A PILGRIMAGE TO ROME
Three days after the journey to Bayeux, I started on a much longer
one--to the Eternal City. This journey taught me the vanity of
all that passes away. Nevertheless I saw splendid monuments; I
studied the countless wonders of art and religion; and better than
all, I trod the very ground the Holy Apostles had trodden--the
ground watered by the blood of martyrs--and my soul grew by
contact with these holy things.
I was delighted to go to Rome; but I could quite understand people
crediting Papa with the hope that in this way I should be brought
to change my mind about the religious life. It might certainly
have upset a vocation that was not very strong.
To begin with, Céline and I found ourselves in the company of many
distinguished people. In fact, there were scarcely any others in
the pilgrimage; but, far from being dazzled thereby, titles seemed
to us but a "vapour of smoke,"[1] and I understood the words of
the _Imitation:_ "Be not solicitous for the shadow of a great
name."[2] I understood that true greatness is not found in a name
but in the soul. The Prophet Isaias tells us: "The Lord shall call
His servants by another name,"[3] and we read in St. John: "To him
that overcometh I will give a white counter, and on the counter a
new name written which no man knoweth but he that receiveth
it."[4] In Heaven, therefore, we shall know our titles of
nobility, and "then shall every man have praise from God,"[5] and
he who on earth chose to be poorest and least known for love of
his Saviour, he will be the first, the noblest, and the richest.
The second thing I learnt had to do with Priests. Up to this time
I had not understood the chief aim of the Carmelite Reform. To
pray for sinners delighted me; to pray for Priests, whose souls
seemed pure as crystal, that indeed astonished me. But in Italy I
realised my vocation, and even so long a journey was a small price
to pay for such valuable knowledge. During that month I met with
many holy Priests, and yet I saw that even though the sublime
dignity of Priesthood raises them higher than the Angels, they are
still but weak and imperfect men. And so if holy Priests, whom Our
Lord in the Gospel calls the salt of the earth, have need of our
prayers, what must we think of the lukewarm? Has not Our Lord
said: "If the salt lose its savour wherewith shall it be
salted?"[6] Oh, dear Mother, how beautiful is our vocation! We
Carmelites are called to preserve "the salt of the earth." We
offer our prayers and sacrifices for the apostles of the Lord; we
ourselves ought to be their apostles, while they, by word and
example, are preaching the Gospel to our brethren. Have we not a
glorious mission to fulfill? But I must say no more, for I feel
that on this subject my pen would run on for ever.
Now let me describe my journey in some detail. At three o'clock in
the morning of November 4, we passed through the silent streets.
Lisieux still lay shrouded in the darkness of night. I felt that I
was going out into the unknown, and that great things were
awaiting me in Rome. When we reached Paris, Papa took us to see
all the sights. For me there was but one--Our Lady of Victories. I
can never tell you what I felt at her shrine; the graces Our Lady
granted me were like those of my First Communion Day. I was filled
with peace and happiness. In this holy spot the Blessed Virgin, my
Mother, told me plainly that it was really she who had smiled on
me and cured me. With intense fervour I entreated her to keep me
always, and to realise my heart's desire by hiding me under her
spotless mantle, and I also asked her to remove from me every
occasion of sin.
I was well aware that during this journey I should come across
things that might disturb me; knowing nothing of evil, I feared I
might discover it. As yet I had not experienced that "to the pure
all things are pure,"[7] that a simple and upright soul does not
see evil in anything, because evil only exists in impure hearts
and not in inanimate objects. I prayed specially to St. Joseph to
watch over me; from my childhood, devotion to him has been
interwoven with my love for our Blessed Lady. Every day I said the
prayer beginning: "St. Joseph, Father and Protector of Virgins"
. . . so I felt I was well protected and quite safe from danger.
We left Paris on November 7, after our solemn Consecration to the
Sacred Heart in the Basilica of Montmartre.[8] Each compartment of
the train was named after a Saint, and the selection was made in
honour of some Priest occupying it--his own patron or that of his
parish being chosen. But in the presence of all the pilgrims our
compartment was named after St. Martin! My Father, deeply touched
by this compliment, went at once to thank Mgr. Legoux,
Vicar-General of Coutances and director of the pilgrimage. From
this onwards he was often called "Monsieur Saint Martin."
