Produced by David McClamrock
ST. THÉRÈSE OF LISIEUX
THE STORY OF A SOUL (L'HISTOIRE D'UNE ÂME): THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
ST. THÉRÈSE OF LISIEUX
WITH ADDITIONAL WRITINGS AND SAYINGS OF ST. THÉRÈSE
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NOTE TO THIS ELECTRONIC EDITION
This electronic edition of the autobiography of St. Thérèse of
Lisieux (_The Story of a Soul_) includes much, but not all, of the
content of _Soeur Thérèse of Lisieux_ (London: Burns, Oates &
Washbourne, 1912; 8th ed., 1922), edited by Rev. T.N. Taylor. All
the translated writings and sayings of St. Thérèse contained in
that book are in this electronic edition, including the
autobiography as well as "Counsels and Reminiscences," letters,
and selected poems. Also included are the preface by Cardinal
Bourne, the prologue relating Thérèse's parentage and birth, and
the epilogue describing her final illness, her death, and related
events. Not included are the illustrations, the list of
illustrations, accounts of favors attributed to the intercession
of St. Thérèse, documents related to her beatification, and some
other material not written by her.
Footnotes have been re-numbered sequentially in each chapter. They
are presented at the end of each chapter, and some have been
slightly modified for ease of reference. A few footnotes,
referring to page numbers in the original, have been modified or
omitted. Citations to the Psalms, many of which were numbered
differently in Catholic Bibles of St. Thérèse's time than they
commonly are today, have the "new" number in brackets next to the
"old" number from the original--e.g., "Psalm 22[23]:1-4." Footnote
numbers are shown in brackets, e.g., "[1]."
The original page headers, page numbering, disclaimer of any
intention to anticipate the judgment of the Church in calling St.
Thérèse a "saint" before her canonization, and other extraneous
matter, which were deemed suitable for a printed book in 1922 but
not for an e-book in 2005, are not here. The French "oe" ligature,
in words such as "soeur," is not available in the standard
ISO-8859-1 character set, and obviously is represented here by the
two-letter combination "oe." Italics are represented by
underscores at the beginning and end, _like this._ The first word
of each chapter is not set in all caps as it was in the printed
book. A few obvious typographical errors have been corrected, with
the changes in brackets, e.g., "[s]he" for "the" in Chapter IX.
All else, including capitalization, punctuation, grammar, and
British spelling, is intended to reflect the content of the eighth
edition of _Soeur Thérèse of Lisieux._ If it does not, the fault
is that of the transcriber (me, David McClamrock).
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SOEUR THÉRÈSE OF LISIEUX, THE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS
A NEW AND COMPLETE TRANSLATION OF L'HISTOIRE D'UNE ÂME, WITH AN
ACCOUNT OF SOME FAVOURS ATTRIBUTED TO THE INTERCESSION OF SOEUR
THÉRÈSE
EDITED BY T. N. TAYLOR: PRIEST OF THE ARCHDIOCESE OF GLASGOW:
WITNESS BEFORE THE TRIBUNAL OF THE BEATIFICATION
BURNS, OATES & WASHBOURNE LD.
TWENTY-EIGHT ORCHARD STREET, LONDON, W., AND EIGHT TO TEN
PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E.C.
______________________________
NIHIL OBSTAT JOANNES N. STRASSMAIER, S.J. Censor Deputatus
IMPRIMATUR EDMUNDUS Canonicus SURMONT Vicarius Generalis
WESTMONASTERII, die nonâ Decembris, 1912.
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CONTENTS
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DEDICATION
PREFACE BY H.E. CARDINAL BOURNE
PROLOGUE: PARENTAGE AND BIRTH
AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Chapter I. Earliest Memories
" II. A Catholic Household
" III. Pauline Enters the Carmel
" IV. First Communion and Confirmation
" V. Vocation of Thérèse
" VI. A Pilgrimage to Rome
" VII. The Little Flower Enters the Carmel
" VIII. Profession of Soeur Thérèse
" IX. The Night of the Soul
" X. The New Commandment
" XI. A Canticle of Love
EPILOGUE: A VICTIM OF DIVINE LOVE
COUNSELS AND REMINISCENCES
LETTERS OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE
To Céline
To Mother Agnes of Jesus
To Sister Mary of the Sacred Heart
To Sister Frances Teresa
To Marie Guérin
To Jeanne Guérin
To Missionaries
PRAYERS OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE
Her Act of Oblation
A Morning Prayer
Act of Consecration to the Holy Face
Prayer in Honour of the Holy Child
Prayer to the Holy Child
Prayer to the Holy Face
Prayer in Honour of St. Joan of Arc
Prayer to Obtain Humility
DAYS OF GRACE
SELECTED POEMS
My Song of To-day
Memories
I Thirst for Love
To Scatter Flowers
Why I Love Thee, Mary
SHOWER OF ROSES [omitted]
PROCESS OF BEATIFICATION [omitted]
LETTERS OF PIUS X AND OTHERS [omitted]
INDULGENCED PRAYERS [omitted]
SUPPLEMENT [omitted]
______________________________
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE SERVANT OF GOD, SOEUR THÉRÈSE, IN
THANKSGIVING FOR GRACES OBTAINED, AND TO HER "PETITE MÈRE," MOTHER
AGNES OF JESUS, IN GRATEFUL MEMORY OF INNUMERABLE KINDNESSES
EXTENDING OVER MANY YEARS
______________________________
PREFACE
As we become acquainted with the histories of those in whom, in
long succession, God has been pleased to show forth examples of
holiness of life, it seems as if every phase of human existence
had in the history of the Church received its consecration as a
power to bring men nearer to their Maker. But there is no limit to
the types of sanctity which the Creator is pleased to unfold
before His Creatures. To many, on reading for the first time the
story of Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face, it
came almost as a shock to find a very youthful member of an
austere Order, strictly retired from the world, engaged in hidden
prayer and mortification, appearing before us to reveal to the
whole world the wonders of the close intimacy of friendship to
which her Divine Spouse had been pleased to call her. Certainly
the way by which Soeur Thérèse was led is not the normal life of
Carmel, nor hers the manner whereby most Carmelites are called to
accomplish the wondrous apostolate of intercession to which their
lives are given. But no less certain is it that, in her particular
case, her work for God and her apostolate were not to be confined
between the walls of her religious home, or to be limited by her
few years on earth.
