I am glad to fight beside\nyou for the glory of the King of Heaven, but I am ready to go to\nanother battlefield, did the Divine Commander but express a wish.\nAn order would not be necessary: a simple look, a sign, would\nsuffice.\n\nEver since I came to the Carmel I have thought that if Our Lord\ndid not take me quickly to Heaven, my lot would be that of Noe's\ndove, and that one day he would open the window of the Ark and bid\nme fly to heathen lands, bearing the olive branch. This thought\nhas helped me to soar above all created things.\n\nKnowing that even in the Carmel there must be partings, I tried to\nmake my abode in Heaven; and I accepted not only exile in the\nmidst of an unknown people, but what was far more bitter, I\naccepted exile for my sisters. And indeed, two of them were asked\nfor by the Carmel of Saigon, our own foundation. For a time there\nwas serious question of their being sent, and I would not say a\nword to hold them back, though my heart ached at the thought of\nthe trials awaiting them. Now all that is at an end; the superiors\nwere absolutely opposed to their departure, and I only touched the\ncup with my lips long enough to taste of its bitterness.\n\nLet me tell you, dear Mother, why, if Our Lady cures me, I wish to\nrespond to the call from our Mothers of Hanoi. It appears that to\nlive in foreign Carmels, a very special vocation is needed, and\nmany souls think they are called without being so in reality. You\nhave told me that I have this vocation, and that my health alone\nstands in the way. But if I am destined one day to leave this\nCarmel, it will not be without a pang. My heart is naturally\nsensitive, and because this is a cause of much suffering, I wish\nto offer Jesus whatsoever it can bear. Here, I am loved by you and\nall the Sisters, and this love is very sweet to me, and I dream of\na convent where I should be unknown, where I should taste the\nbitterness of exile. I know only too well how useless I am, and so\nit is not for the sake of the services I might render to the\nCarmel of Hanoi that I would leave all that is dearest to me--my\nsole reason would be to do God's Will, and sacrifice myself for\nHim.\n\nAnd I should not suffer any disappointment, for when we expect\nnothing but suffering, then the least joy is a surprise; and later\non suffering itself becomes the greatest of all joys, when we seek\nit as a precious treasure.\n\nBut I know I shall never recover from this sickness, and yet I am\nat peace. For years I have not belonged to myself, I have\nsurrendered myself wholly to Jesus, and He is free to do with me\nwhatsoever He pleases. He has spoken to me of exile, and has asked\nme if I would consent to drink of that chalice. At once I essayed\nto grasp it, but He, withdrawing His Hand, showed me that my\nconsent was all He desired.\n\nO my God! from how much disquiet do we free ourselves by the vow\nof obedience! Happy is the simple religious. Her one guide being\nthe will of her superiors, she is ever sure of following the right\npath, and has no fear of being mistaken, even when it seems that\nher superiors are making a mistake. But if she ceases to consult\nthe unerring compass, then at once her soul goes astray in barren\nwastes, where the waters of grace quickly fail. Dear Mother, you\nare the compass Jesus has given me to direct me safely to the\nEternal Shore. I find it most sweet to fix my eyes upon you, and\nthen do the Will of my Lord. By allowing me to suffer these\ntemptations against Faith, He has greatly increased the spirit of\nFaith, which makes me see Him living in your soul, and through you\ncommunicating His holy commands.\n\nI am well aware that you lighten the burden of obedience for me,\nbut deep in my heart I feel that my attitude would not change, nor\nwould my filial affection grow less, were you to treat me with\nseverity: and this because I should still see the Will of God\nmanifesting itself in another way for the greater good of my soul.\n\nAmong the numberless graces that I have received this year, not\nthe least is an understanding of how far-reaching is the precept\nof charity. I had never before fathomed these words of Our Lord:\n\"The second commandment is like to the first: Thou shalt love thy\nneighbour as thyself.\"[16] I had set myself above all to love God,\nand it was in loving Him that I discovered the hidden meaning of\nthese other words: \"It is not those who say, Lord, Lord! who enter\ninto the Kingdom of Heaven, but he who does the Will of My\nFather.\"[17]\n\nJesus revealed me this Will when at the Last Supper He gave His\nNew Commandment in telling His Apostles to _love one another as He\nhad loved them._[18] I set myself to find out how He had loved His\nApostles; and I saw that it was not for their natural qualities,\nfor they were ignorant men, full of earthly ideas. And yet He\ncalls them His Friends, His Brethren; He desires to see them near\nHim in the Kingdom of His Father, and in order to admit them to\nthis Kingdom He wills to die on the Cross, saying: \"Greater love\nthan this no man hath, that a man lay down his life for his\nfriends.\"[19]\n\nAs I meditated on these Divine words, I saw how imperfect was the\nlove I bore my Sisters in religion. I understood that I did not\nlove them as Our Lord loves them. I know now that true charity\nconsists in bearing all our neighbours' defects--not being\nsurprised at their weakness, but edified at their smallest\nvirtues. Above all I know that charity must not remain shut up in\nthe heart, for \"No man lighteth a candle, and putteth it in a\nhidden place, nor under a bushel; but upon a candlestick, that\nthey who come in may see the light.\"[20]\n\nIt seems to me, dear Mother, this candle represents that charity\nwhich enlightens and gladdens, not only those who are dear to us,\nbut all _those who are of the household._\n\nIn the Old Law, when God told His people to love their neighbour\nas themselves, He had not yet come down upon earth; and knowing\nfull well how man loves himself, He could not ask anything\ngreater. But when Our Lord gave His Apostles a New\nCommandment--\"His own commandment\"[21]--He was not content with\nsaying: \"Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,\" but would have\nthem love even as He had loved, and as He will love till the end\nof time.\n\nO my Jesus! Thou does never ask what is impossible; Thou knowest\nbetter than I, how frail and imperfect I am, and Thou knowest that\nI shall never love my Sisters as Thou hast loved them, unless\nwithin me Thou lovest them, dear Lord! It is because Thou dost\ndesire to grant me this grace that Thou hast given a New\nCommandment. Oh how I love it, since I am assured thereby that it\nis Thy Will to love in me all those Thou dost bid me love!\n\nYes, I know when I show charity to others, it is simply Jesus\nacting in me, and the more closely I am united to Him, the more\ndearly I love my Sisters. If I wish to increase this love in my\nheart, and the devil tries to bring before me the defects of a\nSister, I hasten to look for her virtues, her good motives; I call\nto mind that though I may have seen her fall once, no doubt she\nhas gained many victories over herself, which in her humility she\nconceals. It is even possible that what seems to me a fault, may\nvery likely, on account of her good intention, be an act of\nvirtue. I have no difficulty in persuading myself of this, because\nI have had the same experience. One day, during recreation, the\nportress came to ask for a Sister to help her. I had a childish\nlonging to do this work, and it happened the choice fell upon me.\nI therefore began to fold up our needlework, but so slowly that my\nneighbour, who I knew would like to take my place, was ready\nbefore me. The Sister who had asked for help, seeing how\ndeliberate I was, said laughingly: \"I thought you would not add\nthis pearl to your crown, you are so extremely slow,\" and all the\nCommunity thought I had yielded to natural reluctance. I cannot\ntell you what profit I derived from this incident, and it made me\nindulgent towards others. It still checks any feelings of vanity,\nwhen I am praised, for I reflect that since my small acts of\nvirtue can be mistaken for imperfections, why should not my\nimperfections be mistaken for virtue? And I say with St. Paul: \"To\nme it is a very small thing to be judged by you, or by man's day.\nBut neither do I judge myself. He that judgeth me is the Lord.\"[22]\n\nAnd it is the Lord, it is Jesus, Who is my judge. Therefore I will\ntry always to think leniently of others, that He may judge me\nleniently, or rather not at all, since He says: \"Judge not, and ye\nshall not be judged.\"[23]\n\nBut returning to the Holy Gospel where Our Lord explains to me\nclearly in what His New Commandment consists, I read in St.\nMatthew: \"You have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love\nthy neighbour, and hate thy enemy: but I say unto you, Love your\nenemies, and pray for them that persecute you.\"[24]\n\nThere are, of course, no enemies in the Carmel; but, after all, we\nhave our natural likes and dislikes. We may feel drawn towards one\nSister, and may be tempted to go a long way round to avoid meeting\nanother. Well, Our Lord tells me that this is the Sister to love\nand pray for, even though her behaviour may make me imagine she\ndoes not care for me. \"If you love them that love you, what thanks\nare to you? For sinners also love those that love them.\"[25] And\nit is not enough to love, we must prove our love; naturally one\nlikes to please a friend, but that is not charity, for sinners do\nthe same.\n\nOur Lord also taught me: \"Give to everyone that asketh thee; and\nof him that taketh away thy goods, ask them not again.\"[26] To\ngive to everyone who asks is not so pleasant as to give of one's\nown accord. If we are asked pleasantly, it is easy to give; but if\nwe are asked discourteously, then, unless we are perfect in\ncharity, there is an inward rebellion, and we find no end of\nexcuses for refusing. Perhaps, after first pointing out the\nrudeness of the request, we make such a favour of consenting\nthereto, that the slight service takes far less time to perform\nthan was lost in arguing the point. And if it is difficult to give\nto whosoever asks, it is far more difficult to let what belongs to\nus be taken without asking it again. Dear Mother, I say this is\nhard, but I should rather say that it seems hard, for \"The yoke of\nthe Lord is sweet and His burden light.\"[27] And when we submit to\nthat yoke, we at once feel its sweetness.\n\nI have said Jesus does not wish me to ask again for what is my\nown. This ought to seem quite easy, for, in reality, nothing is\nmine. I ought, then, to be glad when an occasion arises which\nbrings home to me the poverty to which I am vowed. I used to think\nmyself completely detached, but since Our Lord's words have become\nclear, I see that I am indeed very imperfect.\n\nFor instance: when starting to paint, if I find the brushes in\ndisorder, and a ruler or penknife gone, I feel inclined to lose\npatience, and have to keep a firm hold over myself not to betray\nmy feelings. Of course I may ask for these needful things, and if\nI do so humbly I am not disobeying Our Lord's command. I am then\nlike the poor who hold out their hands for the necessaries of\nlife, and, if refused, are not surprised, since no one owes them\nanything. Deep peace inundates the soul when it soars above mere\nnatural sentiments. There is no joy equal to that which is shared\nby the truly poor in spirit. If they ask with detachment for\nsomething necessary, and not only is it refused, but an attempt is\nmade to take away what they already possess, they are following\nthe Master's advice: \"If any man will take away thy coat, let him\nhave thy cloak also.\"[28] To give up one's cloak is, it seems to\nme, to renounce every right, and to regard oneself as the servant,\nthe slave, of all. Without a cloak it is easier to walk or run,\nand so the Master adds: \"And whosoever shall force thee to go one\nmile, go with him other two.\"[29]\n\nIt is therefore not enough for me to give to whoever asks--I ought\nto anticipate the wish, and show myself glad to be of service; but\nif anything of mine be taken away, I should show myself glad to be\nrid of it. I cannot always carry out to the letter the words of\nthe Gospel, for there are occasions when I am compelled to refuse\nsome request. Yet when charity is deeply rooted in the soul it\nlets itself be outwardly seen, and there is a way of refusing so\ngraciously what one is unable to give, that the refusal affords as\nmuch pleasure as the gift would have done. It is true that people\ndo not hesitate to ask from those who readily oblige, nevertheless\nI ought not to avoid importunate Sisters on the pretext that I\nshall be forced to refuse. The Divine Master has said: \"From him\nthat would borrow of thee turn not away.\"[30] Nor should I be kind\nin order to appear so, or in the hope that the Sister will return\nthe service, for once more it is written: \"If you lend to them of\nwhom you hope to receive, what thanks are to you? For sinners also\nlend to sinners for to receive as much. But you do good and lend,\nhoping for nothing thereby, and your reward shall be great.\"[31]\n\nVerily, the reward is great even on earth. In this path it is only\nthe first step which costs. To lend without hope of being repaid\nseems hard; one would rather give outright, for what you give is\nno longer yours. When a Sister says confidently: \"I want your help\nfor some hours--I have our Mother's leave, and be assured I will\ndo as much for you later,\" one may know well that these hours\n_lent_ will not be repaid, and be sorely tempted to say: \"I prefer\nto _give_ them.\" But that would gratify self-love, besides letting\nthe Sister feel that you do not rely much on her promise. The\nDivine precepts run contrary to our natural inclinations, and\nwithout the help of grace it would be impossible to understand\nthem, far less to put them in practice.\n\nDear Mother, I feel that I have expressed myself with more than\nusual confusion, and I do not know what you can find to interest\nyou in these rambling pages, but I am not aiming at a literary\nmasterpiece, and if I weary you by this discourse on charity, it\nwill at least prove your child's good will. I must confess I am\nfar from living up to my ideal, and yet the very desire to do so\ngives me a feeling of peace. If I fall into some fault, I arise\nagain at once--and for some months now I have not even had to\nstruggle. I have been able to say with our holy Father, St. John\nof the Cross: \"My house is entirely at peace,\" and I attribute\nthis interior peace to a victory I gained over myself. Since that\nvictory, the hosts of Heaven have hastened to my aid, for they\nwill not allow me to be wounded, now that I have fought so\nvaliantly.\n\nA holy nun of our community annoyed me in all that she did; the\ndevil must have had something to do with it, and he it was\nundoubtedly who made me see in her so many disagreeable points. I\ndid not want to yield to my natural antipathy, for I remembered\nthat charity ought to betray itself in deeds, and not exist merely\nin the feelings, so I set myself to do for this sister all I\nshould do for the one I loved most. Every time I met her I prayed\nfor her, and offered to God her virtues and merits. I felt that\nthis was very pleasing to Our Lord, for there is no artist who is\nnot gratified when his works are praised, and the Divine Artist of\nsouls is pleased when we do not stop at the exterior, but,\npenetrating to the inner sanctuary He has chosen, admire its\nbeauty.\n\nI did not rest satisfied with praying for this Sister, who gave me\nsuch occasions for self-mastery, I tried to render her as many\nservices as I could, and when tempted to answer her sharply, I\nmade haste to smile and change the subject, for the _Imitation_\nsays: \"It is more profitable to leave everyone to his way of\nthinking than to give way to contentious discourses.\" And\nsometimes when the temptation was very severe, I would run like a\ndeserter from the battlefield if I could do so without letting the\nSister guess my inward struggle.\n\nOne day she said to me with a beaming face: \"My dear Soeur\nTherese, tell me what attraction you find in me, for whenever we\nmeet, you greet me with such a sweet smile.\" Ah! What attracted me\nwas Jesus hidden in the depths of her soul--Jesus who maketh sweet\neven that which is most bitter.\n\nI spoke just now, dear Mother, of the flight that is my last\nresource to escape defeat. It is not honourable, I confess, but\nduring my noviciate, whenever I had recourse to this means, it\ninvariably succeeded. I will give you a striking example, which\nwill, I am sure, amuse you. You had been ill with bronchitis for\nseveral days, and we were all uneasy about you. One morning, in my\nduty as sacristan, I came to put back the keys of the\nCommunion-grating. This was my work, and I was very pleased to\nhave an opportunity of seeing you, though I took good care not to\nshow it. One of the Sisters, full of solicitude, feared I should\nawake you, and tried to take the keys from me. I told her as\npolitely as I could, that I was quite as anxious as she was there\nshould be no noise, and added that it was my right to return them.\nI see now that it would have been more perfect simply to yield,\nbut I did not see it then, and so I followed her into the room.\nVery soon what she feared came to pass: the noise did awaken you.\nAll the blame fell upon me; the Sister I had argued with began a\nlong discourse, of which the point was: Soeur Therese made all the\nnoise. I was burning to defend myself, but a happy inspiration of\ngrace came to me. I thought that if I began to justify myself I\nshould certainly lose my peace of mind, and as I had too little\nvirtue to let myself be unjustly accused without answering, my\nlast chance of safety lay in flight. No sooner thought than done.\nI hurried away, but my heart beat so violently, I could not go\nfar, and I was obliged to sit down on the stairs to enjoy in quiet\nthe fruit of my victory. This is an odd kind of courage,\nundoubtedly, but I think it is best not to expose oneself in the\nface of certain defeat.\n\nWhen I recall these days of my noviciate I understand how far I\nwas from perfection, and the memory of certain things makes me\nlaugh. How good God has been, to have trained my soul and given it\nwings All the snares of the hunter can no longer frighten me, for\n\"A net is spread in vain before the eyes of them that have\nwings.\"[32]\n\nIt may be that some day my present state will appear to me full of\ndefects, but nothing now surprises me, and I do not even distress\nmyself because I am so weak. On the contrary I glory therein, and\nexpect each day to find fresh imperfections. Nay, I must confess,\nthese lights on my own nothingness are of more good to my soul\nthan lights on matters of Faith. Remembering that \"Charity\ncovereth a multitude of sins,\"[33] I draw from this rich mine,\nwhich Our Saviour has opened to us in the Gospels. I search the\ndepths of His adorable words, and cry out with David: \"I have run\nin the way of Thy commandments since Thou hast enlarged my\nheart.\"[34] And charity alone can make wide the heart. O Jesus!\nSince its sweet flame consumes my heart, I run with delight in the\nway of Thy New Commandment, and I desire to run therein until that\nblessed day when, with Thy company of Virgins, I shall follow Thee\nthrough Thy boundless Realm, singing Thy New Canticle--The\nCanticle of Love.\n______________________________\n\n[1] 1 Kings 16:7.\n\n[2] Tobias 12:7.\n\n[3] Cf. Isaias 3:10.\n\n[4] Prov. 9:4.\n\n[5] Isa. 66:12, 13.\n\n[6] Cf. Ps. 70[71]:17, 18.\n\n[7] Soeur Therese had charge of the novices without being given\nthe title of Novice Mistress.\n\n[8] Ps. 118[119]:141.\n\n[9] Ps. 118[119]:100, 105, 106.\n\n[10] Luke 1:49.\n\n[11] Cf. John 1:5.\n\n[12] Cf. Luke 18:13.\n\n[13] Ps. 91[92]:5.\n\n[14] Ps. 143[144]:1, 2.\n\n[15] Ps. 132[133]:1.\n\n[16] Matt. 22:39.\n\n[17] Cf. Matt. 7:21.\n\n[18] Cf. John 13:34.\n\n[19] John 15:12.\n\n[20] Luke 11:33.\n\n[21] John 15:12.\n\n[22] 1 Cor. 4:3,4.\n\n[23] Luke 6:37.\n\n[24] Matt. 5:43, 44.\n\n[25] Luke 6:32.\n\n[26] Luke 6:30.\n\n[27] Matt. 11:30.\n\n[28] Matt. 5:40.\n\n[29] Matt. 5:41.\n\n[30] Matt. 5:42.\n\n[31] Luke 6:34, 35.\n\n[32] Prov. 1:27.\n\n[33] Prov. 10:12.\n\n[34] Ps. 118[119]:32.\n\n______________________________\n\n\nCHAPTER X\nTHE NEW COMMANDMENT\n\nDear Mother, God in His infinite goodness has given me a clear\ninsight into the deep mysteries of Charity. If I could but express\nwhat I know, you would hear a heavenly music; but alas! I can only\nstammer like a child, and if God's own words were not my support,\nI should be tempted to beg leave to hold my peace. When the Divine\nMaster tells me to give to whosoever asks of me, and to let what\nis mine be taken without asking it again, it seems to me that He\nspeaks not only of the goods of earth, but also of the goods of\nHeaven. Besides, neither one nor the other are really mine; I\nrenounced the former by the vow of poverty, and the latter gifts\nare simply lent. If God withdraw them, I have no right to complain.\n\nBut our very own ideas, the fruit of our mind and heart, form a\ntreasury on which none dare lay hands. For instance, if I reveal\nto a Sister some light given me in prayer, and she repeats it\nlater on as though it were her own, it seems as though she\nappropriates what is mine. Or, if during recreation someone makes\nan apt and witty remark, which her neighbour repeats to the\nCommunity, without acknowledging whence it came, it is a sort of\ntheft; and the person who originated the remark is naturally\ninclined to seize the first opportunity of delicately insinuating\nthat her thoughts have been borrowed.\n\nI could not so well explain all these weaknesses of human nature\nhad I not experienced them. I should have preferred to indulge in\nthe illusion that I was the only one who suffered thus, had you\nnot bidden me advise the novices in their difficulties. I have\nlearnt much in the discharge of this duty, and especially I feel\nbound to put in practice what I teach.\n\nI can say with truth that by God's grace I am no more attached to\nthe gifts of the intellect than to material things. If it happens\nthat a thought of mine should please my Sisters, I find it quite\neasy to let them regard it as their own. My thoughts belong to the\nHoly Ghost. They are not mine. St. Paul assures us that _without\nthe Spirit of Love, we cannot call God our Father._[1]\n\nAnd besides, though far from depreciating those beautiful thoughts\nwhich bring us nearer to God, I have long been of opinion that we\nmust be careful not to over-estimate their worth. The highest\ninspirations are of no value without good works. It is true that\nothers may derive much profit therefrom, if they are duly grateful\nto our Lord for allowing them to share in the abundance of one of\nHis privileged souls; but should this privileged soul take pride\nin spiritual wealth, and imitate the Pharisee, she becomes like to\na hostess dying of starvation at a well-spread table, while her\nguests enjoy the richest fare, and perhaps cast envious glances at\nthe possessor of so many treasures.\n\nVerily it is true that God alone can sound the heart. How\nshort-sighted are His creatures! When they see a soul whose lights\nsurpass their own, they conclude that the Divine Master loves them\nless. Since when has He lost the right to make use of one of His\nchildren, in order to supply the others with the nourishment they\nneed? That right was not lost in the days of Pharaoh, for God said\nunto him: \"And therefore have I raised thee, that I may show My\npower in thee, and My name may be spoken of throughout all the\nearth.\"[2]\n\nGenerations have passed away since the Most High spoke these\nwords, and His ways have not changed. He has ever chosen human\ninstruments for the accomplishment of His work.\n\nIf an artist's canvas could but think and speak, surely it would\nnever complain of being touched and re-touched by the brush, nor\nwould it feel envious thereof, knowing that all its beauty is due\nto the artist alone. So, too, the brush itself could not boast of\nthe masterpiece it had helped to produce, for it must know that an\nartist is never at a loss; that difficulties do but stimulate him;\nand that at times it pleases him to make use of instruments the\nmost unlikely and defective.\n\nDear Mother, I am the little brush that Jesus has chosen to paint\nHis likeness in the souls you have confided to my care. Now an\nartist has several brushes--two at the least: the first, which is\nmore useful, gives the ground tints and rapidly covers the whole\ncanvas; the other, and smaller one, puts in the lesser touches.\nMother, you represent the big brush which our Lord holds lovingly\nin His Hand when He wishes to do some great work in the souls of\nyour children; and I am the little one He deigns to use\nafterwards, to fill in the minor details.\n\nThe first time the Divine Master took up His little brush was\nabout December 8, 1892. I shall always remember that time as one\nof special grace.\n\nWhen I entered the Carmel, I found in the noviciate a companion\nabout eight years older than I was. In spite of this difference of\nage, we became the closest friends, and to encourage an affection\nwhich gave promise of fostering virtue we were allowed to converse\ntogether on spiritual subjects. My companion charmed me by her\ninnocence and by her open and frank disposition, though I was\nsurprised to find how her love for you differed from mine; and\nbesides, I regretted many things in her behaviour. But God had\nalready given me to understand that there are souls for whom in\nHis Mercy He waits unweariedly, and to whom He gives His light by\ndegrees; so I was very careful not to forestall Him.\n\nOne day when I was thinking over the permission we had to talk\ntogether, so that we might--as our holy constitutions tells\nus--incite ourselves more ardently to the love of our Divine\nSpouse, it came home to me sadly that our conversations did not\nattain the desired end; and I understood that either I must no\nlonger fear to speak out, or else I must put an end to what was\ndegenerating into mere worldly talk. I begged our Lord to inspire\nme with words, kind and convincing; or better still, to speak\nHimself for me. He heard my prayer, for those _who look upon Him\nshall be enlightened,_[3] and \"to the upright a light is risen in\nthe darkness.\"[4] The first of these texts I apply to myself, the\nother to my companion, who was truly upright in heart.\n\nThe next time we met, the poor little Sister saw at once that my\nmanner had changed, and, blushing deeply, she sat down beside me.\nI pressed her to my heart, and told her gently what was in my\nmind; then I pointed out to her in what true love consists, and\nproved that in loving her Prioress with such natural affection she\nwas in reality loving herself. I confided to her the sacrifices of\nthis kind which I had been obliged to make at the beginning of my\nreligious life, and before long her tears were mingled with mine.\nShe admitted very humbly that she was in the wrong and that I was\nright, and, begging me as a favour always to point out her faults,\nshe promised to begin a new life. From this time our love for one\nanother became truly spiritual; in us were fulfilled these words\nof the Holy Ghost: \"A brother that is helped by his brother is\nlike a strong city.\"[5]\n\nDear Mother, you know very well that it was not my wish to turn my\ncompanion away from you, I only wanted her to grasp that true love\nfeeds on sacrifice, and that in proportion as our souls renounce\nnatural enjoyments our affections become stronger and more\ndetached.\n\nI remember that when I was a postulant I was sometimes so\nviolently tempted to seek my own satisfaction by having a word\nwith you, that I was obliged to hurry past your cell and hold on\nto the banisters to keep myself from turning back. Numerous\npermissions I wanted to ask, and a hundred pretexts for yielding\nto my desires suggested themselves, but now I am truly glad that I\ndid not listen. I already enjoy the reward promised to those who\nfight bravely. I no longer feel the need of refusing myself these\nconsolations, for my heart is fixed on God. Because it has loved\nHim only, it has grown, little by little, and now it can give to\nthose who are dear to Him a far deeper and truer love than if it\nwere centred in a barren and selfish affection.\n\nI have told you of the first piece of work which you accomplished\ntogether with Our Lord by means of the little brush, but that was\nonly the prelude to the masterpiece which was afterwards to be\npainted. From the moment I entered the sanctuary of souls, I saw\nat a glance that the task was beyond my strength. Throwing myself\nwithout delay into Our Lord's Arms, I imitated those tiny\nchildren, who, when they are frightened, hide their faces on their\nfather's shoulder, and I said:\n\n\"Dear Lord, Thou seest that I am too small to feed these little\nones, but if through me Thou wilt give to each what is suitable,\nthen fill my hands, and without leaving the shelter of Thine Arms,\nor even turning away, I will distribute Thy treasures to the souls\nwho come to me asking for food. Should they find it to their\ntaste, I shall know that this is due not to me, but to Thee; and\nif, on the contrary, they find fault with its bitterness, I shall\nnot be cast down, but try to persuade them that it cometh from\nThee, while taking good care to make no change in it.\"\n\nThe knowledge that it was impossible to do anything of myself\nrendered my task easier. My one interior occupation was to unite\nmyself more and more closely to God, knowing that the rest would\nbe given to me over and above. And indeed my hope has never been\ndeceived; I have always found my hands filled when sustenance was\nneeded for the souls of my Sisters. But had I done otherwise, and\nrelied on my own strength, I should very soon have been forced to\nabandon my task.\n\nFrom afar it seems so easy to do good to souls, to teach them to\nlove God more, and to model them according to one's own ideas.\nBut, when we draw nearer, we quickly feel that without God's help\nthis is quite as impossible as to bring back the sun when once it\nhas set. We must forget ourselves, and put aside our tastes and\nideas, and guide souls not by our own way, but along the path\nwhich Our Lord points out. Even this is not the most difficult\npart; what costs me more than all is having to observe their\nfaults, their slightest imperfections, and wage war against them.\n\nUnhappily for me--I was going to say, but that would be cowardly,\nso I will say--happily for my Sisters, ever since I placed myself\nin the Arms of Jesus I have been like a watchman on the look-out\nfor the enemy from the highest turret of a fortified castle.\nNothing escapes my vigilance; indeed, I am sometimes surprised at\nmy own clear-sightedness, and I think it was quite excusable in\nthe prophet Jonas to fly before the face of the Lord, that he\nmight not have to announce the ruin of Ninive. Rather than make\none single reproach, I would prefer to receive a thousand, yet I\nfeel it is necessary that the task should cause me pain, for if I\nspoke only through natural impulse, then the soul in fault would\nnot understand its defects and would simply think: \"This Sister is\ndispleased, and her displeasure falls on me although I am full of\nthe best intentions.\"\n\nBut in this, as in all else, I must practise sacrifice and\nself-denial. Even in the matter of writing a letter, I feel that\nit will produce no fruit, unless I am disinclined to write, and\nonly do so from obedience.\n\nWhen conversing with a novice I am on the watch to mortify myself,\nand I avoid asking questions which would satisfy my curiosity. If\nshe begins to speak on an interesting subject, and, leaving it\nunfinished, passes on to another that wearies me, I take care not\nto remind her of the interruption, for it seems to me that no good\ncan come of self-seeking.\n\nI know, dear Mother, that your little lambs find me severe; if\nthey were to read these lines, they would say that, so far as they\ncan see, it does not distress me to run after them, and show them\nhow they have soiled their beautiful white fleece, or torn it in\nthe brambles. Well, the little lambs may say what they like--in\ntheir hearts they know I love them dearly; there is no fear of my\nimitating \"the hireling . . . who seeth the wolf coming and\nleaveth the sheep, and flieth.\"[6]\n\nI am ready to lay down my life for them, and my affection is so\ndisinterested that I would not have my novices know this. By God's\nhelp, I have never tried to draw their hearts to myself, for I\nhave always understood that my mission was to lead them to Him and\nto you, dear Mother, who on this earth hold His place in their\nregard, and whom, therefore, they must love and respect.\n\nI said before, that I have learnt much by guiding others. In the\nfirst place I see that all souls have more or less the same\nbattles to fight, and on the other hand, that one soul differs\nwidely from another, so each must be dealt with differently. With\nsome I must humble myself, and not shrink from acknowledging my\nown struggles and defeats; then they confess more readily the\nfaults into which they fall, and are pleased that I know by\nexperience what they suffer. With others, my only means of success\nis to be firm, and never go back on what I have once said;\nself-abasement would be taken for weakness.\n\nOur Lord has granted me the grace never to fear the conflict; at\nall costs I must do my duty. I have more than once been told: \"If\nyou want me to obey, you must be gentle and not severe, otherwise\nyou will gain nothing.\" But no one is a good judge in his own\ncase. During a painful operation a child will be sure to cry out\nand say that the remedy is worse than the disease; but if after a\nfew days he is cured, then he is greatly delighted that he can run\nabout and play. And it is the same with souls: they soon recognise\nthat a little bitter is better than too much sweet, and they are\nnot afraid to make the acknowledgment. Sometimes the change which\ntakes place from one day to another seems almost magical.\n\nA novice will say to me: \"You did well to be severe yesterday; at\nfirst I was indignant, but when I thought it all over, I saw that\nyou were quite right. I left your cell thinking: 'This ends it. I\nwill tell Our Mother that I shall never go to Soeur Therese\nagain'; but I knew this was the devil's suggestion, and then I\nfelt you were praying for me, and I grew calm. I began to see\nthings more clearly, and now I come to you for further guidance.\"\n\nI am only too happy to follow the dictates of my heart and hasten\nto console with a little sweetness, but I see that one must not\npress forward too quickly--a word might undo the work that cost so\nmany tears. If I say the least thing which seems to tone down the\nhard truths of the previous day, I see my little Sister trying to\ntake advantage of the opening thus given her. At once I have\nrecourse to prayer, I turn to Our Blessed Lady, and Jesus always\ntriumphs. Verily in prayer and sacrifice lies all my strength,\nthey are my invincible arms; experience has taught me that they\ntouch hearts far more easily than words.\n\nTwo years ago, during Lent, a novice came to me smiling, and said:\n\"You would never imagine what I dreamt last night--I thought I was\nwith my sister, who is so worldly, and I wanted to withdraw her\nfrom all vain things; to this end I explained the words of your\nhymn:\n\n'They richly lose who love Thee, dearest Lord; Thine are my\nperfumes, Thine for evermore.'\n\nI felt that my words sank deep into her soul, and I was overjoyed.\nThis morning it seems to me that perhaps Our Lord would like me to\ngain Him this soul. How would it do if I wrote at Easter and\ndescribed my dream, telling her that Jesus desires to have her for\nHis Spouse?\" I answered that she might certainly ask permission.\n\nAs Lent was not nearly over, you were surprised, dear Mother, at\nsuch a premature request, and, evidently guided by God, you\nreplied that Carmelites should save souls by prayer rather than by\nletters. When I heard your decision I said to the little Sister:\n\"We must set to work and pray hard; if our prayers are answered at\nthe end of Lent, what a joy it will be!\" O Infinite Mercy of our\nLord! At the close of Lent, one soul more had given herself to\nGod. It was a real miracle of grace--a miracle obtained through\nthe fervour of a humble novice.\n\nHow wonderful is the power of prayer! It is like unto a queen,\nwho, having free access to the king, obtains whatsoever she asks.\nIn order to secure a hearing there is no need to recite set\nprayers composed for the occasion--were it so, I ought indeed to\nbe pitied!\n\nApart from the Divine Office, which in spite of my unworthiness is\na daily joy, I have not the courage to look through books for\nbeautiful prayers. I only get a headache because of their number,\nand besides, one is more lovely than another. Unable therefore to\nsay them all, and lost in choice, I do as children who have not\nlearnt to read--I simply tell Our Lord all that I want, and He\nalways understands.\n\nWith me prayer is an uplifting of the heart; a glance towards\nheaven; a cry of gratitude and love, uttered equally in sorrow and\nin joy. In a word, it is something noble, supernatural, which\nexpands my soul and unites it to God. Sometimes when I am in such\na state of spiritual dryness that not a single good thought occurs\nto me, I say very slowly the \"Our Father\" or the \"Hail Mary,\" and\nthese prayers suffice to take me out of myself, and wonderfully\nrefresh me.\n\nBut what was I speaking of? Again I am lost in a maze of\nreflections. Forgive me, dear Mother, for wandering thus. My story\nis like a tangled skein, but I fear I can do no better. I write my\nthoughts as they come; I fish at random in the stream of my heart,\nand offer you all that I catch.\n\nI was telling you about the novices. They often say: \"You have an\nanswer for everything. This time I thought I should puzzle you.\nWhere do you find all that you teach us?\" Some are even simple\nenough to think I can read their souls, because at times it\nhappens I discover to them--without revelation--the subject of\ntheir thoughts. The senior novice had determined to hide from me a\ngreat sorrow. She spent the night in anguish, keeping back her\ntears lest her eyes might betray her. Yet she came to me with a\nsmile next day, seeming even more cheerful than usual, and when I\nsaid: \"You are in trouble, I am sure,\" she looked at me in\ninexpressible amazement. Her surprise was so great that it reacted\non me, and imparted a sense of the supernatural. I felt that God\nwas close to us. Unwittingly--for I have not the gift of reading\nsouls--I had spoken as one inspired, and was able to console her\ncompletely.\n\nAnd now, dear Mother, I will tell you wherein I gain most with the\nnovices. You know they are allowed without restriction to say\nanything to me, agreeable or the reverse; this is all the easier\nsince they do not owe me the respect due to a Novice-Mistress. I\ncannot say that Our Lord makes me walk in the way of exterior\nhumiliation; He is satisfied with humbling me in my inmost soul.\nIn the eyes of creatures all is success, and I walk in the\ndangerous path of honour--if a religious may so speak. I\nunderstand God's way and that of my superiors in this respect; for\nif the Community thought me incapable, unintelligent, and wanting\nin judgment, I could be of no possible use to you, dear Mother.\nThis is why the Divine Master has thrown a veil over all my\nshortcomings, both interior and exterior. Because of this veil I\nreceive many compliments from the novices--compliments without\nflattery, for they really mean what they say; and they do not\ninspire me with vanity, for the remembrance of my weakness is ever\nbefore me. At times my soul tires of this over-sweet food, and I\nlong to hear something other than praise; then Our Lord serves me\nwith a nice little salad, well spiced, with plenty of vinegar--oil\nalone is wanting, and this it is which makes it more to my taste.