Father Révérony watched my behaviour closely. I could tell that he
was doing so; at table, if I were not opposite to him, he would
lean forward to look at me and listen to what I was saying. I
think he must have been satisfied with his investigations, for,
towards the end of the journey, he seemed more favourably
disposed. I say towards the end, for in Rome he was far from being
my advocate, as I will tell you presently. Still I would not have
it thought he deceived me in any way by falling short of the good
will he had shown at Bayeux. On the contrary, I am sure that he
always felt kindly towards me, and that if he opposed my wishes it
was only to put me to the test.
On our way into Italy we passed through Switzerland, with its high
mountains, their snowy peaks lost in the clouds, its rushing
torrents, and its deep valleys filled with giant ferns and purple
heather. Great good was wrought in my soul by these beauties of
nature so abundantly scattered abroad. They lifted it to Him Who
had been pleased to lavish such masterpieces upon this transient
earth.
Sometimes we were high up the mountain side, while at our feet an
unfathomable abyss seemed ready to engulf us. A little later we
were passing through a charming village with its cottages and
graceful belfry, above which light fleecy clouds floated lazily.
Farther on a great lake with its blue waters, so calm and clear,
would blend with the glowing splendour of the setting sun. I
cannot tell you how deeply I was impressed with this scenery so
full of poetry and grandeur. It was a foretaste of the wonders of
Heaven. Then the thought of religious life would come before me,
as it really is, with its constraints and its little daily
sacrifices made in secret. I understood how easily one might
become wrapped in self and forget the sublime end of one's
vocation, and I thought: "Later on, when the time of trial comes,
when I am enclosed in the Carmel and shall only be able to see a
little bit of sky, I will remember this day and it will encourage
me. I will make light of my own small interests by thinking of the
greatness and majesty of God; I will love Him alone, and will not
be so foolish as to attach myself to the fleeting trifles of this
world, now that my heart has had a glimpse of what is reserved for
those who love Him."
After having contemplated the works of God, I turned next to
admire those of His creatures. Milan was the first Italian town we
visited, and we carefully studied its Cathedral of white marble,
adorned with countless statues. Céline and I left the timid ones,
who hid their faces in fear after climbing to the first stage,
and, following the bolder pilgrims, we reached the top, from
whence we viewed the city below. When we came down we started on
the first of our expeditions; these lasted the whole month of the
pilgrimage, and quite cured me of a desire to be always lazily
riding in a carriage.
The "Campo Santo"[9] charmed us. The whole vast enclosure is
covered with marble statues, so exquisitely carved as to be
life-like, and placed with an apparent negligence that only
enhances their charm. You feel almost tempted to console the
imaginary personages that surround you, their expression so
exactly portrays a calm and Christian sorrow. And what works of
art! Here is a child putting flowers on its father's grave--one
forgets how solid is marble--the delicate petals appear to slip
through its fingers. Sometimes the light veils of the widows, and
the ribbons of the young girls, seem floating on the breeze.
We could not find words to express our admiration, but an old
gentleman who followed us everywhere--regretting no doubt his
inability to share our sentiments--said in a tone of ill-temper:
"Oh, what enthusiasts these French people are!" and yet he also
was French. I think the poor man would have done better to stay at
home. Instead of enjoying the journey he was always grumbling:
nothing pleased him, neither cities, hotels, people, nor anything
else. My Father, whose disposition was the exact opposite, was
quite content, no matter what happened, and tried to cheer our
friend, offering him his place in the carriage or elsewhere, and
with his wonted goodness encouraging him to look on the bright
side of things. But nothing could cheer him. How many different
kinds of people we saw and how interesting it is to study the
world when one is just about to leave it!
In Venice the scene changed completely. Instead of the bustle of a
large city, silence reigned, broken only by the lapping of the
waters and the cries of the gondoliers as they plied their oars;
it is a city full of charm but full of sadness. Even the Palace of
the Doges, splendid though it be, is sad; we walked through halls
whose vaulted roofs have long since ceased to re-echo the voices
of the governors in their sentences of life and death. Its dark
dungeons are no longer a living tomb for unfortunate prisoners to
pine within.