In the first place, we know that it was by obedience that the
record of God's dealings with her soul were set down in writing.
And again, the long tale of graces granted in such strange
profusion through her intercession is proof sufficient that it was
not without Divine permission and guidance that the history of her
special and peculiar vocation has become the property of all
Catholics in every land. It is for God to keep, and for Him to
make known the secrets of His Love for men. And in the case of
Soeur Thérèse it has been His Will to divulge His secrets in most
generous consideration for our needs.
What are the hidden treasures which Our Divine Master thus reveals
to us through His chosen little servant?
It is the old story of simplicity in God's service, of the perfect
accomplishment of small recurring duties, of trustful confidence
in Him who made and has redeemed and sanctified us. Humility,
self-effacement, obedience, hiddenness, unfaltering charity, with
all the self-control and constant effort that they imply, are
written on every page of the history of this little Saint. And, as
we turn its pages, the lesson is borne in upon our souls that
there is no surer nor safer way of pleasing Our Father Who is in
Heaven than by remaining ever as little children in His sight.
Doubtless for many of her clients whose hearts are kindled as they
read this book, Soeur Thérèse will obtain, as she has done so
often in the past, wonderful gifts for health of soul and body.
But may she win for all of us without exception a deep and
fruitful conviction of the unchanging truth, that unless we become
as little children in the doing of our Heavenly Father's Will, we
cannot enter into our Eternal Home.
FRANCIS CARDINAL BOURNE, Archbishop of Westminster.
Feast of the Presentation of Our Blessed Lady, 1912.
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PROLOGUE: THE PARENTAGE & BIRTH OF MARIE FRANÇOISE THÉRÈSE MARTIN
In the month of September, 1843, a young man of twenty climbed the
mountain of the Great St. Bernard. His eyes shone with a holy
enthusiasm as the splendour of the Alps stirred to the depths his
responsive nature. Presently, accustomed as they were to discern
God's beauty in the beauty of His handiwork, they glistened with
tears. He paused for a space, then, continuing his journey, soon
reached the celebrated monastery that like a beacon on those
heights darts afar its beams of faith and magnificent charity.
The Prior, struck by the frank and open countenance of his guest,
welcomed him with more than wonted hospitality. Louis Joseph
Stanislaus Martin was the pilgrim's name. He was born on August
22, 1823, at Bordeaux, while his father, a brave and devout
soldier, was captain in the garrison there. "God has predestined
this little one for Himself," said the saintly Bishop of Bordeaux
on the occasion of his baptism, and events have proved the truth
of his words. From this town, by the banks of the Garonne, his
parents went to Alençon in lower Normandy, and there in their new
home, as in their old one, Louis was the cherished Benjamin.
It was not the loveliness of Swiss lakes and mountains and skies
that had drawn the traveller from distant Alençon. He came to the
monastery--and his journey was chiefly on foot--to consecrate his
days to God. On learning his purpose the Prior questioned him upon
his knowledge of Latin, only to discover that the young aspirant
had not completed his course of studies in that language. "I am
indeed sorry, my child," said the venerable monk, "since this is
an essential condition, but you must not be disheartened. Go back
to your own country, apply yourself diligently, and when you have
ended your studies we shall receive you with open arms."
Louis was disappointed. He set out for home--for exile he would
have said--but ere long he saw clearly that his life was to be
dedicated to God in another and equally fruitful way, and that the
Alpine monastery was to be nothing more to him than a sweet memory.
* * * * * *
A few years after the vain quest of Louis Martin, a similar scene
was enacted in Alençon itself. Accompanied by her mother, Zélie
Guérin--an attractive and pious girl--presented herself at the
Convent of the Sisters of Charity in the hope of gaining
admission. For years it had been her desire to share the Sisters'
work, but this was not to be. In the interview that followed, the
Superioress--guided by the Holy Ghost--decided unhesitatingly
that Zélie's vocation was not for the religious life. God wanted
her in the world, and so she returned to her parents, and to the
companionship of her elder sister and her younger brother. Shortly
afterwards the gates of the Visitation Convent at Le Mans closed
upon her beloved sister, and Zélie's thoughts turned to the
Sacrament of Holy Matrimony. "O my God"--she repeated constantly--
"since I am unworthy to be Thy Spouse, like my dear sister, I
shall enter the married state to fulfill Thy Holy Will, and I
beseech Thee to make me the mother of many children, and to grant
that all of them may be dedicated to Thee."