\nAnd the salad is offered to me by the novices at the moment I\nleast expect. God lifts the veil that hides my faults, and my dear\nlittle Sisters, beholding me as I really am, do not find me\naltogether agreeable. With charming simplicity, they tell me how I\ntry them and what they dislike in me; in fact, they are as frank\nas though they were speaking of someone else, for they are aware\nthat I am pleased when they act in this way.\n\nI am more than pleased--I am transported with delight by this\nsplendid banquet set before me. How can anything so contrary to\nour natural inclinations afford such extraordinary pleasure? Had I\nnot experienced it, I could not have believed it possible.\n\nOne day, when I was ardently longing for some humiliation, a young\npostulant came to me and sated my desire so completely, that I was\nreminded of the occasion when Semei cursed David, and I repeated\nto myself the words of the holy King: \"Yea, it is the Lord who\nhath bidden him say all these things.\"[7] In this way God takes\ncare of me. He cannot always provide that strength-giving bread,\nexterior humiliation, but from time to time He allows me to eat of\n\"the crumbs from the table of the children.\"[8] How magnificent\nare His Mercies!\n\nDear Mother, since that Infinite Mercy is the subject of this my\nearthly song, I ought also to discover to you one real advantage,\nreaped with many others in the discharge of my task. Formerly, if\nI saw a Sister acting in a way that displeased me, and was\nseemingly contrary to rule, I would think: \"Ah, how glad I should\nbe if only I could warn her and point out where she is wrong.\"\nSince, however, this burden has been laid upon me my ideas have\nchanged, and when I happen to see something not quite right, I say\nwith a sigh of relief: \"Thank God! It is not a novice, and I am\nnot obliged to correct\"; and at once I try to find excuses, and\ncredit the doer with the good intentions she no doubt possesses.\n\nYour devotedness, dear Mother, now that I am ill, has also taught\nme many a lesson of charity. No remedy is too costly, and if one\ndoes not succeed, you unhesitatingly try something new. When I am\npresent at recreation, how careful you are to shield me from\ndraughts. I feel that I ought to be as compassionate for the\nspiritual infirmities of my Sisters as you are for my bodily ills.\n\nI have noticed that it is the holiest nuns who are most deeply\nloved; everyone is anxious to seek their company, and do them\nservice, without even being asked. These very souls who are well\nable to bear with want of affection and little attentions are\nalways surrounded by an atmosphere of love. Our Father, St. John\nof the Cross, says with great truth: \"All good things have come\nunto me, since I no longer sought them for myself.\"\n\nImperfect souls, on the contrary, are left alone. They are\ntreated, it is true, with the measure of politeness which\nreligious life demands; yet their company is avoided, lest a word\nmight be said which would hurt their feelings. When I say\nimperfect souls, I am not referring to souls with spiritual\nimperfections only, for the holiest souls will not be perfect till\nthey are in heaven. I mean those who are also afflicted with want\nof tact and refinement, as well as ultra-sensitive souls. I know\nsuch defects are incurable, but I also know how patient you would\nbe, in nursing and striving to relieve me, were my illness to last\nfor many years.\n\nFrom all this I draw the conclusion:--I ought to seek the\ncompanionship of those Sisters towards whom I feel a natural\naversion, and try to be their good Samaritan. A word or a smile is\noften enough to put fresh life in a despondent soul. And yet it is\nnot merely in the hope of giving consolation that I try to be\nkind. If it were, I know that I should soon be discouraged, for\nwell-intentioned words are often totally misunderstood.\nConsequently, not to lose my time or labour, I try to act solely\nto please Our Lord, and follow this precept of the Gospel: \"When\nthou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends or thy\nbrethren, lest perhaps they also invite thee again and a\nrecompense be made to thee. But when thou makest a feast, call the\npoor, the maimed, the blind, and the lame, and thou shalt be\nblessed, because they have naught wherewith to make thee\nrecompense, and thy Father Who seeth in secret will repay thee.\"[9]\n\nWhat feast can I offer my Sisters but a spiritual one of sweet and\njoyful charity! I know none other, and I wish to imitate St. Paul,\nwho rejoiced with those who rejoiced. It is true that he wept with\nthose who wept, and at my feast, too, the tears must sometimes\nfall, still I shall always try to change them into smiles, for\n\"God loveth a cheerful giver.\"[10]\n\nI remember an act of charity with which God inspired me while I\nwas still a novice, and this act, though seemingly small, has been\nrewarded even in this life by Our Heavenly Father, \"Who seeth in\nsecret.\"\n\nShortly before Sister St. Peter became quite bedridden, it was\nnecessary every evening, at ten minutes to six, for someone to\nleave meditation and take her to the refectory. It cost me a good\ndeal to offer my services, for I knew the difficulty, or I should\nsay the impossibility, of pleasing the poor invalid. But I did not\nwant to lose such a good opportunity, for I recalled Our Lord's\nwords: \"As long as you did it to one of these my least brethren,\nyou did it to Me.\"[11] I therefore humbly offered my aid. It was\nnot without difficulty I induced her to accept it, but after\nconsiderable persuasion I succeeded. Every evening, when I saw her\nshake her sand-glass, I understood that she meant: \"Let us go!\"\nSummoning up all my courage I rose, and the ceremony began. First\nof all, her stool had to be moved and carried in a particular way,\nand on no account must there be any hurry. The solemn procession\nensued. I had to follow the good Sister, supporting her by her\ngirdle; I did it as gently as possible, but if by some mischance\nshe stumbled, she imagined I had not a firm hold, and that she was\ngoing to fall. \"You are going too fast,\" she would say, \"I shall\nfall and hurt myself!\" Then when I tried to lead her more quietly:\n\"Come quicker . . . I cannot feel you . . . you are letting me go!\nI was right when I said you were too young to take care of me.\"\n\nWhen we reached the refectory without further mishap, more\ntroubles were in store. I had to settle my poor invalid in her\nplace, taking great pains not to hurt her. Then I had to turn back\nher sleeves, always according to her own special rubric, and after\nthat I was allowed to go.\n\nBut I soon noticed that she found it very difficult to cut her\nbread, so I did not leave her till I had performed this last\nservice. She was much touched by this attention on my part, for\nshe had not expressed any wish on the subject; it was by this\nunsought-for kindness that I gained her entire confidence, and\nchiefly because--as I learnt later--at the end of my humble task\nI bestowed upon her my sweetest smile.\n\nDear Mother, it is long since all this happened, but Our Lord\nallows the memory of it to linger with me like a perfume from\nHeaven. One cold winter evening, I was occupied in the lowly work\nof which I have just spoken, when suddenly I heard in the distance\nthe harmonious strains of music outside the convent walls. I\npictured a drawing-room, brilliantly lighted and decorated, and\nrichly furnished. Young ladies, elegantly dressed, exchanged a\nthousand compliments, as is the way of the world. Then I looked on\nthe poor invalid I was tending. Instead of sweet music I heard her\ncomplaints, instead of rich gilding I saw the brick walls of our\nbare cloister, scarcely visible in the dim light. The contrast was\nvery moving. Our Lord so illuminated my soul with the rays of\ntruth, before which the pleasures of the world are but as\ndarkness, that for a thousand years of such worldly delights, I\nwould not have bartered even the ten minutes spent in my act of\ncharity.\n\nIf even now, in days of pain and amid the smoke of battle, the\nthought that God has withdrawn us from the world is so entrancing,\nwhat will it be when, in eternal glory and everlasting repose, we\nrealise the favour beyond compare He has done us here, by singling\nus out to dwell in His Carmel, the very portal of Heaven?\n\nI have not always felt these transports of joy in performing acts\nof charity, but at the beginning of my religious life Jesus wished\nto make me feel how sweet to Him is charity, when found in the\nhearts of his Spouses. Thus when I led Sister St. Peter, it was\nwith so much love that I could not have shown more were I guiding\nOur Divine Lord Himself.\n\nThe practice of charity has not always been so pleasant as I have\njust pointed out, dear Mother, and to prove it I will recount some\nof my many struggles.\n\nFor a long time my place at meditation was near a Sister who\nfidgeted continually, either with her Rosary, or something else;\npossibly, as I am very quick of hearing, I alone heard her, but I\ncannot tell you how much it tried me. I should have liked to turn\nround, and by looking at the offender, make her stop the noise;\nbut in my heart I knew that I ought to bear it tranquilly, both\nfor the love of God and to avoid giving pain. So I kept quiet, but\nthe effort cost me so much that sometimes I was bathed in\nperspiration, and my meditation consisted merely in suffering with\npatience. After a time I tried to endure it in peace and joy, at\nleast deep down in my soul, and I strove to take actual pleasure\nin the disagreeable little noise. Instead of trying not to hear\nit, which was impossible, I set myself to listen, as though it had\nbeen some delightful music, and my meditation--which was not the\n\"prayer of quiet\"--was passed in offering this music to Our Lord.\n\nAnother time I was working in the laundry, and the Sister\nopposite, while washing handkerchiefs, repeatedly splashed me with\ndirty water. My first impulse was to draw back and wipe my face,\nto show the offender I should be glad if she would behave more\nquietly; but the next minute I thought how foolish it was to\nrefuse the treasures God offered me so generously, and I refrained\nfrom betraying my annoyance. On the contrary, I made such efforts\nto welcome the shower of dirty water, that at the end of half an\nhour I had taken quite a fancy to this novel kind of aspersion,\nand I resolved to come as often as I could to the happy spot where\nsuch treasures were freely bestowed.\n\nDear Mother, you see that I am a very little soul, who can only\noffer very little things to Our Lord. It still happens that I\nfrequently let slip the occasion of these slender sacrifices,\nwhich bring so much peace, but this does not discourage me; I bear\nthe loss of a little peace, and I try to be more watchful for the\nfuture.\n\nHow happy does Our Lord make me, and how sweet and easy is His\nservice on this earth! He has always given me what I desired, or\nrather He has made me desire what He wishes to give. A short time\nbefore my terrible temptation against Faith, I had reflected how\nfew exterior trials, worthy of mention, had fallen to my lot, and\nthat if I were to have interior trials, God must change my path;\nand this I did not think He would do. Yet I could not always live\nat ease. Of what means, then, would He make use?\n\nI had not long to wait for an answer, and it showed me that He\nwhom I love is never at a loss, for without changing my way, He\nsent me this great trial; and thus mingled a healing bitterness\nwith all the sweet.\n______________________________\n\n[1] Cf. Rom. 8:15.\n\n[2] Exod. 9:16.\n\n[3] Cf. Ps. 33[34]:6.\n\n[4] Ps. 111[112]:4.\n\n[5] Prov. 18:19.\n\n[6] John 10:12.\n\n[7] Cf. 2 Kings 16:10.\n\n[8] Mark 7:28.\n\n[9] Cf. Luke 14:12, 13, 14.\n\n[10] 2 Cor. 9:7.\n\n[11] Matt. 25:40.\n\n______________________________\n\n\nCHAPTER XI A CANTICLE OF LOVE\n\nIt is not only when He is about to send me some trial that Our\nLord gives me warning and awakens my desire for it. For years I\nhad cherished a longing which seemed impossible of realisation--to\nhave a brother a Priest. I often used to think that if my little\nbrothers had not gone to Heaven, I should have had the happiness\nof seeing them at the Altar. I greatly regretted being deprived of\nthis joy. Yet God went beyond my dream; I only asked for one\nbrother who would remember me each day at the Holy Altar, and He\nhas united me in the bonds of spiritual friendship with two of His\napostles. I should like to tell you, dear Mother, how Our Divine\nMaster fulfilled my desire.\n\nIn 1895 our holy Mother, St. Teresa, sent my first brother as a\ngift for my feast. It was washing day, and I was busy at my work,\nwhen Mother Agnes of Jesus, then Prioress, called me aside and\nread me a letter from a young Seminarist, in which he said he had\nbeen inspired by St. Teresa to ask for a sister who would devote\nherself specially to his salvation, and to the salvation of his\nfuture flock. He promised always to remember this spiritual sister\nwhen saying Mass, and the choice fell upon me. Dear Mother, I\ncannot tell you how happy this made me. Such unlooked-for\nfulfillment of my desire awoke in my heart the joy of a child; it\ncarried me back to those early days, when pleasures were so keen,\nthat my heart seemed too small to contain them. Years had passed\nsince I had tasted a like happiness, so fresh, so unfamiliar, as\nif forgotten chords had been stirred within me.\n\nFully aware of my obligations, I set to work, and strove to\nredouble my fervour. Now and again I wrote to my new brother.\nUndoubtedly, it is by prayer and sacrifice that we can help our\nmissionaries, but sometimes, when it pleases Our Lord to unite two\nsouls for His Glory, He permits them to communicate their\nthoughts, and thus inspire each other to love God more. Of course\nan express command from those in authority is needed for this,\notherwise, it seems to me, that such a correspondence would do\nmore harm than good, if not to the missionary, at least to the\nCarmelite, whose manner of life tends to continual introversion.\nThis exchange of letters, though rare, would occupy her mind\nuselessly; instead of uniting her to God, she would perhaps fancy\nshe was doing wonders, when in reality, under cover of zeal, she\nwas doing nothing but producing needless distraction.--And here\nam I, launched, not upon a distraction, but upon a dissertation\nequally superfluous. I shall never be able to correct myself of\nthese lengthy digressions which must be so wearisome to you, dear\nMother. Forgive me, should I offend again.\n\nLast year, at the end of May, it was your turn to give me my\nsecond brother, and when I represented that, having given all my\nmerits to one future apostle, I feared they could not be given to\nanother, you told me that obedience would double their value. In\nthe depths of my heart I thought the same thing, and, since the\nzeal of a Carmelite ought to embrace the whole world, I hope, with\nGod's help, to be of use to even more than two missionaries. I\npray for all, not forgetting our Priests at home, whose ministry\nis quite as difficult as that of the missionary preaching to the\nheathen. . . . In a word, I wish to be a true daughter of the\nChurch, like our holy Mother St. Teresa, and pray for all the\nintentions of Christ's Vicar. That is the one great aim of my\nlife. But just as I should have had a special interest in my\nlittle brothers had they lived, and that, without neglecting the\ngeneral interests of the Church, so now, I unite myself in a\nspecial way to the new brothers whom Jesus has given me. All that\nI possess is theirs also. God is too good to give by halves; He is\nso rich that He gives me all I ask for, even though I do not lose\nmyself in lengthy enumerations. As I have two brothers and my\nlittle sisters, the novices, the days would be too short were I to\nask in detail for the needs of each soul, and I fear I might\nforget something important. Simple souls cannot understand\ncomplicated methods, and, as I am one of their number, Our Lord\nhas inspired me with a very simple way of fulfilling my\nobligations. One day, after Holy Communion, He made me understand\nthese words of the Canticles: \"Draw me: we will run after Thee to\nthe odour of Thy ointments.\"[1] O my Jesus, there is no need to\nsay: \"In drawing me, draw also the souls that I love\": these\nwords, \"Draw me,\" suffice. When a soul has let herself be taken\ncaptive by the inebriating odour of Thy perfumes, she cannot run\nalone; as a natural consequence of her attraction towards Thee,\nthe souls of all those she loves are drawn in her train.\n\nJust as a torrent carries into the depths of the sea all that it\nmeets on its way, so, my Jesus, does the soul who plunges into the\nshoreless ocean of Thy Love bring with it all its treasures. My\ntreasures are the souls it has pleased thee to unite with mine;\nThou hast confided them to me, and therefore I do not fear to use\nThy own words, uttered by Thee on the last night that saw Thee\nstill a traveller on this earth. Jesus, my Beloved! I know not\nwhen my exile will have an end. Many a night I may yet sing Thy\nMercies here below, but for me also will come the last night, and\nthen I shall be able to say:\n\n\"I have glorified Thee upon earth: I have finished the work which\nThou gavest me to do. I have manifested Thy name to the men whom\nThou hast given me out of the world. Thine they were, and to me\nThou gavest them; and they have kept Thy word. Now they have known\nthat all things which Thou hast given me are from Thee: because\nthe words which Thou gavest me I have given to them; and they\nhave received them, and have known for certain that I came forth\nfrom Thee, and they have believed that Thou didst send me. I pray\nfor them: I pray not for the world, but for them whom Thou hast\ngiven me, because they are Thine. And all mine are Thine, and\nThine are mine; and I am glorified in them. And now I am no more\nin the world, and these are in the world, and I come to Thee. Holy\nFather, keep them in Thy name, whom Thou hast given me, that they\nmay be one, as we also are one. And now I come to Thee, and these\nthings I speak in the world, that they may have my joy filled in\nthemselves. I do not ask that Thou take them away out of the\nworld, but that Thou preserve them from evil. They are not of the\nworld, as I also am not of the world. And not for them only do I\npray, but for those also who through their word shall believe in\nme. Father, I will that where I am they also whom Thou hast given\nme may be with me, that they may see my glory which Thou hast\ngiven me, because Thou hast loved me before the foundation of the\nworld. And I have made known Thy name unto them, and will make it\nknown, that the love wherewith Thou hast loved me may be in them\nand I in them.\"[2]\n\nYea, Lord, thus would I repeat Thy words, before losing myself in\nThy loving embrace. Perhaps it is daring, but, for a long time,\nhast thou not allowed me to be daring with Thee? Thou hast said to\nme, as the Prodigal's father to his elder son: \"All I have is\nthine.\"[3] And therefore I may use thy very own words to draw down\nfavours from Our Heavenly Father on all who are dear to me.\n\nMy God, Thou knowest that I have ever desired to love Thee alone.\nIt has been my only ambition. Thy love has gone before me, even\nfrom the days of my childhood. It has grown with my growth, and\nnow it is an abyss whose depths I cannot fathom.\n\nLove attracts love; mine darts towards Thee, and would fain make\nthe abyss brim over, but alas! it is not even as a dewdrop in the\nocean. To love Thee as Thou lovest me, I must make Thy Love mine\nown. Thus alone can I find rest. O my Jesus, it seems to me that\nThou couldst not have overwhelmed a soul with more love than Thou\nhast poured out on mine, and that is why I dare ask Thee to love\nthose Thou hast given me, even as Thou lovest me.\n\nIf, in Heaven, I find that thou lovest them more than Thou lovest\nme, I shall rejoice, for I acknowledge that their deserts are\ngreater than mine, but now, I can conceive no love more vast than\nthat with which Thou hast favoured me, without any merit on my\npart.\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nDear Mother, what I have just written amazes me. I had no\nintention of writing it. When I said: \"The words which Thou gavest\nme I have given unto them,\" I was thinking only of my little\nsisters in the noviciate. I am not able to teach missionaries, and\nthe words I wrote for them were from the prayer of Our Lord: \"I do\nnot ask that Thou shouldst take them out of the world; I pray also\nfor them who through their word shall believe in Thee.\"\n\nHow could I forget those souls they are to win by their sufferings\nand exhortations?\n\nBut I have not told you all my thoughts on this passage of the\nSacred Canticles: \"Draw me--we will run!\" Our Lord has said: \"No\nman can come to Me except the Father Who hath sent Me, draw\nhim,\"[4] and later He tells us that _whosoever seeks shall find,\nwhosoever asks shall receive, that unto him that knocks it shall\nbe opened,_ and He adds that whatever we ask the Father in His\nName shall be given us. It was no doubt for this reason that, long\nbefore the birth of Our Lord, the Holy Spirit dictated these\nprophetic words: \"Draw me--we will run!\" By asking to be drawn, we\ndesire an intimate union with the object of our love. If iron and\nfire were endowed with reason, and the iron could say: \"Draw me!\"\nwould not that prove its desire to be identified with the fire to\nthe point of sharing its substance? Well, this is precisely my\nprayer. I asked Jesus to draw me into the Fire of His love, and to\nunite me so closely to Himself that He may live and act in me. I\nfeel that the more the fire of love consumes my heart, so much the\nmore shall I say: \"Draw me!\" and the more also will souls who draw\nnear me _run swiftly in the sweet odour of the Beloved._\n\nYes, they will run--we shall all run together, for souls that are\non fire can never be at rest. They may indeed, like St. Mary\nMagdalen, sit at the feet of Jesus, listening to His sweet and\nburning words, but, though they seem to give Him nothing, they\ngive much more than Martha, who busied herself about many things.\nIt is not Martha's work that Our Lord blames, but her\nover-solicitude; His Blessed Mother humbly occupied herself in the\nsame kind of work when she prepared the meals for the Holy Family.\nAll the Saints have understood this, especially those who have\nillumined the earth with the light of Christ's teaching. Was it\nnot from prayer that St. Paul, St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas,\nSt. John of the Cross, St. Teresa, and so many other friends of\nGod drew that wonderful science which has enthralled the loftiest\nminds? \"Give me a lever and a fulcrum on which to lean it,\" said\nArchimedes, \"and I will lift the world.\"\n\nWhat he could not obtain because his request had only a material\nend, without reference to God, the Saints have obtained in all its\nfulness. They lean on God Almighty's power itself and their lever\nis the prayer that inflames with love's fire. With this lever they\nhave raised the world--with this lever the Saints of the Church\nMilitant still raise it, and will raise it to the end of time.\n\nDear Mother, I have still to tell you what I understand by the\n_sweet odour of the Beloved._ As Our Lord is now in Heaven, I can\nonly follow Him by the footprints He has left--footprints full of\nlife, full of fragrance. I have only to open the Holy Gospels and\nat once I breathe the perfume of Jesus, and then I know which way\nto run; and it is not to the first place, but to the last, that I\nhasten. I leave the Pharisee to go up, and full of confidence I\nrepeat the humble prayer of the Publican. Above all I follow\nMagdalen, for the amazing, rather I should say, the loving\naudacity, that delights the Heart of Jesus, has cast its spell\nupon mine. It is not because I have been preserved from mortal sin\nthat I lift up my heart to God in trust and love. I feel that even\nhad I on my conscience every crime one could commit, I should lose\nnothing of my confidence: my heart broken with sorrow, I would\nthrow myself into the Arms of my Saviour. I know that He loves the\nProdigal Son, I have heard His words to St. Mary Magdalen, to the\nwoman taken in adultery, and to the woman of Samaria. No one could\nfrighten me, for I know what to believe concerning His Mercy and\nHis Love. And I know that all that multitude of sins would\ndisappear in an instant, even as a drop of water cast into a\nflaming furnace.\n\nIt is told in the Lives of the Fathers of the Desert how one of\nthem converted a public sinner, whose evil deeds were the scandal\nof the whole country. This wicked woman, touched by grace,\nfollowed the Saint into the desert, there to perform rigorous\npenance. But on the first night of the journey, before even\nreaching the place of her retirement, the bonds that bound her to\nearth were broken by the vehemence of her loving sorrow. The holy\nman, at the same instant, saw her soul borne by Angels to the\nBosom of God.\n\nThis is a striking example of what I want to say, but these things\ncannot be expressed. Dearest Mother, if weak and imperfect souls\nlike mine felt what I feel, none would despair of reaching the\nsummit of the Mountain of Love, since Jesus does not ask for great\ndeeds, but only for gratitude and self-surrender.\n\nHe says: \"I will not take the he-goats from out of the flocks, for\nall the beasts of the forests are mine, the cattle on the hills\nand the oxen. I know all the fowls of the air. If I were hungry, I\nwould not tell thee, for the world is Mine, and the fulness\nthereof. Shall I eat the flesh of bullocks, or shall I drink the\nblood of goats? Offer to God the sacrifice of praise and\nthanksgiving.\"[5]\n\nThis is all Our Lord claims from us. He has need of our love--He\nhas no need of our works. The same God, Who declares that He has\nno need to tell us if He be hungry, did not disdain to beg a\nlittle water from the Samaritan woman. He was athirst, but when He\nsaid: \"Give me to drink,\"[6] He, the Creator of the Universe,\nasked for the love of His creature. He thirsted for love.\n\nAnd this thirst of Our Divine Lord was ever on the increase.\nAmongst the disciples of the world, He meets with nothing but\nindifference and ingratitude, and alas! among His own, how few\nhearts surrender themselves without reserve to the infinite\ntenderness of His Love. Happy are we who are privileged to\nunderstand the inmost secrets of Our Divine Spouse. If you, dear\nMother, would but set down in writing all you know, what wonders\ncould you not unfold!\n\nBut, like Our Blessed Lady, you prefer to _keep all these things\nin your heart._[7] To me you say that \"It is honourable to reveal\nand confess the world of God.\"[8] Yet you are right to keep\nsilence, for no earthly words can convey the secrets of Heaven.\n\nAs for me, in spite of all I have written, I have not as yet\nbegun. I see so many beautiful horizons, such infinitely varied\ntints, that the palette of the Divine Painter will alone, after\nthe darkness of this life, be able to supply me with the colours\nwherewith I may portray the wonders that my soul descries. Since,\nhowever, you have expressed a desire to penetrate into the hidden\nsanctuary of my heart, and to have in writing what was the most\nconsoling dream of my life, I will end this story of my soul, by\nan act of obedience. If you will allow me, it is to Jesus I will\naddress myself, for in this way I shall speak more easily. You may\nfind my expressions somewhat exaggerated, but I assure you there\nis no exaggeration in my heart--there all is calm and peace.\n\nO my Jesus, who can say how tenderly and gently Thou dost lead my\nsoul! The storm had raged there ever since Easter, the glorious\nfeast of Thy triumph, until, in the month of May, there shone\nthrough the darkness of my night one bright ray of grace. . . . My\nmind dwelt on mysterious dreams sent sometimes to Thy favoured\nones, and I thought how such a consolation was not to be\nmine--that for me, it was night, always the dark night. And in the\nmidst of the storm I fell asleep. The following day, May 10, just\nat dawn, I dreamt that I was walking in a gallery alone with Our\nMother. Suddenly, without knowing how they had entered, I\nperceived three Carmelites, in mantles and long veils, and I knew\nthat they came from Heaven. \"Ah!\" I thought, \"how glad I should be\nif I could but look on the face of one of these Carmelites!\" And,\nas if my wish had been heard, I saw the tallest of the three\nSaints advance towards me. An inexpressible joy took possession of\nme as she raised her veil, and then covered me with it.\n\nAt once I recognised our Venerable Mother, Anne of Jesus,\nfoundress of the Carmel in France.[9] Her face was beautiful with\nan unearthly beauty; no rays came from it, and yet, in spite of\nthe thick veil which enveloped us, I could see it suffused by a\nsoft light, which seemed to emanate from her heavenly countenance.\nShe caressed me tenderly, and seeing myself the object of such\naffection, I made bold to say: \"Dear Mother, I entreat you, tell\nme, will Our Lord leave me much longer in this world? Will He not\nsoon come to fetch me?\" She smiled sweetly, and answered, \"Yes,\nsoon . . . very soon . . . I promise you.\" \"Dear Mother,\" I asked\nagain, \"tell me if He does not want more from me than these poor\nlittle acts and desires that I offer Him. Is He pleased with me?\"\nThen our Venerable Mother's face shone with a new splendour, and\nher expression became still more gracious: \"The Good God asks no\nmore of you,\" she said, \"He is pleased, quite pleased,\" and,\ntaking my head between her hands, she kissed me so tenderly that\nit would be impossible to describe the joy I felt. My heart was\noverflowing with gladness, and, remembering my Sisters, I was\nabout to beseech some favour for them, when, alas! I awoke. My\nhappiness was too great for words. Many months have passed since I\nhad this wonderful dream, and yet its memory is as fresh and\ndelightful as ever. I can still picture the loving smiles of this\nholy Carmelite and feel her fond caresses. O Jesus! \"Thou didst\ncommand the winds and the storm, and there came a great calm.\"[10]\n\nOn waking, I realised that Heaven does indeed exist, and that this\nHeaven is peopled with souls who cherish me as their child, and\nthis impression still remains with me--all the sweeter, because,\nup to that time, I had but little devotion to the Venerable Mother\nAnne of Jesus. I had never sought her help, and but rarely heard\nher name. And now I know and understand how constantly I was in\nher thoughts, and the knowledge adds to my love for her and for\nall the dear ones in my Father's Home.\n\nO my Beloved! this was but the prelude of graces yet greater which\nThou didst desire to heap upon me. Let me remind Thee of them\nto-day, and forgive my folly if I venture to tell Thee once more\nof my hopes, and my heart's well nigh infinite longings--forgive\nme and grant my desire, that it may be well with my soul. To be\nThy Spouse, O my Jesus, to be a daughter of Carmel, and by my\nunion with Thee to be the mother of souls, should not all this\ncontent me? And yet other vocations make themselves felt--I feel\ncalled to the Priesthood and to the Apostolate--I would be a\nMartyr, a Doctor of the Church. I should like to accomplish the\nmost heroic deeds--the spirit of the Crusader burns within me, and\nI long to die on the field of battle in defence of Holy Church.\n\nThe vocation of a Priest! With what love, my Jesus, would I bear\nThee in my hand, when my words brought Thee down from Heaven! With\nwhat love would I give Thee to souls! And yet, while longing to be\na Priest, I admire and envy the humility of St. Francis of Assisi,\nand am drawn to imitate him by refusing the sublime dignity of the\nPriesthood. How reconcile these opposite tendencies?[11]\n\nLike the Prophets and Doctors, I would be a light unto souls, I\nwould travel to every land to preach Thy name, O my Beloved, and\nraise on heathen soil the glorious standard of Thy Cross. One\nmission alone would not satisfy my longings. I would spread the\nGospel to the ends of the earth, even to the most distant isles. I\nwould be a Missionary, not for a few years only, but, were it\npossible, from the beginning of the world till the consummation of\ntime. Above all, I thirst for the Martyr's crown. It was the\ndesire of my earliest days, and the desire has deepened with the\nyears passed in the Carmel's narrow cell. But this too is folly,\nsince I do not sigh for one torment; I need them all to slake my\nthirst. Like Thee, O Adorable Spouse, I would be scourged, I would\nbe crucified! I would be flayed like St. Bartholomew, plunged into\nboiling oil like St. John, or, like St. Ignatius of Antioch,\nground by the teeth of wild beasts into a bread worthy of God.[12]\n\nWith St. Agnes and St. Cecilia I would offer my neck to the sword\nof the executioner, and like Joan of Arc I would murmur the name\nof Jesus at the stake.\n\nMy heart thrills at the thought of the frightful tortures\nChristians are to suffer at the time of Anti-Christ, and I long to\nundergo them all. Open, O Jesus, the Book of Life, in which are\nwritten the deeds of Thy Saints: all the deeds told in that book I\nlong to have accomplished for Thee. To such folly as this what\nanswer wilt Thou make? Is there on the face of this earth a soul\nmore feeble than mine? And yet, precisely because I am feeble, it\nhas delighted Thee to accede to my least and most child-like\ndesires, and to-day it is Thy good pleasure to realise those other\ndesires, more vast than the Universe. These aspirations becoming a\ntrue martyrdom, I opened, one day, the Epistles of St. Paul to\nseek relief in my sufferings. My eyes fell on the 12th and 13th\nchapters of the First Epistle to the Corinthians. I read that all\ncannot become Apostles, Prophets, and Doctors; that the Church is\ncomposed of different members; that the eye cannot also be the\nhand. The answer was clear, but it did not fulfill my desires, or\ngive to me the peace I sought. \"Then descending into the depths of\nmy nothingness, I was so lifted up that I reached my aim.\"[13]\n\nWithout being discouraged I read on, and found comfort in this\ncounsel: \"Be zealous for the better gifts. And I show unto you a\nyet more excellent way.\"[14] The Apostle then explains how all\nperfect gifts are nothing without Love, that Charity is the most\nexcellent way of going surely to God. At last I had found rest.\n\nMeditating on the mystical Body of Holy Church, I could not\nrecognise myself among any of its members as described by St.\nPaul, or was it not rather that I wished to recognise myself in\nall? Charity provided me with the key to my vocation. I understood\nthat since the Church is a body composed of different members, the\nnoblest and most important of all the organs would not be wanting.\nI knew that the Church has a heart, that this heart burns with\nlove, and that it is love alone which gives life to its members. I\nknew that if this love were extinguished, the Apostles would no\nlonger preach the Gospel, and the Martyrs would refuse to shed\ntheir blood. I understood that love embraces all vocations, that\nit is all things, and that it reaches out through all the ages,\nand to the uttermost limits of the earth, because it is eternal.\n\nThen, beside myself with joy, I cried out: \"O Jesus, my Love, at\nlast I have found my vocation. My vocation is love! Yes, I have\nfound my place in the bosom of the Church, and this place, O my\nGod, Thou hast Thyself given to me: in the heart of the Church, my\nMother, I will be LOVE! . . . Thus I shall be all things: thus\nwill my dream be realised. . . .\"\n\nWhy do I say I am beside myself with joy? This does not convey my\nthought. Rather is it peace which has become my portion--the calm\npeace of the sailor when he catches sight of the beacon which\nlights him to port. O luminous Beacon of Love! I know how to come\neven unto Thee, I have found the means of borrowing Thy Fires.\n\nI am but a weak and helpless child, yet it is my very weakness\nwhich makes me dare to offer myself, O Jesus, as victim to Thy\nLove.\n\nIn olden days pure and spotless holocausts alone were acceptable\nto the Omnipotent God. Nor could His Justice be appeased, save by\nthe most perfect sacrifices. But the law of fear has given place\nto the law of love, and Love has chosen me, a weak and imperfect\ncreature, as its victim. Is not such a choice worthy of God's\nLove? Yea, for in order that Love may be fully satisfied, it must\nstoop even unto nothingness, and must transform that nothingness\ninto fire. O my God, I know it--\"Love is repaid by love\nalone.\"[15] Therefore I have sought, I have found, how to ease my\nheart, by rendering Thee love for love.\n\n\"Use the riches that make men unjust, to find you friends who may\nreceive you into everlasting dwellings.\"[16] This, O Lord, is the\nadvice Thou gavest to Thy disciples after complaining that \"the\nchildren of this world are wiser in their generation than the\nchildren of light.\"[17]\n\nChild of light, as I am, I understood that my desires to be all\nthings, and to embrace all vocations, were riches that might well\nmake me unjust; so I set to work to use them for the making of\nfriends. Mindful of the prayer of Eliseus when he asked the\nProphet Elias for his double spirit, I presented myself before the\ncompany of the Angels and Saints and addressed them thus: \"I am\nthe least of all creatures. I know my mean estate, but I know that\nnoble and generous hearts love to do good. Therefore, O Blessed\nInhabitants of the Celestial City, I entreat you to adopt me as\nyour child. All the glory that you help me to acquire, will be\nyours; only deign to hear my prayer, and obtain for me a double\nportion of the love of God.\"\n\nO my God! I cannot measure the extent of my request, I should fear\nto be crushed by the very weight of its audacity. My only excuse\nis my claim to childhood, and that children do not grasp the full\nmeaning of their words. Yet if a father or mother were on the\nthrone and possessed vast treasures, they would not hesitate to\ngrant the desires of those little ones, more dear to them than\nlife itself. To give them pleasure they will stoop even unto folly.\n\nWell, I am a child of Holy Church, and the Church is a Queen,\nbecause she is now espoused to the Divine King of Kings. I ask not\nfor riches or glory, not even the glory of Heaven--that belongs by\nright to my brothers the Angels and Saints, and my own glory shall\nbe the radiance that streams from the queenly brow of my Mother,\nthe Church. Nay, I ask for Love. To love Thee, Jesus, is now my\nonly desire. Great deeds are not for me; I cannot preach the\nGospel or shed my blood. No matter! My brothers work in my stead,\nand I, a little child, stay close to the throne, and love Thee for\nall who are in the strife.\n\nBut how shall I show my love, since love proves itself by deeds?\nWell! The little child will strew flowers . . . she will embrace\nthe Divine Throne with their fragrance, she will sing Love's\nCanticle in silvery tones. Yes, my Beloved, it is thus my short\nlife shall be spent in Thy sight. The only way I have of proving\nmy love is to strew flowers before Thee--that is to say, I will\nlet no tiny sacrifice pass, no look, no word. I wish to profit by\nthe smallest actions, and to do them for Love. I wish to suffer\nfor Love's sake, and for Love's sake even to rejoice: thus shall I\nstrew flowers. Not one shall I find without scattering its petals\nbefore Thee . . . and I will sing . . . I will sing always, even\nif my roses must be gathered from amidst thorns; and the longer\nand sharper the thorns, the sweeter shall be my song.\n\nBut of what avail to thee, my Jesus, are my flowers and my songs?\nI know it well: this fragrant shower, these delicate petals of\nlittle price, these songs of love from a poor little heart like\nmine, will nevertheless be pleasing unto Thee. Trifles they are,\nbut Thou wilt smile on them. The Church Triumphant, stooping\ntowards her child, will gather up these scattered rose leaves,\nand, placing them in Thy Divine Hands, there to acquire an\ninfinite value, will shower them on the Church Suffering to\nextinguish its flames, and on the Church Militant to obtain its\nvictory.