While visiting these dreadful prisons I fancied myself in the
times of the martyrs, and gladly would I have chosen this sombre
abode for my dwelling if there had been any question of confessing
my faith. Presently the guide's voice roused me from my reverie,
and I crossed the "Bridge of Sighs," so called because of the
sighs uttered by the wretched prisoners as they passed from their
dungeons to sentence and to death. After leaving Venice we visited
Padua and there venerated the relic of St. Anthony's tongue; then
Bologna, where St. Catherine's body rests. Her face still bears
the impress of the kiss bestowed on her by the Infant Jesus.
I was indeed happy when on the way to Loreto. Our Lady had chosen
an ideal spot in which to place her Holy House. Everything is
poor, simple, and primitive; the women still wear the graceful
dress of the country and have not, as in the large towns, adopted
the modern Paris fashions. I found Loreto enchanting. And what
shall I say of the Holy House? I was overwhelmed with emotion when
I realised that I was under the very roof that had sheltered the
Holy Family. I gazed on the same walls Our Lord had looked on. I
trod the ground once moistened with the sweat of St. Joseph's
toil, and saw the little chamber of the Annunciation, where the
Blessed Virgin Mary held Jesus in her arms after she had borne Him
there in her virginal womb. I even put my Rosary into the little
porringer used by the Divine Child. How sweet those memories!
But our greatest joy was to receive Jesus in His own House, and
thus become His living temple in the very place which He had
honoured by His Divine Presence. According to Roman custom the
Blessed Sacrament is reserved at one Altar in each Church, and
there only is it given to the faithful. At Loreto this Altar was
in the Basilica--which is built round the Holy House, enclosing it
as a precious stone might be enclosed in a casket of white marble.
The exterior mattered little to us, it was in the _diamond_ itself
that we wished to receive the Bread of Angels. My Father, with his
habitual gentleness, followed the other pilgrims, but his
daughters, less easily satisfied, went towards the Holy House.
God favoured us, for a Priest was on the point of celebrating
Mass; we told him of our great wish, and he immediately asked for
two hosts, which he placed on the paten. You may picture, dear
Mother, the ecstatic happiness of that Communion; no words can
describe it. What will be our joy when we communicate eternally in
the dwelling of the King of Heaven? It will be undimmed by the
grief of parting, and will know no end. His House will be ours for
all eternity, and there will be no need to covet fragments from
the walls hallowed by the Divine Presence. He will not give us His
earthly Home--He only shows it to us to make us love poverty and
the hidden life. What He has in store for us is the Palace of His
Glory, where we shall no longer see Him veiled under the form of a
child or the appearance of bread, but as He is, in the brightness
of His Infinite Beauty.
Now I am going to tell you about Rome--Rome, where I thought to
find comfort and where I found the cross. It was night when we
arrived. I was asleep, and was awakened by the porters calling:
"Roma!" The pilgrims caught up the cry and repeated: "Roma, Roma!"
Then I knew that it was not a dream, I was really in Rome!
Our first day, and perhaps the most enjoyable, was spent outside
the walls. There, everything retains its stamp of antiquity,
whilst in Rome, with its hotels and shops, one might fancy oneself
in Paris. This drive in the Roman Campagna has left a specially
delightful impression on my mind.
How shall I describe the feelings which thrilled me when I gazed
on the Coliseum? At last I saw the arena where so many Martyrs had
shed their blood for Christ. My first impulse was to kiss the
ground sanctified by their glorious combats. But what a
disappointment! The soil has been raised, and the real arena is
now buried at the depth of about twenty-six feet.
As the result of excavations the centre is nothing but a mass of
rubbish, and an insurmountable barrier guards the entrance; in any
case no one dare penetrate into the midst of these dangerous
ruins. But was it possible to be in Rome and not go down to the
real Coliseum? No, indeed! And I no longer listened to the guide's
explanations: one thought only filled my mind--I must reach the
arena.