God gave ear to her prayer, and His Finger was visible in the
circumstances which led to her becoming the wife of Louis Martin,
on July 12, 1858, in Alençon's lovely Church of Notre Dame. Like
the chaste Tobias, they were joined together in matrimony--"solely
for the love of children, in whom God's Name might be blessed for
ever and ever." Nine white flowers bloomed in this sacred garden.
Of the nine, four were transplanted to Paradise ere their buds had
quite unfolded, while five were gathered in God's walled gardens
upon earth, one entering the Visitation Convent at Caen, the others the
Carmel of Lisieux. From the cradle all were dedicated to Mary
Immaculate, and all received her name: Marie Louise, Marie Pauline,
Marie Léonie, Marie Hélène, who died at the age of four and a half,
Marie Joseph Louis, Marie Joseph Jean Baptiste, Marie Céline, Marie
Mélanie Therèse, who died when three months old, and lastly, _Marie
Françoise Thérèse._
The two boys were the fruit of prayers and tears. After the birth
of the four elder girls, their parents entreated St. Joseph to
obtain for them the favour of a son who should become a priest and
a missionary. Marie Joseph soon was given them, and his pretty
ways appealed to all hearts, but only five months had run their
course when Heaven demanded what it had lent. Then followed more
urgent novenas.
The grandeur of the Priesthood, glorious upon earth, ineffable in
eternity, was so well understood by those Christian parents, that
their hearts coveted it most dearly. At all costs the family must
have a Priest of the Lord, one who would be an apostle,
peradventure a martyr. But, "the thoughts of the Lord are not our
thoughts, His ways are not our ways." Another little Joseph was
born, and with him hope once again grew strong. Alas! Nine months
had scarcely passed when he, too, fled from this world and joined
his angel brother.
They did not ask again. Yet, could the veil of the future have
been lifted, their heavy hearts would, of a surety, have been
comforted. A child was to be vouchsafed them who would be a herald
of Divine love, not to China alone, but to all the ends of the
earth.
Nay, they themselves were destined to shine as apostles, and we
read on one of the first pages of the Portuguese edition of the
Autobiography, these significant words of an eminent Jesuit:
"To the Sacred Memory of Louis Joseph Stanislaus Martin and of
Zélie Guérin, the blessed parents of Sister Teresa of the Child
Jesus, for an example to all Christian parents."
They little dreamed of this future apostolate, nevertheless they
made ready their souls day by day to be God's own instruments in
God's good time. With most loving resignation they greeted the
many crosses which the Lord laid upon them--the Lord whose tender
name of Father is truest in the dark hour of trial.
Every morning saw them at Mass; together they knelt at the Holy
Table. They strictly observed the fasts and abstinences of the
Church, kept Sunday as a day of complete rest from work in spite
of the remonstrance of friends, and found in pious reading their
most delightful recreation. They prayed in common--after the
touching example of Captain Martin, whose devout way of repeating
the _Our Father_ brought tears to all eyes. Thus the great
Christian virtues flourished in their home. Wealth did not bring
luxury in its train, and a strict simplicity was invariably
observed.
"How mistaken are the great majority of men!" Madame Martin used
often to say. "If they are rich, they at once desire honours; and
if these are obtained, they are still unhappy; for never can that
heart be satisfied which seeks anything but God."
Her whole ambition as a mother was directed to Heaven. "Four of my
children are already well settled in life," she once wrote; "and
the others will go likewise to that Heavenly Kingdom--enriched
with greater merit because the combat will have been more
prolonged."
Charity in all its forms was a natural outlet to the piety of
these simple hearts. Husband and wife set aside each year a
considerable portion of their earnings for the Propagation of the
Faith; they relieved poor persons in distress, and ministered to
them with their own hands. On one occasion Monsieur Martin, like a
good Samaritan, was seen to raise a drunken man from the ground in
a busy thoroughfare, take his bag of tools, support him on his
arm, and lead him home. Another time when he saw, in a railway
station, a poor and starving epileptic without the means to return
to his distant home, he was so touched with pity that he took off
his hat and, placing in it an alms, proceeded to beg from the
passengers on behalf of the sufferer. Money poured in, and it was
with a heart brimming over with gratitude that the sick man
blessed his benefactor.
Never did he allow the meannesses of human respect to degrade his
Christian dignity. In whatever company he might be, he always
saluted the Blessed Sacrament when passing a Church; and he never
met a priest without paying him a mark of respect. A word from his
lips sufficed to silence whosoever dared blaspheme in his presence.
In reward for his virtues, God showered even temporal blessings on
His faithful servant. In 1871 he was able to give up his business
as a jeweller, and retire to a house in the Rue St. Blaise. The
making of point-lace, however, begun by Madame Martin, was still
carried on.
In that house the "Little Flower of Jesus" first saw the sunshine.
Again and again, in the pages of her Autobiography, she calls
herself by this modest name of the _Little Flower,_ emblematic of
her humility, her purity, her simplicity, and it may be added, of
the poetry of her soul. The reader will learn in the Epilogue how
it was also used by one of her favourite martyr-saints--the now
Blessed Théophane Vénard. On the manuscript of her Autobiography
she set the title: _"The Story of the Springtime of a little white
Flower,"_ and in truth such it was, for long ere the rigours of
life's winter came round, the Flower was blossoming in Paradise.