\n\nO my Jesus, I love Thee! I love my Mother, the Church; I bear in\nmind that \"the least act of pure love is of more value to her than\nall other works together.\"[18]\n\nBut is this pure love really in my heart? Are not my boundless\ndesires but dreams--but foolishness? If this be so, I beseech Thee\nto enlighten me; Thou knowest I seek but the truth. If my desires\nbe rash, then deliver me from them, and from this most grievous of\nall martyrdoms. And yet I confess, if I reach not those heights to\nwhich my soul aspires, this very martyrdom, this foolishness, will\nhave been sweeter to me than eternal bliss will be, unless by a\nmiracle Thou shouldst take from me all memory of the hopes I\nentertained upon earth. Jesus, Jesus! If the mere desire of Thy\nLove awakens such delight, what will it be to possess it, to enjoy\nit for ever?\n\nHow can a soul so imperfect as mine aspire to the plenitude of\nLove? What is the key of this mystery? O my only Friend, why dost\nThou not reserve these infinite longings to lofty souls, to the\neagles that soar in the heights? Alas! I am but a poor little\nunfledged bird. I am not an eagle, I have but the eagle's eyes and\nheart! Yet, notwithstanding my exceeding littleless, I dare to\ngaze upon the Divine Sun of Love, and I burn to dart upwards unto\nHim! I would fly, I would imitate the eagles; but all that I can\ndo is to lift up my little wings--it is beyond my feeble power to\nsoar. What is to become of me? Must I die of sorrow because of my\nhelplessness? Oh, no! I will not even grieve. With daring\nself-abandonment there will I remain until death, my gaze fixed\nupon that Divine Sun. Nothing shall affright me, nor wind nor\nrain. And should impenetrable clouds conceal the Orb of Love, and\nshould I seem to believe that beyond this life there is darkness\nonly, that would be the hour of perfect joy, the hour in which to\npush my confidence to its uttermost bounds. I should not dare to\ndetach my gaze, well knowing that beyond the dark clouds the sweet\nSun still shines.\n\nSo far, O my God, I understand Thy Love for me. But Thou knowest\nhow often I forget this, my only care. I stray from Thy side, and\nmy scarcely fledged wings become draggled in the muddy pools of\nearth; then I lament \"like a young swallow,\"[19] and my lament\ntells Thee all, and I remember, O Infinite Mercy! that \"Thou didst\nnot come to call the just, but sinners.\"[20]\n\nYet shouldst Thou still be deaf to the plaintive cries of Thy\nfeeble creature, shouldst Thou still be veiled, then I am content\nto remain benumbed with cold, my wings bedraggled, and once more I\nrejoice in this well-deserved suffering.\n\nO Sun, my only Love, I am happy to feel myself so small, so frail\nin Thy sunshine, and I am in peace . . . I know that all the\neagles of Thy Celestial Court have pity on me, they guard and\ndefend me, they put to flight the vultures--the demons that fain\nwould devour me. I fear them not, these demons, I am not destined\nto be their prey, but the prey of the Divine Eagle.\n\nO Eternal Word! O my Saviour! Thou art the Divine Eagle Whom I\nlove--Who lurest me. Thou Who, descending to this land of exile,\ndidst will to suffer and to die, in order to bear away the souls\nof men and plunge them into the very heart of the Blessed\nTrinity--Love's Eternal Home! Thou Who, reascending into\ninaccessible light, dost still remain concealed here in our vale\nof tears under the snow-white semblance of the Host, and this, to\nnourish me with Thine own substance! O Jesus! forgive me if I tell\nThee that Thy Love reacheth even unto folly. And in face of this\nfolly, what wilt Thou, but that my heart leap up to Thee? How\ncould my trust have any limits?\n\nI know that the Saints have made themselves as fools for Thy sake;\nbeing 'eagles,' they have done great things. I am too little for\ngreat things, and my folly it is to hope that Thy Love accepts me\nas victim; my folly it is to count on the aid of Angels and\nSaints, in order that I may fly unto Thee with thine own wings, O\nmy Divine Eagle! For as long a time as Thou willest I shall\nremain--my eyes fixed upon Thee. I long to be allured by Thy\nDivine Eyes; I would become Love's prey. I have the hope that Thou\nwilt one day swoop down upon me, and, bearing me away to the\nSource of all Love, Thou wilt plunge me at last into that glowing\nabyss, that I may become for ever its happy Victim.\n\nO Jesus! would that I could tell all _little souls_ of Thine\nineffable condescension! I feel that if by any possibility Thou\ncouldst find one weaker than my own, Thou wouldst take delight in\nloading her with still greater favours, provided that she\nabandoned herself with entire confidence to Thine Infinite Mercy.\nBut, O my Spouse, why these desires of mine to make known the\nsecrets of Thy Love? Is it not Thyself alone Who hast taught them\nto me, and canst Thou not unveil them to others? Yea! I know it,\nand this I implore Thee! . . .\n\nI ENTREAT THEE TO LET THY DIVINE EYES REST UPON A VAST NUMBER OF\nLITTLE SOULS, I ENTREAT THEE TO CHOOSE, IN THIS WORLD, A LEGION OF\nLITTLE VICTIMS OF THY LOVE.\n_____________________________\n\n[1] Cant. 1:3.\n\n[2] Cf. John 17.\n\n[3] Luke 15:31.\n\n[4] John 6:44.\n\n[5] Ps. 49[50]:9-14.\n\n[6] John 4:7.\n\n[7] Cf. Luke 2:19.\n\n[8] Tob. 12:7.\n\n[9] The Venerable Mother Anne of Jesus--in the world, Anne of\nLobera--was born in Spain in 1545. She entered the Carmelite\nOrder in 1570, in the first convent of St. Joseph of Avila, and\nshortly afterwards became the counsellor and coadjutor of St.\nTeresa, who called her, \"her daughter and her crown.\" St. John of\nthe Cross, who was her spiritual director for fourteen years,\ndescribed her as \"a seraph incarnate,\" and her prudence and\nsanctity were held in such esteem that the most learned men\nconsulted her in their doubts, and accepted her answers as\noracles. She was always faithful to the spirit of St. Teresa, and\nhad received from Heaven the mission to restore the Carmel to its\nprimitive perfection. Having founded three convents of the Reform\nin Spain, she established one in France, and another in Belgium.\nShe died in the odor of sanctity in the Carmel of Brussels on\nMarch 4, 1621. On May 3, 1878, His Holiness Pope Leo XIII signed\nthe Decree introducing the Cause of her Beatification.\n\n[10] Matt. 8:10.\n\n[11] St. Francis of Assisi, out of humility, refused to accept the\nsublime dignity of the Priesthood, and remained a Deacon until his\ndeath. [Ed.]\n\n[12] An allusion to the beautiful words of the martyr St. Ignatius\nof Antioch, uttered when he heard the roar of the lions in the\nRoman arena. \"I am the wheat of Christ; let me be ground by the\nteeth of the wild beasts, that I may become clean bread.\" [Ed.]\n\n[13] St. John of the Cross.\n\n[14] 1 Cor. 12:31.\n\n[15] St. John of the Cross.\n\n[16] Cf. Luke 16:9.\n\n[17] Luke 16:8.\n\n[18] St. John of the Cross.\n\n[19] Isa. 38:14.\n\n[20] Matt. 9:15.\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nEND OF THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nEPILOGUE: A VICTIM OF DIVINE LOVE\n\n\"Many pages of this story\"--said its writer--\"will never be read\nupon earth.\" It is necessary to repeat and emphasize her words.\nThere are sufferings which are not to be disclosed here below; Our\nLord has jealously reserved to Himself the right to reveal their\nmerit and glory, in the clear vision where all veils shall be\nremoved. \"My God,\" she cried on the day of her religious\nprofession, \"give me martyrdom of soul or body . . . or rather\ngive me both the one and the other!\" And Our Lord Who, as she\nherself avowed, fulfilled all her desires, granted this one also,\nand in more abundant measure than the rest. He caused \"the floods\nof infinite tenderness pent up in His Divine Heart to overflow\ninto the soul of His little Spouse.\" This was the \"Martyrdom of\nLove,\" so well described in her melodious song. But it was her own\ndoctrine that, \"to dedicate oneself as a Victim of Love is not to\nbe dedicated to sweetness and consolations; it is to offer oneself\nto all that is painful and bitter, because Love lives only by\nsacrifice . . . and the more we would surrender ourselves to Love,\nthe more we must surrender ourselves to suffering.\"\n\nTherefore, because she desired to attain \"the loftiest height of\nLove,\" the Divine Master led her thither by the rugged path of\nsorrow, and it was only on its bleak summit that she died a\n_Victim of Love._\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nWe have seen how great was her sacrifice in leaving her happy home\nand the Father who loved her so tenderly. It may be imagined that\nthis sacrifice was softened, because at the Carmel she found again\nher two elder and dearly loved sisters. On the contrary, this\nafforded the young postulant many an occasion for repressing her\nstrong natural affections. The rules of solitude and silence were\nstrictly observed, and she only saw her sisters at recreation. Had\nshe been less mortified, she might often have sat beside them, but\n\"by preference she sought out the company of those religious who\nwere least agreeable to her,\" and no one could tell whether or not\nshe bore a special affection towards her own sisters.\n\nSome time after her entrance, she was appointed as \"aid\" to Sister\nAgnes of Jesus, her dear \"Pauline\"; this was a fresh occasion for\nsacrifice. Therese knew that all unnecessary conversation was\nforbidden, and therefore she never allowed herself even the least\nword. \"O my little Mother,\" she said later, \"how I suffered! I\ncould not open my heart to you, and I thought you no longer knew\nme!\"\n\nAfter five years of this heroic silence, Sister Agnes of Jesus was\nelected Prioress. On the evening of the election Therese might\nwell have rejoiced that henceforth she could speak freely to her\n\"little Mother,\" and, as of old, pour out her soul. But sacrifice\nhad become her daily food. If she sought one favour more than\nanother, it was that she might be looked on as the lowest and the\nleast; and, among all the religious, not one saw less of the\nMother Prioress.\n\nShe desired to live the life of Carmel with all the perfection\nrequired by St. Teresa, and, although a martyr to habitual\ndryness, her prayer was continuous. On one occasion a novice,\nentering her cell, was struck by the heavenly expression of her\ncountenance. She was sewing industriously, and yet seemed lost in\ndeep contemplation. \"What are you thinking of?\" the young Sister\nasked. \"I am meditating on the 'Our Father,'\" Therese answered.\n\"It is so sweet to call God, 'Our Father!'\" . . . and tears\nglistened in her eyes. Another time she said, \"I cannot well see\nwhat more I shall have in Heaven than I have now; I shall see God,\nit is true, but, as to being with Him, I am that already even on\nearth.\"\n\nThe flame of Divine Love consumed her, and this is what she\nherself relates: \"A few days after the oblation of myself to God's\nMerciful Love, I was in the choir, beginning the Way of the Cross,\nwhen I felt myself suddenly wounded by a dart of fire so ardent\nthat I thought I should die. I do not know how to explain this\ntransport; there is no comparison to describe the intensity of\nthat flame. It seemed as though an invisible force plunged me\nwholly into fire. . . . But oh! what fire! what sweetness!\"\n\nWhen Mother Prioress asked her if this rapture was the first she\nhad experienced, she answered simply: \"Dear Mother, I have had\nseveral transports of love, and one in particular during my\nNoviciate, when I remained for a whole week far removed from this\nworld. It seemed as though a veil were thrown over all earthly\nthings. But, I was not then consumed by a real fire. I was able to\nbear those transports of love without expecting to see the ties\nthat bound me to earth give way; whilst, on the day of which I now\nspeak, one minute--one second--more and my soul must have been set\nfree. Alas! I found myself again on earth, and dryness at once\nreturned to my heart.\" True, the Divine Hand had withdrawn the\nfiery dart--but the wound was unto death!\n\nIn that close union with God, Therese acquired a remarkable\nmastery over self. All sweet virtues flourished in the garden of\nher soul, but do not let us imagine that these wondrous flowers\ngrew without effort on her part.\n\n\"In this world there is no fruitfulness without suffering--either\nphysical pain, secret sorrow, or trials known sometimes only to\nGod. When good thoughts and generous resolutions have sprung up in\nour souls through reading the lives of the Saints, we ought not to\ncontent ourselves, as in the case of profane books, with paying a\ncertain tribute of admiration to the genius of their authors--we\nshould rather consider the price which, doubtless, they have paid\nfor that supernatural good they have produced.\"[1]\n\nAnd, if to-day Therese transforms so many hearts, and the good she\ndoes on earth is beyond reckoning, we may well believe she bought\nit all at the price with which Jesus bought back our souls: by\nsuffering and the Cross!\n\nNot the least of these sufferings was the unceasing war she waged\nagainst herself, refusing every satisfaction to the demands of her\nnaturally proud and impetuous nature. While still a child she had\nacquired the habit of never excusing herself or making a\ncomplaint; at the Carmel she strove to be the little servant of\nher Sisters in religion, and in that same spirit of humility she\nendeavoured to obey all without distinction.\n\nOne evening, during her illness, the Community had assembled in\nthe garden to sing a hymn before an Altar of the Sacred Heart.\nSoeur Therese, who was already wasted by fever, joined them with\ndifficulty, and, arriving quite exhausted, was obliged to sit down\nat once. When the hymn began, one of the Sisters made her a sign\nto stand up. Without hesitation, the humble child rose, and, in\nspite of the fever and great oppression from which she was\nsuffering, remained standing to the end.\n\nThe Infirmarian had advised her to take a little walk in the\ngarden for a quarter of an hour each day. This recommendation was\nfor her a command. One afternoon a Sister, noticing what an effort\nit cost her, said: \"Soeur Therese, you would do much better to\nrest; walking like this cannot do you any good. You only tire\nyourself!\" \"That is true,\" she replied, \"but, do you know what\ngives me strength? I offer each step for some missionary. I think\nthat possibly, over there, far away, one of them is weary and\ntired in his apostolic labours, and to lessen his fatigue I offer\nmine to the Good God.\"\n\nShe gave her novices some beautiful examples of detachment. One\nyear the relations of the Sisters and the servants of the Convent\nhad sent bouquets of flowers for Mother Prioress's feast. Therese\nwas arranging them most tastefully, when a Lay-sister said\ncrossly: \"It is easy to see that the large bouquets have been\ngiven by your friends. I suppose those sent by the poor will again\nbe put in the background!\" . . . A sweet smile was the only reply,\nand notwithstanding the unpleasing effect, she immediately put the\nflowers sent by the servants in the most conspicuous place.\n\nStruck with admiration, the Lay-sister went at once to the\nPrioress to accuse herself of her unkindness, and to praise the\npatience and humility shown by Soeur Therese.\n\nAfter the death of Therese that same Sister, full of confidence,\npressed her forehead against the feet of the saintly nun, once\nmore asking forgiveness for her fault. At the same instant she\nfelt herself cured of cerebral anaemia, from which she had suffered\nfor many years, and which had prevented her from applying herself\neither to reading or mental prayer.\n\nFar from avoiding humiliations, Soeur Therese sought them eagerly,\nand for that reason she offered herself as \"aid\" to a Sister who,\nshe well knew, was difficult to please, and her generous proposal\nwas accepted. One day, when she had suffered much from this\nSister, a novice asked her why she looked so happy. Great was her\nsurprise on receiving the reply: \"It is because Sister N. has just\nbeen saying disagreeable things to me. What pleasure she has given\nme! I wish I could meet her now, and give her a sweet smile.\" . .\n. As she was still speaking, the Sister in question knocked at the\ndoor, and the astonished novice could see for herself how the\nSaints forgive. Soeur Therese acknowledged later on, she \"soared\nso high above earthly things that humiliations did but make her\nstronger.\"\n\nTo all these virtues she joined a wonderful courage. From her\nentrance into the Carmel, at the age of fifteen, she was allowed\nto follow all the practices of its austere Rule, the fasts alone\nexcepted. Sometimes her companions in the noviciate, seeing how\npale she looked, tried to obtain a dispensation for her, either\nfrom the Night Office, or from rising at the usual hour in the\nmorning, but the Mother Prioress would never yield to these\nrequests. \"A soul of such mettle,\" she would say, \"ought not to be\ndealt with as a child; dispensations are not meant for her. Let\nher be, for God sustains her. Besides, if she is really ill, she\nshould come and tell me herself.\"[2]\n\nBut it was always a principle with Therese that \"We should go to\nthe end of our strength before we complain.\" How many times did\nshe assist at Matins suffering from vertigo or violent headaches!\n\"I am able to walk,\" she would say, \"and so I ought to be at my\nduty.\" And, thanks to this undaunted energy, she performed acts\nthat were heroic.\n\nIt was with difficulty that her delicate stomach accustomed itself\nto the frugal fare of the Carmel. Certain things made her ill, but\nshe knew so well how to hide this, that no one ever suspected it.\nHer neighbour at table said that she had tried in vain to discover\nthe dishes that she preferred, and the kitchen Sisters, finding\nher so easy to please, invariably served her with what was left.\nIt was only during her last illness, when she was ordered to say\nwhat disagreed with her, that her mortifications came to light.\n\"When Jesus wishes us to suffer,\" she said at that time, \"there\ncan be no evading it. And so, when Sister Mary of the Sacred\nHeart[3] was procuratrix, she endeavoured to look after me with a\nmother's tenderness. To all appearances, I was well cared for, and\nyet what mortifications did she not impose upon me! for she served\nme according to her own taste, which was entirely opposed to mine.\"\n\nTherese's spirit of sacrifice was far-reaching; she eagerly sought\nwhat was painful and disagreeable, as her rightful share. All that\nGod asked she gave Him without hesitation or reserve.\n\n\"During my postulancy,\" she said, \"it cost me a great deal to\nperform certain exterior penances, customary in our convents, but\nI never yielded to these repugnances; it seemed to me that the\nimage of my Crucified Lord looked at me with beseeching eyes, and\nbegged these sacrifices.\"\n\nHer vigilance was so keen, that she never left unobserved any\nlittle recommendations of the Mother Prioress, or any of the small\nrules which render the religious life so meritorious. One of the\nold nuns, having remarked her extraordinary fidelity on this\npoint, ever afterwards regarded her as a Saint. Soeur Therese was\naccustomed to say that she never did any great penances. That was\nbecause her fervour counted as nothing the few that were allowed\nher. It happened, however, that she fell ill through wearing for\ntoo long a time a small iron Cross, studded with sharp points,\nthat pressed into her flesh. \"Such a trifle would not have caused\nthis,\" she said afterwards, \"if God had not wished thus to make me\nunderstand that the greater austerities of the Saints are not\nmeant for me--nor for the souls that walk in the path of\n'spiritual childhood.'\"\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\n\"The souls that are the most dear to My Father,\" Our Lord once\nsaid to Saint Teresa, \"are those He tries the most, and the\ngreatness of their trials is the measure of His Love.\" Therese was\na soul most dear to God, and He was about to fill up the measure\nof His Love by making her pass through a veritable martyrdom. The\nreader will remember the call on Good Friday, April 3, 1896, when,\nto use her own expression, she heard the \"distant murmur which\nannounced the approach of the Bridegroom\"; but she had still to\nendure long months of pain before the blessed hour of her\ndeliverance.\n\nOn the morning of that Good Friday, she made so little of the\nhaemorrhage of the previous night, that Mother Prioress allowed her\nto practise all the penances prescribed by the Rule for that day.\nIn the afternoon, a novice saw her cleaning windows. Her face was\nlivid, and, in spite of her great energy, it was evident that her\nstrength was almost spent. Seeing her fatigue, the novice, who\nloved her dearly, burst into tears, and begged leave to obtain her\nsome little reprieve. But the young novice-mistress strictly\nforbade her, saying that she was quite able to bear this slight\nfatigue on the day on which Jesus had suffered and died.\n\nSoon a persistent cough made the Mother Prioress feel anxious; she\nordered Soeur Therese a more strengthening diet, and the cough\nceased for some time. \"Truly sickness is too slow a liberator,\"\nexclaimed our dear little Sister, \"I can only rely upon Love.\"\n\nShe was strongly tempted to respond to the appeal of the\nCarmelites of Hanoi, who much desired to have her, and began a\nnovena to the Venerable Theophane Venard[4] to obtain her cure,\nbut alas! that novena proved but the beginning of a more serious\nphase of her malady.\n\nLike her Divine Master, she passed through the world doing good;\nlike Him, she had been forgotten and unknown, and now, still\nfollowing in His Footsteps, she was to climb the hill of Calvary.\nAccustomed to see her always suffering, yet always joyous and\nbrave, Mother Prioress, doubtless inspired by God, allowed her to\ntake part in the Community exercises, some of which tired her\nextremely. At night, she would courageously mount the stairs\nalone, pausing at each step to take breath. It was with difficulty\nthat she reached her cell, and then in so exhausted a state, that\nsometimes, as she avowed later, it took her quite an hour to\nundress. After all this exertion it was upon a hard pallet that\nshe took her rest. Her nights, too, were very bad, and when asked\nif she would not like someone to be near her in her hours of pain,\nshe replied: \"Oh, no! on the contrary, I am only too glad to be in\na cell away from my Sisters, that I may not be heard. I am content\nto suffer alone--as soon as I am pitied and loaded with\nattentions, my happiness leaves me.\"\n\nWhat strength of soul these words betray! Where we find sorrow she\nfound joy. What to us is to hard to bear--being overlooked and\nignored by creatures--became to her a source of delight. And her\nDivine Spouse knew well how to provide that bitter joy she found\nso sweet. Painful remedies had often to be applied. One day, when\nshe had suffered from them more than usual, she was resting in her\ncell during recreation, and overheard a Sister in the kitchen\nspeaking of her thus: \"Soeur Therese will not live long, and\nreally sometimes I wonder what our Mother Prioress will find to\nsay about her when she dies.[5] She will be sorely puzzled, for\nthis little Sister, amiable as she is, has certainly never done\nanything worth speaking about.\" The Infirmarian, who had also\noverheard the remark, turned to Therese and said: \"If you relied\nupon the opinion of creatures you would indeed be disillusioned\ntoday.\" \"The opinion of creatures!\" she replied; \"happily God has\ngiven me the grace to be absolutely indifferent to that. Let me\ntell you something which showed me, once and for all, how much it\nis worth. A few days after my Clothing, I went to our dear\nMother's room, and one of the Sisters who happened to be there,\nsaid on seeing me: 'Dear Mother, this novice certainly does you\ncredit. How well she looks! I hope she may be able to observe the\nRule for many years to come.' I was feeling decidedly pleased at\nthis compliment when another Sister came in, and, looking at me,\nsaid: 'Poor little Soeur Therese, how very tired you seem! You\nquite alarm me. If you do not soon improve, I am afraid you will\nnot be able to keep the Rule very long.' I was then only sixteen,\nbut this little incident made such an impression on me, that I\nnever again set store on the varying opinion of creatures.\"\n\nOn another occasion someone remarked: \"It is said that you have\nnever suffered much.\" Smiling, she pointed to a glass containing\nmedicine of a bright red colour. \"You see this little glass?\" she\nsaid. \"One would suppose that it contained a most delicious\ndraught, whereas, in reality, it is more bitter than anything else\nI take. It is the image of my life. To others it has been all rose\ncolour; they have thought that I continually drank of a most\ndelicious wine; yet to me it has been full of bitterness. I say\nbitterness, and yet my life has not been a bitter one, for I have\nlearned to find my joy and sweetness in all that is bitter.\"\n\n\"You are suffering very much just now, are you not?\" \"Yes, but\nthen I have so longed to suffer.\" \"How it distresses us to see you\nin such pain, and to think that it may increase!\" said her novices.\n\n\"Oh! Do not grieve about me. I have reached a point where I can no\nlonger suffer, because all suffering is become so sweet. Besides,\nit is quite a mistake to trouble yourselves as to what I may still\nhave to undergo. It is like meddling with God's work. We who run\nin the way of Love must never allow ourselves to be disturbed by\nanything. If I did not simply live from one moment to another, it\nwould be impossible for me to be patient; but I only look at the\npresent, I forget the past, and I take good care not to forestall\nthe future. When we yield to discouragement or despair, it is\nusually because we think too much about the past and the future.\nBut pray much for me, for it is often just when I cry to Heaven\nfor help that I feel most abandoned.\"\n\n\"How do you manage not to give way to discouragement at such\ntimes?\" \"I turn to God and all His Saints, and thank them\nnotwithstanding; I believe they want to see how far my trust may\nextend. But the words of Job have not entered my heart in vain:\n'Even if God should kill me, I would still trust in Him.'[6] I own\nit has taken a long time to arrive at this degree of\nself-abandonment; but I have reached it now, and it is the Lord\nHimself Who has brought me there.\"\n\nAnother time she said: \"Our Lord's Will fills my heart to the\nbrim, and hence, if aught else is added, it cannot penetrate to\nany depth, but, like oil on the surface of limpid waters, glides\neasily across. If my heart were not already brimming over, and\nmust needs be filled by the feelings of joy and sadness that\nalternate so rapidly, then indeed would it be flooded by a wave of\nbitter pain; but these quick-succeeding changes scarcely ruffle\nthe surface of my soul, and in its depths there reigns a peace\nthat nothing can disturb.\"\n\nAnd yet her soul was enveloped in thick darkness, and her\ntemptations against Faith, ever conquered but ever returning, were\nthere to rob her of all feeling of happiness at the thought of her\napproaching death. \"Were it not for this trial, which is\nimpossible to understand,\" she would say, \"I think I should die of\njoy at the prospect of soon leaving this earth.\"\n\nBy this trial, the Divine Master wished to put the finishing\ntouches to her purification, and thus enable her not only to walk\nwith rapid steps, but to run in her little way of confidence and\nabandonment. Her words repeatedly proved this. \"I desire neither\ndeath nor life. Were Our Lord to offer me my choice, I would not\nchoose. I only will what He wills; it is what He does that I love.\nI do not fear the last struggle, nor any pains--however great--my\nillness may bring. God has always been my help. He has led me by\nthe hand from my earliest childhood, and on Him I rely. My agony\nmay reach the furthest limits, but I am convinced He will never\nforsake me.\"\n\nSuch confidence in God, of necessity stirred the fury of the\ndevil--of him who, at life's close, tries every ruse to sow the\nseeds of despair in the hearts of the dying.\n\n\"Last night I was seized with a terrible feeling of anguish,\" she\nconfessed to Mother Agnes of Jesus on one occasion; \"I was lost in\ndarkness, and from out of it came an accursed voice: 'Are you\ncertain God loves you? Has He Himself told you so? The opinion of\ncreatures will not justify you in His sight.' These thoughts had\nlong tortured me, when your little note, like a message from\nHeaven, was brought to me. You recalled to me, dear Mother, the\nspecial graces Jesus had lavished upon me, and, as though you had\nhad a revelation concerning my trial, you assured me I was deeply\nloved by God, and was on the eve of receiving from His Hands my\neternal crown. Immediately peace and joy were restored to my\nheart. Yet the thought came to me, 'It is my little Mother's\naffection that makes her write these words.' Straightway I felt\ninspired to take up the Gospels, and, opening the book at random,\nI lighted on a passage which had hitherto escaped me: 'He whom God\nhath sent speaketh the Words of God, for God doth not give the\nSpirit by measure.'[7] Then I fell asleep fully consoled. It was\nyou, dear Mother, whom the Good God sent me, and I must believe\nyou, because you speak the Words of God.\"\n\nFor several days, during the month of August, Therese remained, so\nto speak, beside herself, and implored that prayers might be\noffered for her. She had never before been seen in this state, and\nin her inexpressible anguish she kept repeating: \"Oh! how\nnecessary it is to pray for the agonising! If one only knew!\"\n\nOne night she entreated the Infirmarian to sprinkle her bed with\nHoly Water, saying: \"I am besieged by the devil. I do not see him,\nbut I feel him; he torments me and holds me with a grip of iron,\nthat I may not find one crumb of comfort; he augments my woes,\nthat I may be driven to despair. . . . And I cannot pray. I can\nonly look at Our Blessed Lady and say: 'Jesus!' How needful is\nthat prayer we use at Compline: 'Procul recedant somnia et noctium\nphantasmata!' ('Free us from the phantoms of the night.')\nSomething mysterious is happening within me. I am not suffering\nfor myself, but for some other soul, and satan is angry.\" The\nInfirmarian, startled, lighted a blessed candle, and the spirit of\ndarkness fled, never to return; but the sufferer remained to the\nend in a state of extreme anguish.\n\nOne day, while she was contemplating the beautiful heavens, some\none said to her: \"soon your home will be there, beyond the blue\nsky. How lovingly you gaze at it!\" She only smiled, but afterwards\nshe said to the Mother Prioress: \"Dear Mother, the Sisters do not\nrealise my sufferings. Just now, when looking at the sky, I merely\nadmired the beauty of the material heaven--the true Heaven seems\nmore than ever closed against me. At first their words troubled\nme, but an interior voice whispered: 'Yes, you were looking to\nHeaven out of love. Since your soul is entirely delivered up to\nlove, all your actions, even the most indifferent, are marked with\nthis divine seal.' At once I was consoled.\"\n\nIn spite of the darkness which enveloped her, her Divine Saviour\nsometimes left the door of her prison ajar. Those were moments in\nwhich her soul lost itself in transports of confidence and love.\nThus it happened that on a certain day, when walking in the garden\nsupported by one of her own sisters, she stopped at the charming\nspectacle of a hen sheltering its pretty little ones under its\nwing. Her eyes filled with tears, and, turning to her companion,\nshe said: \"I cannot remain here any longer, let us go in!\" And\neven when she reached her cell, her tears continued to fall, and\nit was some time before she could speak. At last she looked at her\nsister with a heavenly expression, and said: \"I was thinking of\nOur Lord, and the beautiful comparison He chose in order to make\nus understand His ineffable tenderness. This is what He has done\nfor me all the days of my life. He has completely hidden me under\nHis Wing. I cannot express all that has just stirred my heart; it\nis well for me that God conceals Himself, and lets me see the\neffects of His Mercy but rarely, and as it were from 'behind the\nlattices.' Were it not so I could never bear such sweetness.\"\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nDisconsolate at the prospect of losing their treasure, the\nCommunity began a novena to Our Lady of Victories on June 5, 1897,\nin the fervent hope that she would once again miraculously raise\nthe drooping Little Flower. But her answer was the same as that\ngiven by the blessed Martyr, Theophane Venard, and they were\nforced to accept with generosity the bitterness of the coming\nseparation.\n\nAt the beginning of July, her state became very serious, and she\nwas at last removed to the Infirmary. Seeing her empty cell, and\nknowing she would never return to it, Mother Agnes of Jesus said\nto her: \"When you are no longer with us, how sad I shall feel when\nI look at this cell!\"\n\n\"For consolation, little Mother, you can think how happy I am up\nthere, and remember that much of my happiness was acquired in that\nlittle cell; for,\" she added, raising her beautiful eyes to\nHeaven, \"I have suffered so much there, and I should have been\nhappy to die there.\"\n\nAs she entered the Infirmary she looked towards the miraculous\nstatue of Our Lady, which had been brought thither. It would be\nimpossible to describe that look. \"What is it you see?\" said her\nsister Marie, the witness of her miraculous cure as a child. And\nTherese answered: \"Never has she seemed to me so beautiful . . .\nbut to-day it is the statue, whereas that other day, as you well\nknow, it was not the statue!\" And from that time she often\nreceived similar consolations.\n\nOne evening she exclaimed: \"Oh, how I love Our Blessed Lady! Had I\nbeen a Priest, how I would have sung her praises! She is spoken of\nas unapproachable, whereas she should be represented as easy of\nimitation. . . . She is more Mother than Queen. I have heard it\nsaid that her splendour eclipses that of all the Saints as the\nrising sun makes all the stars disappear. It sounds so strange.\nThat a Mother should take away the glory of her children! I think\nquite the reverse. I believe that she will greatly increase the\nsplendour of the elect . . . Our Mother Mary! Oh! how simple her\nlife must have been!\" and, continuing her discourse, she drew such\na sweet and delightful picture of the Holy Family that all present\nwere lost in admiration.\n\nA very heavy cross awaited her before going to join her Spouse.\nFrom August 16 to September 30, the happy day of her death, she\nwas unable to receive Holy Communion, because of her continual\nsickness. Few have hungered for the Bread of Angels like this\nseraph of earth. Again and again during that last winter of her\nlife, after nights of intolerable pain, she rose at early morn to\npartake of the Manna of Heaven, and she thought no price too heavy\nto pay for the bliss of feeding upon God. Before depriving her\naltogether of this Heavenly Food, Our Lord often visited her on\nher bed of pain. Her Communion on July 16, the feast of Our Lady\nof Mount Carmel, was specially touching. During the previous night\nshe composed some verses which were to be sung before Communion.\n\nThou know'st the baseness of my soul, O Lord, Yet fearest not to\nstoop and enter me. Come to my heart, O Sacrament adored! Come to\nmy heart . . . it craveth but for Thee! And when Thou comest,\nstraightway let me die Of very love for Thee; this boon impart!\nOh, hearken Jesus, to my suppliant cry: Come to my heart!\n\nIn the morning, when the Holy Viaticum was carried to the\nInfirmary, the cloisters were thickly strewn with wild flowers and\nrose-petals. A young Priest, who was about to say his first Mass\nthat day in the Chapel of the Carmel, bore the Blessed Sacrament\nto the dying Sister; and at her desire, Sister Mary of the\nEucharist--whose voice was exceptionally sweet--sang the following\ncouplet:\n\nSweet martyrdom! to die of love's keen fire:\nThe martyrdom of which my heart is fain!\nHasten, ye Cherubim, to tune your lyre;\nI shall not linger long in exile's pain!\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nFulfill my dream, O Jesus, since I sigh\nOf love to die!\n\nA few days later Therese grew worse, and on July 30 she received\nExtreme Unction. Radiant with delight the little Victim of Love\nsaid to us: \"The door of my dark prison is ajar. I am steeped in\njoy, especially since our Father Superior has assured me that\nto-day my soul is like unto that of a little child after Baptism.\"\n\nNo doubt she thought she was quickly to join the white-robed band\nof the Holy Innocents. She little knew that two long months of\nmartyrdom had still to run their course. \"Dear Mother,\" she said,\n\"I entreat you, give me leave to die. Let me offer my life for\nsuch and such an intention\"--naming it to the Prioress. And when\nthe permission was refused, she replied: \"Well, I know that just\nat this moment Our Lord has such a longing for a tiny bunch of\ngrapes--which no one will give Him--that He will perforce have to\ncome and steal it. . . . I do not ask anything; this would be to\nstray from my path of self-surrender. I only beseech Our Lady to\nremind her Jesus of the title of _Thief,_ which He takes to\nHimself in the Gospels, so that He may not forget to come and\ncarry me away.\"\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nOne day Soeur Therese took an ear of corn from a sheaf they had\nbrought her. It was so laden with grain that it bent on its stalk,\nand after gazing upon it for some time she said to the Mother\nPrioress: \"Mother, that ear of corn is the image of my soul. God\nhas loaded it with graces for me and for many others. And it is my\ndearest wish ever to bend beneath the weight of God's gifts,\nacknowledging that all comes from Him.\"\n\nShe was right. Her soul was indeed laden with graces, and it was\neasy to discern the Spirit of God speaking His praises out of the\nmouth of that innocent child.\n\nHad not this Spirit of Truth already dictated these words to the\ngreat Teresa of Avila:\n\n\"Let those souls who have reached to perfect union with God hold\nthemselves in high esteem, with a humble and holy presumption. Let\nthem keep unceasingly before their eyes the remembrance of the\ngood things they have received, and beware of the thought that\nthey are practising humility in not recognising the gifts of God.\nIs it not clear that the constant remembrance of gifts bestowed\nserves to increase the love of the giver? How can he who ignores\nthe riches he possesses, spend them generously upon others?\"\n\nBut the above was not the only occasion on which the \"little\nTherese of Lisieux\"[8] gave utterance to words that proved\nprophetic. In the month of April, 1895, while she was still in\nexcellent health, she said in confidence to one of the older nuns:\n\"I shall die soon. I do not say that it will be in a few months,\nbut in two or three years at most; I know it because of what is\ntaking place in my soul.\"\n\nThe novices betrayed surprise when she read their inmost thoughts.\n\"This is my secret,\" she said to them: \"I never reprimand you\nwithout first invoking Our Blessed Lady, and asking her to inspire\nme as to what will be most for your good, and I am often\nastonished myself at the things I teach you. At such times I feel\nthat I make no mistake, and that it is Jesus Who speak by my lips.\"\n\nDuring her illness one of her sisters had experienced some moments\nof acute distress, amounting almost to discouragement, at the\nthought of the inevitable parting. Immediately afterwards she went\nto the Infirmary, but was careful not to let any sign of grief be\nseen. What was her surprise when Therese, in a sad and serious\ntone, thus addressed her: \"We ought not to weep like those who\nhave no hope.