We are told in the Gospel that St. Mary Magdalen remained close to
the Sepulchre and stooped down constantly to look in; she was
rewarded by seeing two Angels. So, like her, I kept stooping down
and I saw, not two Angels, but what I was in search of. I uttered
a cry of joy and called out to my sister: "Come, follow me, we
shall be able to get through." We hurried on at once, scrambling
over the ruins which crumbled under our feet. Papa, aghast at our
boldness, called out to us, but we did not hear.
As the warriors of old felt their courage grow in face of peril,
so our joy increased in proportion to the fatigue and danger we
had to face to attain the object of our desires. Céline, more
foreseeing than I, had listened to the guide. She remembered that
he had pointed out a particular stone marked with a cross, and had
told us it was the place where the Martyrs had fought the good
fight. She set to work to find it, and having done so we threw
ourselves on our knees on this sacred ground. Our souls united in
one and the same prayer. My heart beat violently when I pressed my
lips to the dust reddened with the blood of the early Christians.
I begged for the grace to be a martyr for Jesus, and I felt in the
depths of my heart that my prayer was heard. All this took but a
short time. After collecting some stones we approached the walls
once more to face the danger. We were so happy that Papa had not
the heart to scold us, and I could see that he was proud of our
courage.
From the Coliseum we went to the Catacombs, and there Céline and I
laid ourselves down in what had once been the tomb of St. Cecilia,
and took some of the earth sanctified by her holy remains. Before
our journey to Rome I had not felt any special devotion to St.
Cecilia, but on visiting the house where she was martyred, and
hearing her proclaimed "Queen of harmony"--because of the sweet
song she sang in her heart to her Divine Spouse--I felt more than
devotion towards her, it was real love as for a friend. She became
my chosen patroness, and the keeper of all my secrets; her
abandonment to God and her boundless confidence delighted me
beyond measure. They were so great that they enabled her to make
souls pure which had never till then desired aught but earthly
pleasures.
St. Cecilia is like the Spouse in the Canticles. I find in her the
Scriptural "choir in an armed camp."[10] Her life was one
melodious song in the midst of the greatest trials; and this is
not strange, because we read that "the Book of the Holy Gospels
lay ever on her heart,"[11] while in her heart reposed the Spouse
of Virgins.
Our visit to the Church of St. Agnes was also very delightful. I
tried, but without success, to obtain a relic to take back to my
little Mother, Sister Agnes of Jesus. Men refused me, but God
Himself came to my aid: a little bit of red marble, from an
ancient mosaic dating back to the time of the sweet martyr, fell
as my feet. Was this not touching? St. Agnes herself gave me a
keepsake from her house.
We spent six days in visiting the great wonders in Rome, and on
the seventh saw the greatest of all--Leo XIII. I longed for, yet
dreaded, that day, for on it depended my vocation. I had received
no answer from the Bishop of Bayeux, and so the Holy Father's
permission was my one and only hope. But in order to obtain this
permission I had first to ask it. The mere thought made me
tremble, for I must dare speak to the Pope, and that, in presence
of many Cardinals, Archbishops, and Bishops!
On Sunday morning, November 20, we went to the Vatican, and were
taken to the Pope's private chapel. At eight o'clock we assisted
at his Mass, during which his fervent piety, worthy of the Vicar
of Christ, gave evidence that he was in truth the "Holy Father."
The Gospel for that day contained these touching words: "Fear not,
little flock, for it hath pleased your Father to give you a
Kingdom."[12] My heart was filled with perfect confidence. No, I
would not fear, I would trust that the Kingdom of the Carmel would
soon be mine. I did not think of those other words of Our Lord: "I
dispose to you, as my Father hath disposed to Me, a Kingdom."[13]
That is to say, I will give you crosses and trials, and thus will
you become worthy to possess My Kingdom. _If you desire to sit on
His right hand you must drink the chalice which He has drunk
Himself._[14] "Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and
so to enter into His glory?"[15]
A Mass of thanksgiving followed, and then the audience began. Leo
XIII, whose cassock and cape were of white, was seated on a raised
chair, and round him were grouped various dignitaries of the
church. According to custom each visitor knelt in turn and kissed,
first the foot and next the hand of the venerable Pontiff, and
finally received his blessing; then two of the Noble Guard signed
to the pilgrim that he must rise and pass on to the adjoining room
to make way for those who followed.