It was, however, in mid-winter, January 2, 1873, that this ninth
child of Louis Martin and Zélie Guérin was born. Marie and Pauline
were at home for the Christmas holidays from the Visitation
Convent at Le Mans, and though there was, it is true, a slight
disappointment that the future priest was still denied them, it
quickly passed, and the little one was regarded as a special gift
from Heaven. Later on, her beloved Father delighted in calling
her his "Little Queen," adding at times the high-sounding
titles--"Of France and Navarre."
The Little Queen was indeed well received that winter's morning,
and in the course of the day a poor waif rang timidly at the door
of the happy home, and presented a paper bearing the following
simple stanza:
"Smile and swiftly grow; All beckons thee to joy, Sweet love, and
tenderest care. Smile gladly at the dawn, Bud of an hour!--for
thou Shalt be a stately rose."
It was a charming prophecy, for the bud unfolded its petals and
became a rose--a rose of love--but not for long, "for the space of
a morn!"
* * * * * *
On January 4, she was carried to the Church of Notre Dame to
receive the Sacrament of Baptism; her eldest sister, Marie, was
her godmother, and she was given the name of _Marie Françoise
Thérèse._[1]
All was joy at first, but soon the tender bud drooped on its
delicate stem: little hope was held out--it must wither and die.
"You must pray to St. Francis de Sales," wrote her aunt from the
convent at Le Mans, "and you must promise, if the child recovers,
to call her by her second name, Frances." This was a sword-thrust
for the Mother. Leaning over the cradle of her Thérèse, she
awaited the coming of the end, saying: "Only when the last hope
has gone, will I promise to call her Frances."
The gentle St. Francis waived his claim in favour of the great
Reformer of the Carmelite Order: the child recovered, and so
retained her sweet name of Thérèse. Sorrow, however, was mixed
with the Mother's joy, when it became necessary to send the babe
to a foster-mother in the country. There the "little rose-bud"
grew in beauty, and after some months had gained strength
sufficient to allow of her being brought back to Alençon. Her
memory of this short but happy time spent with her sainted Mother
in the Rue St. Blaise was extraordinarily vivid. To-day a tablet
on the balcony of No. 42 informs the passers-by that here was born
a certain Carmelite, by name, Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and
the Holy Face. Fifteen years have gone since the meeting in Heaven
of Madame Martin and her Carmelite child, and if the pilgrimage to
where the Little Flower first saw the light of day, be not so
large as that to the grave where her remains await their glorious
resurrection, it may nevertheless be numbered in thousands. And to
the English-speaking pilgrim there is an added pleasure in the
fact that her most notable convert, the first minister of the
United Free Church of Scotland to enter the True Fold, performs,
with his convert wife, the courteous duties of host.
* * * * * *
It will not be amiss to say a brief word here on the brother and
sister of Madame Martin. Her sister--in religion, Sister Marie
Dosithea--led a life so holy at Le Mans that she was cited by Dom
Guéranger, perhaps the most distinguished Benedictine of the
nineteenth century, as the model of a perfect nun. By her own
confession, she had never been guilty from earliest childhood of
the smallest deliberate fault. She died on February 24, 1877. It
was in the convent made fragrant by such holiness that her niece
Pauline Martin, elder sister and "little mother" of Thérèse, and
for five years her Prioress at the Carmel, received her education.
And if the Little Flower may have imbibed the liturgical spirit
from her teachers, the daughters of St. Benedict in Lisieux, so
that she could say before her death: "I do not think it is
possible for anyone to have desired more than I to assist properly
at choir and to recite perfectly the Divine Office"--may it not be
to the influences from Le Mans that may be traced something of the
honey-sweet spirit of St. Francis de Sales which pervades the
pages of the Autobiography?
With the brother of Zélie Guérin the reader will make acquaintance
in the narrative of Thérèse. He was a chemist in Lisieux, and it
was there his daughter Jeanne Guérin married Dr. La Néele and his
younger child Marie entered the Carmel. Our foreign missionaries
had a warm friend in the uncle of Thérèse--for his charities he
was made godfather to an African King; and to the Catholic
Press--that home missionary--he was ever most devoted. Founder, at
Lisieux, of the Nocturnal Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, and
a zealous member of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, he was
called to his abundant reward on September 28, 1909. Verily the
lamp of faith is not extinct in the land of the Norman.
The Father of Thérèse, after the death of his wife, likewise made
his home in the delightful town which lies amid the beautiful
apple orchards of the valley of the Touques. Lisieux is deeply
interesting by reason of its fine old churches of St. Jacques and
St. Pierre, and its wonderful specimens of quaint houses, some of
which date from the twelfth century. In matters of faith it is
neither fervent nor hostile, and in 1877 its inhabitants little
thought that through their new citizen, Marie Françoise Thérèse
Martin, their town would be rendered immortal.
* * * * * *
"The cell at Lisieux reminds us of the cell of the Blessed Gabriel
at Isola. There is the same even tenor of way, the same
magnificant fidelity in little things, the same flames of divine
charity, consuming but concealed. Nazareth, with the simplicity of
its Child, and the calm abysmal love of Mary and Joseph--Nazareth,
adorable but imitable, gives the key to her spirit, and her
Autobiography does but repeat the lessons of the thirty hidden
years."[2]
And it repeats them with an unrivalled charm. "This master of
asceticism," writes a biographer[3] of St. Ignatius Loyola, "loved
the garden and loved the flowers. In the balcony of his study he
sat gazing on the stars: it was then Lainez heard him say: 'Oh,
how earth grows base to me when I look on Heaven!' . . . The like
imaginative strain, so scorned of our petty day, inhered in all
the lofty souls of that age. Even the Saints of our day speak a
less radiant language: and sanctity shows 'shorn of its rays'
through the black fog of universal utilitarianism, the materiality
which men have drawn into the very lungs of their souls."