\"\n\nOne of the Mothers, having come to visit her, did her a trifling\nservice. \"How happy I should be,\" thought the Mother, \"if this\nAngel would only say: 'I will repay you in Heaven!' At that\ninstant Soeur Therese, turning to her, said: \"Mother, I will repay\nyou in Heaven!\"\n\nBut more surprising than all, was her consciousness of the mission\nfor which Our Lord had destined her. The veil which hides the\nfuture seemed lifted, and more than once she revealed to us its\nsecrets, in prophecies which have already been realised.\n\n\"I have never given the Good God aught but love; it is with Love\nHe will repay.\n\nAFTER MY DEATH I WILL LET FALL A SHOWER OF ROSES.\"\n\nAt another time she interrupted a Sister, who was speaking to her\nof the happiness of Heaven, by the sublime words: \"It is not that\nwhich attracts me.\"\n\n\"And what attracts you?\" asked the other. \"Oh! it is Love! To\nlove, to be beloved, and _to return to earth to win love for our\nLove!\"_\n\nOne evening, she welcomed Mother Agnes of Jesus with an\nextraordinary expression of joy: \"Mother!\" she said, \"some notes\nfrom a concert far away have just reached my ears, and have made\nme think that soon I shall be listening to the wondrous melodies\nof Paradise. The thought, however, gave me but a moment's joy--one\nhope alone makes my heart beat fast: the Love that I shall receive\nand the Love I shall be able to give!\n\n\"I feel that my mission is soon to begin--my mission to make\nothers love God as I love Him . . . to each souls my _little way_\n. . .\n\nI WILL SPEND MY HEAVEN IN DOING GOOD UPON EARTH.\n\nNor is this impossible, since from the very heart of the Beatific\nVision, the Angels keep watch over us. No, there can be no rest\nfor me until the end of the world. But when the Angel shall have\nsaid: 'Time is no more!' then I shall rest, then I shall be able\nto rejoice, because the number of the elect will be complete.\"\n\n\"And what is this _little way_ that you would teach to souls?\"\n\n\"IT IS THE WAY OF SPIRITUAL CHILDHOOD, THE WAY OF TRUST AND\nABSOLUTE SELF-SURRENDER.\n\nI want to point out to them the means that I have always found so\nperfectly successful, to tell them that there is but one thing to\ndo here below: we must offer Jesus _the flowers of little\nsacrifices_ and win Him by a caress. That is how I have won Him,\nand that is why I shall be made so welcome.\"\n\n\"Should I guide you wrongly by my _little way_ of love,\" she said\nto a novice, \"do not fear that I shall allow you to continue\ntherein; I should soon come back to the earth, and tell you to\ntake another road. If I do not return, then believe in the truth\nof these my words: We can never have too much confidence in the\nGood God, He is so mighty, so merciful. As we hope in Him so shall\nwe receive.\"\n\nOn the eve of the feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, a novice said\nto her: \"I think that if you were to die to-morrow, after Holy\nCommunion, I should be quite consoled--it would be such a\nbeautiful death!\" Therese answered quickly: \"Die after Holy\nCommunion! Upon a great feast! Nay, not so. _In my 'little way'\neverything is most ordinary; all that I do, little souls must be\nable to do likewise.\"_\n\nAnd to one of her missionary brothers she wrote: \"What draws me to\nmy Heavenly Home is the summons of my Lord, together with the hope\nthat at length I shall love Him as my heart desires, and shall be\nable to make Him loved by a multitude of souls who will bless Him\nthroughout eternity.\"\n\nAnd in another letter to China: \"I trust fully that I shall not\nremain idle in Heaven; my desire is to continue my work for the\nChurch and for souls. I ask this of God, and I am convinced He\nwill hear my prayer. You see that if I quit the battle-field so\nsoon, it is not from a selfish desire of repose. For a long time\nnow, suffering has been my Heaven here upon earth, and I can\nhardly conceive how I shall become acclimatised to a land where\njoy is unmixed with sorrow. Jesus will certainly have to work a\ncomplete change in my soul--else I could never support the\necstasies of Paradise.\"\n\nIt was quite true, suffering had become her Heaven upon earth--she\nwelcomed it as we do happiness. \"When I suffer much,\" she would\nsay, \"when something painful or disagreeable happens to me,\ninstead of a melancholy look, I answer by a smile. At first I did\nnot always succeed, but now it has become a habit which I am glad\nto have acquired.\"\n\nA certain Sister entertained doubts concerning the patience of\nTherese. One day, during a visit, she remarked that the invalid's\nface wore an expression of unearthly joy, and she sought to know\nthe reason. \"It is because the pain is so acute just now,\" Therese\nreplied; \"I have always forced myself to love suffering and to\ngive it a glad welcome.\" \"Why are you so bright this morning?\"\nasked Mother Agnes of Jesus. \"Because of two little crosses.\nNothing gives me 'little joys' like 'little crosses.'\" And another\ntime: \"You have had many trials to-day?\" \"Yes, but I love them!\n. . . I love all the Good God sends me!\" \"Your sufferings are\nterrible!\" \"No--they are not terrible: can a little Victim of Love\nfind anything terrible that is sent by her Spouse? Each moment He\nsends me what I am able to bear, and nothing more, and if He\nincrease the pain, my strength is increased as well. But I could\nnever ask for greater sufferings--I am too little a soul. They\nwould then be of my own choice. I should have to bear them all\nwithout Him, and I have never been able to do anything when left\nto myself.\"\n\nThus spoke that wise and prudent Virgin on her deathbed, and her\nlamp, filled to the brim with the oil of virtue, burned brightly\nto the end. If, as the Holy Spirit reminds us in the Book of\nProverbs: _\"A man's doctrine is proved by his patience,\"_[9] those\nwho have heard her may well believe in her doctrine, for she has\nproved it by a patience no test could overcome.\n\nAt each visit the doctor expressed his admiration. \"If only you\nknew what she has to endure! I have never seen any one suffer so\nintensely with such a look of supernatural joy. . . . I shall not\nbe able to cure her; she was not made for this earth.\" In view of\nher extreme weakness, he ordered some strengthening remedies.\nTherese was at first distressed because of their cost, but she\nafterwards admitted: \"I am no longer troubled at having to take\nthose expensive remedies, for I have read that when they were\ngiven to St. Gertrude, she was gladdened by the thought that it\nwould redound to the good of our benefactors, since Our Lord\nHimself has said: 'Whatever you do to the least of My little ones,\nyou do unto Me.'\"[10] \"I am convinced that medicines are powerless\nto cure me,\" she added, \"but I have made a covenant with God that\nthe poor missionaries who have neither time nor means to take care\nof themselves may profit thereby.\"\n\nShe was much moved by the constant gifts of flowers made to her by\nher friends outside the Convent, and again by the visits of a\nsweet little redbreast that loved to play about her bed. She saw\nin these things the Hand of God. \"Mother, I feel deeply the many\ntouching proofs of God's Love for me. I am laden with them . . .\nnevertheless, I continue in the deepest gloom! . . . I suffer much\n. . . very much! and yet my state is one of profound peace. All my\nlongings have been realised . . . I am full of confidence.\"\n\nShortly afterwards she told me this touching little incident: \"One\nevening, during the 'Great Silence,' the Infirmarian brought me a\nhot-water bottle for my feet, and put tincture of iodine on my\nchest. I was in a burning fever, and parched with thirst, and,\nwhilst submitting to these remedies, I could not help saying to\nOur Lord: 'My Jesus, Thou seest I am already burning, and they\nhave brought me more heat and fire. Oh! if they had brought me\neven half a glass of water, what a comfort it would have been!\n. . . My Jesus! Thy little child is so thirsty. But she is glad to\nhave this opportunity of resembling Thee more closely, and thus\nhelping Thee to save souls.' The Infirmarian soon left me, and I\ndid not expect to see her again until the following morning. What\nwas my surprise when she returned a few minutes later with a\nrefreshing drink! 'It has just struck me that you may be thirsty,'\nshe said, 'so I shall bring you something every evening.' I looked\nat her astounded, and when I was once more alone, I melted into\ntears. Oh! how good Jesus is! how tender and loving! How easy it\nis to reach His Heart!\"\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nOn September 6, the little Spouse of Jesus received a touching\nproof of the loving thought of His Sacred Heart. She had\nfrequently expressed a wish to possess a relic of her special\npatron, the Venerable Theophane Venard, but as her desire was not\nrealised, she said no more. She was quite overcome, therefore,\nwhen Mother Prioress brought her the longed-for treasure--received\nthat very day. She kissed it repeatedly, and would not consent to\npart with it.\n\nIt may be asked why she was so devoted to this young Martyr. She\nherself explained the reason in an affectionate interview with her\nown sisters: \"Theophane Venard is a _little_ saint; his life was\nnot marked by anything extraordinary. He had an ardent devotion to\nOur Immaculate Mother and a tender love of his own family.\"\nDwelling on these words she added: \"And I, too, love my family\nwith a tender love; I fail to understand those Saints who do not\nshare my feelings. As a parting gift I have copied for you some\npassages from his last letters home. His soul and mine have many\npoints of resemblance, and his words do but re-echo my thoughts.\"\n\nWe give here a copy of that letter, which one might have believed\nwas composed by Therese herself:\n\n\"I can find nothing on earth that can make me truly happy; the\ndesires of my heart are too vast, and nothing of what the world\ncalls happiness can satisfy it. Time for me will soon be no more,\nmy thoughts are fixed on Eternity. My heart is full of peace, like\na tranquil lake or a cloudless sky. I do not regret this life on\nearth. I thirst for the waters of Life Eternal.\n\n\"Yet a little while and my soul will have quitted this earth, will\nhave finished her exile, will have ended her combat. I go to\nHeaven. I am about to enter the Abode of the Blessed--to see what\nthe eye hath never seen, to hear what the ear hath never heard, to\nenjoy those things the heart of man hath not conceived . . . I\nhave reached the hour so coveted by us all. It is indeed true that\nOur Lord chooses the little ones to confound the great ones of\nthis earth. I do not rely upon my own strength but upon Him Who,\non the Cross, vanquished the powers of hell.\n\n\"I am a spring flower which the Divine Master culls for His\npleasure. We are all flowers, planted on this earth, and God will\ngather us in His own good time--some sooner, some later . . . I,\nlittle flower of one day, am the first to be gathered! But we\nshall meet again in Paradise, where lasting joy will be our\nportion.\n\n\"Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus, using the words of the angelic\nmartyr--Theophane Venard.\"\n\nToward the end of September, when something was repeated to her\nthat had been said at recreation, concerning the responsibility of\nthose who have care of souls, she seemed to revive a little and\ngave utterance to these beautiful words: \"To him that is little,\nmercy is granted.[11] It is possible to remain _little_ even in\nthe most responsible position, and is it not written that, at the\nlast day, 'the Lord will arise to save the meek and lowly ones of\nthe earth'?[12] He does not say 'to judge,' but 'to save!'\"\n\nAs time went on, the tide of suffering rose higher and higher, and\nshe became so weak, that she was unable to make the slightest\nmovement without assistance. Even to hear anyone whisper increased\nher discomfort; and the fever and oppression were so extreme that\nit was with the greatest difficulty she was able to articulate a\nword. And yet a sweet smile was always on her lips. Her only fear\nwas lest she should give her Sisters any extra trouble, and until\ntwo days before her death she would never allow any one to remain\nwith her during the night. However, in spite of her entreaties,\nthe Infirmarian would visit her from time to time. On one occasion\nshe found Therese with hands joined and eyes raised to Heaven.\n\"What are you doing?\" she asked; \"you ought to try and go to\nsleep.\" \"I cannot, Sister, I am suffering too much, so I am\npraying. . . .\" \"And what do you say to Jesus?\" \"I say nothing--I\nonly love Him!\"\n\n\"Oh! how good God is!\" . . . she sometimes exclaimed. \"Truly He\nmust be very good to give me strength to bear all I have to\nsuffer.\" One day she said to the Mother Prioress: \"Mother, I would\nlike to make known to you the state of my soul; but I cannot, I\nfeel too much overcome just now.\" In the evening Therese sent her\nthese lines, written in pencil with a trembling hand:\n\n\"O my God! how good Thou art to the little Victim of Thy Merciful\nLove! Now, even when Thou joinest these bodily pains to those of\nmy soul, I cannot bring myself to say: 'The anguish of death hath\nencompassed me.'[13] I rather cry out in my gratitude: 'I have\ngone down into the valley of the shadow of death, but I fear no\nevil, because Thou, O Lord, art with me.'\"[14]\n\nHer little Mother said to her: \"Some think that you are afraid of\ndeath.\" \"That may easily come to pass,\" she answered; \"I do not\nrely on my own feelings, for I know how frail I am. It will be\ntime enough to bear that cross if it comes, meantime I wish to\nrejoice in my present happiness. When the Chaplain asked me if I\nwas resigned to die, I answered: 'Father, I need rather to be\nresigned to live--I feel nothing but joy at the thought of death.'\nDo not be troubled, dear Mother, if I suffer much and show no sign\nof happiness at the end. Did not Our Lord Himself die 'a Victim of\nLove,' and see how great was His Agony!\"\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nAt last dawned the eternal day. It was Thursday, September 30,\n1897. In the morning, the sweet Victim, her eyes fixed on Our\nLady's statue, spoke thus of her last night on earth: \"Oh! with\nwhat fervour I have prayed to her! . . . And yet it has been pure\nagony, without a ray of consolation. . . . Earth's air is failing\nme: when shall I breathe the air of Heaven?\"\n\nFor weeks she had been unable to raise herself in bed, but, at\nhalf-past two in the afternoon, she sat up and exclaimed: \"Dear\nMother, the chalice is full to overflowing! I could never have\nbelieved that it was possible to suffer so intensely. . . . I can\nonly explain it by my extreme desire to save souls. . . .\" And a\nlittle while after: \"Yes, all that I have written about my thirst\nfor suffering is really true! I do not regret having surrendered\nmyself to Love.\"\n\nShe repeated these last words several times. A little later she\nadded: \"Mother, prepare me to die well.\" The good Mother Prioress\nencouraged her with these words: \"My child, you are quite ready to\nappear before God, for you have always understood the virtue of\nhumility.\" Then, in striking words, Therese bore witness to\nherself:\n\n\"Yes, I feel it; my soul has ever sought the truth. . . . I have\nunderstood humility of heart!\"\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nAt half-past four, her agony began--the agony of this \"Victim of\nDivine Love.\" When the Community gathered round her, she thanked\nthem with the sweetest smile, and then, completely given over to\nlove and suffering, the Crucifix clasped in her failing hands, she\nentered on the final combat. The sweat of death lay heavy on her\nbrow . . . she trembled . . . but, as a pilot, when close to\nharbour, is not dismayed by the fury of the storm, so this soul,\nstrong in faith, saw close at hand the beacon-lights of Heaven,\nand valiantly put forth every effort to reach the shore.\n\nAs the convent bells rang the evening Angelus, she fixed an\ninexpressible look upon the statue of the Immaculate Virgin, the\nStar of the Sea. Was it not the moment to repeat her beautiful\nprayer:\n\n\"O thou who camest to smile on me in the morn of my life, come\nonce again and smile, Mother, for now it is eventide!\"[15]\n\nA few minutes after seven, turning to the Prioress, the poor\nlittle Martyr asked: \"Mother, is it not the agony? . . . am I not\ngoing to die?\" \"Yes, my child, it is the agony, but Jesus perhaps\nwills that it be prolonged for some hours.\" In a sweet and\nplaintive voice she replied: \"Ah, very well then . . . very well\n. . . I do not wish to suffer less!\"\n\nThen, looking at her crucifix:\n\n\"Oh! . . . I love Him! . . . My God, I . . . love . . . Thee!\"\n\nThese were her last words. She had scarcely uttered them when, to\nour great surprise, she sank down quite suddenly, her head\ninclined a little to the right, in the attitude of the Virgin\nMartyrs offering themselves to the sword; or rather, as a Victim\nof Love, awaiting from the Divine Archer the fiery shaft, by which\nshe longs to die.\n\nSuddenly she raised herself, as though called by a mysterious\nvoice; and opening her eyes, which shone with unutterable\nhappiness and peace, fixed her gaze a little above the statue of\nOur Lady. Thus she remained for about the space of a _Credo,_ when\nher blessed soul, now become the prey of the \"Divine Eagle,\" was\nborne away to the heights of Heaven.\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nA few days before her death, this little Saint had said: \"The\ndeath of Love which I so much desire is that of Jesus upon the\nCross.\" Her prayer was fully granted. Darkness enveloped her, and\nher soul was steeped in anguish. And yet, may we not apply to her\nalso that sublime prophecy of St. John of the Cross, referring to\nsouls consumed by the fire of Divine Love: \"They die Victims of\nthe onslaughts of Love, in raptured ecstasies--like the swan,\nwhose song grows sweeter as death draws nigh. Wherefore the\nPsalmist declared: 'Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death\nof His Saints.'[16] For then it is that the rivers of love burst\nforth from the soul and are whelmed in the Ocean of Divine Love.\"\n\nNo sooner had her spotless soul taken its flight than the joy of\nthat last rapture imprinted itself on her brow, and a radiant\nsmile illumined her face. We placed a palm-branch in her hand; and\nthe lilies and roses that adorned her in death were figures of her\nwhite robe of baptism made red by her Martyrdom of Love.\n\nOn the Saturday and Sunday a large crowd passed before the grating\nof the nuns' chapel, to gaze on the mortal remains of the \"Little\nFlower of Jesus.\" Hundreds of medals and rosaries were brought to\ntouch the \"Little Queen\" as she lay in the triumphant beauty of\nher last sleep.\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nOn October 4, the day of the funeral, there gathered in the Chapel\nof the Carmel a goodly company of Priests. The honour was surely\ndue to one who had prayed so earnestly for those called to that\nsacred office. After a last solemn blessing, this grain of\npriceless wheat was cast into the furrow by the hands of Holy\nMother Church.\n\nWho shall tell how many ripened ears have sprung forth since, how\nmany the sheaves that are yet to come? \"Amen, amen, I say to you,\nunless the grain of wheat, falling into the ground, die, itself\nremaineth alone. But if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.\"[17]\nOnce more the word of the Divine Reaper has been magnificently\nfulfilled.\n\nTHE PRIORESS OF THE CARMEL.\n_____________________________\n\n[1] Dom Gueranger.\n\n[2] Mother Mary of Gonzaga died Dec. 17, 1904, at the age of 71.\nMother Agnes of Jesus (Pauline) was at that time Prioress. The\nformer--herself of the line of St. Antony of Padua--recognized in\nSoeur Therese \"an heroic soul, filled with holiness, and capable\nof becoming one day an excellent Prioress.\" With this end in view,\nshe trained her with a strictness for which the young Saint was\nmost grateful. In the arms of Mother Mary of Gonzaga the \"Little\nFlower of Jesus\" was welcomed to the Carmel, and in those arms she\ndied--\"happy,\" she declared, \"not to have in that hour as\nSuperioress her 'little Mother,' in order the better to exercise\nher spirit of faith in authority.\" [Ed.]\n\n[3] As will be remembered, this was Marie, her eldest sister. [Ed.]\n\n[4] The Blessed Theophane Venard was born at St. Loup, in the\ndiocese of Poitiers, on the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lady,\nNov. 21, 1829. He was martyred at Kecho, Tong-King, on the Feast\nof the Presentation of Our Lord, Feb. 2, 1861, at the age of 32. A\nlong and delightful correspondence with his family, begun in his\ncollege days and completed from his \"cage\" at Kecho, reveals a\nkinship of poesy as well as of sanctity and of the love of home,\nbetween the two \"spring flowers.\" The beauty of his soul was so\nvisible in his boyish face that he was spared all torture during\nhis two months in the \"cage.\" In 1909, the year in which Therese\nbecame \"Servant of God\" by the commencement of the Episcopal\nProcess, her patron received the honours of Beatification. Another\nchild of France--Joan, its \"Martyr-Maid\"--whose praises have been\nsung in affectionate verse by the Saints of St. Loup and Lisieux,\nwas beatified that same year. [Ed.]\n\n[5] An allusion to the obituary notice sent to each of the French\nCarmels when a Carmelite nun dies in that country. In the case of\nthose who die in the odour of sanctity these notices sometimes run\nto considerable length. Four notices issued from the Carmel of\nLisieux are of great interest to the clients of Soeur Therese, and\nare in course of publication at the Orphans' Press, Rochdale;\nthose of the Carmel's saintly Foundress, Mother Genevieve of St.\nTeresa, whose death is referred to in Chapter VIII; Mother Mary of\nGonzaga, the Prioress of Therese; Sister Mary of the Eucharist\n(Marie Guerin), the cousin of Therese (Chapter III); and most\ninteresting of all, the long sketch, partly autobiographical, of\nMother Mary of St. Angelus (Marie Ange), the \"trophy of Therese,\"\nbrought by her intercession to the Carmel in 1902--where the\nwriter made her acquaintance in the following spring; she became\nPrioress in 1908, dying eighteen months later in the odour of\nsanctity, aged only 28. [Ed.]\n\n[6] Cf. Job 13:15.\n\n[7] John 3:34.\n\n[8] When asked before her death how they should pray to her in\nHeaven, Soeur Therese, with her wonted simplicity, made answer:\n\"You will call me 'Little Therese'--_petite Therese.\"_ And at\nGallipoli, on the occasion of her celebrated apparition in the\nCarmel there, when the Prioress, taking her to be St. Teresa of\nAvila, addressed her as \"our holy Mother,\" the visitor, adopting\nher then official title, replied:--\"Nay, I am not our holy\nMother, I am the Servant of God, _Soeur Therese of Lisieux_.\"\nThis, her own name of Soeur Therese, has been retained in the\npresent edition, unless where it was advisable to set down her\nname in full--Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and of the Holy\nFace. The name of the \"Little Flower,\" borrowed by her from the\nBlessed Theophane Venard, and used so extensively in the pages of\nher manuscript, is the one by which she is best known in\nEnglish-speaking lands. [Ed.]\n\n[9] Cf. Prov. 19:11.\n\n[10] Matt. 25:49.\n\n[11] Wisdom 6:7.\n\n[12] Cf. Ps. 75[76]:10.\n\n[13] Cf. Ps. 17[18]:5.\n\n[14] Cf. Ps. 22[23]:4.\n\n[15] From the last poem written by Soeur Therese.\n\n[16] Ps. 115[116]:15.\n\n[17] John 12:24, 25.\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nCOUNSELS AND REMINISCENCES OF SOEUR THERESE,\nTHE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS\n\n_____________________________\n\nMost of what follows has been gathered from the conversations of\nSoeur Therese with her novices. Her advice cannot but prove\nhelpful to souls within the cloister, and likewise to many in the\nworld who may be attracted by her simple and easy _little way_ to\nGod.\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nOne of the novices, greatly discouraged at the thought of her\nimperfections, tells us that her mistress spoke to her as follows:\n\n\"You make me think of a little child that is learning to stand but\ndoes not yet know how to walk. In his desire to reach the top of\nthe stairs to find his mother, he lifts his little foot to climb\nthe first step. It is all in vain, and at each renewed effort he\nfalls. Well, be like that little child. Always keep lifting your\nfoot to climb the ladder of holiness, and do not imagine that you\ncan mount even the first step. All God asks of you is good will.\nFrom the top of the ladder He looks lovingly upon you, and soon,\ntouched by your fruitless efforts, He will Himself come down, and,\ntaking you in His Arms, will carry you to His Kingdom never again\nto leave Him. But should you cease to raise your foot, you will be\nleft for long on the earth.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"The only way to advance rapidly in the path of love is to remain\nalways very little. That is what I did, and now I can sing with\nour holy Father, St. John of the Cross:\n\n'Then I abased myself so low, so very low, That I ascended to such\nheights, such heights indeed, That I did overtake the prey I\nchased!'\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nUnder a temptation which seemed to me irresistible, I said to her:\n\"This time, I cannot surmount it.\" She replied: \"Why seek to\nsurmount it? Rather pass beneath. It is all well for great souls\nto soar above the clouds when the storm rages; we have simply to\nsuffer the showers. What does it matter if we get wet? We shall\ndry ourselves in the sunshine of love.\n\n\"It recalls a little incident of my childhood. One day a horse was\nstanding in front of the garden gate, and preventing us from\ngetting through. My companions talked to him and tried to make him\nmove off, but while they were still talking I quietly slipped\nbetween his legs . . . Such is the advantage of remaining small.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nOur Lord said to the mother of the sons of Zebedee: 'To sit on my\nright or left hand is for them for whom it is prepared by my\nFather.'[1] I imagine that these chosen places, which have been\nrefused alike to great Saints and Martyrs, will be reserved for\nlittle children; and did not David foretell it when he said, that\n'the little Benjamin will preside amidst the assemblies[2] of the\nSaints.'\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"You are wrong to find fault with this thing and with that, or to\ntry and make everyone see things as you see them. We desire to be\n'as little children,' and little children do not know what is\nbest: to them all seems right. Let us imitate their ways. Besides,\nthere is no merit in doing what reason dictates.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"My patrons and my special favourites in Heaven are those who, so\nto speak, stole it, such as the Holy Innocents and the Good Thief.\nThe great Saints won it by their works; I wish to be like the\nthieves and to win it by stratagem--a stratagem of love which will\nopen its gates both to me and to poor sinners. In the Book of\nProverbs the Holy Ghost encourages me, for He says: 'Come to me,\nlittle one, to learn subtlety!'\"[3]\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"What would you do if you could begin over again your religious\nlife?\"\n\n\"I think I should do as I have already done.\"\n\n\"Then you do not share the feeling of the hermit who said: 'While\na quarter of an hour, or even a breath of life still remains to\nme, I shall fear the fires of hell even though I should have spent\nlong years in penance'?\"\n\n\"No, I do not share that fear; I am too small. Little children are\nnot damned.\"\n\n\"You are ever seeking to be as little children are, but tell us\nwhat must be done to obtain that childlike spirit. 'Remaining\nlittle'--what does it mean?\"\n\n\"'Remaining little' means--to recognise one's nothingness, to\nawait everything from the Goodness of God, to avoid being too much\ntroubled at our faults; finally, not to worry over amassing\nspiritual riches, not to be solicitous about anything. Even\namongst the poor, while a child is still small, he is given what\nis necessary; but, once he is grown up, his father will no longer\nfeed him, and tells him to seek work and support himself. Well, it\nwas to avoid hearing this, that I have never wished to grow up,\nfor I feel incapable of earning my livelihood, which is Life\nEternal!\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nIn imitation of our saintly Mistress I also wished never to grow\nup; she called me therefore \"the little one,\" and during a retreat\nshe wrote to me the following notes:\n\n\"Do not fear to tell Jesus that you love him, even though you may\nnot feel that love. In this way you will compel Him to come to\nyour aid, and to carry you like a little child who is too weak to\nwalk.\n\n\"It is indeed a great source of trial, when everything looks\nblack, but this does not depend entirely on yourself. Do all in\nyour power to detach your heart from earthly cares, especially\nfrom creatures; then be assured Our Lord will do the rest. He\ncould not permit you to fall into the abyss. Be comforted, little\none! In Heaven everything will no longer look black, but dazzling\nwhite. There all will be clothed in the Divine radiance of Our\nSpouse--the Lily of the Valley. Together we will follow Him\nwhithersoever He goeth. Meantime we must make good use of this\nlife's brief day. Let us give Our Lord pleasure, let us by\nself-sacrifice give Him souls! Above all, let us be little--so\nlittle that everyone might tread us underfoot without our even\nseeming to suffer pain.\n\n\"I am not surprised at the failures of the little one; she forgets\nthat in her role of missionary and warrior she ought to forgo all\nchildish consolations. It is wrong to pass one's time in fretting,\ninstead of sleeping on the Heart of Jesus.\n\n\"Should the little one fear the dark of the night, or complain at\nnot seeing Him who carries her, let her shut her eyes. It is the\none sacrifice God asks. By remaining thus, the dark will cease to\nterrify, because she will not see it, and before long, peace--if\nnot joy--will re-enter her soul.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nTo help me accept a humiliation she confided to me what follows:\n\n\"If I had not been received into the Carmel, I would have entered\na Refuge, and lived there unknown and despised among the poor\n'penitents.' My joy would have been to pass for one, and I would\nhave become an apostle among my companions, telling them my\nthoughts on the Infinite Mercy of God.\"\n\n\"But how could you have hidden your innocence from your Confessor?\"\n\n\"I would have told him that while still in the world I made a\ngeneral confession, and that it was forbidden me to repeat it.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Oh! When I think of all I have to acquire!\"\n\n\"Or rather to lose! It is Jesus Who takes upon Himself to fill\nyour soul according as you rid it of imperfections. I see clearly\nthat you are mistaking the road, and that you will never arrive at\nthe end of your journey. You want to climb the mountain, whereas\nGod wishes you to descend it. He is awaiting you in the fruitful\nvalley of humility.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"To me it seems that humility is truth. I do not know whether I am\nhumble, but I do know that I see the truth in all things.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Indeed you are a Saint!\"\n\n\"No, I am not a Saint. I have never wrought the works of a Saint.\n_I am but a tiny soul whom Almighty God has loaded with His\nfavours._\n\n\"The truth of what I say will be made known to you in Heaven.\"\n\n\"But have you not always been faithful to those favours?\"\n\n\"Yes, _from the age of three I have never refused our Good God\nanything._ Still I cannot glorify myself. See how this evening the\ntree-tops are gilded by the setting sun. So likewise my soul\nappears to you all shining and golden because it is exposed to the\nrays of Love. But should the Divine Sun no longer shine thereon,\nit would instantly be sunk in gloom.\"\n\n\"We too would like to become all golden--what must we do?\"\n\n\"You must practise the little virtues. This is sometimes\ndifficult, but God never refuses the first grace--courage for\nself-conquest; and if the soul correspond to that grace, she at\nonce finds herself in God's sunlight. The praise given to Judith\nhas always struck me: 'Thou hast done manfully, and thy heart has\nbeen strengthened.'[4] In the onset we must act with courage. By\nthis means the heart gains strength, and victory follows victory.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nIn conformity with the Rule, Soeur Therese never raised her eyes\nin the refectory, and, as I found great difficulty in this\nobservance, she composed for me the following prayer. It reveals\nher exceeding humility, because in it she asked a grace of which I\nalone stood in need:\n\n\"O Jesus, in honour and in imitation of the example Thou gavest in\nthe house of Herod, Thy two little Spouses resolve to keep their\neyes cast down in the refectory. When that impious king scoffed at\nThee, O Infinite Beauty, no complaint came from Thy Lips. Thou\ndidst not even deign to fix on him Thy Adorable Eyes. He was not\nworthy of the favour, but we who are Thy Spouses, we desire to\ndraw Thy Divine Gaze upon ourselves. As often as we refrain from\nraising our eyes, we beg Thee to reward us by a glance of love,\nand we even dare ask Thee not to refuse this sweet glance when we\nfail in our self-control, for we will humble ourselves most\nsincerely before Thee.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI confided to her that I made no progress, and that consequently I\nhad lost heart.\n\n\"Up to the age of fourteen,\" she said, \"I practised virtue without\ntasting its sweetness. I desired suffering, but I did not think of\nmaking it my joy; that grace was vouchsafed me later. My soul was\nlike a beautiful tree the flowers of which had scarcely opened\nwhen they fell.\n\n\"Offer to God the sacrifice of never gathering any fruit. If He\nwill that throughout your whole life you should feel a repugnance\nto suffering and humiliation--if He permit that all the flowers of\nyour desires and of your good will should fall to the ground\nwithout any fruit appearing, do not worry. At the hour of death,\nin the twinkling of an eye, He will cause fair fruits to ripen on\nthe tree of your soul.\n\n\"We read in the Book of Ecclesiasticus: 'There is an inactive man\nthat wanteth help, is very weak in ability, and full of poverty:\nyet the Eye of God hath looked upon him for good, and hath lifted\nhim up from his low estate, and hath exalted his head: and many\nhave wondered at him, and have glorified God. . . . Trust in God,\nand stay in thy place. For it is easy in the Eyes of God, on a\nsudden, to make the poor man rich. The blessing of God maketh\nhaste to reward the just, and in a swift hour His blessing beareth\nfruit.'\"[5]\n\n\"But if I fall, I shall always be found imperfect; whereas you are\nlooked upon as holy.\"\n\n\"That is, perhaps, because I have never desired to be considered\nso. . . . But that you should be found imperfect is just what is\nbest. Here is your harvest. To believe oneself imperfect and\nothers perfect--this is true happiness. Should earthly creatures\nthink you devoid of holiness, they rob you of nothing, and you are\nnone the poorer: it is they who lose. For is there anything more\nsweet than the inward joy of thinking well of our neighbour?\n\n\"As for myself I am glad and rejoice, not only when I am looked\nupon as imperfect, but above all when I feel that it is true.\nCompliments, on the contrary, do but displease me.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"God has a special love for you since He entrusts souls to your\ncare.\"\n\n\"That makes no difference, and I am really only what I am in His\nEyes. It is not because He wills me to be His interpreter among\nyou, that He loves me more; rather, He makes me your little\nhandmaid. It is for you, and not for myself, that He has bestowed\nupon me those charms and those virtues which you see.\n\n\"I often compare myself to a little bowl filled by God with good\nthings. All the kittens come to eat from it, and they sometimes\nquarrel as to which will have the largest share. But the Holy\nChild Jesus keeps a sharp watch. 'I am willing you should feed\nfrom My little bowl,' He says, 'but take heed lest you upset and\nbreak it.'\n\n\"In truth there is no great danger, because I am already on the\nground. Not so with Prioresses; set, as they are, on tables, they\nrun far more risks. Honours are always dangerous. What poisonous\nfood is served daily to those in high positions! What deadly fumes\nof incense! A soul must be well detached from herself to pass\nunscathed through it all.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"It is a consolation for you to do good and to procure the Glory\nof God. I wish I were equally favoured.\"\n\n\"What if God does make use of me, rather than of another, to\nprocure His Glory! Provided His Kingdom be established among\nsouls, the instrument matters not. Besides, He has no need of\nanyone.\n\n\"Some time ago I was watching the flicker, almost invisible, of a\ntiny night-light, when one of the Sisters drew near, and, lighting\nher candle in the dying flame, passed it round to light all those\nof the Community. 'Who dare glory in his own good works?' I\nreflected. 'From one faint spark such as this, it would be\npossible to set the whole earth on fire.' We often think we\nreceive graces and are divinely illumined by means of brilliant\ncandles. But from whence comes their light? From the prayers,\nperhaps, of some humble, hidden soul, whose inward shining is not\napparent to human eyes; a soul of unrecognised virtue and, in her\nown sight, of little value--a dying flame.\n\n\"What mysteries will yet be unveiled to us! I have often thought\nthat perhaps I owe all the graces with which I am laden, to some\nlittle soul whom I shall know only in Heaven.\n\n\"It is God's Will that in this world souls shall dispense to each\nother, by prayer, the treasures of Heaven, in order that when they\nreach their Everlasting Home they may love one another with\ngrateful hearts, and with an affection far in excess of that which\nreigns in the most perfect family on earth.\n\n\"There no looks of indifference will meet us, because all the\nSaints will be mutually indebted to each other. No envious glances\nwill be cast, for the happiness of each one of the Blessed will be\nthe happiness of all. With the Doctors of the Church we shall be\nlike unto Doctors; with the Martyrs, like unto Martyrs; with the\nVirgins, like unto Virgins; and just as the members of one family\nare proud one of the other, so without the least jealousy shall we\ntake pride in our brothers and sisters.\n\n\"When we see the glory of the great Saints, and know that through\nthe secret working of Providence we have contributed to it, who\nknows whether the joy we shall feel will not be as intense,\nperhaps sweeter, than the happiness they themselves possess?\n\n\"And do you not think that the great Saints, on their side, seeing\nwhat they owe to all little souls, will love them with a love\nbeyond compare? The friendships of Paradise will be both sweet and\nfull of surprise, of this I am certain. The familiar friend of an\nApostle, or of a great Doctor of the Church, may be a shepherd\nboy, and a simple little child may be united in closest intimacy\nwith a Patriarch. . . . I long to enter that Kingdom of Love!\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Believe me, the writing of pious books, the composing of the\nsublimest poetry, all that does not equal the smallest act of\nself-denial. When, however, our inability to do good gives us\npain, our only resource is to offer up the good works of others,\nand in this lies the benefit of the Communion of Saints. Recall to\nmind that beautiful verse of the canticle of our Father, St. John\nof the Cross:\n\n'Return, my dove! See on the height The wounded Hart, To whom\nrefreshment brings The breeze, stirred by thy wings.'