No one uttered a word, but I was firmly determined to speak, when
suddenly the Vicar-General of Bayeux, Father Révérony, who was
standing at the Pope's right hand, told us in a loud voice that he
absolutely forbade anyone to address the Holy Father. My heart
beat fast. I turned to Céline, mutely inquiring what I should do.
"Speak!" she said.
The next moment I found myself on my knees before the Holy Father.
I kissed his foot and he held out his hand; then raising my eyes,
which were filled with tears, I said entreatingly: "Holy Father, I
have a great favour to ask you." At once he bent towards me till
his face almost touched mine, and his piercing black eyes seemed
to read my very soul. "Holy Father," I repeated, "in honour of
your jubilee, will you allow me to enter the Carmel when I am
fifteen?"
The Vicar-General, surprised and displeased, said quickly: "Holy
Father, this is a child who desires to become a Carmelite, but the
Superiors of the Carmel are looking into the matter." "Well, my
child," said His Holiness, "do whatever the Superiors decide."
Clasping my hands and resting them on his knee, I made a final
effort: "Holy Father, if only you say 'yes,' everyone else would
agree."
He looked at me fixedly and said clearly and emphatically: "Well,
well! You will enter if it is God's Will." I was going to speak
again, when the Noble Guards motioned to me. As I paid little
attention they came forward, the Vicar-General with them, for I
was still kneeling before the Pope with my hands resting on his
knee. Just as I was forced to rise, the dear Holy Father gently
placed his hand on my lips, then lifted it to bless me, letting
his eyes follow me for quite a long time.
My Father was much distressed to find me coming from the audience
in tears; he had passed out before me, and so did not know
anything about my request. The Vicar-General had shown him unusual
kindness, presenting him to Leo XIII as the father of two
Carmelites. The Sovereign Pontiff, as a special sign of
benevolence, had placed his hand on his head, thus appearing in
the name of Christ Himself to mark him with a mysterious seal. But
now that this father of _four_ Carmelites is in Heaven, it is no
longer the hand of Christ's Vicar which rests on his brow,
prophesying his martyrdom: it is the hand of the Spouse of
Virgins, of the King of Heaven; and this Divine Hand will never be
taken away from the head which it has blessed.
This trial was indeed a heavy one, but I must admit that in spite
of my tears I felt a deep inward peace, for I had made every
effort in my power to respond to the appeal of my Divine Master.
This peace, however, dwelt in the depths of my soul--on the
surface all was bitterness; and Jesus was silent--absent it would
seem, for nothing revealed that He was there.
On that day, too, the sun dared not shine, and the beautiful blue
sky of Italy, hidden by dark clouds, mingled its tears with mine.
All was at an end. My journey had no further charm for me since it
had failed in its object. It is true the Holy Father's words: "You
will enter if it is God's Will," should have consoled me, they
were indeed a prophecy. In spite of all these obstacles, what God
in His goodness willed, has come to pass. He has not allowed His
creatures to do what they will but only what He wills. Sometime
before this took place I had offered myself to the Child Jesus to
be His little plaything. I told Him not to treat me like one of
those precious toys which children only look at and dare not
touch, but to treat me like a little ball of no value, that could
be thrown on the ground, kicked about, pierced, left in a corner,
or pressed to His Heart just as it might please Him. In a word I
wished to amuse the Holy child and to let Him play with me as He
fancied. Here indeed He was answering my prayer. In Rome Jesus
pierced His little plaything. He wanted to see what was inside
. . . and when satisfied, He let it drop and went to sleep. What
was
He doing during His sweet slumber, and what became of the ball
thus cast on one side? He dreamed that He was still at play, that
He took it up or threw it down, that He rolled it far away, but at
last He pressed it to His Heart, nor did He allow it again to slip
from His tiny Hand. Dear Mother, you can imagine the sadness of
the little ball lying neglected on the ground! And yet it
continued to hope against hope.
After our audience my Father went to call on Brother Simeon--the
founder and director of St. Joseph's College--and there he met
Father Révérony. He reproached him gently for not having helped me
in my difficult task, and told the whole story to Brother Simeon.