This is not true of the sainted authoress of the chapters that
follow--"less radiant," in the medium of a translation. In her
own inimitable pages, as in those of a Campion or an Ignatius, a
Teresa of Avila, or a John of the Cross--the Spirit of Poetry is
the handmaiden of Holiness. This new lover of flowers and student
of the stars, this "strewer of roses," has uplifted a million
hearts from the "base earth" and "black fog" to the very throne of
God, and her mission is as yet but begun.
The pen of Soeur Thérèse herself must now take up the narrative.
It will do so in words that do not merely tell of love but set the
heart on fire, and at the same time lay bare the workings of God
in a soul that "since the age of three never refused the Good God
anything." The writing of this Autobiography was an act of
obedience, and the Prioress who imposed the task sought, in all
simplicity, her own personal edification. But the fragrance of its
pages was such that she was advised to publish them to the world.
She did so in 1899 under the title of _L'Histoire d'une Âme._ An
English version by M. H. Dziewicki appeared in 1901.
This new translation relates more fully the story of the
childhood, girlhood, and brief convent days of Soeur Thérèse. It
tells of her "Roses," and sets forth again, in our world-wide
tongue, her world-wide embassy--the ever ancient message of God's
Merciful Love, the ever new _way_ to Him of "confidence and
self-surrender."
The Editor.
______________________________
[1] The baptismal entry, with its numerous signatures, is shown to
visitors, and a tablet in the baptistry of the beautiful Gothic
church tells the pilgrim that here the "Little Queen" was made a
child of God. [Ed.]
[2] _"As Little Children"_: the abridged life of Soeur Thérèse.
Published at the Orphans' Press, Rochdale.
[3] Francis Thompson.
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THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE OF LISIEUX, ENTITLED BY
HERSELF: "THE STORY OF THE SPRINGTIME OF A LITTLE WHITE FLOWER"
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CHAPTER I
EARLIEST MEMORIES
It is to you, dear Mother, that I am about to confide the story of
my soul. When you asked me to write it, I feared the task might
unsettle me, but since then Our Lord has deigned to make me
understand that by simple obedience I shall please Him best. I
begin therefore to sing what must be my eternal song: "the Mercies
of the Lord."[1]
Before setting about my task I knelt before the statue of Our Lady
which had given my family so many proofs of Our Heavenly Mother's
loving care.[2] As I knelt I begged of that dear Mother to guide
my hand, and thus ensure that only what was pleasing to her should
find place here.
Then opening the Gospels, my eyes fell on these words: "Jesus,
going up into a mountain, called unto Him whom He would
Himself."[3]
They threw a clear light upon the mystery of my vocation and of my
entire life, and above all upon the favours which Our Lord has
granted to my soul. He does not call those who are worthy, but
those whom He will. As St. Paul says: "God will have mercy on whom
He will have mercy.[4] So then it is not of him that willeth, nor
of him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy."[5]
I often asked myself why God had preferences, why all souls did
not receive an equal measure of grace. I was filled with wonder
when I saw extraordinary favours showered on great sinners like
St. Paul, St. Augustine, St. Mary Magdalen, and many others, whom
He forced, so to speak, to receive His grace. In reading the lives
of the Saints I was surprised to see that there were certain
privileged souls, whom Our Lord favoured from the cradle to the
grave, allowing no obstacle in their path which might keep them
from mounting towards Him, permitting no sin to soil the spotless
brightness of their baptismal robe. And again it puzzled me why so
many poor savages should die without having even heard the name of
God.
Our Lord has deigned to explain this mystery to me. He showed me
the book of nature, and I understood that every flower created by
Him is beautiful, that the brilliance of the rose and the
whiteness of the lily do not lessen the perfume of the violet or
the sweet simplicity of the daisy. I understood that if all the
lowly flowers wished to be roses, nature would lose its springtide
beauty, and the fields would no longer be enamelled with lovely
hues. And so it is in the world of souls, Our Lord's living
garden. He has been pleased to create great Saints who may be
compared to the lily and the rose, but He has also created lesser
ones, who must be content to be daisies or simple violets
flowering at His Feet, and whose mission it is to gladden His
Divine Eyes when He deigns to look down on them. And the more
gladly they do His Will the greater is their perfection.
I understood this also, that God's Love is made manifest as well
in a simple soul which does not resist His grace as in one more
highly endowed. In fact, the characteristic of love being
self-abasement, if all souls resembled the holy Doctors who have
illuminated the Church, it seems that God in coming to them would
not stoop low enough. But He has created the little child, who
knows nothing and can but utter feeble cries, and the poor savage
who has only the natural law to guide him, and it is to their
hearts that He deigns to stoop. These are the field flowers whose
simplicity charms Him; and by His condescension to them Our
Saviour shows His infinite greatness. As the sun shines both on
the cedar and on the floweret, so the Divine Sun illumines every
soul, great and small, and all correspond to His care--just as in
nature the seasons are so disposed that on the appointed day the
humblest daisy shall unfold its petals.
You will wonder, dear Mother, to what all this is leading, for
till now I have said nothing that sounds like the story of my
life; but did you not tell me to write quite freely whatever came
into my mind? So, it will not be my life properly speaking, that
you will find in these pages, but my thoughts about the graces
which it has pleased Our Lord to bestow on me.