\n\n\"Thus the Spouse, the wounded Hart, is not attracted by the\nheight, but only by the breeze from the pinions of the dove--a\nbreeze which one single stroke of wing is sufficient to create.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"The one thing which is not open to envy is the lowest place. Here\nalone, therefore, there is neither vanity nor affliction of\nspirit. Yet, 'the way of a man is not his own,'[6] and sometimes\nwe find ourselves wishing for what dazzles. In that hour let us in\nall humility take our place among the imperfect, and look upon\nourselves as little souls who at every instant need to be upheld\nby the goodness of God. From the moment He sees us fully convinced\nof our nothingness, and hears us cry out: 'My foot stumbles, Lord,\nbut Thy Mercy is my strength,'[7] He reaches out His Hand to us.\nBut, should we attempt great things, even under pretext of zeal,\nHe deserts us. It suffices, therefore, to humble ourselves, to\nbear with meekness our imperfections. Herein lies--for us--true\nholiness.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nOne day I was complaining of being more tired than my Sisters,\nfor, besides the ordinary duties, I had other work unknown to the\nrest. Soeur Therese replied:\n\n\"I should like always to see you a brave soldier, never grumblng\nat hardships, but considering the wounds of your companions as\nmost serious, and your own as mere scratches. You feel this\nfatigue so much because no one is aware of it.\n\n\"Now the Blessed Margaret Mary, at the time she had two whitlows,\nconfessed that she really suffered from the hidden one only. The\nother, which she was unable to hide, excited her Sisters' pity and\nmade her an object of compassion. This is indeed a very natural\nfeeling, the desire that people should know of our aches and\npains, but in giving way to it we play the coward.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"When we are guilty of a fault we must never attribute it to some\nphysical cause, such as illness or the weather. We must ascribe it\nto our own imperfections, without being discouraged thereby.\n'Occasions do not make a man frail, but show what he is.'\"[8]\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"God did not permit that our Mother should tell me to write my\npoems as soon as I had composed them, and, fearful of committing a\nsin against poverty, I would not ask leave. I had therefore to\nwait for some free time, and at eight o'clock in the evening I\noften found it extremely difficult to remember what I had composed\nin the morning.\n\n\"True, these trifles are a species of martyrdom; but we must be\ncareful not to alleviate the pain of the martyrdom by permitting\nourselves, or securing permission for, a thousand and one things\nwhich would tend to make the religious life both comfortable and\nagreeable.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nOne day, as I was in tears, Soeur Therese told me to avoid the\nhabit of allowing others to see the trifles that worried me,\nadding that nothing made community life more trying than\nunevenness of temper.\n\n\"You are indeed right,\" I answered, \"such was my own thought.\nHenceforward my tears will be for God alone. I shall confide my\nworries to One Who will understand and console me.\"\n\n\"Tears for God!\" she promptly replied, \"that must not be. Far less\nto Him than to creatures ought you to show a mournful face. Our\nDivine Master has only our monasteries where He may obtain some\nsolace for His Heart. He comes to us in search of rest--to forget\nthe unceasing complaints of His friends in the world, who, instead\nof appreciating the value of the Cross, receive it far more often\nwith moans and tears. Would you then be as the mediocre souls?\nFrankly, this is not disinterested love. . . . _It is for us to\nconsole our Lord, and not for Him to console us._ His Heart is so\ntender that if you cry He will dry your tears; but thereafter He\nwill go away sad, since you did not suffer Him to repose\ntranquilly within you. Our Lord loves the glad of heart, the\nchildren that greet Him with a smile. When will you learn to hide\nyour troubles from Him, or to tell Him gaily that you are happy to\nsuffer for Him?\"\n\n\"The face is the mirror of the soul,\" she said once, \"and yours,\nlike that of a contented little child, should always be calm and\nserene. Even when alone, be cheerful, remembering always that you\nare in the sight of the Angels.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI was anxious she should congratulate me on what, in my eyes, was\nan heroic act of virtue; but she said to me:\n\n\"Compare this little act of virtue with what our Lord has the\nright to expect of you! Rather should you humble yourself for\nhaving lost so many opportunities of proving your love.\"\n\nLittle satisfied with this answer, I awaited an opportunity of\nfinding out how Soeur Therese herself would act under trial, and\nthe occasion was not long in coming. Reverend Mother asked us to\ndo some extremely tiring work which bristled with difficulties,\nand, on purpose, I made it still more difficult for our Mistress.\n\nNot for one second, however, could I detect her in fault, and,\nheedless of the fatigue involved, she remained gracious and\namiable, eager throughout to help others at her own expense. At\nlast I could resist no longer, and I confessed to her what my\nthoughts had been.\n\n\"How comes it,\" I said, \"that you can be so patient? You are ever\nthe same--calm and full of joy.\" \"It was not always the case with\nme,\" she replied, \"but since I have abandoned all thought of\nself-seeking, I live the happiest life possible.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nOur dear Mistress used to say that during recreation, more than at\nany other time, we should find opportunities for practising virtue.\n\n\"If your desire be to draw great profit, do not go with the idea\nof procuring relaxation, but rather with the intention of\nentertaining others and practising complete detachment from self.\nThus, for instance, if you are telling one of the Sisters\nsomething you think entertaining, and she should interrupt to tell\nyou something else, show yourself interested, even though in\nreality her story may not interest you in the least. Be careful,\nalso, not to try to resume what you were saying. In this way you\nwill leave recreation filled with a great interior peace and\nendowed with fresh strength for the practice of virtue, because\nyou have not sought to please yourself, but others. If only we\ncould realise what we gain by self-denial in all things!\"\n\n\"You realise it, certainly, for you have always practised\nself-denial.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have forgotten myself, and I have tried not to see myself\nin anything.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"When some one knocks at our door, or when we are rung for, we\nmust practise mortification and refrain from doing even another\nstitch before answering. I have practised this myself, and I\nassure you that it is a source of peace.\"\n\nAfter this advice, and according as occasion offered, I promptly\nanswered every summons. One day, during her illness, she was\nwitness of this, and said:\n\n\"At the hour of death you will be very happy to find this to your\naccount. You have just done something more glorious than if,\nthrough clever diplomacy, you had procured the good-will of the\nGovernment for all religious communities and had been proclaimed\nthroughout France as a second Judith.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nQuestioned as to her method of sanctifying meals, she answered:\n\n\"In the refectory we have but one thing to do: perform a lowly\naction with lofty thoughts. I confess that the sweetest\naspirations of love often come to me in the refectory. Sometimes I\nam brought to a standstill by the thought that were Our Lord in my\nplace He would certainly partake of those same dishes which are\nserved to me. It is quite probable that during His lifetime He\ntasted of similar food--He must have eaten bread and fruit.\n\n\"Here are my little rubrics:\n\n\"I imagine myself at Nazareth, in the house of the Holy Family.\nIf, for instance, I am served with salad, cold fish, wine, or\nanything pungent in taste, I offer it to St. Joseph. To our\nBlessed Lady I offer hot foods and ripe fruit, and to the Infant\nJesus our feast-day fare, especially rice and preserves. Lastly,\nwhen I am served a wretched dinner I say cheerfully: 'To-day, my\nlittle one, it is all for you!'\"\n\nThus in many pretty ways she hid her mortifications. One fast-day,\nhowever, when our Reverend Mother ordered her some special food, I\nfound her seasoning it with wormwood because it was too much to\nher taste. On another occasion I saw her drinking very slowly a\nmost unpleasant medicine. \"Make haste,\" I said, \"drink it off at\nonce!\" \"Oh, no!\" she answered; \"must I not profit of these small\nopportunities for penance since the greater ones are forbidden me?\"\n\nToward the end of her life I learned that, during her noviciate,\none of our Sisters, when fastening the scapular for her, ran the\nlarge pin through her shoulder, and for hours she bore the pain\nwith joy. On another occasion she gave me proof of her interior\nmortification. I had received a most interesting letter which was\nread aloud at recreation, during her absence. In the evening she\nexpressed the wish to read it, and I gave it to her. Later on,\nwhen she returned it, I begged her to tell me what she thought of\none of the points of the letter which I knew ought to have charmed\nher. She seemed rather confused, and after a pause she answered:\n\"God asked of me the sacrifice of this letter because of the\neagerness I displayed the other day . . . so I have not read it.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nWhen speaking to her of the mortifications of the Saints, she\nremarked: \"It was well that Our Lord warned us: 'In My Father's\nHouse there are many mansions, otherwise I would have told\nyou.'[9] For, if every soul called to perfection were obliged to\nperform these austerities in order to enter Heaven, He would have\ntold us, and we should have willingly undertaken them. But He has\ndeclared that, 'there are many mansions in His House.' If there\nare some for great souls, for the Fathers of the Desert and for\nMartyrs of penance, there must also be one for little children.\nAnd in that one a place is kept for us, if we but love Him dearly\ntogether with Our Father and the Spirit of Love.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"While in the world, I used, on waking, to think of all the\npleasant or unpleasant things which might happen throughout the\nday, and if I foresaw nothing but worries I got up with a heavy\nheart. Now it is quite the reverse. I think of the pains and of\nthe sufferings awaiting me, and I rise, feeling all the more\ncourageous and light of heart in proportion to the opportunities I\nforesee of proving my love for Our Lord, and of gaining--mother of\nsouls as I am--my children's livelihood. Then I kiss my crucifix,\nand, laying it gently on my pillow, I leave it there while I\ndress, and I say: 'My Jesus, Thou hast toiled and wept enough\nduring Thy three-and-thirty years on this miserable earth. Rest\nThee, to-day! It is my turn to suffer and to fight.'\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nOne washing-day I was sauntering towards the laundry, and looking\nat the flowers as I passed. Soeur Therese was following, and\nquickly overtook me: \"Is that,\" she said quietly, \"how people\nhurry themselves when they have children, and are obliged to work\nto procure them food?\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Do you know which are my Sundays and feast-days? They are the\ndays on which God tries me the most.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI was distressed at my want of courage, and Soeur Therese said to\nme: \"You are complaining of what should be your greatest\nhappiness. If you fought only when you felt eagerness, where would\nbe your merit? What does it matter, even if you are devoid of\ncourage, provided you act as though you possessed it? If you feel\ntoo lazy to pick up a bit of thread, and yet do so for love of\nJesus, you acquire more merit than for a much nobler action done\nin a moment of fervour. Instead of grieving, be glad that, by\nallowing you to feel your own weakness, Our Lord is furnishing you\nwith an opportunity of saving a greater number of souls.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI asked her whether Our Lord were not displeased at the sight of\nmy many failings. This was her answer: \"Be comforted, for He Whom\nyou have chosen as your Spouse has every imaginable perfection;\nbut--dare I say it?--He has one great infirmity too--He is blind!\nAnd there is a science about which He knows nothing--addition!\nThese two great defects, much to be deplored in an earthly\nbridegroom, do but make ours infinitely more lovable. Were it\nnecessary that He should be clear-sighted, and familiar with the\nscience of figures, do you not think that, confronted with our\nmany sins, He would send us back to our nothingness? But His Love\nfor us makes him actually blind.\n\n\"If the greatest sinner on earth should repent at the moment of\nhis death, and draw His last breath in an act of love, neither the\nmany graces he had abused, nor the multiplied crimes he had\ncommitted, would stand in his way. Our Lord would see nothing,\ncount nothing, but the sinner's last prayer, and without delay He\nwould receive him into the arms of His Mercy.\n\n\"But, to make Him thus blind and to prevent Him doing the smallest\nsum of addition, we must approach Him through His Heart--on that\nside He is vulnerable and defenceless.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI had grieved her, and had gone to ask her pardon: \"If you but\nknew what I feel!\" she exclaimed. \"Never have I more clearly\nunderstood the love with which Jesus receives us when we seek His\nforgiveness. If I, His poor little creature, feel so tenderly\ntowards you when you come back to me, what must pass through Our\nLord's Divine Heart when we return to Him? Far more quickly than I\nhave just done will He blot out our sins from His memory. . . .\nNay, He will even love us more tenderly than before we fell.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI had an immense dread of the judgments of God, and no argument of\nSoeur Therese could remove it. One day I put to her the following\nobjection: \"It is often said to us that in God's sight the angels\nthemselves are not pure. How, therefore, can you expect me to be\notherwise than filled with fear?\"\n\nShe replied: \"There is but one means of compelling God not to\njudge us, and it is--to appear before Him empty-handed.\" \"And how\ncan that be done?\" \"It is quite simple: lay nothing by, spend your\ntreasures as you gain them. Were I to live to be eighty, I should\nalways be poor, because I cannot economise. All my earnings are\nimmediately spent on the ransom of souls.\n\n\"Were I to await the hour of death to offer my trifling coins for\nvaluation, Our Lord would not fail to discover in them some base\nmetal, and they would certainly have to be refined in Purgatory.\nIs it not recorded of certain great Saints that, on appearing\nbefore the Tribunal of God, their hands laden with merit, they\nhave yet been sent to that place of expiation, because in God's\nEyes all our justice is unclean?\"\n\n\"But,\" I replied, \"if God does not judge our good actions, He will\njudge our bad ones.\" \"Do not say that! Our Lord is Justice itself,\nand if He does not judge our good actions, neither will He judge\nour bad ones. It seems to me, that for Victims of Love there will\nbe no judgment. God will rather hasten to reward with eternal\ndelights His own Love which He will behold burning in their\nhearts.\"\n\n\"To enjoy such a privilege, would it suffice to repeat that Act of\nOblation which you have composed?\" \"Oh, no! words do not suffice.\nTo be a true Victim of Love we must surrender ourselves entirely.\n. . . _Love will consume us only in the measure of our\nself-surrender.\"_\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI was grieving bitterly over a fault I had committed. \"Take your\nCrucifix,\" she said, \"and kiss it.\" I kissed the Feet.\n\n\"Is that how a child kisses its father? Throw your arms at once\nround His Neck and kiss His Face.\" When I had done so, she\ncontinued: \"That is not sufficient--He must return your caress.\" I\nhad to press the Crucifix to both my cheeks, whereupon she added:\n\"Now, all is forgiven.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI told her one day that if I must be reproached I preferred\ndeserving it to being unjustly accused. \"For my part,\" she\nreplied, \"I prefer to be charged unjustly, because, having nothing\nto reproach myself with, I offer gladly this little injustice to\nGod. Then, humbling myself, I think how easily I might have\ndeserved the reproach. The more you advance, the fewer the\ncombats; or rather, the more easy the victory, because the good\nside of things will be more visible. Then your soul will soar\nabove creatures. As for me, I feel utterly indifferent to all\naccusations because I have learned the hollowness of human\njudgment.\"\n\nShe added further: \"When misunderstood and judged unfavourably,\nwhat benefit do we derive from defending ourselves? Leave things\nas they are, and say nothing. It is so sweet to allow ourselves to\nbe judged anyhow, rightly or wrongly.\n\n\"It is not written in the Gospel that Saint Mary Magdalen put\nforth excuses when charged by her sister with sitting idle at Our\nLord's Feet. She did not say: 'Martha, if you knew the happiness\nthat is mine and if you heard the words that I hear, you too would\nleave everything to share my joy and my repose.' No, she preferred\nto keep silent. . . . Blessed silence which giveth such peace to\nthe soul!\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nAt a moment of temptation and struggle I received this note: \"'The\njust man shall correct me in mercy and shall reprove me; but let\nnot the oil of the sinner perfume my head.'[10] It is only by the\njust that I can be either reproved or corrected, because all my\nSisters are pleasing to God. It is less bitter to be rebuked by a\nsinner than by a just man; but through compassion for sinners, to\nobtain their conversion, I beseech Thee, O my God, to permit that\nI may be well rebuked by those just souls who surround me. I ask\nalso that the _oil of praise,_ so sweet to our nature, _may not\nperfume my head,_ that is to say, my mind, by making me believe\nthat I possess virtues when I have merely performed a few good\nactions.\n\n\"Jesus! 'Thy Name is as oil poured out,'[11] and it is into this\ndivine perfume that I desire wholly to plunge myself, far from the\ngaze of mankind.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"It is not playing the game to argue with a Sister that she is in\nthe wrong, even when it is true, because we are not answerable for\nher conduct. We must not be _Justices of the peace,_ but _Angels\nof peace_ only.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"You give yourselves up too much to what you are doing,\" she used\nto say to us; \"you worry about the future as though it were in\nyour hands. Are you much concerned at this moment as to what is\nhappening in other Carmelite convents, and whether the nuns there\nare busy or otherwise? Does their work prevent you praying or\nmeditating? Well, just in the same way, you ought to detach\nyourselves from your own personal labours, conscientiously\nspending on them the time prescribed, but with perfect freedom of\nheart. We read that the Israelites, while building the walls of\nJerusalem, worked with one hand and held a sword in the other.[12]\nThis is an image of what we should do: avoid being wholly absorbed\nin our work.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"One Sunday,\" Therese relates, \"I was going toward the chestnut\navenue, full of rejoicing, for it was spring-time, and I wanted to\nenjoy nature's beauties. What a bitter disappointment! My dear\nchestnuts had been pruned, and the branches, already covered with\nbuds, now lay on the ground. On seeing this havoc, and thinking\nthat three years must elapse before it could be repaired, my heart\nfelt very sore. But the grief did not last long. 'If I were in\nanother convent,' I reflected, 'what would it matter to me if the\nchestnut-trees of the Carmel at Lisieux were entirely cut down?' I\nwill not worry about things that pass. God shall be my all. I will\ntake my walks in the wooded groves of His Love, whereon none dare\nlay hands.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nA novice asked her Sisters to help her shake some blankets. As\nthey were somewhat liable to tear because of their worn condition,\nshe insisted, rather sharply, on their being handled with care.\n\"What would you do,\" said Therese to the impatient one, \"if it\nwere not your duty to mend these blankets? There would be no\nthought of self in the matter, and if you did call attention to\nthe fact that they are easily torn, it would be done in quite an\nimpersonal way. In all your actions, you should avoid the least\ntrace of self-seeking.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nSeeing one of our Sisters very much fatigued, I said to Soeur\nTherese: \"It grieves me to see people suffer, especially those who\nare holy.\" She instantly replied: \"I do not feel as you do. Saints\nwho suffer never excite my pity. I know they have strength to bear\ntheir sufferings, and that through them they are giving great\nglory to God. But I compassionate greatly those who are not\nSaints, and who do not know how to profit by suffering. They\nindeed awake my pity. I would strain every nerve to help and\ncomfort them.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Were I to live longer, it is the office of Infirmarian that would\nmost please me. I would not ask for it, but were it imposed\nthrough obedience, I should consider myself highly favoured. I\nthink I should fulfill its duties with much affection, always\nmindful of Our Lord's words: 'I was sick, and you visited Me.'[13]\nThe infirmary bell should be for you as heavenly music, and you\nought purposely to pass by the windows of the sick that it might\nbe easy for them to summon you. Consider yourself as a little\nslave whom everyone has the right to command. Could you but see\nthe Angels who from the heights of Heaven watch your combats in\nthe arena! They are awaiting the end of the fight to crown you and\ncover you with flowers. You know that we claim to rank as _little\nMartyrs_ . . . . but we must win our palms.\n\n\"God does not despise these hidden struggles with ourselves, so\nmuch richer in merit because they are unseen: 'The patient man is\nbetter than the valiant, and he that ruleth his spirit than he\nthat taketh cities.'[14] Through our little acts of charity,\npractised in the dark, as it were, we obtain the conversion of the\nheathen, help the missionaries, and gain for them plentiful alms,\nthus building both spiritual and material dwellings for Our\nEucharistic God.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI had seen Mother Prioress showing, as I thought, more confidence\nand affection to one of our Sisters than she extended to me.\nExpecting to win sympathy, I told my trouble to Soeur Therese, and\ngreat was my surprise when she put me the question: \"Do you think\nyou love our Mother very much?\" \"Certainly! otherwise I should be\nindifferent if others were preferred to me.\"\n\n\"Well, I shall prove that you are absolutely mistaken, and that it\nis not our Mother that you love, but yourself. When we really love\nothers, we rejoice at their happiness, and we make every sacrifice\nto procure it. Therefore if you had this true, disinterested\naffection, and loved our Mother for her own sake, you would be\nglad to see her find pleasure even at your expense; and since you\nthink she has less satisfaction in talking with you than with\nanother Sister, you ought not to grieve at being apparently\nneglected.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI was distressed at my many distractions during prayers: \"I also\nhave many,\" she said, \"but as soon as I am aware of them, I pray\nfor those people the thought of whom is diverting my attention,\nand in this way they reap benefit from my distractions. . . . I\naccept all for the love of God, even the wildest fancies that\ncross my mind.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI was regretting a pin which I had been asked for, and which I had\nfound most useful. \"How rich you are,\" said Therese, \"you will\nnever be happy!\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nThe grotto of the Holy Child was in her charge, and, knowing that\none of our Mothers greatly disliked perfumes, she never put any\nsweet-smelling flowers there, not even a tiny violet. This cost\nher many a real sacrifice. One day, just as she had placed a\nbeautiful artificial rose at the foot of the statue, the Mother\ncalled her. Soeur Therese, surmising that it was to bid her remove\nthe rose, was anxious to spare her any humiliation. She therefore\ntook the flower to the good Sister, and, forestalling all\nobservations, said: \"Look, Mother, how well nature is imitated\nnowadays: would you not think this rose had been freshly gathered\nfrom the garden?\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"There are moments,\" she told us, \"when we are so miserable\nwithin, that there is nothing for it but to get away from\nourselves. At those times God does not oblige us to remain at\nhome. He even permits our own company to become distasteful to us\nin order that we may leave it. Now I know no other means of exit\nsave through the doorway of charitable works, on a visit to Jesus\nand Mary.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"When I picture the Holy Family, the thought that does me most\ngood is--the simplicity of their home-life. Our Lady and St.\nJoseph were well aware that Jesus was God, while at the same time\ngreat wonders were hidden from them, and--like us--they lived by\nfaith. You have heard those words of the Gospel: 'They understood\nnot the word that He spoke unto them';[15] and those others no\nless mysterious: 'His Father and Mother were wondering at those\nthings which were spoken concerning Him.'[16] They seemed to be\nlearning something new, for this word 'wondering' implies a\ncertain amount of surprise.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"There is a verse in the Divine Office which I recite each day\nwith reluctance: 'I have inclined my heart to do Thy\njustifications for ever, because of the reward.'[17] I hasten to\nadd in my heart: 'My Jesus, Thou knowest I do not serve Thee for\nsake of reward, but solely out of love, and a desire to win Thee\nsouls.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"In Heaven only shall we be in possession of the clear truth. On\nearth, even in matters of Holy Scripture, our vision is dim. It\ndistresses me to see the differences in its translations, and had\nI been a Priest I would have learned Hebrew, so as to read the\nWord of God as He deigned to utter it in human speech.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nSoeur Therese often spoke to me of a well-known toy with which she\nhad amused herself when a child. This was the kaleidoscope, shaped\nlike a small telescope, through which, as it is made to revolve,\none perceives an endless variety of pretty-coloured figures.\n\n\"This toy,\" she said, \"excited my admiration, and I wondered what\ncould provide so charming a phenomenon, when one day, after a\nlengthy examination, I found that it consisted simply of tiny bits\nof paper and cloth scattered inside. A further examination\nrevealed that there were three mirrors inside the tube, and the\nproblem was solved. It became for me the illustration of a great\ntruth.\n\n\"So long as our actions, even the most trivial, remain within\nLove's kaleidoscope, so long the Blessed Trinity, figured by the\nthree mirrors, imparts to them a wonderful brightness and beauty.\nThe eye-piece is Jesus Christ, and He, looking from outside\nthrough Himself into the kaleidoscope, finds perfect all our\nworks. But, should we leave that ineffable abode of Love, He would\nsee but the rags and chaff of unclean and worthless deeds.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI told Soeur Therese of the strange phenomena produced by\nmagnetism on persons who surrender their will to the hypnotiser.\nIt seemed to interest her greatly, and next day she said to me:\n\"Your conversation yesterday did me so much good! How I long to be\nhypnotised by Our Lord! It was my waking thought, and verily it\nwas sweet to surrender Him my will. I want Him to take possession\nof my faculties in such wise that my acts may no more be mine, or\nhuman, but Divine--inspired and guided by the Spirit of Love.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nBefore my profession I received through my saintly Novice-mistress\na very special grace. We had been washing all day. I was worn-out\nwith fatigue and harassed with spiritual worries. That night,\nbefore meditation, I wanted to speak to her, but she dismissed me\nwith the remark: \"That is the bell for meditation, and I have not\ntime to console you; besides, I see plainly that it would be\nuseless trouble. For the present, God wishes you to suffer alone.\"\nI followed her to meditation so discouraged that, for the first\ntime, I doubted of my vocation. I should never be able to be a\nCarmelite. The life was too hard.\n\nI had been kneeling for some minutes, when all at once, in the\nmidst of this interior struggle--without having asked or even\nwished for peace--I felt a sudden and extraordinary change of\nsoul. I no longer knew myself. My vocation appeared to me both\nlovely and lovable. I saw the sweetness and priceless value of\nsuffering. All the privations and fatigues of the religious life\nappeared to me infinitely preferable to worldly pleasures, and I\ncame away from my meditation completely transformed.\n\nNext day I told my Mistress what had taken place, and, seeing she\nwas deeply touched, I begged to know the reason. \"God is good,\"\nshe exclaimed. \"Last evening you inspired me with such profound\npity that I prayed incessantly for you at the beginning of\nmeditation. I besought Our Lord to bring you comfort, to change\nyour dispositions, and show you the value of suffering. He has\nindeed heard my prayers.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nBeing somewhat of a child in my ways, the Holy Child--to help me\nin the practice of virtue--inspired me with the thought of amusing\nmyself with Him, and I chose the game of _ninepins._ I imagined\nthem of all sizes and colours, representing the souls I wished to\nreach. The ball was--_love._\n\nIn December, 1896, the novices received, for the benefit of the\nForeign Missions, various trifles towards a Christmas tree, and at\nthe bottom of the box containing them was a _top_--a rare thing in\na Carmelite convent. My companions remarked: \"What an ugly\nthing!--of what use will it be?\" But I, who knew the game, caught\nhold of it, exclaiming: \"Nay, what fun! it will spin a whole day\nwithout stopping if it be well whipped\"; and thereupon I spun it\naround to their great surprise.\n\nSoeur Therese was quietly watching us, and on Christmas night,\nafter midnight Mass, I found in our cell the famous top, with a\ndelightful letter addressed as follows:\n\n_To My Beloved Little Spouse_\n\n_Player of Ninepins on the Mountain of Carmel_\n\n_Christmas Night, 1896._\n\nMY BELOVED LITTLE SPOUSE,--I am well pleased with thee! All the\nyear round thou hast amused Me by playing at _ninepins._ I was so\noverjoyed that the whole court of Angels was surprised and\ncharmed. Several little cherubs have asked me why I did not make\nthem children. Others wanted to know if the melody of their\ninstruments were not more pleasing to me than thy joyous laugh\nwhen a ninepin fell at the stroke of thy love-ball. My answer to\nthem was, that they must not regret they are not children, since\none day they would play with thee in the meadows of Heaven. I told\nthem also that thy smiles were certainly more sweet to Me than\ntheir harmonies, because these smiles were purchased by suffering\nand forgetfulness of self.\n\nAnd now, my cherished Spouse, it is my turn to ask something of\nthee. Thou wilt not refuse Me--thou lovest Me too much. Let us\nchange the game. Ninepins amuse me greatly, but at present I\nshould like to play at spinning a top, and, if thou dost consent,\nthou shalt be the top. I give thee one as a model. Thou seest that\nit is ugly to look at, and would be kicked aside by whosoever did\nnot know the game. But at the sight of it a child would leap for\njoy and shout: \"What fun! it will spin a whole day without\nstopping!\"\n\nAlthough thou too art not attractive, I--the little Jesus--love\nthee, and beg of thee to keep always spinning to amuse Me. True,\nit needs a whip to make a top spin. Then let thy Sisters supply\nthe whip, and be thou most grateful to those who shall make thee\nturn fastest. When I shall have had plenty of fun, I will bring\nthee to join Me here, and our games shall be full of unalloyed\ndelight.--Thy little Brother,\n\nJESUS.\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI had the habit of constantly crying about the merest trifles, and\nthis was a source of great pain to Soeur Therese. One day a bright\nidea occurred to her: taking a mussel-shell from her painting\ntable, and, holding my hands lest I should prevent her, she\ngathered my tears in the shell, and soon they were turned into\nmerry laughter.\n\n\"There,\" she said, \"from this onwards I permit you to cry as much\nas you like on condition that it is into the shell!\"\n\nA week, however, before her death I spent a whole evening in tears\nat the thought of her fast-approaching end. She knew it, and said:\n\"You have been crying. Was it into the shell?\" I was unable to\ntell an untruth, and my answer grieved her. \"I am going to die,\"\nshe continued, \"and I shall not be at rest about you unless you\npromise to follow faithfully my advice. I consider it of the\nutmost importance for the good of your soul.\"\n\nI promised what she asked, begging leave, however, as a favour, to\nbe allowed to cry at her death. \"But,\" she answered, \"why cry at\nmy death? Those tears will certainly be useless. You will be\nbewailing my happiness! Still I have pity on your weakness, and\nfor the first few days you have leave to cry, though afterwards\nyou must again take up the shell.\"\n\nIt has cost me some heroic efforts, but I have been faithful. I\nhave kept the shell at hand, and each time the wish to cry\novercame me, I laid hold of the pitiless thing. However urgent the\ntears, the trouble of passing it from one eye to the other so\ndistracted my thoughts, that before very long this ingenious\nmethod entirely cured me of my sensibility.\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nOwing to a fault which had caused Soeur Therese much pain, but of\nwhich I had deeply repented, I intended to deprive myself of Holy\nCommunion. I wrote to her of my resolution, and this was her\nreply: \"Little flower, most dear to Jesus, by this humiliation\nyour roots are feeding upon the earth. You must now open wide your\npetals, or rather lift high your head, so that the Manna of the\nAngels may, like a divine dew, come down to strengthen you and\nsupply all your wants. Good-night, poor little flower! Ask of\nJesus that all the prayers offered for my cure may serve to\nincrease the fire which ought to consume me.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"At the moment of Communion I sometimes liken my soul to that of a\nlittle child of three or four, whose hair has been ruffled and\nclothes soiled at play. This is a picture of what befalls me in my\nstruggling with souls. But Our Blessed Lady comes promptly to the\nrescue, takes off _my soiled pinafore,_ and arranges my hair,\nadorning it with a pretty ribbon or a simple flower. . . . Then I\nam quite nice, and able, without any shame, to seat myself at the\nBanquet of Angels.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nIn the infirmary we scarcely waited for the end of her\nthanksgiving before seeking her advice. At first, this somewhat\ndistressed her, and she would make gentle reproaches, but soon she\nyielded to us, saying: \"I must not wish for more rest than Our\nLord. When He withdrew into the desert after preaching, the crowds\nwould come and intrude upon His solitude. Come, then, to me as\nmuch as you like; I must die sword in hand--'the sword of the\nSpirit, which is the Word of God.'\"[18]\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Advise us,\" we said to her, \"how to profit by our spiritual\ninstructions.\" \"Go for guidance with great simplicity, not\ncounting too much on help which may fail you at any moment. You\nwould then have to say with the Spouse in the Canticles: 'The\nkeepers took away my cloak and wounded me; when I had a little\npassed by them, I found Him whom my soul loveth.'[19] If you ask\nwith humility and with detachment after your Beloved, the\n_keepers_ will tell you. More often, you will find Jesus only when\nyou have passed by all creatures. Many times have I repeated this\nverse of the Spiritual Canticle of St. John of the Cross:\n\n'Messengers, I pray, no more Between us send, who know not how To\ntell me what my spirit longs to know. For they Thy charms who\nread--For ever telling of a thousand more--Make all my wounds to\nbleed, While deeper then before Doth an--I know not what!--my\nspirit grieve With stammerings vague, and of all life bereave.'\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"If, supposing the impossible, God Himself could not see my good\nactions, I would not be troubled. I love Him so much I would like\nto give Him joy without His knowing who gave. When He sees the\ngift being made, He is, as it were, obliged to make a\nreturn. . . . I should wish to spare Him the trouble.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Had I been rich, I could never have seen a poor person hungry\nwithout giving him to eat. This is my way also in the spiritual\nlife. There are many souls on the brink of hell, and as my\nearnings come to hand they are scattered among these sinners. The\ntime has never yet been when I could say: 'Now I am going to work\nfor myself.'\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"There are people who make the worst of everything. As for me, I\ndo just the contrary. I always see the good side of things, and\neven if my portion be suffering, without a glimmer of solace,\nwell, I make it my joy.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Whatever has come from God's Hands has always pleased me, even\nthose things which have seemed to me less good and less beautiful\nthan the gifts made to others.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"When staying with my aunt, while I was still a little girl, I was\ngiven a certain book to read. In one of the stories great praise\nwas bestowed on a schoolmistress who by her tact escaped from\nevery difficulty without hurting anyone's feelings. Her method of\nsaying to one person: 'You are right,' and to another: 'You are\nnot wrong,' struck me particularly, and as I read I reflected that\nI would not have acted in that way because we should always tell\nthe truth. And this I always do, though I grant it is much more\ndifficult. It would be far less trouble for us, when told of a\nworry, to cast the blame on the absent. Less trouble . . .\nnevertheless I do just the contrary, and if I am disliked it\ncannot be helped. Let the novices not come to me if they do not\nwant to learn the truth.