The good old man listened with much interest and even made notes,
saying with evident feeling: "This kind of thing is not seen in
Italy."
The next day we started for Naples and Pompeii. Vesuvius did us
the honour of emitting from its crater a thick volume of smoke,
accompanied by numerous loud reports. The traces of the
devastation of Pompeii are terrifying. They show forth the power
of God: "He looketh upon the earth, and maketh it tremble; He
toucheth the mountains and they smoke."
I should like to have wandered alone among its ruins, meditating
on the instability of human things, but such solitude was not to
be thought of.
At Naples we made an expedition to the monastery of San Martino;
it crowns a high hill overlooking the whole city. On the way back
the horses took the bit in their teeth, and it is solely to our
Guardian Angels that I attribute our safe return to the splendid
hotel. This word "splendid" is not too strong to describe it; in
fact during the whole journey we stayed only at the most expansive
hotels. I had never been surrounded by such luxury, but it is
indeed a true saying that riches do not make happiness. I should
have been a thousand times more contented under a thatched room,
with the hope of entering the Carmel, than I was amid marble
staircases, gilded ceilings, and silken hangings, with my heart
full of sorrow.
I realised thoroughly that joy is not found in the things which
surround us, but lives only in the soul. One could possess it as
well in an obscure prison as in the palace of a king. And so now I
am happier at the Carmel, in the midst of trials within and
without, than I was in the world where I had everything I wanted,
and, above all, the joys of a happy home.
Although I felt heavy of heart, outwardly I was as usual, for I
thought no one had any knowledge of my petition to the Pope. I was
mistaken. One day, when the other pilgrims had gone to the
refreshment-room and Céline and I were alone, Mgr. Legoux came to
the door of the carriage. He looked at me attentively and smiling
said: "Well, and how is our little Carmelite?" This showed me that
my secret was known to all the pilgrims, and I gathered it, too,
from their kindly looks; but happily no one spoke to me on the
subject.
At Assisi I had a little adventure. While visiting the places
sanctified by the virtues of St. Francis and St. Clare I lost the
buckle of my belt in the monastery. It took me some time to find
and put it back in place, and when I reached the door all the
carriages had started except one; that belonged to the
Vicar-General of Bayeux! Should I run after those which were no
longer in sight and so perhaps miss the train, or should I beg for
a seat in the carriage of Father Révérony? I decided that this was
the wiser plan.
I tried to hide my extreme embarrassment and explained things. He
was placed in a difficulty himself, for all the seats were
occupied, but one of the party promptly gave me his place and sat
by the driver. I felt like a squirrel caught in a snare. I was ill
at ease in the midst of these great people, and I had to sit face
to face with the most formidable of all. He was exceedingly kind,
however, and now and then interrupted his conversation to talk to
me about the Carmel and promise that he would do all in his power
to realise my desire of entering at fifteen. This meeting was like
balm to my wounds, though it did not prevent me from suffering. I
had now lost all trust in creatures and could only lean on God
Himself.
And yet my distress did not hinder me from taking a deep interest
in the holy places we visited. In Florence we saw the shrine of
St. Mary Magdalen of Pazzi, in the choir of the Carmelite Church.
All the pilgrims wanted to touch the Saint's tomb with their
Rosaries, but my hand was the only one small enough to pass
through the grating. So I was deputed for this important and
lengthy task, and I did it with pride.
It was not the first time I had obtained special favours. One day,
at _Santa Croce,_ in Rome, we venerated the relics of the True
Cross, together with two of the Thorns, and one of the Sacred
Nails. I wanted to examine them closely, so I remained behind, and
when the monk in charge was going to replace them on the Altar, I
asked if I might touch the precious treasures. He said I might do
so, but was doubtful if I should succeed; however, I put my little
finger into one of the openings of the reliquary and was able to
touch the Sacred Nail once hallowed by the Blood of Our Saviour.
You see I behaved towards Him like a child who thinks it may do as
it pleases and looks on its Father's treasures as its own.