I am now at a time of life when I can look back on the past, for
my soul has been refined in the crucible of interior and exterior
trials. Now, like a flower after the storm, I can raise my head
and see that the words of the Psalm are realised in me: "The Lord
is my Shepherd and I shall want nothing. He hath set me in a place
of pasture. He hath brought me up on the water of refreshment. He
hath converted my soul. He hath led me on the paths of justice for
His own Name's sake. For though I should walk in the midst of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evils for Thou are with me."[6]
Yes, to me Our Lord has always been "compassionate and merciful,
long-suffering and plenteous in mercy."[7]
And so it gives me great joy, dear Mother, to come to you and sing
His unspeakable mercies. It is for you alone that I write the
story of the little flower gathered by Jesus. This thought will
help me to speak freely, without troubling either about style or
about the many digressions that I shall make; for a Mother's heart
always understands her child, even when it can only lisp, and so I
am sure of being understood and my meaning appreciated.
If a little flower could speak, it seems to me that it would tell
us quite simply all that God has done for it, without hiding any
of its gifts. It would not, under the pretext of humility, say
that it was not pretty, or that it had not a sweet scent, that the
sun had withered its petals, or the storm bruised its stem, if it
knew that such were not the case.
The Little Flower, that now tells her tale, rejoiced in having to
publish the wholly undeserved favours bestowed upon her by Our
Lord. She knows that she had nothing in herself worthy of
attracting Him: His Mercy alone showered blessings on her. He
allowed her to grow in holy soil enriched with the odour of
purity, and preceded by eight lilies of shining whiteness. In His
Love He willed to preserve her from the poisoned breath of the
world--hardly had her petals unfolded when this good Master
transplanted her to the mountain of Carmel, Our Lady's chosen
garden.
And now, dear Mother, having summed up in a few words all that
God's goodness has done for me, I will relate in detail the story
of my childhood. I know that, though to others it may seem
wearisome, your motherly heart will find pleasure in it. In the
story of my soul, up to the time of my entry into the Carmel,
there are three clearly marked periods: the first, in spite of its
shortness, is by no means the least rich in memories.
It extends from the dawn of reason to the death of my dearly loved
Mother; in other words, till I was four years and eight months
old. God, in His goodness, did me the favour of awakening my
intelligence very early, and He has imprinted the recollections of
my childhood so deeply in my memory that past events seem to have
happened but yesterday. Without doubt He wished to make me know
and appreciate the Mother He had given me. Alas! His Divine Hand
soon took her from me to crown her in Heaven.
All my life it has pleased Him to surround me with affection. My
first recollections are of loving smiles and tender caresses; but
if He made others love me so much, He made me love them too, for I
was of an affectionate nature.
You can hardly imagine how much I loved my Father and Mother, and,
being very demonstrative, I showed my love in a thousand little
ways, though the means I employed make me smile now when I think
of them.
Dear Mother, you have given me the letters which my Mother wrote
at this time to Pauline, who was at school at the Visitation
Convent at Le Mans. I remember perfectly the events they refer to,
but it will be easier for me simply to quote some passages, though
these charming letters, inspired by a Mother's love, are too often
full of my praises.
In proof of what I have said about my way of showing affection for
my parents, here is an example: "Baby is the dearest little rogue;
she comes to kiss me, and at the same time wishes me to die. 'Oh,
how I wish you would die, dear Mamma,' she said, and when she was
scolded she was quite astonished, and answered: 'But I want you to
go to Heaven, and you say we must die to go there'; and in her
outburst of affection for her Father she wishes him to die too.
The dear little thing will hardly leave me, she follows me
everywhere, but likes going into the garden best; when I am not
there she refuses to stay, and cries so much that they are obliged
to bring her back. She will not even go upstairs alone without
calling me at each step, 'Mamma! Mamma!' and if I forget to answer
'Yes, darling!' she waits where she is, and will not move."
I was nearly three years old when my Mother wrote: "Little Thérèse
asked me the other day if she would go to Heaven. 'Yes, if you are
good,' I told her. 'Oh, Mamma,' she answered, 'then if I am not
good, shall I go to Hell? Well, you know what I will do--I shall
fly to you in Heaven, and you will hold me tight in your arms, and
how could God take me away then?' I saw that she was convinced
that God could do nothing to her if she hid herself in my arms."
"Marie loves her little sister very much; indeed she is a child
who delights us all. She is extraordinarily outspoken, and it is
charming to see her run after me to confess her childish faults:
'Mamma, I have pushed Céline; I slapped her once, but I'll not do
it again.' The moment she has done anything mischievous, everyone
must know. Yesterday, without meaning to do so, she tore off a
small piece of wall paper; you would have been sorry for her--she
wanted to tell her father immediately. When he came home four
hours later, everyone else had forgotten about it, but she ran at
once to Marie saying: 'Tell Papa that I tore the paper.' She
waited there like a criminal for sentence; but she thinks she is
more easily forgiven if she accuses herself."
Papa's name fills me with many happy memories. Mamma laughingly
said he always did whatever I wanted, but he answered: "Well, why
not? She is the Queen!" Then he would lift me on to his shoulder,
and caress me in all sorts of ways. Yet I cannot say that he
spoilt me. I remember one day while I was swinging he called out
as he passed: "Come and kiss me, little Queen." Contrary to my
usual custom, I would not stir, and answered pertly: "You must
come for it, Papa." He refused quite rightly, and went away. Marie
was there and scolded me, saying: "How naughty to answer Papa like
that!" Her reproof took effect; I got off the swing at once, and
the whole house resounded with my cries. I hurried upstairs, not
waiting this time to call Mamma at each step; my one thought was
to find Papa and make my peace with him. I need not tell you that
this was soon done.