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Before a reproof[20] bear fruit it must cost something and be\nfree from the least trace of passion. Kindness must not degenerate\ninto weakness. When we have had good reason for finding fault, we\nmust leave it, and not allow ourselves to worry over having given\npain. To seek out the delinquent for the purpose of consoling her,\nis to do more harm than good. Left alone, she is compelled to look\nbeyond creatures, and to turn to God; she is forced to see her\nfaults and to humble herself. Otherwise she would become\naccustomed to expect consolation after a merited rebuke, and would\nact like a spoilt child who stamps and screams, knowing well that\nby this means its mother will be forced to return and dry its\ntears.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"'Let the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God, be ever\nin your mouth and in your hearts.'[21] If we find any one\nparticular person disagreeable we should never be disheartened,\nmuch less cease our endeavour to reform that soul. We should wield\n_the sword of the Spirit,_ and so correct her faults. Things\nshould never be allowed to pass for the sake of our own ease. We\nmust carry on the war even when there is no hope of victory.\nSuccess matters nothing, and we must fight on and never complain:\n'I shall gain nothing from that soul, she does not understand,\nthere is nothing for it but to abandon her.' That would be the act\nof a coward. We must do our duty to the very end.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Formerly, if any of my friends were in trouble, and I did not\nsucceed in consoling them when they came to see me, I left the\nparlour quite heart-broken. Soon, however, Our Lord made me\nunderstand how incapable I was of bringing comfort to a soul, and\nfrom that day I no longer grieved when my visitors went away\ndowncast. I confided to God the sufferings of those so dear to me,\nand I felt sure that He heard my prayer. At their next visit I\nlearned that I was not mistaken. After this experience, I no\nlonger worry when I have involuntarily given pain. . . . I simply\nask Our Lord to make amends.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"What do you think of all the graces that have been heaped upon\nyou?\"--\"I think 'the Spirit of God breatheth where He will.'\"[22]\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Mother,\" she one day said to the Prioress, \"were I unfaithful,\nwere I to commit even the smallest infidelity, I feel that my soul\nwould be plunged into the most terrible anguish, and I should be\nunable to welcome death.\"\n\nMother Prioress evinced surprise at hearing her speak in this\nstrain, and she continued: \"I am speaking of infidelity in the\nmatter of pride. If, for example, I were to say: 'I have acquired\nsuch or such a virtue and I can practise it'; or again: 'My God,\nThou knowest I love Thee too much to dwell on one single thought\nagainst faith,' straightway I should be assailed by the most\ndangerous temptations and should certainly yield. To prevent this\nmisfortune I have but to say humbly and from my heart: 'My God, I\nbeseech Thee not to let me be unfaithful.'\n\n\"I understand clearly how St. Peter fell. He placed too much\nreliance on his own ardent nature, instead of leaning solely on\nthe Divine strength. Had he only said: 'Lord, give me strength to\nfollow Thee unto death!' the grace would not have been refused him.\n\n\"How is it, Mother, that Our Lord, knowing what was about to\nhappen, did not say to him: 'Ask of Me the strength to do what is\nin thy mind?' I think His purpose was to give us a twofold\nlesson--first: that He taught His Apostles nothing by His presence\nwhich He does not teach us through the inspirations of grace; and\nsecondly: that, having made choice of St. Peter to govern the\nwhole Church, wherein there are many sinners, He wished him to\ntest in himself what man can do without God's help. This is why\nJesus said to him before his fall: 'Thou being once converted\nconfirm thy brethren';[23] that is, 'Tell them the story of thy\nsin--show them by thy own experience, how necessary it is for\nsalvation to rely solely upon Me.'\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI was much afflicted at seeing her ill, and I often exclaimed:\n\"Life is so dreary!\" \"Life is not dreary\"--she would immediately\nsay; \"on the contrary, it is most gay. Now if you said: 'Exile is\ndreary,' I could understand. It is a mistake to call 'life' that\nwhich must have an end. Such a word should be only used of the\njoys of Heaven--joys that are unfading--and in this true meaning\nlife is not sad but gay--most gay. . . .\"\n\nHer own gaiety was a thing of delight. For several days she had\nbeen much better, and we were saying to her: \"We do not yet know\nof what disease you will die. . . .\" \"But,\" she answered, \"I shall\ndie of death! Did not God tell Adam of what he would die when He\nsaid to him: 'Thou shalt die of death'?\"[24]\n\n\"Then death will come to fetch you?\"--\"No, not death, but the Good\nGod. Death is not, as pictures tell us, a phantom, a horrid\nspectre. The Catechism says that it is the separation of soul and\nbody--no more! Well, I do not fear a separation which will unite\nme for ever to God.\"\n\n\"Will the _Divine Thief,\"_ some one asked, \"soon come to steal His\nlittle bunch of grapes?\" \"I see Him in the distance, and I take\ngood care not to cry out: 'Stop thief!' Rather, I call to Him:\n'This way, this way!'\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nAsked under what name we should pray to her in Heaven, she\nanswered humbly: \"Call me _Little Therese.\"_\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI was telling her that the most beautiful angels, all robed in\nwhite, would bear her soul to Heaven: \"Fancies like those,\" she\nanswered, \"do not help me, and my soul can only feed upon truth.\nGod and His Angels are pure spirits. No human eye can see them as\nthey really are. That is why I have never asked extraordinary\nfavours. I prefer to await the Eternal Vision.\"\n\n\"To console me at your death I have asked God to send me a\nbeautiful dream.\"--\"That is a thing I would never do . . . ask for\nconsolations. Since you wish to resemble me, you know what are my\nideas on this:\n\n'Fear not, O Lord, that I shall waken Thee: I shall await in peace\nthe Heavenly Shore.'\n\n\"It is so sweet to serve God in the dark night and in the midst of\ntrial. After all, we have but this life in which to live by faith.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"I am happy at the thought of going to Heaven, but when I reflect\non these words of Our Lord: 'I come quickly, and My reward is with\nMe, to render to every man according to his works,'[25] I think\nthat He will find my case a puzzle: I have no works. . . . Well,\nHe will render unto me _according to His own works!\"_\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"The chief plenary indulgence, which is within reach of everybody,\nand can be gained without the ordinary conditions, is that of\ncharity--which 'covereth a multitude of sins.'\"[26]\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"Surely you will not even pass through Purgatory. If such a thing\nshould happen, then certainly nobody goes straight to\nHeaven.\"--\"That gives me little thought. I shall be quite content\nwith the Merciful God's decision. Should I go to Purgatory, I\nshall--like the three Hebrew children in the furnace--walk amid\nthe flames singing the Canticle of Love.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"In Heaven you will be placed among the Seraphim.\" \"If so, I shall\nnot imitate them. At the sight of God _they cover themselves with\ntheir wings_[27]: I shall take good care not to hide myself with\nmine.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nI showed her a picture which represented Joan of Arc being\ncomforted in prison by her Voices, and she remarked: \"I also am\ncomforted by an interior voice. From above, the Saints encourage\nme, saying: 'So long as thou art a captive in chains, thou canst\nnot fulfill thy mission, but later on, after thy death, will come\nthy day of triumph.'\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"In Heaven, God will do all I desire, because on earth I have\nnever done my own will.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\n\"You will look down upon us from Heaven, will you not?\"--\"No, I\nwill come down.\"\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nSome months before the death of Soeur Therese, _The Life of St.\nAloysius_ was being read in the refectory, and one of the Mothers\nwas struck by the mutual and tender affection which existed\nbetween the young Saint and the aged Jesuit, Father Corbinelli.\n\n\"You are little Aloysius,\" she said to Therese, \"and I am old\nFather Corbinelli--be mindful of me when you enter Heaven.\" \"Would\nyou like me to fetch you thither soon, dear Mother?\" \"No, I have\nnot yet suffered enough.\" \"Nay, Mother, I tell you that you have\nsuffered quite enough.\" To which Mother Hermance replied: \"I dare\nnot say Yes. . . . In so grave a matter I must have the sanction\nof authority.\" So the request was made to Mother Prioress, who,\nwithout attaching much importance to it, gave her sanction.\n\nNow, on one of the last days of her life, Soeur Therese, scarcely\nable to speak owing to her great weakness, received through the\ninfirmarian a bouquet of flowers. It had been gathered by Mother\nHermance, and was accompanied by an entreaty for one word of\naffection. The message: \"Tell Mother Hermance of the Heart of\nJesus that during Mass this morning I saw Father Corbinelli's\ngrave close to that of little Aloysius.\"\n\n\"That is well,\" replied the good Mother, greatly touched; \"tell\nSoeur Therese that I have understood. . . .\" And from that moment\nshe felt convinced her death was near. It took place just one year\nlater, and, according to the prediction of the \"Little Aloysius,\"\nthe two graves lie side by side.\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *\n\nThe last words penned by the hand of Soeur Therese were: \"O Mary,\nwere I Queen of Heaven, and wert thou Therese, I should wish to be\nTherese, that I might see thee Queen of Heaven!\"\n_____________________________\n\n[1] Cf. Matt. 20:23.\n\n[2] Cf. Ps. 67[68]:28.\n\n[3] Cf. Prov. 1:4.\n\n[4] Judith 15:11.\n\n[5] Ecclus. 11:12, 13, 22, 23, 24.\n\n[6] Jer. 10:23.\n\n[7] Cf. Psalm 93[94]:18.\n\n[8] _Imit.,_ I, xvi. 4.\n\n[9] John 14:2.\n\n[10] Cf. Psalm 111[112]:5.\n\n[11] Cant. 1:2.\n\n[12] Cf. 2 Esdras 4:17.\n\n[13] Matt. 25:36.\n\n[14] Prov. 16:32.\n\n[15] Luke 2:50.\n\n[16] Luke 2:33.\n\n[17] Ps. 118[119]:112.\n\n[18] Ephes. 6:17.\n\n[19] Cf. Cant. 5:7, 3:4.\n\n[20] In this and the following \"counsel\" it should be remembered\nthat it is a Novice-Mistress who is speaking. [Ed.]\n\n[21] Cf. Ephes. 6:17; Isaias 61:21.\n\n[22] Cf. John 3:8.\n\n[23] Luke 22:32.\n\n[24] Cf. Gen. 2:17. A play on the French: _Tu mourras de mort._\n[Ed.]\n\n[25] Apoc. 22:12.\n\n[26] Prov. 10:12.\n\n[27] Cf. Isaias 6:2.\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nLETTERS OF SOEUR THERESE\nTHE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nLETTERS OF SOEUR THERESE TO HER SISTER CELINE\n\nI\n\nJ.M.J.T.\n\nMay 8, 1888.\n\nDEAREST CELINE,--There are moments when I wonder whether I am\nreally and truly in the Carmel; sometimes I can scarcely believe\nit. What have I done for God that He should shower so many graces\nupon me?\n\nA whole month has passed since we parted; but why do I say parted?\nEven were the wide ocean between us, our souls would remain as\none. And yet I know that not to have me is real suffering, and if\nI listened to myself I should ask Jesus to let me bear the sadness\nin your stead! I do not listen, as you see; I should be afraid of\nbeing selfish in wishing for myself the better part--I mean the\nsuffering. You are right--life is often burdensome and bitter. It\nis painful to begin a day of toil, especially when Jesus hides\nHimself from our love. What is this sweet Friend about? Does He\nnot see our anguish and the burden that weighs us down? Why does\nHe not come and comfort us?\n\nBe not afraid. . . . He is here at hand. He is watching, and it is\nHe who begs from us this pain, these tears. . . . He needs them\nfor souls, for our souls, and He longs to give us a magnificent\nreward. I assure you that it costs Him dear to fill us with\nbitterness, but He knows that it is the only means of preparing us\nto know Him as He knows Himself, and to become ourselves Divine!\nOur soul is indeed great and our destiny glorious. Let us lift\nourselves above all things that pass, and hold ourselves far from\nthe earth! Up above, the air is so pure. . . . Jesus may hide\nHimself, but we know that He is there.\n\n\nII\n\nOctober 20, 1888.\n\nMY DEAREST SISTER,--Do not let your weakness make you unhappy.\nWhen, in the morning, we feel no courage or strength for the\npractice of virtue, it is really a grace: it is the time to \"lay\nthe axe to the root of the tree,\"[1] relying upon Jesus alone. If\nwe fall, an act of love will set all right, and Jesus smiles. He\nhelps us without seeming to do so; and the tears which sinners\ncause Him to shed are wiped away by our poor weak love. Love can\ndo all things. The most impossible tasks seem to it easy and\nsweet. You know well that Our Lord does not look so much at the\ngreatness of our actions, nor even at their difficulty, as at the\nlove with which we do them. What, then, have we to fear?\n\nYou wish to become a Saint, and you ask me if this is not\nattempting too much. Celine, I will not tell you to aim at the\nseraphic holiness of the most privileged souls, but rather to be\n\"perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect.\"[2] You see that your\ndream--that our dreams and our desires--are not fancies, since\nJesus Himself has laid their realisation upon us as a commandment.\n\n\nIII\n\nJanuary, 1889.\n\nMY DEAR LITTLE CELINE,--Jesus offers you the cross, a very heavy\ncross, and you are afraid of not being able to carry it without\ngiving way. Why? Our Beloved Himself fell three times on the way\nto Calvary, and why should we not imitate our Spouse? What a\nfavour from Jesus, and how He must love us to send us so great a\nsorrow! Eternity itself will not be long enough to bless Him for\nit. He heaps his favours upon us as upon the greatest Saints.\nWhat, then, are His loving designs for our souls? That is a secret\nwhich will only be revealed to us in our Heavenly Home, on the day\nwhen \"the Lord shall wipe away all our tears.\"[3]\n\nNow we have nothing more to hope for on earth--\"the cool evenings\nare passed\"[4]--for us suffering alone remains! Ours is an\nenviable lot, and the Seraphim in Heaven are jealous of our\nhappiness.\n\nThe other day I came across this striking passage: \"To be resigned\nand to be united to the will of God are not the same; there is the\nsame difference between them as that which exists between union\nand unity; in union there are still two, in unity there is but\none.\"[5] Yes, let us be one with God even in this life; and for\nthis we should be more than resigned, we should embrace the Cross\nwith joy.\n\n\nIV\n\nFebruary 28, 1889.\n\nMY DEAR LITTLE SISTER,--Jesus is \"a Spouse of blood.\"[6] He wishes\nfor Himself all the blood of our hearts. You are right--it costs\nus dear to give Him what He asks. But what a joy that it does\ncost! It is happiness to bear our crosses, and to feel our\nweakness in doing so.\n\nCeline, far from complaining to Our Lord of this cross which He\nsends us, I cannot fathom the Infinite Love which had led Him to\ntreat us in this way. Our dear Father must indeed be loved by God\nto have so much suffering given to him. I know that by humiliation\nalone can Saints be made, and I also know that our trial is a mine\nof gold for us to turn to account. I, who am but a little grain of\nsand, wish to set to work, though I have neither courage nor\nstrength. Now this very want of power will make my task easier,\nfor I wish to work for love. Our martyrdom is beginning . . . Let\nus go forth to suffer together, dear sister, and let us offer our\nsufferings to Jesus for the salvation of souls.\n\n\nV\n\nMarch 12, 1899.\n\n. . . I must forget this world. Here everything wearies me--I find\nonly one joy, that of suffering, and this joy, which is not one of\nsense, is above all joy. Life is passing, and eternity is drawing\nnear. Soon we shall live the very life of God. After we have been\nfilled at the source of all bitterness, our thirst will be\nquenched at the very Fountain of all sweetness.\n\n\"The figure of this world passeth away\"[7]--soon we shall see new\nskies--a more radiant sun will light with its splendour crystal\nseas and infinite horizons. We shall no longer be prisoners in a\nland of exile, all will have passed away, and with our Heavenly\nSpouse we shall sail upon boundless seas. Now, \"our harps are\nhanging on the willows which grow by the rivers of Babylon,\"[8]\nbut in the day of our deliverance what harmonies will they not\ngive forth, how joyfully shall we make all their strings vibrate!\nNow, \"we shed tears as we remember Sion, for how can we sing the\nsongs of the Lord in a land of exile?\"[9] The burden of our song\nis suffering. Jesus offers us a chalice of great bitterness. Let\nus not withdraw our lips from it, but suffer in peace. He who says\n_peace_ does not say _joy,_ or at least sensible joy: to suffer in\npeace it is enough to will heartily all that Our Lord wills. Do\nnot think we can find love without suffering, for our nature\nremains and must be taken into account; but it puts great\ntreasures within our reach. Suffering is indeed our very\nlivelihood, and is so precious that Jesus came down upon earth on\npurpose to possess it. We should like to suffer generously and\nnobly; we should like never to fall. What an illusion! What does\nit matter to me if I fall at every moment! In that way I realise\nmy weakness, and I gain thereby. My God, Thou seest how little I\nam good for, when Thou dost carry me in Thy Arms; and if Thou\nleavest me alone, well, it is because it pleases Thee to see me\nlie on the ground. Then why should I be troubled?\n\nIf you are willing to bear in peace the trial of not being pleased\nwith yourself, you will be offering the Divine Master a home in\nyour heart. It is true that you will suffer, because you will be\nlike a stranger to your own house; but do not be afraid--the\npoorer you are, the more Jesus will love you. I know that He is\nbetter pleased to see you stumbling in the night upon a stony\nroad, than walking in the full light of day upon a path carpeted\nwith flowers, because these flowers might hinder your advance.\n\n\nVI\n\nJuly 14, 1889.\n\nMY DARLING SISTER,--I am ever with you in spirit. Yes, it is very\nhard to live upon this earth, but to-morrow, in a brief hour, we\nshall be at rest. O my God, what shall we then see? What is this\nlife which will have no end? Our Lord will be the soul of our\nsoul. O unsearchable mystery! \"Eye hath not seen nor ear heard,\nneither hath it entered into the heart of man what things God hath\nprepared for them that love Him.\"[10] And all this will come\nsoon--very soon--if we love Jesus ardently. It seems to me that\nGod has no need of years to perfect His labour of love in a soul.\nOne ray from His Heart can in an instant make His flower blossom\nforth, never to fade. . . . Celine, during the fleeting moments\nthat remain to us, let us save souls! I feel that Our Spouse asks\nus for souls--above all, for the souls of Priests. . . . It is He\nWho bids me tell you this.\n\nThere is but one thing to be done here below: to love Jesus, and\nto save souls for Him that He may be more loved. We must not let\nslip the smallest opportunity of giving Him joy. We must refuse\nHim nothing. He is in such need of love.\n\nWe are His chosen lilies. He dwells as a King in our midst--He\nlets us share the honours of His Royalty--His Divine Blood bedews\nour petals--and His Thorns as they wound us spread abroad the\nperfume of our love.\n\n\nVII\n\nOctober 22, 1889.\n\nMY DEAREST CELINE,--I send you a picture of the Holy Face. The\ncontemplation of this Divine subject seems to me to belong in a\nspecial way to my little sister, truly the sister of my soul. May\nshe be another Veronica, and wipe away all the Blood and Tears of\nJesus, her only Love! May she give Him souls! May she force her\nway through the soldiers--that is, the world--to come close to His\nside. . . . Happy will she be when she sees in Heaven the value of\nthat mysterious draught with which she quenched the thirst of her\nHeavenly Spouse; when she sees His Lips, once parched with burning\nthirst, speaking to her the one eternal word--love, and the thanks\nwhich shall have no end. . . .\n\nGood-bye, dear little Veronica;[11] to-morrow, no doubt, your\nBeloved will ask some new sacrifice, a fresh relief for His thirst\n. . . but \"let us go and die with Him!\"\n\n\nVIII\n\nJuly 18, 1890.\n\nMY DEAR LITTLE SISTER,--I send you a passage from Isaias which\nwill comfort you. Long ago the Prophet's soul was filled with the\nthought of the hidden beauties of the Divine Face, as our souls\nare now. Many a century has passed since then. It makes me wonder\nwhat is Time. Time is but a mirage, a dream. Already God sees us\nin glory, and rejoices in our everlasting bliss. How much good I\nderive from this thought! I understand now why He allows us to\nsuffer.\n\nSince Our Beloved has \"trodden the wine-press alone,\"[12] the\nwine-press from which He gives us to drink--on our side let us not\nrefuse to be clothed in blood-stained garments, or to tread out\nfor Jesus a new wine which may quench His thirst! When \"He looks\naround Him,\" He will not be able to say now that \"He is\nalone\"[13]--we shall be there to help Him.\n\n\"His look as it were hidden.\"[14] Alas! it is so even to this day,\nand no one understands His Tears. \"Open to Me, My Sister, My\nSpouse,\" he says to us, \"for My Head is full of dew and My Locks\nof the drops of the night.\"[15] Thus Jesus complains to our souls\nwhen He is deserted and forgotten . . . _To be forgotten._ It is\nthis, I think, which gives Him most pain.\n\nAnd our dear Father!--it is heartrending, but how can we repine\nsince Our Lord Himself was looked upon \"as one struck by God and\nafflicted\"?[16] In this great sorrow we should forget ourselves,\nand pray for Priests--our lives must be entirely devoted to them.\nOur Divine Master makes me feel more and more that this is what He\nasks of you and me.\n\n\nIX\n\nSeptember 23, 1890.\n\nO Celine, how can I tell you all that is happening within me? What\na wound I have received! And yet I feel it is inflicted by a\nloving Hand, by a Hand divinely jealous.\n\nAll was ready for my espousals;[17] but do you not think that\nsomething was still wanting to the feast? It is true, Jesus had\nalready enriched me with many jewels, but no doubt there was one\nof incomparable beauty still missing; this priceless diamond He\nhas given me to-day . . . Papa will not be here to-morrow! Celine,\nI confess that I have cried bitterly. . . . I am still crying so\nthat I can scarcely hold my pen.\n\nYou know how intensely I longed to see our dearest Father again;\nbut now I feel that it is God's Will that he should not be at my\nfeast. God has allowed it simply to try our love. Jesus wishes me\nto be an orphan . . . to be alone, with Him alone, so that He may\nunite Himself more closely to me. He wishes, too, to give me back\nin Heaven this joy so lawfully desired, but which He has denied me\nhere on earth.\n\nTo-day's trial is one of those sorrows that are difficult to\nunderstand: a joy was set before us, one most natural and easy of\nattainment. We stretched forth our hands . . . and the coveted joy\nwas withdrawn. But it is not the hand of man which has done this\nthing--it is God's work. Celine, understand your Therese, and let\nus accept cheerfully the thorn which is offered us. To-morrow's\nfeast will be one of tears, but I feel that Jesus will be greatly\nconsoled. . . .\n\n\nX\n\nOctober 14, 1890.\n\nMY DARLING SISTER,--I know quite well all you are suffering. I\nknow your anguish, and I share it. Oh! If I could but impart to\nyou the peace which Jesus has put into my soul amid my most bitter\ntears. Be comforted--all passes away. Our life of yesterday is\nspent; death too will come and go, and then we shall rejoice in\nlife, true life, for countless ages, for evermore. Meanwhile let\nus make of our heart a garden of delights where Our sweet Saviour\nmay come and take His rest. Let us plant only lilies there, and\nsing with St. John of the Cross:\n\n\"There I remained in deep oblivion, My head reposing upon Him I\nlove, Lost to myself and all! I cast my cares away And let them,\nheedless, mid the lilies lie.\"[18]\n\n\nXI\n\nApril 26, 1891.\n\nMY DEAR LITTLE SISTER,--Three years ago our hearts had not yet\nbeen bruised, and life was one glad smile. Then Jesus looked down\nupon us, and all things were changed into an ocean of tears . . .\nbut likewise into an ocean of grace and of love. God has taken\nfrom us him whom we loved so tenderly--was it not that we might be\nable to say more truly than ever: \"Our Father Who art in heaven\"?\nHow consoling is this divine word, and what vast horizons it opens\nbefore us!\n\nMy darling Celine, you who asked me so many questions when we were\nlittle, I wonder how it was you never asked: \"Why has God not made\nme an Angel?\" Well, I am going to tell you. Our Lord wishes to\nhave His Court here on earth, as He has in Heaven; He wishes for\nangel-martyrs and angel-apostles; and if He has not made you an\nAngel in Heaven, it is because He wishes you to be an Angel of\nearth, so that you may be able to suffer for His Love.\n\nDearest sister, the shadows will soon disappear, the rays of the\nEternal Sun will thaw the hoar frost of winter. . . . A little\nlonger, and we shall be in our true country, and our childhood's\njoys--those Sunday evenings, those outpourings of the heart--will\nbe given back to us for ever!\n\n\nXII\n\nAugust 15, 1892.\n\nMY DEAR LITTLE SISTER,--To write to you to-day I am obliged to\nsteal a little time from Our Lord. He will forgive, because it is\nof Him that we are going to speak together. The vast solitudes and\nenchanting views which unfold themselves before you ought to\nuplift your soul. I do not see those things, and I content myself\nby saying with St. John of the Cross in his Spiritual Canticle:\n\nIn Christ I have the mountains, The quiet, wooded valleys.\n\nLately I have been thinking what I could undertake for the\nsalvation of souls, and these simple words of the Gospel have\ngiven me light. Pointing to the fields of ripe corn, Jesus once\nsaid to His disciples: \"Lift up your eyes and see the fields, for\nthey are already white with the harvest\";[19] and again: \"The\nharvest indeed is great, but the labourers are few; pray ye\ntherefore the Lord of the harvest that He send forth\nlabourers.\"[20]\n\nHere is a mystery indeed! Is not Jesus all-powerful? Do not\ncreatures belong to Him who made them? Why does He deign to say:\n\"Pray ye the Lord of the harvest that He send forth labourers\"? It\nis because His Love for us is so unsearchable, so tender, that He\nwishes us to share in all He does. The Creator of the Universe\nawaits the prayer of a poor little soul to save a multitude of\nother souls, ransomed, like her, at the price of His Blood.\n\nOur vocation is not to go forth and reap in Our Father's fields.\nJesus does not say to us: \"Look down and reap the harvest.\" Our\nmission is even more sublime. \"Lift up your eyes and see,\" saith\nour Divine Master, \"see how in Heaven there are empty thrones. It\nis for you to fill them. . . . You are as Moses praying on the\nmountain, so ask Me for labourers and they shall be sent. I only\nawait a prayer, a sigh! Is not the apostolate of prayer--so to\nspeak--higher than that of the spoken word? It is for us by prayer\nto train workers who will spread the glad tidings of the Gospel\nand who will save countless souls--the souls to whom we shall be\nthe spiritual Mothers. What, then, have we to envy in the Priests\nof the Lord?\n\n\nXIII\n\nMY DARLING SISTER,--The affection of our childhood days has\nchanged into a closest union of mind and heart. Jesus has drawn us\nto Him together, for are you not already His? He has put the world\nbeneath our feet. Like Zaccheus we have climbed into a tree to\nbehold Him--mysterious tree, raising us high above all things,\nfrom whence we can say: \"All is mine, all is for me: the Earth and\nthe Heavens are mine, God Himself is mine, and the Mother of my\nGod is for me.\"[21]\n\nSpeaking of that Blessed Mother, I must tell you of one of my\nsimple ways. Sometimes I find myself saying to her: \"Dearest\nMother, it seems to me that I am happier than you. I have you for\nmy Mother, and you have no Blessed Virgin to love. . . . It is\ntrue, you are the Mother of Jesus, but you have given Him to me;\nand He, from the Cross, has given you to be our Mother--thus we\nare richer than you! Long ago, in your humility, you wished to\nbecome the little handmaid of the Mother of God; and I--poor\nlittle creature--am not your handmaid but your child! You are the\nMother of Jesus, and you are also _mine!\"_\n\nOur greatness in Jesus is verily marvellous, my Celine. He has\nunveiled for us many a mystery by making us climb the mystical\ntree of which I spoke above. And now what science is He going to\nteach? Have we not learned all things from Him?\n\n\"Make haste to come down, for this day I must abide in thy\nhouse.\"[22] Jesus bids us come down. Where, then, must we go? The\nJews asked Him: \"Master, where dwellest thou?\"[23] And He\nanswered, \"The foxes have holes and the birds of the air nests,\nbut the Son of Man hath not where to lay His Head.\"[24] If we are\nto be the dwelling-place of Jesus, we must come down even to\nthis--we must be so poor that we have not where to lay our heads.\n\nThis grace of light has been given to me during my retreat. Our\nLord desires that we should receive Him into our hearts, and no\ndoubt they are empty of creatures. Alas! mine is not empty of\nself; that is why He bids me come down. And I shall come down even\nto the very ground, that Jesus may find within my heart a\nresting-place for His Divine Head, and may feel that there at\nleast He is loved and understood.\n\n\nXIV\n\nApril 25, 1893.\n\nMY LITTLE CELINE,--I must come and disclose the desires of Jesus\nwith regard to your soul. Remember that He did not say: \"I am the\nflower of the gardens, a carefully-tended Rose\"; but, \"I am the\nFlower of the fields and the Lily of the valleys.\"[25] Well, you\nmust be always as a drop of dew hidden in the heart of this\nbeautiful Lily of the valley.\n\nThe dew-drop--what could be simpler, what more pure? It is not the\nchild of the clouds; it is born beneath the starry sky, and\nsurvives but a night. When the sun darts forth its ardent rays,\nthe delicate pearls adorning each blade of grass quickly pass into\nthe lightest of vapour. . . . There is the portrait of my little\nCeline! She is a drop of dew, an offspring of Heaven--her true\nHome. Through the night of this life she must hide herself in the\n_Field-flower's_ golden cup; no eye must discover her abode.\n\nHappy dewdrop, known to God alone, think not of the rushing\ntorrents of this world! Envy not even the crystal stream which\nwinds among the meadows. The ripple of its waters is sweet indeed,\nbut it can be heard by creatures. Besides, the Field-flower could\nnever contain it in its cup. One must be so little to draw near to\nJesus, and few are the souls that aspire to be little and unknown.\n\"Are not the river and the brook,\" they urge, \"of more use than a\ndewdrop? Of what avail is it? Its only purpose is to refresh for\none moment some poor little field-flower.\"\n\nAh! They little know the true _Flower of the field._ Did they know\nHim they would understand better Our Lord's reproach to Martha.\nOur Beloved needs neither our brilliant deeds nor our beautiful\nthoughts. Were He in search of lofty ideas, has He not His Angels,\nwhose knowledge infinitely surpasses that of the greatest genius\nof earth? Neither intellect nor other talents has He come to seek\namong us. . . . He has become the _Flower of the field_ to show\nhow much He loves simplicity.\n\n_The Lily of the valley_ asks but a single dewdrop, which for one\nnight shall rest in its cup, hidden from all human eyes. But when\nthe shadows shall begin to fade, when the _Flower of the field_\nshall have become the _Sun of Justice,_[26] then the dewdrop--the\nhumble sharer of His exile--will rise up to Him as love's vapour.\nHe will shed on her a ray of His light, and before the whole court\nof Heaven she will shine eternally like a precious pearl, a\ndazzling mirror of the Divine Sun.\n\n\nXV\n\nAugust 2, 1893.\n\nMY DEAR CELINE,--What you write fills me with joy; you are making\nyour way by a royal road. The Spouse in the Canticles, unable to\nfind her Beloved in the time of repose, went forth to seek Him in\nthe city. But in vain . . . it was only without the walls she\nfound Him. It is not in the sweetness of repose that Jesus would\nhave us discover His Adorable Presence. He hides Himself and\nshrouds Himself in darkness. True, this was not His way with the\nmultitude, for we read that all the people were carried away as\nsoon as He spoke to them.\n\nThe weaker souls He charmed by His divine eloquence with the aim\nof strengthening them against the day of temptation and trial, but\nHis faithful friends were few that day when \"He was silent\"[27] in\nthe presence of His judges. Sweet melody to my heart is that\nsilence of the Divine Master!\n\nHe would have us give Him alms as to a poor man, and puts\nHimself--so to speak--at our mercy. He will take nothing that is\nnot cheerfully given, and the veriest trifle is precious in His\nDivine Eyes. He stretches forth His Hand to receive a little love,\nthat in the radiant day of the Judgment He may speak to us those\nineffably sweet words: \"Come, ye blessed of My Father, for I was\nhungry and you gave Me to drink, I was a stranger and you took Me\nin, I was sick and you visited Me, I was in prison and you came to\nMe.\"[28]\n\nDearest Celine, let us rejoice in the lot that is ours! Let us\ngive and give again, and give royally, never forgetting that Our\nBeloved is a hidden Treasure which few souls know how to find. Now\nto discover that which is hidden we must needs hide ourselves in\nthe hiding-place. Let our life, then, be one of concealment. The\nauthor of the _Imitation_ tells us:\n\n\"If thou would'st know and learn something to the purpose, love to\nbe unknown, and to be esteemed as nothing . . . [29] Having\nforsaken all things, a man should forsake himself. . . [30] Let\nthis man glory in this and another in that, but thou for thy part\nrejoice neither in this nor in that, but in the contempt of\nthyself.\"[31]\n\n\nXVI\n\nMY DEAR CELINE,--You tell me that my letters do good to you. I am\nindeed glad, but I assure you that I am under no misapprehension:\n\"Unless the Lord build the house, they labour in vain who build\nit.\"[32] The greatest eloquence cannot call forth a single act of\nlove without that grace which touches the heart.\n\nThink of a beautiful peach with its delicate tint of rose, with\nits flavour so sweet that no human skill could invent such nectar.\nTell me, Celine, is it for the peach's own sake that God created\nthat colour so fair to the eye, that velvety covering so soft to\nthe touch? Is it for itself that He made it so sweet? Nay, it is\nfor us; the only thing that is all its own and is essential to its\nbeing, is the stone; it possesses nothing beyond.\n\nThus also it pleases Jesus to lavish His gifts on certain souls in\norder to draw yet others to Himself; in His Mercy He humbles them\ninwardly and gently compels them to recognise their nothingness\nand His Almighty Power. Now this sentiment of humility is like a\nkernel of grace which God hastens to develop against that blessed\nday, when, clothed with an imperishable beauty, they will be\nplaced, without danger, on the banqueting-table of Paradise. Dear\nlittle sister, sweet echo of my soul, Therese is far from the\nheights of fervour at this moment; but when I am in this state of\nspiritual dryness, unable to pray, or to practise virtue, I look\nfor little opportunities, for the smallest trifles, to please my\nJesus: a smile or a kind word, for instance, when I would wish to\nbe silent, or to show that I am bored. If no such occasion offer,\nI try at least to say over and over again that I love Him. This is\nnot hard, and it keeps alive the fire in my heart. Even should the\nfire of love seem dead, I would still throw my tiny straws on the\nashes, and I am confident it would light up again.\n\nIt is true I am not always faithful, but I never lose courage. I\nleave myself in the Arms of Our Lord. He teaches me to draw profit\nfrom everything, from the good and from the bad which He finds in\nme.[33] He teaches me to speculate in the Bank of Love, or rather\nit is He Who speculates for me, without telling me how He does\nit--that is His affair, not mine. I have but to surrender myself\nwholly to Him, to do so without reserve, without even the\nsatisfaction of knowing what it is all bringing to me. . . . After\nall, I am not the prodigal child, and Jesus need not trouble about\na feast for me, _because I am always with Him._[34]\n\nI have read in the Gospel that the Good Shepherd leaves the\nfaithful ones of His flock in the desert to hasten after the lost\nsheep. This confidence touches me deeply. You see He is sure of\nthem. How could they stray away? They are prisoners of Love. In\nlike manner does the Beloved Shepherd of our souls deprive us of\nthe sweets of His Presence, to give His consolations to sinners;\nor if He lead us to Mount Thabor it is but for one brief moment\n. . . the pasture land is nearly always in the valleys, \"it is\nthere\nthat He takes His rest at mid-day.\"[35]\n\n\nXVII\n\nOctober 20, 1893.\n\nMY DEAR SISTER,--I find in the Canticle of Canticles this passage\nwhich may be fitly applied to you: \"What dost thou see in thy\nbeloved but a band of musicians in an armed camp?\"[36] Through\nsuffering, your life has in truth become a battle-field, and there\nmust be a band of musicians, so you shall be the little harp of\nJesus. But no concert is complete without singing, and if Jesus\nplays, must not Celine make melody with her voice? When the music\nis plaintive, she will sing the songs of exile; when the music is\ngay, she will lilt the airs of her Heavenly Home. . . .\n\nWhatever may happen, all earthly events, be they happy or sad,\nwill be but distant sounds, unable to awake a vibration from the\nharp of Jesus. He reserves to Himself alone the right of lightly\ntouching its strings.\n\nI cannot think without delight of that sweet saint, Cecilia. What\nan example she gives us! In the midst of a pagan world, in the\nvery heart of danger, at the moment when she was to be united to a\nman whose love was so utterly of earth, it seems to me as if she\nshould have wept and trembled with fear. But instead, \"during the\nmusic of the marriage-feast Cecilia kept singing in her\nheart.\"[37] What perfect resignation! No doubt she heard other\nmelodies than those of this world; her Divine Spouse too was\nsinging, and the Angels repeated in chorus the refrain of\nBethlehem's blessed night: \"Glory to God in the highest, and on\nearth peace to men of goodwill.\"[38]\n\nThe Glory of God! St. Cecilia understood it well, and longed for\nit with all her heart. She guessed that her Jesus was thirsting\nfor souls . . . and that is why her whole desire was to bring to\nHim quickly the soul of the young Roman, whose only thought was of\nhuman glory. This wise Virgin will make of him a Martyr, and\nmultitudes will follow in his footsteps. She knows no fear: the\nAngels in their song made promise of peace. She knows that the\nPrince of Peace is bound to protect her, to guard her virginity,\nand to make her recompense. . . . \"Oh, how beautiful is the chaste\ngeneration!\"[39]\n\nDearest sister, I hardly know what I write; I let my pen follow\nthe dictates of my heart. You tell me that you feel your weakness,\nbut that is a grace. It is Our Lord Who sows the seeds of distrust\nof self in your soul. Do not be afraid! If you do not fail to give\nHim pleasure in small things, he will be obliged to help you in\ngreat ones.