Having passed through Pisa and Genoa we came back to France by one
of the loveliest routes. At times we were close to the sea, and
one day during a storm it seemed as though the waves would reach
the train. Farther on we travelled through plains covered with
orange trees, olives, and feathery palms, while at night the
numerous seaports twinkled with lights, and stars came out in the
deep blue sky. But I watched the fairy picture fade away from my
eyes without any regret--my heart was set elsewhere.
My Father proposed to take me to Jerusalem, but in spite of the
natural wish I had to visit the places sanctified by Our Lord's
Footsteps, I was weary of earthly pilgrimages and only longed for
the beauties of Heaven. In order to win these beauties for souls I
wanted to become a prisoner as quickly as possible. I felt that I
must suffer and struggle still more before the gates of my blessed
prison would open; yet my trust in God did not grow less, and I
still hoped to enter at Christmas.
We had hardly reached home when I paid a visit to the Carmel. You
must remember well that interview, dear Mother. I left myself
entirely in your hands, for I had exhausted all my resources. You
told me to write to the Bishop and remind him of his promise. I
obeyed at once, and as soon as my letter was posted I felt I
should obtain the coveted permission without any delay. Alas! each
day brought fresh disappointments. The beautiful feast of
Christmas dawned; still Jesus slept. He left His little ball on
the ground without even glancing that way.
This was indeed a sore trial, but Our Lord, Whose Heart is always
watching, taught me that He granted miracles to those whose faith
is small as a grain of mustard seed, in the hope of strengthening
this slender faith; whilst for His intimate friends, for His
Mother, He did not work miracles till He had proved their faith.
Did He not permit Lazarus to die even though Mary and Martha had
sent word that he was sick? And at the marriage feast of Cana,
when Our Lady asked her Divine Son to aid the master of the house,
did He not answer that His hour had not yet come? But after the
trial what a reward! Water is changed into wine, and Lazarus rises
from the dead. In this way did my Beloved act with His little
Thérèse; after He had tried her for a long time He granted all her
desires.
For my New Year's gift of 1888, Jesus again gave me His Cross. You
told me, dear Mother, that you had had the Bishop's answer since
December 28, the feast of Holy Innocents; that he authorised my
immediate entry into the Carmel, but that nevertheless you had
decided not to open its doors till after Lent. I could not
restrain my tears at the thought of such a long delay. This trial
affected me in a special manner, for I felt my earthly ties were
severed, and yet the Ark in its turn refused to admit the poor
little dove.
How did these three months pass? They were fruitful in sufferings
and still more so in other graces. At first the thought came into
my mind that I would not put any extra restraint on myself, I
would lead a life somewhat less strictly ordered than was my
custom. But Our Lord made me understand the benefit I might derive
from this time He had granted me, and I then resolved to give
myself up to a more serious and mortified life. When I say
mortified, I do not mean that I imitated the penances of the
Saints; far from resembling those beautiful souls who have
practised all sorts of mortifications from their infancy, I made
mine consist in simply checking my inclinations, keeping back an
impatient answer, doing little services to those around me without
setting store thereby, and a hundred other things of the kind. By
practising these trifles I prepared myself to become the Spouse of
Jesus, and I can never tell you, Mother, how much the added delay
helped me to grow in abandonment, in humility, and in other
virtues.
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[1] Joel 2:19.
[2] _Imitation of Christ,_ III, xxiv. 2.
[3] Isa. 65:15.
[4] Apoc. 2:17.
[5] 1 Cor. 4:5.
[6] Matt. 5:13.
[7] Tit. 1:15.
[8] Montmartre--the "Mount of Martyrs"--is the hill whereon St.
Denis, apostle and bishop of Paris, was martyred with his two
companions in the third century. It was a famous place of
pilgrimage in medieval times, and here St. Ignatius and the first
Jesuits took their vows. Under the presidency of Marshal MacMahon,
the erection of the well-known Basilica was voted in 1873 by the
French Chamber of Deputies as a national act of reparation to the
Sacred Heart. [Ed.]
[9] Cemetery.
[10] Cf. Cant. 7:1.
[11] Office of St. Cecilia.
[12] Luke 12:32.
[13] Luke 22:29.
[14] Cf. Matt. 20:22.
[15] Luke 24:26.
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