I could not bear to think I had grieved my beloved parents, and I
acknowledged my faults instantly, as this little anecdote, related
by my Mother, will show: "One morning before going downstairs I
wanted to kiss Thérèse; she seemed to be fast asleep, and I did
not like to wake her, but Marie said: 'Mamma, I am sure she is
only pretending.' So I bent down to kiss her forehead, and
immediately she hid herself under the clothes, saying in the tone
of a spoilt child: 'I don't want anyone to look at me.' I was not
pleased with her, and told her so. A minute or two afterwards I
heard her crying, and was surprised to see her by my side. She had
got out of her cot by herself, and had come downstairs with bare
feet, stumbling over her long nightdress. Her little face was wet
with tears: 'Mamma,' she said, throwing herself on my knee, 'I am
sorry for being naughty--forgive me!' Pardon was quickly granted;
I took the little angel in my arms and pressed her to my heart,
smothering her with kisses."
I remember also my great affection for my eldest sister Marie, who
had just left school. Without seeming to do so, I took in all that
I saw and heard, and I think that I reflected on things then as I
do now. I listened attentively while she taught Céline, and was
very good and obedient, so as to obtain the privilege of being
allowed in the room during lessons. She gave me many trifling
presents which pleased me greatly. I was proud of my two big
sisters; but as Pauline seemed so far away from us, I thought of
her all day long. When I was only just learning to talk, and Mamma
asked: "What are you thinking about?" my answer invariably was:
"Pauline." Sometimes I heard people saying that Pauline would be a
nun, and, without quite knowing what it meant, I thought: "I will
be a nun too." This is one of my first recollections, and I have
never changed my mind; so it was the example of this beloved
sister which, from the age of two, drew me to the Divine Spouse of
Virgins. My dearest Mother, what tender memories of Pauline I
could confide to you here! But it would take me too long.
Léonie had also a very warm place in my heart; she loved me very
much, and her love was returned. In the evening when she came home
from school she used to take care of me while the others went out,
and it seems to me I can still hear the sweet songs she sang to
put me to sleep. I remember perfectly the day of her First
Communion, and I remember also her companion, the poor child whom
my Mother dressed, according to the touching custom of the
well-to-do families in Alençon. This child did not leave Léonie
for an instant on that happy day, and in the evening at the grand
dinner she sat in the place of honour. Alas! I was too small to
stay up for this feast, but I shared in it a little, thanks to
Papa's goodness, for he came himself to bring his little Queen a
piece of the iced cake.
The only one now left to speak of is Céline, the companion of my
childhood. My memories of her are so many that I do not know which
to choose. We understood each other perfectly, but I was much more
forward and lively, and far less ingenuous. Here is a letter which
will show you, dear Mother, how sweet was Céline, and how naughty
Thérèse. I was then nearly three years old, and Céline six and a
half. "Céline is naturally inclined to be good; as to the little
puss, Thérèse, one cannot tell how she will turn out, she is so
young and heedless. She is a very intelligent child, but has not
nearly so sweet a disposition as her sister, and her stubbornness
is almost unconquerable. When she has said 'No,' nothing will make
her change; one could leave her all day in the cellar without
getting her to say 'Yes.' She would sooner sleep there."
I had another fault also, of which my Mother did not speak in her
letters: it was self-love. Here are two instances: --One day, no
doubt wishing to see how far my pride would go, she smiled and
said to me, "Thérèse, if you will kiss the ground I will give you
a halfpenny." In those days a halfpenny was a fortune, and in
order to gain it I had not far to stoop, for I was so tiny there
was not much distance between me and the ground; but my pride was
up in arms, and holding myself very erect, I said, "No, thank you,
Mamma, I would rather go without it."
Another time we were going into the country to see some friends.
Mamma told Marie to put on my prettiest frock, but not to let me
have bare arms. I did not say a word, and appeared as indifferent
as children of that age should be, but I said to myself, "I should
have looked much prettier with bare arms."
With such a disposition I feel sure that had I been brought up by
careless parents I should have become very wicked, and perhaps
have lost my soul. But Jesus watched over His little Spouse, and
turned even her faults to advantage, for, being checked early in
life, they became a means of leading her towards perfection. For
instance, as I had great self-love and an innate love of good as
well, it was enough to tell me once: "You must not do that," and I
never wanted to do it again. Having only good example before my
eyes, I naturally wished to follow it, and I see with pleasure in
my Mother's letters that as I grew older I began to be a greater
comfort. This is what she writes in 1876: "Even Thérèse is anxious
to make sacrifices. Marie has given her little sisters a string of
beads on purpose to count their acts of self-denial. They have
really spiritual, but very amusing, conversations together. Céline
said the other day: 'How can God be in such a tiny Host?' Thérèse
answered: 'That is not strange, because God is Almighty!' 'And
what does Almighty mean?' 'It means that He can do whatever He
likes.'
"But it is more amusing still to see Thérèse put her hand in her
pocket, time after time, to pull a bead along the string, whenever
she makes a little sacrifice. The children are inseparable, and
are quite sufficient company for one another. Nurse has given
Thérèse two bantams, and every day after dinner she and Céline sit
by the fire and play with them.