\n\nThe Apostles laboured long without Him, they toiled a whole night\nand caught no fish. Their labours were not inacceptable to him,\nbut He wished to prove that He is the Giver of all things. So an\nact of humility was asked of the Apostles, and Our loving Lord\ncalled to them: \"Children, have you anything to eat?\"[40] St.\nPeter, avowing his helplessness, cried out: \"Lord, we have\nlaboured all the night, and have taken nothing.\"[41] It is enough,\nthe Heart of Jesus is touched. . . . Had the Apostle caught some\nsmall fish, perhaps our Divine Master would not have worked a\nmiracle; but he had caught _nothing,_ and so through the power and\ngoodness of God his nets were soon filled with great fishes. Such\nis Our Lord's way. He gives as God--with divine largesse--but He\ninsists on humility of heart.\n\n\nXVIII\n\nJuly 7, 1894.\n\nMY DEAR LITTLE SISTER,--I do not know if you are still in the same\nframe of mind as when you last wrote to me; I presume that you\nare, and I answer with this passage of the Canticle of Canticles,\nwhich explains so well the state of a soul in utter dryness, a\nsoul which cannot find joy or consolation in anything: \"I went\ndown into the garden of nut-trees to see the fruits of the\nvalleys, and to look if the vineyard had flourished, and the\npomegranates were in bud. I no longer knew where I was: my soul\nwas troubled because of the chariots of Aminadab.\"[42]\n\nThere is the true picture of our souls. Often we go down in the\nfertile valleys where our heart loves to find its nourishment; and\nthe vast fields of Holy Scripture, which have so often opened to\nyield us richest treasures, now seem but an arid and waterless\nwaste. We no longer even know where we stand. In place of peace\nand light, all is sorrow and darkness. But, like the Spouse in the\nCanticles, we know the cause of this trial: \"My soul was troubled\nbecause of the chariots of Aminadab.\" We are not as yet in our\ntrue country, and as gold is tired in the fire so must our souls\nbe purified by temptation. We sometimes think we are abandoned.\nAlas! _the chariots_--that is to say, the idle clamours which\nbeset and disturb us--are they within the soul or without? We\ncannot tell, but Jesus knows; He sees all our grief, and in the\nnight, on a sudden, His Voice is heard: \"Return, return, O\nSulamitess: return, return, that we may behold thee.\"[43]\n\nO gracious call! We dared no longer even look upon ourselves, the\nsight filled us with horror, and Jesus calls us that He may look\nupon us at leisure. He wills to see us; He comes, and with Him\ncome the other two Persons of the Adorable Trinity to take\npossession of our soul.\n\nOur Lord had promised this, when, with unspeakable tenderness, He\nhad said of old: \"If anyone love Me he will keep My word, and My\nFather will love him, and We will come to him, and will make Our\nabode with him.\"[44] To keep the word of Jesus, then, is one\ncondition of our happiness, the proof of our love for Him; and\nthis word seems to me to be His very Self, for He calls Himself\nthe Uncreated _Word_ of the Father.\n\nIn the same Gospel of St. John He makes the sublime prayer:\n\"Sanctify them by Thy word, Thy word is truth.\"[45] And in another\npassage Jesus teaches us that He is \"the Way and the Truth and the\nLife.\"[46] We know, then, what is this word which must be kept; we\ncannot say, like Pilate: \"What is truth?\"[47] We possess the\nTruth, for our Beloved dwells in our hearts.\n\nOften _this Beloved is to us a bundle of myrrh._[48] We share the\nchalice of His sufferings; but how sweet it will be to us one day\nto hear these gentle words: \"You are they who have continued with\nMe in My temptations, and I dispose to you, as My Father hath\ndisposed to Me, a kingdom.\"[49]\n\n\nXIX\n\nAugust 19, 1894.\n\nThis is perhaps the last time that I need have recourse to writing\nin order to talk to you, my dear little sister. God in His\ngoodness has granted my dearest wish. Come, and we will suffer\ntogether . . . Then Jesus will take one of us, and the others will\nremain in exile yet a little longer. Now, listen well to what I am\ngoing to say: God will never, never separate us; and if I die\nbefore you, do not think that I shall be far away--never shall we\nhave been more closely united. You must not be grieved at my\nchildish prophecy. I am not ill, I have an iron constitution; but\nthe Lord can break iron as if it were clay.\n\nOur dear Father makes his presence felt in a way which touches me\ndeeply. After a death lasting for five long years, what joy to\nfind him as he used to be, nay, more a father than ever! How well\nhe is going to repay you for the care you so generously bestowed\non him! You were his Angel, now he will be yours. He has only been\none month in heaven, and already, through the power of his\nintercession, all your plans are succeeding. It is easy for him\nnow to arrange matters for us, and he has had less to suffer on\nCeline's account than he had for his poor little Queen.\n\nFor a long time you have been asking me for news about the\nnoviciate, especially about my work, and now I am going to satisfy\nyou. In my dealings with the novices I am like a setter on the\nscent of game. The role gives me much anxiety because it so very\nexacting. You shall decide for yourself if this be not the case.\nAll day long, from morn till night, I am in pursuit of game.\nMother Prioress and the Novice Mistress play the part of\nsportsmen--but sportsmen are too big to be creeping through the\ncover, whereas a little dog can push its way in anywhere . . . and\nthen its scent is so keen! I keep a close watch upon my little\nrabbits; I do not want to do them any harm, but I tell them\ngently: \"You must keep your fur glossy, and must not look\nfoolishly about as does a rabbit of the warren.\" In fact, I try to\nmake them such as the Hunter of Souls would have them, simple\nlittle creatures that go on browsing heedless of everything else.\n\nI laugh now, but seriously I am quite convinced that one of these\nrabbits--you know which one I mean--is worth a hundred times more\nthan the setter; it has run through many a danger, and I own that,\nhad I been in its place, I should have long since been lost for\never in the great forest of the world.\n\n\nXX\n\nI am so glad, dearest Celine, that you do not feel any particular\nattraction at the thought of entering the Carmel. This is really a\nmark of Our Lord's favour, and shows that He looks for a gift from\nyour hands. He knows that it is so much sweeter to give than to\nreceive. What happiness to suffer for Him Who loves us even unto\nfolly, and to pass for fools in the eyes of the world! We judge\nothers by ourselves, and, as the world will not hearken to reason,\nit calls us unreasonable too.\n\nWe may console ourselves, we are not the first. Folly was the only\ncrime with which Herod could reproach Our Lord . . . and, after\nall, Herod was right. Yes, indeed, it was folly to come and seek\nthe poor hearts of mortal men to make them thrones for Him, the\nKing of Glory, Who sitteth above the Cherubim! Was He not\nsupremely happy in the company of His Father and the Holy Spirit\nof Love? Why, then, come down on earth to seek sinners and make of\nthem His closest friends? Nay, our folly could never exceed His,\nand our deeds are quite within the bounds of reason. The world may\nleave us alone. I repeat, it is the world that is _insane,_\nbecause it heeds not what Jesus has done and suffered to save it\nfrom eternal damnation.\n\nWe are neither idlers nor spendthrifts. Our Divine Master has\ntaken our defence upon Himself. Remember the scene in the house of\nLazarus: Martha was serving, while Mary had no thought of food but\nonly of how she could please her Beloved. And \"she broke her\nalabaster box, and poured out upon her Saviour's Head the precious\nspikenard,[50] and the house was filled with the odour of the\nointment.\"[51]\n\nThe Apostles murmured against Magdalen. This still happens, for so\ndo men murmur against us. Even some fervent Catholics think our\nways are exaggerated, and that--with Martha--we ought to wait upon\nJesus, instead of pouring out on Him the odorous ointment of our\nlives. Yet what does it matter if these ointment-jars--our\nlives--be broken, since Our Lord is consoled, and the world in\nspite of itself is forced to inhale the perfumes they give forth?\nIt has much need of these perfumes to purify the unwholesome air\nit breathes.\n\nFor a while only, good-bye, dearest sister. Your barque is near to\nport. The breezes filling its sails are the zephyrs of\nLove--breezes that speed more swiftly than the lightning-flash.\nGood-bye! in a few days we shall be together within these Carmel\nwalls . . . and in the after days together in Paradise. Did not\nJesus say during His Passion: \"Hereafter you shall see the Son of\nMan sitting on the right hand of the power of God and coming in\nthe clouds of heaven\"?[52] . . . We shall be there!\n\nTHERESE.\n_____________________________\n\n[1] Matt. 3:10.\n\n[2] Matt. 5:48.\n\n[3] Apoc. 21:4.\n\n[4] St. John of the Cross.\n\n[5] Mme. Swetchine.\n\n[6] Exodus 4:25.\n\n[7] I Cor. 7:31.\n\n[8] Cf. Ps. 136:2.\n\n[9] Cf. Ps. 136:1, 4.\n\n[10] I Cor. 2:9.\n\n[11] It is remarkable that Soeur Therese applied this name to her\nsister Celine, who, under her inspiration, was later to reproduce\nso faithfully the true likeness of Our Lord, from the Holy Winding\nSheet of Turin. [Ed.] [Remainder of long footnote, discussing this\nlikeness, its reproduction, and related matters, omitted from this\nelectronic edition.]\n\n[12] Isa. 63:3.\n\n[13] Cf. Isa. 63:5.\n\n[14] Isa. 53:3.\n\n[15] Cant. 5:2.\n\n[16] Is. 53:4.\n\n[17] Soeur Therese received the veil on September 24, 1890.\n\n[18] St. John of the Cross: _The Night of the Soul,_ 8th stanza.\n\n[19] John 4:35.\n\n[20] Matt. 9:37, 38.\n\n[21] St. John of the Cross.\n\n[22] Luke 19:5.\n\n[23] John 1:38.\n\n[24] Luke 9:58.\n\n[25] Cant. 2:1.\n\n[26] Malachias 4:2.\n\n[27] Matt. 26:23.\n\n[28] Matt. 25:34-36.\n\n[29] _Imit.,_ Bk. I, ch. ii. 3.\n\n[30] _Ib.,_ Bk. II, ch. xi. 4.\n\n[31] _Ib.,_ Bk. III, ch. xlix. 7.\n\n[32] Ps. 126[127]:1.\n\n[33] St. John of the Cross.\n\n[34] Cf. Luke 15:31.\n\n[35] Cant. 1:6.\n\n[36] Cf. Cant. 7:1.\n\n[37] Office of St. Cecilia.\n\n[38] Luke 2:14.\n\n[39] Wisdom 4:1.\n\n[40] John 21:5.\n\n[41] Luke 5:5. Soeur Therese joins in one the two miraculous\ndraughts of fishes. [Ed.]\n\n[42] Cf. Cant. 6:10, 11.\n\n[43] Cant. 6:12.\n\n[44] John 14:23.\n\n[45] Cf. John 17:17.\n\n[46] John 14:6.\n\n[47] John 18:38.\n\n[48] Cf. Cant. 1:12.\n\n[49] Luke 22:28, 29.\n\n[50] Cf. Mark 14:3.\n\n[51] John 12:3.\n\n[52] Matt. 26:64.\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nLETTERS TO MOTHER AGNES OF JESUS\n\nSelections\n\n\nI\n\n(Written in 1887, shortly before Therese entered the Carmel.)\n\nMY DARLING LITTLE MOTHER,--You are right when you tell me that\nevery cup must contain its drop of gall. I find that trials are a\ngreat help towards detachment from the things of earth: they make\none look higher than this world. Nothing here can satisfy, and we\ncan find rest only in holding ourselves ready to do God's will.\n\nMy frail barque has great difficulty in reaching port. I sighted\nit long since, and still I find myself afar off. Yet Jesus steers\nthis little barque, and I am sure that on His appointed day it\nwill come safely to the blessed haven of the Carmel. O Pauline!\nwhen Jesus shall have vouchsafed me this grace, I wish to give\nmyself entirely to Him, to suffer always for Him, to live for Him\nalone. I do not fear His rod, for even when the smart is keenest\nwe feel that it is His sweet Hand which strikes.\n\nIt is such joy to think that for each pain cheerfully borne we\nshall love God more through eternity. Happy should I be if at the\nhour of my death I could offer Jesus a single soul. There would be\none soul less in hell, and one more to bless God in Heaven.\n\n\nII\n\n(Written during her retreat before receiving the habit.)\n\nJanuary, 1889.\n\nDryness and drowsiness--such is the state of my soul in its\nintercourse with Jesus! But since my Beloved wishes to sleep I\nshall not prevent Him. I am only too happy that He does not treat\nme as a stranger, but rather in a homely way. He riddles his\n\"little ball\" with pin-pricks that hurt indeed, though when they\ncome from the Hand of this loving Friend, the pain is all\nsweetness, so gentle in His touch. How different the hand of man!\n\nYet I am happy, most happy to suffer! If Jesus Himself does not\npierce me, He guides the hand which does. Mother! If you knew how\nutterly indifferent to earthly things I desire to be, and of how\nlittle concern to me are all the beauties of creation. I should be\nwretched were I to possess them. My heart seems so vast when I\nthink of the goods of earth--all of them together unable to fill\nit. But by the side of Jesus how small does it appear! He is full\ngood to me--this God who soon will be my Spouse. He is divinely\nlovable for not permitting me to be the captive of any passing\njoy. He knows well that if He sent me but a shadow of earthly\nhappiness I should cling to it with all the intense ardour of my\nheart, and He refuses even this shadow . . . He prefers to leave\nme in darkness, rather than afford me a false glimmer which would\nnot be Himself.\n\nI do not wish creatures to have one atom of my love. I wish to\ngive all to Jesus, since He makes me understand that He alone is\nperfect happiness. All!--all shall be for Him! And even when I\nhave nothing, as is the case to-night, I will give Him this\nnothing . . .\n\n\nIII\n\n1889.\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nI have a longing for those heart-wounds, those pin-pricks which\ninflict so much pain. I know of no ecstasy to which I do not\nprefer sacrifice. There I find happiness, and there alone. The\nslender reed has no fear of being broken, for it is planted beside\nthe waters of Love. When, therefore, it bends before the gale, it\ngathers strength in the refreshing stream, and longs for yet\nanother storm to pass and sway its head. My very weakness makes me\nstrong. No harm can come to me since, in whatever happens, I see\nonly the tender Hand of Jesus . . . Besides, no suffering is too\nbig a price to pay for the glorious palm.\n\n\nIV\n\n(Written during her retreat before profession.)\n\nSeptember, 1890.\n\nMY DEAREST MOTHER,--Your little hermit must give you an account of\nher journey. Before starting, my Beloved asked me in what land I\nwished to travel, and what road I wished to take. I told him that\nI had only one desire, that of reaching the summit of the\n_Mountain of Love._\n\nThereupon roads innumerable spread before my gaze, but so many of\nthese were perfect that I felt incapable of choosing any of my own\nfree will. Then I said to my Divine Guide: \"Thou knowest where\nlies the goal of my desire, and for Whose sake I would climb the\nMountain. Thou knowest Who possesses the love of my heart. For Him\nonly I set out on this journey; lead me therefore by the paths of\nHis choosing: my joy shall be full if only He is pleased.\"\n\nAnd Our Lord took me by the hand, and led me through an\nunderground passage where it is neither hot nor cold, where the\nsun shines not, and where neither wind nor rain can enter--a place\nwhere I see nothing but a half-veiled light, the light that gleams\nfrom the downcast Eyes of the Face of Jesus.\n\nMy Spouse speaks not a word, and I say nothing save that I love\nHim more than myself; and in the depths of my heart I know this is\ntrue, for I am more His than mine. I cannot see that we are\nadvancing toward our journey's goal since we travel by a\nsubterranean way; and yet, without knowing how, it seems to me\nthat we are nearing the summit of the Mountain.\n\nI give thanks to my Jesus for making me walk in darkness, and in\nthis darkness I enjoy profound peace. Willingly do I consent to\nremain through all my religious life in this gloomy passage into\nwhich He has led me. I desire only that my darkness may obtain\nlight for sinners. I am content, nay, full of joy, to be without\nall consolation. I should be ashamed if my love were like that of\nthose earthly brides who are ever looking for gifts from their\nbridegrooms, or seeking to catch the loving smile which fills them\nwith delight.\n\nTherese, the little Spouse of Jesus, loves Him for Himself; she\nonly looks on the Face of her Beloved to catch a glimpse of the\nTears which delight her with their secret charm. She longs to wipe\naway those Tears, or to gather them up like priceless diamonds\nwith which to adorn her bridal dress. _Jesus!_ . . . _Oh! I would\nso love Him! Love Him as He has never yet been loved!_ . . .\n\nAt all cost I must win the palm of St. Agnes; if it cannot be mine\nthrough blood, I must win it by Love.\n\n\nV\n\n1891.\n\nLove can take the place of a long life. Jesus does not consider\ntime, for He is Eternal. He only looks at the love. My little\nMother, beg Him to bestow it upon me in full measure. I do not\ndesire that thrill of love which I can feel; if Jesus feel its\nthrill, then that is enough for me. It is so sweet to love Him, to\nmake Him loved. Ask Him to take me to Him on my profession-day, if\nby living on I should ever offend Him, because I wish to bear\nunsullied to Heaven the white robe of my second Baptism.[1] Now\nJesus can grant me the grace never to offend Him more, or rather\nnever to commit any faults but those which do not offend Him or\ngive Him pain; faults which serve but to humble me and strengthen\nmy love. There is no one to lean on apart from Jesus. He alone\nfaileth not, and it is exceeding joy to think that He can never\nchange.\n\n\nVI\n\n1891.\n\nMY DEAREST LITTLE MOTHER,--Your letter has done me such good. The\nsentence: \"Let us refrain from saying a word which could raise us\nin the eyes of others,\" has indeed enlightened my soul. Yes, we\nmust keep all for Jesus with jealous care. It is so good to work\nfor Him alone. How it fills the heart with joy, and lends wings to\nthe soul! Ask of Jesus that Therese--His _grain of sand_--may save\nHim a multitude of souls in a short space of time, so that she may\nthe sooner behold His Adorable Face.\n\n\nVII\n\n1892.\n\nHere is the dream of this \"grain of sand\": Love Jesus alone, and\nnaught else beside! The grain of sand is so small that if it\nwished to open its heart to any other but Jesus, there would no\nlonger be room for this Beloved.\n\nWhat happiness to be so entirely hidden that no one gives us a\nthought--to be unknown even to those with whom we live! My little\nMother, I long to be unknown to everyone of God's creatures! I\nhave never desired glory amongst men, and if their contempt used\nto attract my heart, I have realized that even this is too\nglorious for me, and I thirst to be forgotten.\n\nThe Glory of Jesus--this is my sole ambition. I abandon my glory\nto Him; and if He seem to forget me, well, He is free to do so\nsince I am no longer my own, but His. He will weary sooner of\nmaking me wait than I shall of waiting.\n\n\nVIII\n\n[One day when Soeur Therese was suffering acutely from\nfeverishness, one of the Sisters urged her to help in a difficult\npiece of painting. For a moment Therese's countenance betrayed an\ninward struggle, which did not escape the notice of Mother Agnes\nof Jesus. That same evening Therese wrote her the following\nletter.]\n\nMay 28, 1897.\n\nMY DEAREST MOTHER,--I have just been shedding sweet tears--tears\nof repentance, but still more of thankfulness and love. To-day I\nshowed you the treasure of my patience, and how virtuous I am--I\nwho preach so well to others! I am glad that you have seen my want\nof perfection. You did not scold me, and yet I deserved it. But at\nall times your gentleness speaks to me more forcibly than would\nsevere words. To me you are the image of God's Mercy.\n\nSister N., on the contrary, is more often the image of God's\nseverity. Well, I have just met her, and, instead of passing me\ncoldly by, she embraced me and said: \"Poor little Sister, I am so\nsorry . . . I do not want to tire you; it was wrong of me to ask\nyour help; leave the work alone.\" In my heart I felt perfect\nsorrow, and I was much surprised to escape all blame. I know she\nmust really deem me imperfect. She spoke in this way because she\nthinks I am soon to die. However that may be, I have heard nothing\nbut kind and tender words from her; and so I consider her most\nkind, and myself an unamiable creatures.\n\nWhen I returned to our cell, I was wondering what Jesus thought,\nwhen all at once I remembered His words to the woman taken in\nadultery: \"Hath no man condemned thee?\"[2] With tears in my eyes,\nI answered Him: \"No one, Lord, . . . neither my little Mother--the\nimage of Thy Mercy--nor Sister N., the image of Thy Justice. I\nfeel that I can go in peace, because neither wilt Thou condemn me.\"\n\nI confess I am much happier because of my weakness than\nif--sustained by grace--I had been a model of patience. It does me\nso much good to see that Jesus is always sweet and tender towards\nme. Truly it is enough to make me die of grateful love.\n\nMy little Mother, you will understand how this evening the vessel\nof God's Mercy has overflowed for your child. . . . _Even now I\nknow it! Yea, all my hopes will be fulfilled_ . . .\n\nVERILY THE LORD WILL WORK WONDERS FOR ME, AND THEY WILL INFINITELY\nSURPASS MY BOUNDLESS DESIRES.\n_____________________________\n\n[1] Soeur Therese here alludes to the probable opinion of\ntheologians that--as in Baptism--all stain of sin is removed and\nall temporal punishment for sin remitted, by the vows taken on the\nday of religious profession. [Ed.]\n\n[2] John 8:10.\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nLETTERS TO SISTER MARY OF THE SACRED HEART\n\n\nI\n\nFebruary 21, 1888.\n\nMY DEAR MARIE,--You cannot think what a lovely present Papa made\nme last week; I believe if I gave you a hundred or even a thousand\nguesses you would never find out what it was. Well, my dear Father\nbought me a new-born lamb, all white and fleecy. He said that\nbefore I entered the Carmel he wanted me to have this pleasure. We\nwere all delighted, especially Celine. What touched me more than\nanything was Papa's thoughtfulness. Besides, a lamb is symbolic,\nand it made me think of Pauline.\n\nSo far, so good, but now for the sequel. We were already building\ncastles in the air, and expected that in two or three days the\nlamb would be frisking round us. But the pretty creature died that\nsame afternoon. Poor little thing, scarcely was it born when it\nsuffered and died. It looked so gentle and innocent that Celine\nmade a sketch of it, and then we laid it in a grave dug by Papa.\nIt appeared to be asleep. I did not want the earth to be its\ncovering, so we put snow upon our pet, and all was over.\n\nYou do not know, dearest Godmother, how this little creature's\ndeath has made me reflect. Clearly we must not become attached to\nanything, no matter how innocent, because it will slip from our\ngrasp when least expected; nothing but the eternal can content us.\n\n\nII\n\n(Written during her retreat before receiving the habit.)\n\nJanuary 8, 1889.\n\nYour little _Lamb_--as you love to call me, dearest sister--would\nborrow from you some strength and courage. I cannot speak to Our\nLord, and He is silent too. Pray that my retreat may be pleasing\nto the Heart of Him Who alone reads the secrets of the soul.\n\nLife is full of sacrifice, it is true, but why seek happiness\nhere? For life is but \"a night to be spent in a wretched inn,\" as\nour holy Mother St. Teresa says. I assure you my heart thirsts\nardently for happiness, but I see clearly that no creature can\nquench that thirst. On the contrary, the oftener I would drink\nfrom these seductive waters the more burning will my thirst\nbecome. I know a source where \"they that drink shall yet\nthirst,\"[1] but with a delicious thirst, a thirst one can always\nallay. . . . That source is the suffering known to Jesus only.\n\n\nIII\n\nAugust 14, 1889.\n\nYou ask for a word from your little Lamb. But what shall I say? Is\nit not you who have taught me? Remember those days when I sat upon\nyour knee, and you talked to me of Heaven.\n\nI can still hear you say: \"Look at those who want to become rich,\nand see how they toil to obtain money. Now, my little Therese,\nthrough every moment of the day and with far less trouble, we can\nlay up riches in Heaven. Diamonds are so plentiful, we can gather\nthem together as with a rake, and we do this by performing all our\nactions for the love of God.\" Then I would leave you, my heart\noverflowing with joy, and fully bent on amassing great wealth.\n\nTime has flown since those happy hours spent together in our dear\nnest. Jesus has visited us, and has found us worthy to be tried in\nthe crucible of suffering. God has said that on the last day \"He\nwill wipe away all tears from our eyes,\"[2] and no doubt the more\ntears there are to dry, the greater will be the happiness.\n\nPray to-morrow for the little one who owes you her upbringing, and\nwho, without you, might never have come to the Carmel.\n\n\nIV\n\n(During her retreat before profession)\n\nSeptember 4, 1890.\n\nThe heavenly music falls but faintly on the ear of your child, and\nit has been a dreary journey towards her Bridal Day. It is true\nher Betrothed has led her through fertile lands and gorgeous\nscenery, but the dark night has prevented her admiring, much less\nrevelling in, the beauty all around. Perhaps you think this\ngrieved her. Oh, no! she is happy to follow her Betrothed for His\nown sake, and not for the sake of His gifts. He is so ravishingly\nbeautiful, even when silent--even when concealed. Weary of earthly\nconsolation, your little child wishes for her Beloved alone. I\nbelieve that the work of Jesus during this retreat has been to\ndetach me from everything but Himself. My only comfort is the\nexceeding strength and peace that is mine. Besides, I hope to be\njust what He wills I should be, and in this lies all my happiness.\n\nDid you but know how great is my joy at giving pleasure to Jesus\nthrough being utterly deprived of all joy! . . . . Truly this is\nthe very refinement of all joy--joy we do not feel.\n\n\nV\n\nSeptember 7, 1890.\n\nTo-morrow I shall be the Spouse of Jesus, of Him Whose \"look was\nas it were hidden and despised.\"[3] What a future this alliance\nopens up! How can I thank Him, how render myself less unworthy of\nso great a favour?\n\nI thirst after Heaven, that blessed abode where our love for Jesus\nwill be without bounds. True, we must pass through suffering and\ntears to reach that home, but I wish to suffer all that my Beloved\nis pleased to send me; I wish to let Him do as He wills with His\n\"little ball.\" You tell me, dearest Godmother, that my Holy Child\nis beautifully adorned for my wedding-day;[4] perhaps, however,\nyou wonder why I have not put new rose-coloured candles. The old\nones appeal to me more because they were lighted for the first\ntime on my clothing-day. They were then fresh and of rosy hue.\nPapa had given them to me; he was there, and all was joyful. But\nnow their tint has faded. Are there yet any rose-coloured joys on\nearth for your little Therese? No, for her there are only heavenly\njoys; joys where the hollowness of all things gives place to the\nUncreated Reality.\n\n\nVI\n\nMY DEAREST SISTER,--I do not find it difficult to answer\nyou. . . . How can you ask me if it be possible for you to love\nGod as I love Him! My desire for martyrdom is as nothing; it is\nnot to that I owe the boundless confidence that fills my heart.\nSuch desires might be described as spiritual riches, which are\n_the unjust mammon,_[5] when one is complacent in them as in\nsomething great. . . . These aspirations are a consolation Jesus\nsometimes grants to weak souls like mine--and there are many\nsuch! But when He withholds this consolation, it is a special\ngrace. Remember these words of a holy monk: \"The martyrs\nsuffered with joy, and the King of Martyrs in sorrow.\" Did not\nJesus cry out: \"My father, remove this chalice from Me\"?[6] Do\nnot think, then, that my desires are a proof of my love. Indeed\nI know well that it is certainly not these desires which make\nGod take pleasure in my soul. What does please Him is to find me\nlove my littleness, my poverty: it is the blind trust which I\nhave in His Mercy. . . . There is my sole treasure, dearest\nGodmother, and why should it not be yours?\n\nAre you not ready to suffer all that God wills? Assuredly; and so\nif you wish to know joy and to love suffering, you are really\nseeking your own consolation, because once we love, all suffering\ndisappears. Verily, if we were to go together to martyrdom, you\nwould gain great merit, and I should have none, unless it pleased\nOur Lord to change my dispositions.\n\nDear sister, do you not understand that to love Jesus and to be\nHis Victim of Love, the more weak and wretched we are the better\nmaterial do we make for this consuming and transfiguring Love?\n. . . The simple desire to be a Victim suffices, but we must also\nconsent to ever remain poor and helpless, and here lies the\ndifficulty: \"Where shall we find one that is truly poor in spirit?\nWe must seek him afar off,\" says the author of the _Imitation._[7]\nHe does not say that we must search among great souls, but \"afar\noff\"--that is to say, in abasement and in nothingness. Let us\nremain far from all that dazzles, loving our littleness, and\ncontent to have no joy. Then we shall be truly poor in spirit, and\nJesus will come to seek us however far off we may be, and\ntransform us into flames of Love. . . . I long to make you\nunderstand what I feel. Confidence alone must lead us to\nLove. . . . Does not fear lead to the thought of the strict justice\nthat is threatened to sinners? But that is not the justice Jesus\nwill show to such as love Him.\n\nGod would not vouchsafe you the desire to be the Victim of His\nMerciful Love, were this not a favour in store--or rather already\ngranted, since you are wholly surrendered unto Him and long to be\nconsumed by Him, and God never inspires a longing which He cannot\nfulfill.\n\nThe road lies clear, and along it we must run together. I feel\nthat Jesus wishes to bestow on us the same graces; He wishes to\ngrant us both a free entrance into His Heavenly Kingdom. Dearest\nGodmother, you would like to hear still more of the secrets which\nJesus confides to your child, but human speech cannot tell what\nthe human heart itself can scarcely conceive. Besides, Jesus\nconfides His secrets to you likewise. This I know, for you it was\nwho taught me to listen to His Divine teaching. On the day of my\nBaptism you promised in my name that I would serve Him alone. You\nwere the Angel who led me and guided me in my days of exile and\noffered me to Our Lord. As a child loves its mother, I love you;\nin Heaven only will you realise the gratitude with which my heart\nis full to overflowing.\n\nYour little daughter,\n\nTeresa of the Child Jesus.\n_____________________________\n\n[1] Eccles. 24:29.\n\n[2] Apoc. 21:4.\n\n[3] Isa. 53:3.\n\n[4] She alludes to the Statue of the Holy Child in the cloister,\nwhich was under her own special care. [Ed.]\n\n[5] Luke 16:2.\n\n[6] Luke 22:42.\n\n[7] Cf. _Imit.,_ II, xi. 4.\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nLETTERS TO SISTER FRANCES TERESA[1]\n\n\nI\n\nAugust 13, 1893.\n\nDEAR LITTLE SISTER,--At last your desires are satisfied. Like the\ndove sent forth from the ark, you have been unable to find a spot\non earth whereon to rest, and have long been on the wing seeking\nto re-enter the blessed abode where your heart had for ever fixed\nits home. Jesus has kept you waiting, but at last, touched by the\nplaintive cry of His dove, He has put forth His Divine Hand, and,\ntaking hold of it, has set it in His Heart--that sanctuary of His\nLove.\n\nIt is quite a spiritual joy, this joy of mine. For I shall never\nlook upon you again, never hear your voice as I outpour my heart\ninto yours. Yet I know that earth is but a halting-place to us who\njourney towards a Heavenly Home. What matter if the routes we\nfollow lie apart? Our goal is the same--that Heaven where we shall\nmeet, no more to be separated. There we shall taste for ever the\nsweets of our earthly home. We shall have much to tell one another\nwhen this exile is ended. Speech here below is so inadequate, but\na single glance will be enough for perfect understanding in our\nhome beyond; and I believe that our happiness will be greater than\nif we had never been parted here.\n\nMeanwhile we must live by sacrifice. Without it there would be no\nmerit in the religious life. As someone told us in a conference:\n\"The reason why the forest oak raises its head so high is because,\nhemmed in on all sides, it wastes no sap in putting forth branches\nunderneath, but towers aloft. Thus in the religious life the soul,\nhedged in all around by the rule and by the practice of community\nlife, of necessity finds there a means of lifting a high head\ntowards Heaven.\"\n\nDearest sister, pray for your little Therese that she may draw\nprofit from her exile on earth and from the plentiful means\ngranted her of meriting Heaven.\n\n\nII\n\nJanuary, 1895.\n\nDEAR LITTLE SISTER,--How fruitful for Heaven has been the year\nthat is gone! . . . Our dear Father has seen that which the eye of\nman cannot see, he has heard the minstrelsy of the angels . . .\nnow his heart understands, and his soul enjoys \"the things which\nGod hath prepared for those who love Him.\"[2] . . . Our turn will\ncome, and it is full sweet to think our sails are set towards the\nEternal Shore.\n\nDo you not find, as I do, that our beloved Father's death has\ndrawn us nearer to Heaven? More than half of our loved ones\nalready enjoy the Vision of God, and the five who remain in exile\nwill follow soon. This thought of the shortness of life gives me\ncourage, and helps me to put up with the weariness of the journey.\nWhat matters a little toil upon earth? We pass . . . \"We have not\nhere a lasting city.\"[3]\n\nThink of your Therese during this month consecrated to the Infant\nJesus, and beg of Him that she may always remain a very little\nchild. I will offer the same prayer for you, because I know your\ndesires, and that humility is your favourite virtue.\n\nWhich Therese will be the more fervent? . . . She who will be the\nmore humble, the more closely united to Jesus, and the more\nfaithful in making love the mainspring of every action. We must\nnot let slip one single occasion of sacrifice, everything has such\nvalue in the religious life . . . Pick up a pin from a motive of\nlove, and you may thereby convert a soul. Jesus alone can make our\ndeeds of such worth, so let us love Him with every fibre of our\nheart.\n\n\nIII\n\nJuly 12, 1896.\n\nMY DEAR LITTLE LEONIE,--I should have answered your letter last\nSunday if it had been given to me, but you know that, being the\nyoungest, I run the risk of not seeing letters for some\nconsiderable time after my sisters, and occasionally not at all. I\nonly read yours on Friday, so forgive my delay.\n\nYou are right--Jesus is content with a tender look or a sigh of\nlove. For my part, I find it quite easy to practise perfection,\nnow that I realise it only means making Jesus captive through His\nHeart. Look at a little child who has just vexed its mother,\neither by giving way to temper or by disobedience. If it hides in\na corner and is sulky, or if it cries for fear of being punished,\nits mother will certainly not forgive the fault. But should it run\nto her with its little arms outstreteched, and say; \"Kiss me,\nMother; I will not do it again!\" what mother would not straightway\nclasp her child lovingly to her heart, and forget all it had done?\n. . . She knows quite well that her little one will repeat the\nfault--no matter, her darling will escape all punishment so long\nas it makes appeal to her heart.\n\nEven when the law of fear was in force, before Our Lord's coming,\nthe prophet Isaias said--speaking in the name of the King of\nHeaven: \"Can a woman forget her babe? . . . And if she should\nforget, yet will I not forget thee.\"[4] What a touching promise!\nWe who live under the law of Love, shall we not profit by the\nloving advances made by our Spouse? How can anybody fear Him Who\nallows Himself to be made captive \"with one hair of our neck\"?[5]\n\nLet us learn to keep Him prisoner--this God, the Divine Beggar of\nlove. By telling us that a single hair can work this wonder, He\nshows us that the smallest actions done for His Love are those\nwhich charm His Heart. If it were necessary to do great things, we\nshould be deserving of pity, but we are happy beyond measure,\nbecause Jesus lets Himself be led captive by the smallest action.\n. . . With you, dear Leonie, little sacrifices are never lacking.\nIs not your life made up of them? I rejoice to see you in presence\nof such wealth, especially when I remember that you know how to\nmake profit thereby, not only for yourself but likewise for poor\nsinners. It is so sweet to help Jesus to save the souls which He\nhas ransomed at the price of His Precious Blood, and which only\nawait our help to keep them from the abyss.\n\nIt seems to me that if our sacrifices take Jesus captive, our joys\nmake Him prisoner too. All that is needful to attain this end is,\nthat instead of giving ourselves over to selfish happiness, we\noffer to our Spouse the little joys He scatters in our path, to\ncharm our hearts and draw them towards Him.\n\nYou ask for news of my health. Well, my cough has quite\ndisappeared. Does that please you? It will not prevent Our Lord\nfrom taking me to Himself whensoever He wishes. And I need not\nprepare for that journey, since my whole endeavour is to remain as\na little child. Jesus Himself must pay all its expenses, as well\nas the price of my admission to Heaven.\n\nGood-bye, dearest one, pray to Him without fail for the last and\nleast of your sisters.\n\n\nIV\n\nJuly 17, 1897.\n\nMY DEAR LEONIE,--I am so pleased to be able to write to you again.\nSome days ago I thought I should never again have this\nconsolation, but it seems God wishes to prolong somewhat the time\nof my exile. This does not trouble me--I would not enter Heaven\none moment sooner through my own will. The only real happiness on\nearth is to strive always to think \"how goodly is the chalice\"[6]\nthat Jesus give us. Yours is indeed a goodly one, dear Leonie. If\nyou wish to be a Saint--and it will not be hard--keep only one end\nin view: give pleasure to Jesus, and bind yourself more closely to\nHim.\n\nGood-bye, my dear sister, I should wish the thought of my entering\nHeaven to fill you with joy, because I shall then be better able\nto give you proof of my tender love. In the Heart of our Heavenly\nSpouse we shall live His very life, and through eternity I shall\nremain,\n\nYour very little sister,\n\nTERESA OF THE CHILD JESUS.\n_____________________________\n\n[1] Nearly all the letters written by Soeur Therese to her sister\nLeonie are lost. These few have been recovered. It will be\nremembered that Leonie entered the Convent of the Visitation at\nCaen. See note, page 113.\n\n[2] Cf. I Cor. 2:9.\n\n[3] Heb. 13:14.\n\n[4] Isa. 49:15.\n\n[5] Cant. 4:9.\n\n[6] Ps. 22[23]:5.\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nLETTERS TO HER COUSIN MARIE GUERIN\n\n\nI\n\n1888.\n\nBefore you confided in me,[1] I felt you were suffering, and my\nheart was one with yours. Since you have the humility to ask\nadvice of your little Therese, this is what she thinks: you have\ngrieved me greatly by abstaining from Holy Communion, because you\nhave grieved Our Lord. The devil must be very cunning to deceive a\nsoul in this way. Do you not know, dear Marie, that by acting thus\nyou help him to accomplish his end? The treacherous creature knows\nquite well that when a soul is striving to belong wholly to God he\ncannot cause her to sin, so he merely tries to persuade her that\nshe has sinned. This is a considerable gain, but not enough to\nsatisfy his hatred, so he aims at something more, and tries to\nshut out Jesus from a tabernacle which Jesus covets. Unable to\nenter this sanctuary himself, he wishes that at least it remain\nempty and without its God. Alas, what will become of that poor\nlittle heart? When the devil has succeeded in keeping a soul from\nHoly Communion he has gained all his ends . . . while Jesus\nweeps! . . .