"One morning Thérèse got out of her cot and climbed into Céline's.
The nurse went to fetch her to be dressed, and, when at last she
found her, the little thing said, hugging her sister very hard:
'Oh, Louise! leave me here, don't you see that we are like the
little white bantams, we can't be separated from one another.'"
It is quite true that I could not be separated from Céline; I
would rather leave my dessert unfinished at table than let her go
without me, and I would get down from my high chair when she did,
and off we went to play together. On Sundays, as I was still too
small to go to the long services, Mamma stayed at home to take
care of me. I was always very good, walking about on tip-toe; but
as soon as I heard the door open there was a tremendous outburst
of joy--I threw myself on my dear little sister, exclaiming: "Oh,
Céline! give me the blessed bread, quick!"[8] One day she had not
brought any--what was to be done? I could not do without it, for I
called this little feast my Mass. A bright idea struck me: "You
have no blessed bread! --make some." Céline immediately opened the
cupboard, took out the bread, cut a tiny bit off, and after saying
a Hail Mary quite solemnly over it, triumphantly presented it to
me; and I, making the sign of the Cross, ate it with devotion,
fancying it tasted exactly like the real blessed bread.
One day Léonie, thinking no doubt that she was too big to play
with dolls, brought us a basket filled with clothes, pretty pieces
of stuff, and other trifles on which her doll was laid: "Here,
dears," she said, "choose whatever you like." Céline looked at it,
and took a woollen ball. After thinking about it for a minute, I
put out my hand saying: "I choose everything," and I carried off
both doll and basket without more ado.
This childish incident was a forecast, so to speak, of my whole
life. Later on, when the way of perfection was opened out before
me, I realised that in order to become a Saint one must suffer
much, always seek the most perfect path, and forget oneself. I
also understood that there are many degrees of holiness, that each
soul is free to respond to the calls of Our Lord, to do much or
little for His Love--in a word, to choose amongst the sacrifices
He asks. And then also, as in the days of my childhood, I cried
out: "My God, I choose everything, I will not be a Saint by
halves, I am not afraid of suffering for Thee, I only fear one
thing, and that is to do my own will. Accept the offering of my
will, for I choose all that Thou willest."
But, dear Mother, I am forgetting myself--I must not tell you yet
of my girlhood, I am still speaking of the baby of three and four
years old.
I remember a dream I had at that age which impressed itself very
deeply on my memory. I thought I was walking alone in the garden
when, suddenly, I saw near the arbour two hideous little devils
dancing with surprising agility on a barrel of lime, in spite of
the heavy irons attached to their feet. At first they cast fiery
glances at me; then, as though suddenly terrified, I saw them, in
the twinkling of an eye, throw themselves down to the bottom of
the barrel, from which they came out somehow, only to run and hide
themselves in the laundry which opened into the garden. Finding
them such cowards, I wanted to know what they were going to do,
and, overcoming my fears, I went to the window. The wretched
little creatures were there, running about on the tables, not
knowing how to hide themselves from my gaze. From time to time
they came nearer, peering through the windows with an uneasy air,
then, seeing that I was still there, they began to run about again
looking quite desperate. Of course this dream was nothing
extraordinary; yet I think Our Lord made use of it to show me that
a soul in the state of grace has nothing to fear from the devil,
who is a coward, and will even fly from the gaze of a little child.
Dear Mother, how happy I was at that age! I was beginning to enjoy
life, and goodness itself seemed full of charms. Probably my
character was the same as it is now, for even then I had great
self-command, and made a practice of never complaining when my
things were taken; even if I was unjustly accused, I preferred to
keep silence. There was no merit in this, for I did it naturally.
How quickly those sunny years of my childhood passed away, and
what tender memories they have imprinted on my mind! I remember
the Sunday walks when my dear Mother always accompanied us; and I
can still feel the impression made on my childish heart at the
sight of the fields bright with cornflowers, poppies, and
marguerites. Even at that age I loved far-stretching views, sunlit
spaces and stately trees; in a word, all nature charmed me and
lifted up my soul to Heaven.
Often, during these walks, we met poor people. I was always chosen
to give them an alms, which made me feel very happy. Sometimes, my
dear Father, knowing the way was too long for his little Queen,
took me home. This was a cause of grief, and to console me Céline
would fill her basket with daisies, and give them to me on her
return. Truly everything on earth smiled on me; I found flowers
strewn at every step, and my naturally happy disposition helped to
make life bright. But a new era was about to dawn.
I was to be the Spouse of Our Lord at such an early age that it
was necessary I should suffer from my childhood. As the early
spring flowers begin to come up under the snow and open at the
first rays of the sun, so the Little Flower whose story I am
writing had to pass through the winter of trial and to have her
tender cup filled with the dew of tears.
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[1] Ps. 88[89]:1.
[2] This statue twice appeared as if endowed with life, in order
to enlighten and console Mme. Martin, mother of Thérèse. A like
favour was granted to Thérèse herself, as will be seen in the
course of the narrative.
[3] Mark 3:13.
[4] Cf. Exodus 33:19.
[5] Cf. Rom. 9:16.
[6] Cf. Ps. 22[23]:1-4.
[7] Ps. 102[103]:8.
[8] The custom still prevails in some parts of France of blessing
bread at the Offertory of the Mass and then distributing it to the
faithful. It is known as _pain bénit._ This blessing only takes
place at the Parochial Mass. [Ed.]
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