\n\nRemember, little Marie, that this sweet Jesus is there in the\nTabernacle expressly for you and you alone. Remember that He burns\nwith the desire to enter your heart. Do not listen to satan. Laugh\nhim to scorn, and go without fear to receive Jesus, the God of\npeace and of love.\n\n\"Therese thinks all this\"--you say--\"because she does not know my\ndifficulties.\" She does know, and knows them well; she understands\neverything, and she tells you confidently that you can go without\nfear to receive your only true Friend. She, too, has passed\nthrough the martyrdom of scruples, but Jesus gave her the grace to\nreceive the Blessed Sacrament always, even when she imagined she\nhad committed great sins. I assure you I have found that this is\nthe only means of ridding oneself of the devil. When he sees that\nhe is losing his time he leaves us in peace.\n\nIn truth it is impossible that a heart which can only find rest in\ncontemplation of the Tabernacle--and yours is such, you tell\nme--could so far offend Our Lord as not to be able to receive Him\n. . . What does offend Jesus, what wounds Him to the Heart, is\nwant of confidence.\n\nPray much that the best portion of your life may not be\novershadowed by idle fears. We have only life's brief moments to\nspend for the Glory of God, and well does satan know it. This is\nwhy he employs every ruse to make us consume them in useless\nlabour. Dear sister, go often to Holy Communion, go very\noften--that is your one remedy.\n\n\nII\n\n1894\n\nYou are like some little village maiden who, when sought in\nmarriage by a mighty king would not dare to accept him, on the\nplea that she is not rich enough, and is strange to the ways of a\ncourt. But does not her royal lover know better than she does, the\nextent of her poverty and ignorance?\n\nMarie, though you are nothing, do not forget that Jesus is All.\nYou have only to lose your own nothingness in that Infinite All,\nand thenceforth to think only of that All who alone is worthy of\nyour love.\n\nYou tell me you wish to see the fruit of your efforts. That is\nexactly what Jesus would hide from you. He likes to contemplate by\nHimself these little fruits of our virtue. They console Him.\n\nYou are quite wrong, Marie, if you think that Therese walks\neagerly along the way of Sacrifice: her weakness is still very\ngreat, and every day some new and wholesome experience brings this\nhome more clearly. Yet Jesus delights to teach her how to _glory\nin her infirmities._[2] It is a great grace, and I pray Him to\ngive it to you, for with it come peace and tranquillity of heart.\nWhen we see our misery we do not like to look at ourselves but\nonly upon our Beloved.\n\nYou ask me for a method of obtaining perfection. I know of\nLove--and Love only! Our hearts are made for this alone. Sometimes\nI endeavour to find some other word for love; but in a land of\nexile \"words which have a beginning and an end\"[3] are quite\nunable to render adequately the emotions of the soul, and so we\nmust keep to the one simple word--LOVE.\n\nBut on whom shall our poor hearts lavish this love, and who will\nbe worthy of this treasure? Is there anyone who will understand it\nand--above all--is there anyone who will be able to repay? Marie,\nJesus alone understands love: He alone can give back all--yea,\ninfinitely more than the utmost we can give.\n_____________________________\n\n[1] The allusion is to the scruples from which Marie suffered.\nHaving read this letter--which is a strong plea for Frequent\nCommunion--Pope Pius X declared it \"most opportune.\" Therese was\nbut fifteen when she wrote it. [Ed.]\n\n[2] 2 Cor. 11:5.\n\n[3] St. Augustine.\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nLETTER TO HER COUSIN, JEANNE GUERIN (MADAME LA NEELE)\n\nAugust, 1895.\n\nIt is a very great sacrifice that God has asked of you, my dear\nJeanne, in calling your little Marie to the Carmel; but remember\nthat He has promised a hundredfold to anyone who for His Love hath\nleft father or mother or _sister._[1] Now, for love of Jesus, you\nhave not hesitated to part with a sister dearer to you than words\ncan say, and therefore He is bound to keep His promise. I know\nthat these words are generally applied to those who enter the\nreligious life, but my heart tells me they were spoken, too, for\nthose whose generosity is such that they will sacrifice to God\neven the loved ones they hold dearer than life itself.\n_____________________________\n\n[1] Mark 10:30.\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nLETTERS TO HER BROTHER MISSIONARIES\n\n\nI\n\n1895.\n\nOur Divine Lord asks no sacrifice beyond our strength. At times,\nit is true, He makes us taste to the full the bitterness of the\nchalice He puts to our lips. And when He demands the sacrifice of\nall that is dearest on earth, it is impossible without a very\nspecial grace not to cry out as He did during His Agony in the\nGarden: \"My Father, let this chalice pass from me!\" But we must\nhasten to add: \"Yet not as I will, but as Thou wilt.\"[1] It is so\nconsoling to think that Jesus, \"the Strong God,\"[2] has felt all\nour weaknesses and shuddered at the sight of the bitter\nchalice--that very chalice He had so ardently desired.\n\nYour lot is indeed a beautiful one, since Our Lord has chosen it\nfor you, and has first touched with His own Lips the cup which He\nholds out to yours. A Saint has said: \"The greatest honour God can\nbestow upon a soul is not to give to it great things, but to ask\nof it great things.\" Jesus treats you as a privileged child. It is\nHis wish you should begin your mission even now,[3] and save souls\nthrough the Cross. Was it not by suffering and death that He\nransomed the world? I know that you aspire to the happiness of\nlaying down your life for Him; but the martyrdom of the heart is\nnot less fruitful than the shedding of blood, and this martyrdom\nis already yours. Have I not, then, good reason to say that your\nlot is a beautiful one--worthy an apostle of Christ?\n\n\nII\n\n1896.\n\nLet us work together for the salvation of souls! We have but the\none day of this life to save them, and so give to Our Lord a proof\nof our love. To-morrow will be Eternity, then Jesus will reward\nyou a hundredfold for the sweet joys you have given up for Him. He\nknows the extent of your sacrifice. He knows that the sufferings\nof those you hold dear increase your own; but He has suffered this\nsame martyrdom for our salvation. He, too, left His Mother; He\nbeheld that sinless Virgin standing at the foot of the Cross, her\nheart pierced through with a sword of sorrow, and I hope he will\nconsole your own dear mother. . . . I beg Him most earnestly to do\nso.\n\nAh! If the Divine Master would permit those you are about to leave\nfor His Love but one glimpse of the glory in store, and the vast\nretinue of souls that will escort you to Heaven, already they\nwould be repaid for the great sacrifice that is at hand.\n\n\nIII\n\nFebruary 24, 1896.\n\nPlease say this little prayer for me each day; it sums up all my\ndesires:\n\n\"Merciful Father, in the name of Thy sweet Jesus, of the Blessed\nVirgin, and all the Saints, I beg Thee to consume my sister with\nThy spirit of love, and to grant her the grace to make Thee\ngreatly loved.\"\n\nIf Our Lord takes me soon to Himself, I ask you still to continue\nthis prayer, because my longing will be the same in Heaven as upon\nearth: _to love Jesus and to make Him loved._\n\n\nIV\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nAll I desire is God's Holy Will, and if in Heaven I could no\nlonger work for His glory, I should prefer exile to Home.\n\n\nV\n\nJune 21, 1897\n\nYou may well sing of the Mercies of God! They shine forth in you\nwith splendour. You love St. Augustine and St. Mary Magdalen,\nthose souls to whom many sins were forgiven because they loved\nmuch. I love them too; I love their sorrow, and especially their\naudacious love. When I see Mary Magdalen come forth before all\nSimon's guests to wash with her tears her Master's Feet--those\nFeet that for the first time she touches--I feel her heart has\nfathomed that abyss of love and mercy, the Heart of Jesus; and I\nfeel, too, that not only was He willing to forgive, but even\nliberally to dispense the favours of a Divine and intimate\nfriendship, and to raise her to the loftiest heights of prayer.\n\nMy Brother, since I also have been given to understand the Love of\nthe Heart of Jesus, I confess that all fear has been driven from\nmine. The remembrance of my faults humbles me; and it helps me\nnever to rely upon my own strength--which is but weakness--but\nmore than all, it speaks to me of mercy and of love. When a soul\nwith childlike trust casts her faults into Love's all-devouring\nfurnace, how shall they escape being utterly consumed?\n\nI know that many Saints have passed their lives in the practice of\namazing penance for the sake of expiating their sins. But what of\nthat? \"In my Father's house there are many mansions.\"[4] These are\nthe words of Jesus, and therefore I follow the path He marks out\nfor me; I try to be nowise concerned about myself and what Jesus\ndeigns to accomplish in my soul.\n\n\nVI\n\n1897.\n\nOn this earth where everything changes, one thing alone does never\nchange--our Heavenly King's treatment of His friends. From the day\nHe raised the standard of the Cross, in its shadow all must fight\nand win. \"The life of every missionary abounds in crosses,\" said\nTheophane Venard. And again: \"True happiness consists in\nsuffering, and in order to live we must die.\"\n\nRejoice, my Brother, that the first efforts of your Apostolate are\nstamped with the seal of the Cross. Far more by suffering and by\npersecution than by eloquent discourses does Jesus wish to build\nup His Kingdom.\n\nYou are still--you tell me--a little child who cannot speak.\nNeither could Father Mazel, who was ordained with you, and yet he\nhas already won the palm . . . Far beyond our thoughts are the\nthoughts of God! When I learnt that this young missionary had died\nbefore he had set foot on the field of his labours, I felt myself\ndrawn to invoke him. I seemed to see him amidst the glorious\nMartyr choir. No doubt, in the eyes of men he does not merit the\ntitle of Martyr, but in the eyes of God this inglorious death is\nno less precious than the sacrifice of him who lays down his life\nfor the Faith.\n\nThough one must be exceeding pure before appearing in the sight of\nthe All-Holy God, still I know that He is infinitely just, and\nthis very Justice which terrifies so many souls is the source of\nall my confidence and joy. Justice is not only stern severity\ntowards the guilty; it takes account of the good intention, and\ngives to virtue its reward. Indeed I hope as much from the Justice\nof God as from His Mercy. It is because He is just, that \"He is\ncompassionate and merciful, longsuffering, and plenteous in mercy.\nFor He knoweth our frame, He remembereth that we are dust. As a\nfather hath compassion on his children, so hath the Lord\ncompassion on us.\"[5]\n\nO my Brother, after these beautiful and consoling words of the\nRoyal Prophet, how can we doubt God's power to open the gates of\nHis Kingdom to His children who have loved Him unto perfect\nsacrifice, who have not only left home and country so as to make\nHim known and loved, but even long to lay down their lives for\nHim? . . . Jesus said truly there is no greater love than this.\nNor will He be outdone in generosity. How could He cleanse in the\nflames of Purgatory souls consumed with the fire of Divine Love?\n\nI have used many words to express my thought, and yet I fear I\nhave failed. What I wish to convey is, that in my opinion all\nmissionaries are Martyrs by will and desire, and not even one\nshould pass through the purifying flames.\n\nThis, then, is what I think about the Justice of God; my own way\nis all confidence and love, and I cannot understand those souls\nwho are afraid of so affectionate a Friend. Sometimes, when I read\nbooks in which perfection is put before us with the goal\nobstructed by a thousand obstacles, my poor little head is quickly\nfatigued. I close the learned treatise, which tires my brain and\ndries up my heart, and I turn to the Sacred Scriptures. Then all\nbecomes clear and lightsome--a single word opens out infinite\nvistas, perfection appears easy, and I see that it is enough to\nacknowledge our nothingness, and like children surrender ourselves\ninto the Arms of the Good God. Leaving to great and lofty minds\nthe beautiful books which I cannot understand, still less put in\npractice, I rejoice in my littleness because \"only little children\nand those who are like them shall be admitted to the Heavenly\nbanquet.\"[6] Fortunately--\"there are many mansions in my Father's\nHouse\":[7] if there were only those--to me--incomprehensible\nmansions with their baffling roads, I should certainly never enter\nthere . . .\n\n\nVII\n\nJuly 13, 1897.\n\nYour soul is too great to cling to the consolations of earth, and\neven now its abode should be in Heaven, for it is written: \"Where\nyour treasure is, there will your heart be also.\"[8] Is not Jesus\nyour only treasure? Now that He is in Heaven, it is there your\nheart should dwell. This sweet Saviour has long since forgotten\nyour infidelities. He sees only your longing after perfection, and\nthe sight makes glad His Heart.\n\nStay no longer at His Feet, I beseech you, but follow this first\nimpulse to throw yourself into His Arms. Your place is there, and\nI see clearly--more clearly than in your former letters--that all\nother heavenly route is barred to you save the way your little\nsister treads.\n\nI hold with you when you say that the Heart of Jesus is more\ngrieved by the thousand little imperfections of His friends than\nby the faults, even grave, which His enemies commit. Yet it seems\nto me, dear Brother, it is only when those who are His own are\nhabitually guilty of want of thought, and neglect to seek His\npardon, that He can say: \"These Wounds which you see in the midst\nof My Hands, I have received in the house of those who love\nMe.\"[9] But His Heart thrills with you when He had to deal with\nall those who truly love, and who after each little fault come to\nfling themselves into His Arms imploring forgiveness. He says to\nHis Angels what the prodigal's father said to his servants: \"Put a\nring upon his finger, and let us rejoice.\"[10] O Brother! Verily\nthe Divine Heart's Goodness and Merciful Love are little known! It\nis true that to enjoy these treasures we must humble ourselves,\nmust confess our nothingness . . . and here is where many a soul\ndraws back.\n\n\nVIII\n\n1897.\n\nWhat attracts me towards our Heavenly Home is the Master's\ncall--the hope of loving Him at last to the fulfilling of all my\ndesire--the thought that I shall be able to win Him the love of a\nmultitude of souls, who will bless Him through all eternity.\n\nI have never asked God that I might die young--that to me were a\ncowardly prayer; but from my childhood He has deigned to inspire\nme with a strong conviction that my life would be a short one.\n\nI feel we must tread the same road to Heaven--the road of\nsuffering and love. When I myself have reached the port, I will\nteach you how best to sail the world's tempestuous sea--with the\nself-abandonment of a child well aware of a father's love, and of\nhis vigilance in the hour of danger.\n\nI long so much to make you understand the expectant love of the\nHeart of Jesus. Your last letter has made my own heart thrill\nsweetly. I learnt how closely your soul is sister to mine, since\nGod calls that soul to mount to Himself by the _lift of love,_\nwithout climbing the steep stairway of fear. I am not surprised\nyou find it hard to be familiar with Jesus--one cannot become so\nin a day; but this I do know, I shall aid you much more to tread\nthis beautiful path when I lay aside the burden of this perishable\nbody. Ere long you will exclaim with St. Augustine: \"Love is my\nlodestone!\"\n\n\nIX\n\nJuly 26, 1897.\n\nWhen you read these few lines I shall perhaps be no more. I know\nnot the future; yet I can confidently say that my Spouse is at the\ndoor. It would need a miracle to keep me in exile, and I do not\nthink that Jesus will work that miracle--He does nothing that is\nof no avail.\n\nBrother, I am so happy to die! Yes, happy . . . not because I\nshall be free from suffering: on the contrary, suffering combined\nwith love seems the one thing worthy of desire in this vale of\ntears; but happy to die because far more than on earth I shall\nhelp the souls I hold dear.\n\nJesus has always treated me as a spoilt child. . . . It is true\nthat His Cross has been with me from the cradle, but for that\nCross He has given me a passionate love . . .\n\n\nX\n\nAugust 14, 1897.\n\nI am about to go before God, and I understand now more than ever\nthat one thing only is needful--to work for Him alone, and do\nnothing for self or creatures. Jesus wishes to own your heart\ncompletely. Before this can be, you will have much to suffer . . .\nbut oh! what joy when comes the happy hour of going Home! I shall\nnot die--I do but enter into Life . . . and whatsoever I cannot\ntell you here upon earth I will make you understand from the\nheights of Heaven. . . .\n_____________________________\n\n[1] Matt. 26:39.\n\n[2] Isa. 9:6.\n\n[3] This letter and the following are addressed to a Seminarist.\n[Ed.]\n\n[4] John 14:2.\n\n[5] Ps. 102[103]:8, 14, 13.\n\n[6] Cf. Matt. 19:14.\n\n[7] John 14:2.\n\n[8] Luke 12:34.\n\n[9] Cf. Zach. 13:6.\n\n[10] Cf. Luke 15:22.\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nPRAYERS OF SOEUR THERESE, THE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nAN ACT OF OBLATION AS A VICTIM OF DIVINE LOVE\n\n_This Prayer was found after the death of Sister Teresa of the\nChild Jesus and of the Holy Face in the copy of the Gospels which\nshe carried night and day close to her heart._\n\nO my God, O Most Blessed Trinity, I desire to love Thee and to\nmake Thee loved--to labour for the glory of Holy Church by saving\nsouls here upon earth and by delivering those suffering in\nPurgatory. I desire to fulfill perfectly Thy Holy Will, and to\nreach the degree of glory Thou hast prepared for me in Thy\nKingdom. In a word, I wish to be holy, but, knowing how helpless I\nam, I beseech Thee, my God, to be Thyself my holiness.\n\nSince Thou hast loved me so much as to give me Thy Only-Begotten\nSon to be my Saviour and my Spouse, the infinite treasures of His\nmerits are mine. Gladly do I offer them to Thee, and I beg of Thee\nto behold me only through the Eyes of Jesus, and in His Heart\naflame with love. Moreover, I offer Thee all the merits of the\nSaints both of Heaven and of earth, together with their acts of\nlove, and those of the holy Angels. Lastly, I offer Thee, O\nBlessed Trinity, the love and the merits of the Blessed Virgin, my\ndearest Mother--to her I commit this Oblation, praying her to\npresent it to Thee.\n\nDuring the days of His life on earth her Divine Son, my sweet\nSpouse, spake these words: \"If you ask the Father anything in My\nName, He will give it you.\"[1] Therefore I am certain Thou wilt\nfulfill my longing. O my God, I know that the more Thou wishest to\nbestow, the more Thou dost make us desire. In my heart I feel\nboundless desires, and I confidently beseech Thee to take\npossession of my soul. I cannot receive Thee in Holy Communion as\noften as I should wish; but, O Lord, art Thou not all-powerful?\nAbide in me as Thou dost in the Tabernacle--never abandon Thy\nLittle Victim. I long to console Thee for ungrateful sinners, and\nI implore Thee to take from me all liberty to sin. If through\nweakness I should chance to fall, may a glance from Thine Eyes\nstraightway cleanse my soul, and consume all my imperfections--as\nfire transforms all things into itself.\n\nI thank Thee, O my God, for all the graces Thou hast granted me:\nespecially for having purified me in the crucible of suffering. At\nthe Day of Judgment I shall gaze on Thee with joy, as Thou bearest\nThy sceptre of the Cross. And since Thou hast deigned to give me\nthis precious Cross as my portion, I hope to be like unto Thee in\nParadise and to behold the Sacred Wounds of Thy Passion shine on\nmy glorified body.\n\nAfter earth's exile I trust to possess Thee in the Home of our\nFather; but I do not seek to lay up treasures in Heaven. I wish to\nlabour for Thy Love alone--with the sole aim of pleasing Thee, of\nconsoling Thy Sacred Heart, and of saving souls who will love Thee\nthrough eternity.\n\nWhen comes the evening of life, I shall stand before Thee with\nempty hands, because I do not ask Thee, my God, to take account of\nmy works. All our works of justice are blemished in Thine Eyes. I\nwish therefore to be robed with Thine own Justice, and to receive\nfrom Thy Love the everlasting gift of Thyself. I desire no other\nThrone, no other Crown but Thee, O my Beloved!\n\nIn Thy sight time is naught--\"one day is a thousand years.\"[2]\nThou canst in a single instant prepare me to appear before Thee.\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *   *\n\nIn order that my life may be one Act of perfect Love, I offer\nmyself as a Victim of Holocaust to Thy Merciful Love, imploring\nThee to consume me unceasingly, and to allow the floods of\ninfinite tenderness gathered up in Thee to overflow into my soul,\nthat so I may become a very martyr of Thy Love, O my God! May this\nmartyrdom, after having prepared me to appear in Thy Presence,\nfree me from this life at the last, and may my soul take its\nflight--without delay--into the eternal embrace of Thy Merciful\nLove!\n\n*   *   *   *   *   *   *\n\nO my Beloved, I desire at every beat of my heart to renew this\nOblation an infinite number of times, \"till the shadows\nretire,\"[3] and everlastingly I can tell Thee my love face to face.\n\nMARY FRANCES TERESA OF THE CHILD JESUS AND OF THE HOLY FACE.\n\nThe ninth of June, Feast of the Most Blessed Trinity, In the year\nof grace, 1895.\n\n\nA MORNING PRAYER\n\nO my God! I offer Thee all my actions of this day for the\nintentions and for the glory of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. I\ndesire to sanctify every beat of my heart, my every thought, my\nsimplest works, by uniting them to Its infinite merits; and I wish\nto make reparation for my sins by casting them into the furnace of\nIts Merciful Love.\n\nO my God! I ask of Thee for myself and for those whom I hold dear,\nthe grace to fulfil perfectly Thy Holy Will, to accept for love of\nThee the joys and sorrows of this passing life, so that we may one\nday be united together in Heaven for all Eternity. Amen.\n\n\nAN ACT OF CONSECRATION TO THE HOLY FACE\n\nWritten for the Novices\n\nO Adorable Face of Jesus, since Thou hast deigned to make special\nchoice of our souls, in order to give Thyself to them, we come to\nconsecrate these souls to Thee. We seem, O Jesus, to hear Thee\nsay: \"Open to Me, My Sisters, My Spouses, for My Face is wet with\nthe dew, and My Locks with the drops of the night.\"[4] Our souls\nunderstand Thy language of love; we desire to wipe Thy sweet Face,\nand to console Thee for the contempt of the wicked. In their eyes\nThou art still \"as it were hidden . . . they esteem Thee an object\nof reproach.\"[5]\n\nO Blessed Face, more lovely than the lilies and the roses of the\nspring, Thou art not hidden from us. The tears which dim Thine\nEyes are as precious pearls which we delight to gather, and,\nthrough their infinite value, to purchase the souls of our\nbrethren.\n\nFrom Thy Adorable Lips we have heard Thy loving plaint: \"I\nthirst.\" Since we know that this thirst which consumes Thee is a\nthirst for love, to quench it we would wish to possess an infinite\nlove.\n\nDear Spouse of our souls, if we could love with the love of all\nhearts, that love would be Thine. . . . Give us, O Lord, this\nlove! Then come to thy Spouses and satisfy Thy Thirst.\n\nAnd give to us souls, dear Lord . . . We thirst for souls!--Above\nall for the souls of Apostles and Martyrs . . . that through them\nwe may inflame all poor sinners with love of Thee.\n\nO Adorable Face, we shall succeed in winning this grace from Thee!\nUnmindful of our exile, \"by the rivers of Babylon,\" we will sing\nin Thine Ears the sweetest of melodies. Since Thou art the true\nand only Home of our souls, _our songs shall not be sung in a\nstrange land._[6] O Beloved Face of Jesus, while we await the\nEternal Day when we shall gaze upon Thine Infinite Glory, our only\ndesire is to delight Thy Divine Eyes by keeping our faces hidden\ntoo, so that no one on earth may recognize us . . . Dear Jesus,\nHeaven for us is Thy Hidden Face!\n\n\nVARIOUS PRAYERS\n\n_\"If you ask the Father anything in My Name, He will give it\nyou.\"_-- John 16:23.\n\nO Eternal Father, Thy Only-Begotten Son, the dear Child Jesus,\nbelongs to me since Thou hast given Him. I offer Thee the infinite\nmerits of His Divine Childhood, and I beseech Thee in His Name to\nopen the gates of Heaven to a countless host of little ones who\nwill for ever follow this Divine Lamb.\n\n_\"Just as the King's image is a talisman through which anything\nmay be purchased in his Kingdom, so through My Adorable Face--that\npriceless coin of my Humanity--you will obtain all you desire.\"_\n        Our Lord to Sister Mary of St. Peter.[7]\n\nEternal Father, since Thou hast given me for my inheritance the\nAdorable Face of Thy Divine Son, I offer that Face to Thee, and I\nbeg Thee, in exchange for this _coin_ of infinite value, to forget\nthe ingratitude of those souls who are consecrated to Thee, and to\npardon all poor sinners.\n\n\nPRAYER TO THE HOLY CHILD\n\nO Jesus, dear Holy Child, my only treasure, I abandon myself to\nThy every whim. I seek no other joy than that of calling forth Thy\nsweet Smile. Vouchsafe to me the graces and the virtues of Thy\nHoly Childhood, so that on the day of my birth into Heaven the\nAngels and Saints may recognise in Thy Spouse: _Teresa of the\nChild Jesus._\n\n\nPRAYER TO THE HOLY FACE\n\nO Adorable Face of Jesus, sole beauty which ravisheth my heart,\nvouchsafe to impress on my soul Thy Divine Likeness, so that it\nmay not be possible for Thee to look at Thy Spouse without\nbeholding Thyself. O my Beloved, for love of Thee I am content not\nto see here on earth the sweetness of Thy Glance, nor to feel the\nineffable Kiss of Thy Sacred Lips, but I beg of Thee to inflame me\nwith Thy Love, so that it may consume me quickly, and that soon\n_Teresa of the Holy Face_ may behold Thy glorious Countenance in\nHeaven.\n\n\nPRAYER\n\n_Inspired by the sight of a statue of The Blessed Joan of Arc_\n\nO Lord God of Hosts, who hast said in Thy Gospel: \"I am not come\nto bring peace but a sword,\"[8] arm me for the combat. I burn to\ndo battle for Thy Glory, but I pray Thee to enliven my\ncourage. . . . Then with holy David I shall be able to exclaim:\n\"Thou alone art my shield; it is Thou, O Lord Who teachest my\nhands to fight.\"[9]\n\nO my Beloved, I know the warfare in which I am to engage; it is\nnot on the open field I shall fight. . . . I am a prisoner held\ncaptive by Thy Love; of my own free will I have riveted the\nfetters which bind me to Thee, and cut me off for ever from the\nworld. My sword is Love! with it--like Joan of Arc--\"I will drive\nthe strangers from the land, and I will have Thee proclaimed\nKing\"--over the Kingdom of souls.\n\nOf a truth Thou hast no need of so weak an instrument as I, but\nJoan, thy chaste and valiant Spouse, has said: \"We must do battle\nbefore God gives the victory.\" O my Jesus! I will do battle, then,\nfor Thy love, until the evening of my life. As Thou didst not will\nto enjoy rest upon earth, I wish to follow Thy example; and then\nthis promise which came from thy Sacred Lips will be fulfilled in\nme: \"If any man minister to me, let him follow Me, and where I am\nthere also shall My servant be, and . . . him will My Father\nhonour.\"[10] To be with Thee, to be in Thee, that is my one\ndesire; this promise of fulfilment, which Thou dost give, helps me\nto bear with my exile as I wait the joyous Eternal Day when I\nshall see Thee face to face.\n\n\nPRAYER TO OBTAIN HUMILITY\n\n_Written for a Novice_\n\nO JESUS! When Thou wast a wayfarer upon earth, Thou didst\nsay:--\"Learn of Me, for I am Meek and Humble of Heart, and you\nshall find rest to your souls.\"[11] O Almighty King of Heaven! my\nsoul indeed finds rest in seeing Thee condescend to wash the feet\nof Thy Apostles--\"having taken the form of a slave.\"[12] I recall\nthe words Thou didst utter to teach me the practice of humility:\n\"I have given you an example, that as I have done to you, so you\ndo also. The servant is not greater than his Lord . . . If you\nknow these things, you shall be blessed if you do them.\"[13] I\nunderstand, dear Lord, these words which come from Thy Meek and\nHumble Heart, and I wish to put them in practice with the help of\nThy grace.\n\nI desire to humble myself in all sincerity, and to submit my will\nto that of my Sisters, without ever contradicting them, and\nwithout questioning whether they have the right to command. No\none, O my Beloved! had that right over Thee, and yet Thou didst\nobey not only the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph, but even Thy\nexecutioners. And now, in the Holy Eucharist, I see Thee complete\nThy self-abasement. O Divine King of Glory, with wondrous\nhumility, Thou dost submit Thyself to all Thy Priests, without any\ndistinction between those who love Thee and those who, alas! are\nlukewarm or cold in Thy service. They may advance or delay the\nhour of the Holy Sacrifice: Thou art always ready to come down\nfrom Heaven at their call.\n\nO my Beloved, under the white Eucharistic Veil Thou dost indeed\nappear to me Meek and Humble of Heart! To teach me humility, Thou\ncanst not further abase Thyself, and so I wish to respond to Thy\nLove, by putting myself in the lowest place, by sharing Thy\nhumiliations, so that I may \"have part with Thee\"[14] in the\nKingdom of Heaven.\n\nI implore Thee, dear Jesus, to send me a humiliation whensoever I\ntry to set myself above others.\n\nAnd yet, dear Lord, Thou knowest my weakness. Each morning I\nresolve to be humble, and in the evening I recognise that I have\noften been guilty of pride. The sight of these faults tempts me to\ndiscouragement; yet I know that discouragement is itself but a\nform of pride. I wish, therefore, O my God, to build all my trust\nupon Thee. As Thou canst do all things, deign to implant in my\nsoul this virtue which I desire, and to obtain it from Thy\nInfinite Mercy, I will often say to Thee: \"Jesus, Meek and Humble\nof Heart, make my heart like unto Thine.\"\n_____________________________\n\n[1] John 16:23.\n\n[2] Ps. 39[40]:4.\n\n[3] Cant. 4:6.\n\n[4] Cf. Cant. 5:2.\n\n[5] Cf. Isa. 53:3.\n\n[6] Cf. Ps. 136[137]:4.\n\n[7] Sister Mary of St. Peter entered the Carmel of Tours in 1840.\nThree years later she had the first of a series of revelations\nconcerning devotion to the Holy Face as a means of reparation for\nblasphemy. See _Life of Leon Papin-Dupont,_ known as \"The Holy Man\nof Tours.\"\n\n[8] Matt. 10:34.\n\n[9] Cf. Ps. 143[144]:1, 2.\n\n[10] John 12:26.\n\n[11] Matt. 11:29.\n\n[12] Phil. 2:7.\n\n[13] John 13:15-17.\n\n[14] Cf. John 13:8.\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nMOTTO OF THE LITTLE FLOWER\n\nFrom St. John of the Cross\n\n\"LOVE IS REPAID BY LOVE ALONE\"\n\n_____________________________\n\n\n\"MY DAYS OF GRACE\"\n\nBirthday  .   .   .   .   January 2, 1873\nBaptism   .   .   .   .   January 4, 1873\nThe Smile of Our Lady .   May 10, 1883\nFirst Communion   .   .   May 8, 1884\nConfirmation  .   .   .   June 14, 1884\nConversion.   .   .   .   December 25, 1886\nAudience with Leo XIII.   November 20, 1887\nEntry into the Carmel .   April 9, 1888\nClothing  .   .   .   .   January 10, 1889\nProfession.   .   .   .   September 8, 1890\nTaking of the Veil.   .   September 24, 1890\nAct of Oblation   .   .   June 9, 1895\n\n[ENTRY INTO HEAVEN--September 30, 1897]\n\n_____________________________\n\n\nSELECTED POEMS OF SOEUR THERESE, THE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS\n\n\nMY SONG OF TO-DAY\n\nOh! how I love Thee, Jesus! my soul aspires to Thee--\n   And yet for one day only my simple prayer I pray!\nCome reign within my heart, smile tenderly on me,\n      To-day, dear Lord, to-day!\n\nBut if I dare take thought of what the morrow brings,\n   It fills my fickle heart with dreary, dull dismay;\nI crave, indeed, my God, the Cross and sufferings,\n      But only for to-day!\n\nO sweetest Star of Heaven! O Virgin, spotless, blest,\n   Shining with Jesus' light, guiding to Him my way!\nMother! beneath thy veil let my tired spirit rest,\n      For this brief passing day!\n\nSoon shall I fly afar among the holy choirs,\n   Then shall be mine the joy that knoweth no decay;\nAnd then my lips shall sing, to Heaven's angelic lyres,\n      The eternal, glad To-day!\n\nJune, 1894.\n\n\nMEMORIES\n\nSelected Stanzas\n\n\"I find in my Beloved the mountains, the lonely and wooded\nvales, the distant isles, the murmur of the waters, the soft\nwhisper of the zephyrs . . . the quiet night with its sister\nthe dawn, the perfect solitude--all that delights and all\nthat fires our love.\"--St. John of the Cross.\n\nI hold full sweet your memory,\nMy childhood days, so glad, so free.\nTo keep my innocence, dear Lord, for Thee,\nThy Love came to me night and day,\n      Alway.\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nI loved the swallows' graceful flight,\nThe turtle doves' low chant at night,\nThe pleasant sound of insects gay and bright,\nThe grassy vale where doth belong\n      Their song.\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nI loved the glow-worm on the sod;\nThe countless stars, so near to God,\nBut most I loved, in all the sky abroad,\nThe shining moon of silver bright,\n      At night.\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nThe grass is withered in its bed;\nThe flowers within my hands are dead.\nWould that my weary feet, Jesu! might tread\nThy Heavenly Fields, and I might be\n      With Thee!\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nMy rainbow in the rain-washed skies--\nHorizon where my suns arise--\nMy isle in far-off seas--pearl I most prize--\nSweet spring and butterflies--I see\n      In Thee!\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nIn Thee I have the springs, the rills,\nThe mignonette, the daffodils,\nThe Eglantine, the harebell on the hills,\nThe trembling poplar, sighing low\n      And slow.\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nThe lovely lake, the valley fair\nAnd lonely in the lambent air,\nThe ocean touched with silver everywhere--\nIn Thee their treasures, all combined,\n      I find.\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nI go to chant, with Angel-throngs,\nThe homage that to Thee belongs.\nSoon let me fly away, to join their songs!\nOh, let me die of love, I pray,\n      One day!\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nI hear, e'en I, Thy last and least,\nThe music from Thy Heavenly Feast;\nThere, deign receive me as Thy loving guest\nAnd, to my harp, let me but sing,\n      My King!\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nUnto the Saints I shall be near,\nTo Mary, and those once treasured here.\nLife is all past, and dried is every tear;\nTo me my home again is given--\n      In Heaven.\n\nApril 28, 1895.\n\n\nI THIRST FOR LOVE\n\nIn wondrous Love, Thou didst come down from Heaven\n   To immolate Thyself, O Christ, for me;\nSo, in my turn, my love to Thee is given--\n   I wish to suffer and to die for Thee.\n\nThou, Lord, didst speak this truth benign:\n   \"To die for one loved tenderly,\nOf greatest love on earth is sign\";\n   And now, such love is mine--\n      Such love for Thee!\n\nDo Thou abide with me, O Pilgrim blest!\n   Behind the hill fast sinks the dying day.\nHelped by Thy Cross, I mount the rocky crest;\n   Oh, come, to guide me on my Heavenward Way.\n\nTo be like Thee is my desire;\n   Thy Voice finds echo in my soul.\nSuffering I crave! Thy words of fire\n   Lift me above earth's mire,\n      And sin's control.\n\nChanting Thy victories, gloriously sublime,\n   The Seraphim--all Heaven--cry to me,\nThat even Thou, to conquer sin and crime,\n   Upon this earth a sufferer needs must be.\n\nFor me upon life's dreary way\n   What scorn, what anguish, Thou didst bear!\nLet me but hide me day by day,\n   Be least of all, alway,\n      Thy lot to share.\n\nAh, Christ! Thy great example teaches me\n   Myself to humble, honours to despise.\nA little one--as Thou--I choose to be,\n   Forgetting self, so I may charm Thine Eyes.\n\nMy peace I find in solitude,\n   Nor ask I more, dear Lord, than this:\nBe Thou my sole beatitude,\n   And ever--in Thee--renewed\n      My joy, my bliss!\n\nThou, the great God Whom earth and Heaven adore,\n   Thou dwell'st a prisoner for me night and day;\nAnd every hour I hear Thy Voice implore:\n   \"I thirst--I thirst--I thirst--for love alway!\"\n\nI, too, Thy prisoner am I;\n   I, too, cry ever unto Thee\nThine own divine and tender cry:\n   \"I thirst!\" Oh, let me die\n      Of love for Thee.\n\nFor love of Thee I thirst! fulfil my hope;\n   Augment in me Thine own celestial flame!\nFor love of Thee I thirst! too scant earth's scope:\n   The glorious Vision of Thy Face I claim!\n\nMy long, slow martyrdom of fire\n   Still more and more consumeth me.\nThou art my joy, my one desire,\n   Jesu! may I expire\n      Of love for Thee.\n\nApril 30, 1896.\n\n\nTO SCATTER FLOWERS\n\nO Jesus! O my Love! each eve I come to fling\n   My springtide roses sweet before Thy Cross divine;\nBy their plucked petals fair, my hands so gladly bring,\n      I long to dry Thine every tear!\n\nTo scatter flowers!--that means each sacrifice:\n   My lightest sighs and pains, my heaviest, saddest hours,\nMy hopes, my joys, my prayers--I will not count the price--\n      Behold my flowers!\n\nWith deep untold delight Thy beauty fills my soul,\n   Would I might light this love in hearts of all who live!\nFor this, my fairest flowers, all things in my control,\n      How fondly, gladly would I give!\n\nTo scatter flowers!--behold my chosen sword\n   For saving sinners' souls and filling Heaven's bowers:\nThe victory is mine--yea, I disarm Thee, Lord,\n      With these my flowers!\n\nThe petals in their flight caress Thy Holy Face;\n   They tell Thee that my heart is Thine, and Thine alone.\nThou knowest what these leaves are saying in my place:\n      On me Thou smilest from Thy Throne.\n\nTo scatter flowers!--that means, to speak of Thee--\n   My only pleasure here, where tears fill all the hours;\nBut soon, with Angel Hosts, my spirit shall be free\n      To scatter flowers.\n\nJune 28, 1896.\n\n\nWHY I LOVE THEE, MARY!\n\nLast Poem written by Soeur Therese\n\nConcluding Stanzas\n\nHenceforth thy shelter in thy woe was John's most humble dwelling;\n   The son of Zebedee replaced the Son Whom Heaven adored.\nNaught else the Gospels tell us of thy life, in grace excelling;\n   It is the last they say of thee, sweet Mother of my Lord!\n\nBut oh! I think that silence means that, high in Heaven's Glory,\n   When time is past, and to their House thy children safe are\ncome,\nThe Eternal Word, my Mother dear, Himself will tell thy story,\n   To charm our souls--thy children's souls--in our Eternal Home.\n\nSoon I shall hear that harmony, that blissful, wondrous singing;\n   Soon, unto Heaven that waits for us, my soul shall swiftly fly.\nO thou who cam'st to smile on me at dawn of life's beginning!\n   Come once again to smile on me . . . Mother! the night is nigh.\n\nI fear no more thy majesty, so far removed above me,\n   For I have suffered sore with thee: now hear me, Mother mild!\nOh, let me tell thee face to face, dear Mary! how I love thee;\n   And say to thee for evermore: I am Thy little child.\n\nMay 1897.\n\nNOTE.--The above poems are reprinted from the translation of the\nLittle Flower's poems made by Susan L. Emery, of Dorchester,\nMass.,\nU.S.A., and published by the Carmel of Boston. [Ed.]","title":"The Story of a Soul (L'Histoire d'une \u00c2me): The Autobiography of St. Th\u00e9r\u00e8se of Lisieux: With Additional Writings and Sayings of St. Th\u00e9r\u00e8se","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":107316}